The Counterattack Begins

The thief known as Roderick was brought before Andriu. “What? I’m busy,” he grumbled.

“Busy drowning your failure in cheap alcohol, no doubt,” Andriu spat. “Tell me, where is Father Deveran’s sacred staff?”

Roderick shrugged his lanky shoulders. “I looked for it where you said it was, and it wasn’t there. Neither was he, for that matter,” he droned on.

“Really? How odd. Where did you check? Was it the church library? The shed? Or was it perhaps that eyesore of a tavern?” Andriu demanded.

Roderick shrugged again. “I checked the place you said, and didn’t find anything.”

Andriu ground his teeth. “This is what I get for relying on the dregs of this goddess-forsaken guild,” he muttered. “You failed to accomplish the task you contractually agreed to fulfill. That means you must suffer the consequences.”

Roderick’s demeanor changed from casual to terrified. He looked to his leader for help and found only disdain. “Wait, give me another chance. I’ll get it for you, I promise.” He tried to bargain with Andriu.

“Only a fool would target a priest within the Grand Church of Ivalis. It’s a stone’s throw from the castle,” Andriu reminded him.

“Wait, please! Maybe he left it with that Mayura woman in that old church? I saw him visit there.” The thief begged.

“No, the lesson must be taught.” He raised a hand and invoked his magic, a purple aura flaring up around him. “Lightning Rope.” A trail of electricity snaked around Roderick and bound him in place while electrocuting him. His roars of pain and agony echoed throughout the entire mansion.

A purple aura? That’s new, Vito thought. I’ll need to look it up later. He didn’t feel too bad for Roderick. The man writhing before him reeked of evil.

Andriu released him after two minutes, letting his smoking, near-lifeless body collapse onto the ground. “I’ll let him off with a warning this time. Your healers are good, aren’t they? I made sure of it.”

“Speaking of,” Barton began. “We need a new sneak thief. You said you had one crawling over your place, didn’t you?”

“Ah, yes, little Amelsia. Young, but very quiet. You’d barely notice her, and I believe she has magic. I’m not sure of her skill, however,” Andriu confirmed. His words made Vito’s blood run cold, though he refused to let it show on his face. He once again resented his young and frail body. Vito, the adult, could have picked them all off with a gun or made it personal with his trusty knife.

“Amelsia, huh? You sure she can get around without being seen? We need someone good for a job coming up,” he mused.

“Remember our contract, my good fellow: you must not intentionally send the orphans to their deaths. If anyone ever recognizes their remains and connects them to me, it could ruin everything I’ve built here,” Andriu warned. “A breach of that would forever close the doors of high society to you, and an…immediate end to you and everything around you.”

Barton glared at him. “I know, and you should also remember who rules these slums.”

“Yes, yes, I know, O great King of Thieves,” Andriu gave an exaggerated bow. “Come, Cyrenic, our day is not yet over.”

Vito recalled the lessons he gave Amelsia over the years as he walked in step with Andriu. She was fast, quiet, and took to basic knife combat with relative ease. His uncle Vincenzo would have loved having her as a student. Still, she should be fine. A magic contract more or less guarantees that the guild won’t hurt her. That just leaves the people she’ll be robbing, he concluded.

“Ah, look at that,” Andriu snapped him out of his thoughts and drew his attention to a man sitting on a step, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Parsifal, I think it was. He’s a former noble, you see. I say former because his honesty and idealism led to his downfall. A fitting end for such a fool.”

Vito watched Andriu send Amelsia away to work for the thieves’ guild. She walked away from the manor with thieves walking beside her. Don’t you worry, I’ll get you out. It’ll just take me a while, he vowed.

He hid himself away to continue his research and practice. “Auras come in a few different colors. Those who have yet to unlock their potential are white, royalty have golden auras, nobility have purple auras, the clergy have silver auras, and commoners have blue auras,” he read. “Really? What if someone ranks up? Oh, it’s right here: the color determines one’s own magical potential, and a caste system simply formed around magic power.”

Something else caught his eye. “Body and weapon enhancement? And this is something anyone with magic can do? But it’s not widely implemented. These people just ignore useful things, don’t they?”

Vito put his multi-phase plan into action once he reached his sixteenth year of misery under Andriu’s care. He fully mapped out Andriu’s entire operation, including his contacts, his contracts, and where he stores his money. The key to his first phase was his crafting skill. He learned how to force complex objects such as pocket watches and tea. His aura was still white, but he was powerful enough to end his owner.

A knock at the door disturbed Andriu’s work. “What is it?!” he demanded.

“It’s Cyrenic, Sir Andriu. I brought gifts from the tavern,” Vito called.

“The tavern? Ah, the Drunken Merchant, that hole-in-the-wall. Come in.”

Vito walked into Andriu’s office and placed two cheap wine bottles on his desk, one closer to Andriu than the other. “He said it was his finest stuff.”

“Yeah, a step above what they give the workhorses. Let me guess: the thieves have been hitting him hard, and he wants my help,” Andriu mused as he poured himself a glass.

“Yes, sir. It seems they’re barely able to pay for stock to sell to patrons,” Vito calmly answered.

Andriu laughed and downed the glass. “Oh, very well. Send a letter to the guild and tell them to give the tavern a break.” He poured another glass and downed it even faster. “I’m too nice for my own good, aren’t I?”

“Yes, sir.” Vito gave a careful bow and walked out of the office to let the cruel slave driver enjoy his last drink. He used his crafting skill to create concentrated, flavorless salt, which he added to the first bottle of wine. Salt in large doses was fatal, a fact unknown to the people of Rhavina. He returned an hour later and found Andriu collapsed on his desk. “Time to get to work.”