There has been a concerning pattern of Omen operatives attacking and ambushing towns and cities affiliated with Wisperium and the church of Pernatia. There is a marked difference in strategy, as the Omen was previously thought of as maddened fanatics hellbent on world domination. Their strategies now seem to be catered towards attrition tactics and guerilla warfare as opposed to the wanton destruction they used to cause. Their forces are primarily led by people contracted with the Demons of Solomon. I highly advise that the Emperor take preemptive action and offer support to Pernatia for our kingdom's greater interest.

~ A public letter from the Duke of Stone

"Would you kindly strip down to your underwear and give us all you have?" A bandit said, eliciting maniacal laughs from his group of goons. They surrounded a peculiar pair; an adult with an unruly mane of curly brown hair, and a stocky, well-built teenager with pale skin and ebony eyes.

Both of them were dressed in similar outfits; elegant, black robes equipped with a small hood. Clean and simple, contrasting with the ragged and dirty outfits of the men attempting to rob them. Their surroundings were barren and dirty; the few bystanders present only stood by to watch the two get mugged in broad daylight.

A harsh sound raised the group's guard, although their targets hadn't budged an inch. It was reminiscent of a vinyl record being moved back and forth on a turntable. None of them could pinpoint where it came from until the curly-haired man spoke.

"Yep. That's me. Chester. You're probably wondering how I got myself into this situation."

"Hey! Didn't you hear me? I said empty your pockets and scram!"

But the man didn't care, even when the seedy-looking bandit stepped forward with his dagger. A tune began to play, an upbeat tempo surrounded them as Chester babbled on incoherently. The black-haired teen watched with tired eyes as the scene unfolded before him; his sword and shield were firmly strapped to his back, showing he didn't take the bandits seriously either.

"It all started in the summer of '86. Or was it '87? Huh. I actually don't know when I was born...I kind of lost track of where I was taking this." The man said, scratching at his stubble. "Is it alright if I take it from the top?"

Chester continued without any additional input, going into detail about his early childhood and how comic books influenced much of his life as a vagrant youth. It was followed by vigorous thrusting motions with his pelvis, much to Damien's embarrassment and the thugs' confusion.

"What is he wafflin' about?" One of the robbers asked the person beside him. They hadn't expected this response to a mugging at all and many of them thought their target was an insane man.

"I...think he's monologuing?"

Having enough of being ignored, the seedy bandit confronting Chester swung his blade. The weapon whistled through the air until it impacted right where the man's neck should've been. It passed through and Chester's mirage vanished like it was a bad dream. It rendered the entire group stunned until said bandit was kicked across the clearing; an imprint of a metal boot placed firmly on his backside.

From there, Chester materialized into existence with a cheeky grin on his face. "Hey Damien, whoever gets the least knockouts treats the winner to lunch. How about it?"

"Sure," Damien said, idly wondering just when the man had swapped himself out for an illusion.

Giving the stunned bandits no time to respond, the vampire teen swung his gauntleted fists at the closest mugger, shortening the distance between them in the blink of an eye despite wearing heavy metal armor. Teeth clattered to the floor. Several men unsheathed their weapons. a shadowy canine formed into existence right beside Damien with its hackles raised.

"Oi! That's not fair! Maxwell's points don't count." Chester glared at him impetuously. Both his hands were occupied, strangling two men at once as he used his feet to deliver bone-breaking blows to the bandits who quickly realized they messed with the wrong people.

"You can't change the terms of a bet after I've already accepted."

Within a minute, the dozen-strong bandits lay on the ground. Thoroughly beaten, but alive. Chester looked at the four he took out before sneaking an irritated glance at the eight Damien and his dog had managed to beat. Maxwell was gnawing on an unconscious thief's leg, wagging its wispy, ethereal tail as it did so.

"I win. Let's go find somewhere to eat first. I'm starved."

Chester grumbled, but he didn't bother arguing. He had more than enough money on hand after the events at Welton's Furnace. Damien's relative, Joseph Devon had come all the way to hand them goodies from Wisperium; a batch of high-grade health potions, a classy suit identical to Damien's own, and one hundred and fifty gold pieces. It was a small reward compared to the risk he put himself in to protect the kingdom, but Chester decided to be benevolent. It was Damien's family after all.

"That was refreshing. You gotta admit."

The black-haired boy snorted incredulously. "We just thrashed a group of people trying to mug us. How was that refreshing?"

"Think about it; every place we've been, it's either been some horrible man-eating monster, robot, or super-powered villain trying to kill us. Every situation we got in was a fight for our lives. But those dudes?" Chester jerked his thumb at the groaning men. "That was the easiest fight I had since Pesodonia."

"Ah, the bandits?" Damien mulled it over for a moment, remembering the small platoon of enemies that threatened the village he first met Chester. It felt like a lifetime ago, despite being less than a year since his journey first started. "I suppose."

At every stage of their travels, the stakes became higher. Battles became more dangerous. Neither of them could remember a time when their journey had been peaceful or easy, and they became much stronger to show for it. Chester whistled as he dug through their defeated opponents' belongings, finding nothing more than a few coins. The men were truly in a state of poverty and had nothing to offer to the kleptomaniac illusionist.

"But I'm thankful. I was really worried about this place from what Devon told us. I thought it was going to be difficult or something," The curly-haired man raised his head to the sky, interlocking his fingers behind his head. Underneath his robes, one could see plates of armor that folded and creased with his every move. It was a significant piece of work that differentiated itself from the armor most adventurers wore. It boasted a level of flexibility nigh unheard of in metal armor.

Damien took a split second to register what the illusionist was saying, busy admiring the work on their respective armors. He felt a sense of foreboding as he realized what the man was leading up towards.

'Oh no.'

"At least things are looking smooth th-"

"STOP!" Damien shouted, lurching forward in an attempt to stop the talkative man from saying the forbidden words.

"-is time around. Huh?" Chester flinched upon hearing the urgency in his companion's voice. "The hell's wrong with you?"

The vampire teen slapped his forehead, resulting in a loud thunk. His hand slid over his face, revealing a highly irritated expression.

"You just bloody jinxed us. I can't believe this."

"Wh-Just because I said things were-"

"DON'T! Say. Another. Word." Damien hissed. "I will not have you tempting fate when I am so close to finally reaching our destination. Just shut your mouth, and let's go."

"We're already tempting fate by looking for your mass-murdering brother!"

"He wouldn't do that for kicks and thrills! There's obviously a reason behind it!"

They squabbled while they traversed the beaten-down path deeper into the city. All around them were dilapidated buildings and impoverished strangers. Their presence turned more than a few heads, but ultimately nobody tried anything against them. It hadn't been long since they left the group of beaten thugs by the entrance to the city. Chester didn't mind. He gingerly touched his back under the robe, feeling the hidden Attainium seep between his fingers, reassuring himself that they could deal with any serious threat together if it came down to it.

He stared at the spiked chain ball dangling from his hip; it was merely an overly gaudy accessory at this point, but he prayed he wouldn't have to use it on a human being.

Vorpal Striking Head

- Forged from adamantium and layered in with fractite, it boasts absurd hardiness and durability, along with a natural resistance to magic. Crafted by a legendary blacksmith, the weapon has a small chance of developing an ego. Its magic-resistant properties make it difficult to enchant.

- Due to its magic-resistant properties, there is a small chance of removing a beneficial magical effect when striking enemies.

- The fractite powder in the weapon detonates upon hitting a surface with sufficient force.

- Deals immense piercing, explosive, and bludgeoning damage.

- Size Adjusting III: The equipment will shape accordingly to match the user's desire from 50-200% of its original size.

- Weight: 8kg (4-16kg)

The purple adamantium glittered when the sunlight hit it at certain angles thanks to the properties of the fractite. Chester had forced a detailed run-down of what the thing was capable of from the legendary blacksmith who created it. It took several days for him to get used to the idea of carrying it around without the fear the striking head would explode without warning.

As their quarrel died down, he remembered the first time he used the striking head on a monster. A group of goblins ambushed them en route to Garbrandt, and he simply launched it at the closest target. The illusionist could vividly recollect what remained of the goblin splattering onto his face. It was much more gruesome than any weapon in his arsenal. but it was also the most damaging as well. There was no doubt of its attack potency, but the ethics of using the weapon prevented him from using it unless he was truly in danger.

"This one looks acceptable," Damien said, placing his hand on the man's chest to stop him from walking. It was a building that happened to be marginally cleaner than anything else they'd seen in the city so far. A sign was posted outside of the building, next to a purple flag with a lightning bolt.

FISH HOOK TAVERN

We do not accept contraband as a form of payment. Please pay in coins.

No pets allowed.

Maxwell sat obediently outside, and Damien knew there wasn't any real danger in keeping him out there. The familiar was functionally immortal, after all. He wasn't keen on dispelling his companion due to the long cooldown period. Scratching the scruff of his shadowy pet, the boy pulled open the door to the bar and entered.

The interior didn't stand out too much, although there was a loud creaking noise as they entered the tavern. It was only one story, but it managed to pack at least five dozen people, most of whom stopped to stare at the duo that strode through the bar in silence. Damien went straight ahead, making a beeline towards the bartender at the back of the shop with Chester following closely behind. The stares stopped and conversations began to resume after some time, although Chester could still feel a tingling sensation at the back of his neck. It was an instinct he gained surviving in the wild.

They were being watched.

"Can I have apple juice? With the roast beef and potatoes."

The bartender was a young, blonde human. He didn't seem particularly threatening and nodded upon the vampire's request. "And for you sir?"

Chester looked at the menu overhead, deciding what to get. The prices were lower than the taverns at Elway, ranging from 50 bronze pieces to 1 silver.

"The Golden Ale, and I'll have the omelet with it."

With their orders placed, they took an empty table and began to get comfy. However, they kept their bags close to them and sat apart so it was easy to watch each other's blind spots. Damien heard a small whisper directly in his ear, courtesy of Chester's Minor Illusion spell.

"Keep your wits up. After this, I'll cast Alter Self and make sure we don't stand out too much. Our clothes look way too nice for this area."

The boy nodded, keeping tabs on a particularly shady group at the corner of the tavern. Damien lamented the fact he needed to be so vigilant even at a tavern.

'Even if they tried, I doubt they could touch us anyway.'

Was it arrogance? Damien didn't think so. Despite his relatively young age, he was a battle-hardened warrior and a proud vampire. There were very few things that mere humans could do to defeat him. He gave himself some space to relax, knowing needless worrying would only drain his mental energy.

The bartender arrived with their food in tow. It was a humble meal and could hardly be considered superior to what they had in any other city, but Damien supposed they got what they paid for. He thanked the bartender and picked up his utensils.

Chester dug into the omelet with gusto, enjoying the taste of cooked food. He had been adamant about the idea of adding a chef to their party, as both of them seemed to be allergic to preparing proper dishes. Damien had protested he could simply learn cooking if he wanted to, but Chester had no patience.

'All these magic inventions and none of them making cooking easier? These guys need to get a grip.'

But in the middle of their meal, a notification greeted the illusionist's eyes as a wave of vertigo overtook his senses.

You have been poisoned.

Due to the poison being diluted, effects are diminished slightly.

Your Poison Resistance has resisted a portion of the effects.

Your Mental Resistance has resisted a portion of the effects.

From there, Chester's surroundings became a nightmare.