Together with Olivia, I walk through the streets of Gandel City. We pass shops and market squares as we step deeper and deeper into this strange place. Men and women, finely dressed, raise their eyebrows as we walk past them. Some cover their mouths with their handkerchiefs and gasp. Others pull their children towards themselves as we walk near. I hear disparaging remarks about my appearance and unwashed state; they bounce off me like a rubber ball off a concrete floor. I care little for their comments. After all, what value does the wolf place on the scorn of the sheep?

The people here, if they can even be called people, may dress well and walk with an air of superiority, but they remain sheep. Herded by the three Clans that rule over this city, their only purpose in life is to produce offspring for their masters. This place, the entire city… It's nothing more than a farm. Dressing life-stock in expensive fabrics and adorning them with jewellery doesn't make them anything other than cattle.

'Come on; it's right there.' Lifting her hand, Olivia points towards a building. Unlike many of the other structures I've seen in the city so far, the shop is entirely detached. It stands alone, meek and humble, small and unobtrusive. Had it not been pointed out, with the grandeur of its surroundings to contend with, the building would have gone unnoticed to me.

'The man we're going to see is one of the few people in this city who isn't a serf of the Clans. He's a tailor by trade; specialises in binding Arts and abilities into the clothes that he makes.'

'What use is a tailor to me?' My words are followed by a scoff. Olivia pauses her movements, looks towards me, and shakes her head.

'For all your strength and cruelty, you're still just a kid. He's a tailor, but he's not just a tailor. The old man's more connected to this city's criminal syndicates than anyone else that you're likely to meet. He also doesn't have any love for highborns, so I'd imagine he'd be rather sympathetic to your problem. If he doesn't know how to permanently block far sight, I'd wager anything that he knows someone who does.'

Olivia continues her walk towards the shop, and I continue to follow. Reaching the entrance, She places her hand on the metal slab that rests in place of where a doorknob would usually be; she pushes the frame and with a squeak, it opens. Before the weighted door has a chance to slam shut, she wedges her foot beneath the door and allows me to pass uninhibited into the building.

More progress?

'Olivia, my dear, It's always good to see you, and I see you've brought me a customer. By the looks of it, a customer in dire need of what I have to offer.' Behind a wooden counter, a man sits. Small in stature and long in years, if it weren't for the true-rank-three aura pulsating from his being, one could be forgiven if they were to count the man as helpless. No doubt, the energies he allows to leak serves to offset his frail appearance for the benefit of those who would seek to take advantage of his diminutive stature.

Tracing my body with his eyes, the man runs his hand down the length of his beard. He mumbles some words to himself, nods his head, lifts the counter he sits behind, and then walks towards me.

'Boy, I have just the thing for you. I can tell you spend a lot of time travelling. What young man doesn't dream of adventure? Well, I've recently created a set of self-cleaning clothing. What's more, the clothes are self-repairing. For the price of three gold, it's yours. How about, lad?'

The man doesn't wait for my response. Taking me by the wrist, he pulls me towards a rack of clothes suspended by hangers. Metal squeaks on metal as the man shifts hanged shirts to the side before finding the one he's looking for. He lifts the shirt from the rack and holds it out in front of my body.

'It's a perfect fit. I have an eye for these things. Here, let me find the accompanying trousers and blazer.' The man forces the shirt into my hands, moves towards another rack and begins his search anew.

'Hey, old man! I didn't bring him here for a new outfit.' At Olivia's words, the man abruptly ends his search, turns around and faces me.

'Oh? Then what brings you here, young man?' His eyes meet mine; locked, I hold his gaze. Tension floods the store; it spirals the old man and crackles, snaps, and pops around me. The clothes hanging on the racks begin to flutter. Soft pings fill the air as the metal hooks of the wooden hangers bounce up and down on the rails they hang from.

'Girl, tell me honestly, are you being threatened?' The man glances to my side before returning his stare to me.

'Do you think I'd let a pipsqueak like him threaten me? We have an arrangement.' Her mouth, my words. Holding her palms out in front of her, Olivia walks to my side. He's not with the Clans; he's not even from around here.'

Dispelling the surrounding Tension, I lower my hood and allow my raven-black hair to fall to my shoulders.

'I've seen your face before… Yes, I know it! Nero! Nero XIII, the boy who killed Wolf.' The twisting energies coiling around the man dissipates into nothing; he holds out his hand for me to shake. I clasp his hand in my own; the man places his other hand over mine and vigorously shakes. Breaking contact, he turns his face towards Olivia.

'Didn't you travel to the Oswald region to go kill this boy? What's he doing here and in such good health?'

'As I said, old man, we have an arrangement.'

'Oh? And what are the details of that arrangement?' The man, once again, directs his attention to me.

'She helps me get what I'm after, and I use my status as a provisional escalade to take her with me into the earth-bound Tower near Sapphire Academy.' Olivia turns her face towards me but quickly looks away.

'Is that right?' The old man asks. 'What is that you're after, and why do you think I can help you with it?'

'Cut the shit, old man! I already told him you could help. Don't make me into a liar.'

'It's okay to be a killer, but lying is where you draw the line? I told you not to go after the Yung Clan's reward. Nothing but trouble. Dealing with Clans brings nothing but trouble, and now you want to bring that trouble to my doorstep? Every mercenary and dark-guild is looking for this boy, and you brought him here? To my shop?'

I hold out my wrist for the man to inspect. He runs his fingers along the jewels encrusted into my bracelet.

'A distortion bracelet? Tell me, lad, how long does it shield you?'

'Six hours a day, that's why I'm here. I need something more long term. I have business in this city, and it won't do to be traced here.'

The man looks at me and then at Olivia. From his chin to his waist, he strokes his beard. A soft rumble emanates from his throat. Releasing his overgrown facial hair, he walks past me towards his counter. Without looking back, he lifts a hand in the air and gestures for me to follow.

With Olivia behind me, I trace the steps of the old man. We walk past his counter and step towards the room behind. The man stands by the room's entrance, waits for Olivia and me to pass him by before he places his hand on the open frame where a door should hang. Runes mark the threshold of the room. Emitting a pale, white light, the runes burst into radiance. Tension floods the unguarded entrance and the space outside of the room is lost from view, replaced by a murky, black liquid.

I lift out a hand to touch the void manifested before my eyes. The man grabs my wrist and pulls it back with a strength unexpected from one of his stature and age.

'I wouldn't touch that, lad. At least not if you want to keep that hand. Come, sit. We have business to discuss.' The man walks to a desk at the end of the room. Taking a seat behind the table, he waves his hand, gesturing towards two additional chairs in front of the desk.

'I don't have what you're looking for, but I know where you can find it.' The man slides a draw from beside his desk; reaching inside, he withdraws a black card and slides it towards me. I stretch out my hand to take the card, but the man holds his hand over it.

'Not so fast, young lad. There isn't anything in this world that comes for free. What I'm offering you is the location and an invitation to this city's black market. What are you offering me in return?'

'Gold.' I reply.

'I have gold, enough to last a lifetime. I don't need more money.'

'Then what is it that you do need?' The man begins to laugh and then to cough. His coughs continue and grow in intensity. Keeled over, the man explodes the content of his lungs onto the back of his hand.

His convulsions slow, and then they cease. He wipes his mouth with his hand, staining his appendage with a tar-like substance. With a grim smile, the man looks into my eyes. He takes a handkerchief from his desk and wipes his face and hand, removing as best he can the ominous liquid he had expelled.

'What I need is time, and if you want my help, you're going to steal it for me.'

Olivia looks at me and then back at the old man. Eyes wide, mouth agape, It's clear that she doesn't understand the meaning of the old man's words, but I do…

Tension Masters within the mortal realms of cultivation have powers far beyond that of mortals, but our lifespans are no different from theirs. Threescore years and ten, perhaps longer, if you're lucky, but not by much. Despite this, it's not uncommon for mortal Tension Masters to live centuries longer than their allotted life-spans…

'You're seeking a fruit of Idunn?'

'No, lad, I've found one. I'm just looking for someone to bring it to me.' Other than the gentle hiss of the gaslit lamps welded into the walls, not a sound is made.

If I can truly find a way to suppress far sight, the fruit is more than a fair trade. However…

'How am I meant to steal that for you? If the fruit is in the hands of any one of the three mid-tier Clans that rule over this city, you can consider it untouchable. It would take an army to break into a mid-tier Clan's stronghold. Even with an army, they'd only need to send out a single Clan elder and the army would be annihilated. What you're asking for is impossible; you might as well be asking for me to die.'

The man renews his laughter, and his laughter renews his coughing. When the last streak of inky filth is wiped from his mouth, he returns his sight to me.

You're right in your thinking, lad. The fruit is in the hands of the Blackshire Clan, but I wouldn't be asking for something that you couldn't accomplish. You'll need to change your appearance, but I have a way to get you into their stronghold. If you agree to my terms, I'll pay up first. You'll get the location and invitation to the black market, I'll even give you the coin to buy what it is that you need and anything else that takes your fancy.'

'Let me guess; you'll want me to sign a spirit pledge.'

'I wouldn't be a good businessman if I just took you for your word, now, would I?' Biting the inside of my lip, I suppress a smile.

It doesn't much matter whether I sign the pledge or not. When used on me, a spirit pledge isn't worth the parchment it's scrawled on; If I choose to follow my end of the bargain, it would only be because I see greater benefits through compliance than through reneging on my agreement.

If this man truly has a way to infiltrate a mid-tier Clan, it's not something I can lightly pass on. Even still, Rachel…

No!

The girl can wait. The potential gains of plundering a mid-tier stronghold outweigh her worth by immeasurable magnitudes.

Holding out my hand, I wait for the old man to clasp it.

'I'll hear you out, old man. If you really have a way of getting me into a mid-tier stronghold, then we have a deal.'

'Oh, I have a way; and the name's not "old man", it's Bartholomew, but you can just call me Goat.'