As the mercenary stared at him, his judging gaze felt like a knife, peeling back every layer under that scrutinizing look.

Teclos felt as though the man could somehow see through his soul, especially when he repeated his name and his expression turned thoughtful.

"Teclos," the man repeated. His mouth twisted into a faint smirk. "I’ve heard your name before."

That made Teclos look up at him, though strangely, there was no fear in his eyes.

The man noticed and gave a low chuckle.

"Ah, yes, a promising talent, if I remember right. You have a darkness affinity... good instincts as well, apparently. The son of a good hunter. You were supposed to be someone worth watching over."

His eyes dragged over Teclos again, slower this time, and he said the next part with the most condescending tone he was capable of. "And now... you’re a slum rat without a future."

Teclos’s fingers tightened at his sides, and he finally reacted.

"How do you know that?"

The mercenary shrugged, as if the answer did not matter much.

"People talk when they drink, and apparently, that drunkard knew you. Well, he knew most of your village, it seemed. That annoying bastard couldn’t shut his trap."

He glanced at the people walking by for a brief second.

"He was loud enough for half the pub to hear, crying into his cup like a spineless, one-armed wretch."

Some of the words stirred Teclos’s memory.

Knew your father.

One-armed.

For a brief second, a face appeared in his mind.

Brahm.

That one-armed coward who had left him and Gillard to die in that forest. If not for his father, they would have been dead long before the tunnel.

The same man who had been unable to meet Saldia’s eyes at the gates of Lupos when they arrived.

Teclos pushed the thought away.

"What’s going to happen to me now?" he asked.

The mercenary lazily pointed a thumb toward himself.

"Well... you’ll give me money every week. Or..." His smile widened slightly. "I’ve also heard you have a lovely mother."

At the mention of his mother, Teclos’s mana stirred.

Like a bottomless abyss baring its fangs, it turned toward the man.

"Try it," Teclos said, his voice low, "and I’ll rip your head off."

"Hah!"

The mercenary smiled, but there was nothing kind in it. With a sharp and sinister glint in his eyey.

"Seems like you do have a spine after all. Tell you what..."

He grabbed Teclos by the throat and lifted him off his feet.

The man’s mana pressed down on him instantly, suppressing Teclos’s own with ease. Even so, Teclos glared at him with deep malice, which only seemed to amuse the mercenary more.

"You seem useful," the man said. "So I’m willing to offer you a job instead. Of course, the first few payments will go to me for my coat."

Teclos thought about it for a second, and for the first time, his eyes left the man.

That was when the mercenary threw him to the ground, having realized this small rabid dog would not immediately bite him.

"Wha—cough... what kind of job?"

"A job," the mercenary said. "Mercenary work, if you will. A sword for hire."

Teclos stared at him.

"If you were like that spineless wretch at the pub, I would have killed you. But you aren’t, and people like you fit right in with our crowd."

"Our crowd?"

The mercenary’s grin widened.

"Desperate people. Ones willing to live."

"I’m not interested."

He expected the man to be angry.

Instead, the mercenary only laughed. "Sure you aren’t."

The man turned away to leave.

"Our pub is at the edge of the slums," he said. "It’s called The Broken Crown. Ask for Marek, and tell him you want a bottle of black snake wine."

A short while later, the man disappeared from view.

Teclos slowly stood as well and headed home.

The entire way back, he could not stop thinking about it.

If he did not do this, their savings would be gone almost instantly, and they would be pushed into an even more difficult situation.

If he did what the man asked, however, work and coin would be waiting for him.

But by the look of it, that work would not be on the right side of the law.

By the time he reached their home again, a single oil lamp was burning inside, lighting up the room.

Teclos paused outside the door.

Saldia was already home.

That was strange. Even when he wandered aimlessly through the slums, he usually returned earlier than her.

He reached for the handle.

Then stopped.

From inside, he heard the sound of sobbing.

Teclos froze.

Through the narrow gap between the door and frame, he saw his mother seated at the small table behind the counter. Her shoulders were hunched, one hand pressed against her mouth as if trying to hold the sound in. Bronze coins lay scattered before her in small, pathetic piles.

She counted them.

Then counted again.

Then shoved one pile aside with trembling fingers.

"Damn it," she whispered.

Teclos had heard his mother cry before.

He had heard it through the walls more than once, in the quiet hours when both of them pretended to be asleep. But this was different. This was not just grief.

She sounded defeated.

Saldia lowered her hand and stared at the coins with red eyes.

"We can’t..." Her voice cracked. "We can’t keep doing this."

Teclos did not move.

She wiped at her face angrily, ashamed of her tears, then reached for a scrap of paper beside the coins.

It was a list.

He walked around the building and entered through the side door, making enough noise that she had time to wipe her face before he came in.

When he reached the front room, Saldia was standing by the shelves, pretending to arrange jars.

"You’re back early," she said.

"So are you."

She put on a smile.

It looked beyond painful.

"I finished faster than I thought."

He looked at the table.

The coins had been pushed into a small pouch. The list was gone.

Teclos wanted to say something.

Ask something.

Promise something.

But all the words felt useless before they reached his mouth.

So he only nodded and helped her tidy up.

The next day was ordinary.

No dramatic disaster came to push him. No landlord kicked in the door demanding money. No soldiers robbed them. The world did not need to be cruel in some grand, memorable way.

It only needed to continue the same misery it always had.

There were customers, but their money was not enough.

Saldia gave away too much to children in need. She accepted half payment from some people. She smiled at everyone until her face looked dried out from exhaustion.

Teclos ground herbs until his wrists ached. He carried water, packed cheap remedies into paper, ran multiple deliveries across the slums, and came back with one copper less than promised because the customers had "forgotten."

By evening, his back hurt, his hands were stained green, and the coin box still looked almost empty.

And now he was properly angry.

At the people exploiting them. At himself for being the "better" man and letting it go. And at Saldia, for giving herbs away for free.

The next day, Teclos made a decision as he worked until the sky began to darken, only to see the same result as yesterday.

Saldia tried to send him home early again, but this time, he refused until the last customer left. He glanced at the jar of coins and left, saying he would be home late today.

Saldia did not question it and let him go while she cleaned the jars.

He looked back once.

Saldia moved slowly behind the counter, her figure thin and malnourished beneath the lamplight.

Then he turned away, with no doubt left in his mind anymore, and headed toward that pub.

The Broken Crown sat at the edge of the slums, where the last crooked houses gave way to storage sheds, abandoned lots, and the road that curved toward the western gate. Its sign hung by one chain, with a painted crown cracked through the middle. Warm light spilled from the dirty windows, along with smoke, laughter, and the sour smell of cheap ale.

Teclos stepped inside.

The room quieted slightly at the unfamiliar face.

Men and women sat around rough, round tables, most of them armed. Some wore mercenary leathers. Others looked like gamblers, debt collectors, or people who were clearly just drunkards wasting their lives and coin away.

After a short while, the usual commotion of gambling and drinking continued, once they saw the kid was no threat.

"You came after all, brat!"

The mercenary from before hollered at him from the back of the pub. In the lamplight, he looked even larger than before, all broad shoulders, old scars, and lion-like hair. Four others sat with him, playing cards.

All of them looked shady as hell.

Teclos walked forward and stopped beside the table.

"Alright, you were right. I want in," he said.

"Good."

He pointed toward the bartender.

"Go to Marek, say the password, and he’ll guide you to the back door. Let’s see if the boss agrees to take you in."

Teclos did just that and disappeared into the corridor beyond the back door.

One of the men at the table glanced after him.

"Since when did you have a hobby of taking kids under your wing, Derrick?"

"Hah!" Derrick laughed. "Kid’s got spine and spite. Plus, he might be useful."

Meanwhile, Teclos followed Marek through the corridor.

All sorts of sounds came from behind the various doors—some moaning, others muffled grunts, and some that sounded like straight-up torture.

At the far end, up a short set of stairs, sat the boss.

He was enormous, but not like Derrick.

Derrick was built like a lion.

This man was built like a toad.

A fat blob of a person dressed in fabrics far too fine for the slums, with rings glittering on his thick fingers and a gold chain resting against the folds of his neck. His cheeks were flushed from wine, and a jeweled cup dangled loosely from one hand. Beside him stood a woman in a dark red dress, beautiful and still as a blade, one hand resting lightly on the back of his chair.

The boss smiled as they approached.

A smile that did not reach his eyes, which seemed to be the only sharp and dangerous thing about this fatso, Teclos thought.

"Ooh, Marek. Are you here to bring me today’s profit report?" he asked.

Then his gaze slid to Teclos, and his expression soured.

"Who is that beggar?"

Marek stopped at the foot of the steps.

"A new recruit, apparently, boss."

The boss blinked once.

Then he looked at Marek as if he had been insulted.

"You’re serious?"

Marek said nothing.

The boss leaned forward, wine sloshing slightly in his cup.

"You interrupted a pleasant evening to show me some poor slum rat with dead eyes?" His gaze sharpened. "Who brought him in?"

The woman beside him smiled faintly.

Teclos felt a chill crawl up his neck, but he kept his mouth shut.

Marek only folded his arms.

"It was Derrick. The kid could be useful, apparently."

The boss stopped swirling his wine.

"Is that so?" he murmured.

Marek nodded.

"Derrick said he’s desperate, useful, and has a rare affinity."

"A desperate rat is common around these parts," the boss said. "A useful one is rare, though."

The boss stared at Teclos for a long time and then sighed.

"Fine..."

He set the cup down.

"You get exactly one chance, kid."

He gestured lazily toward one of the ledgers on the table beside him, and the woman in red picked up a folded paper. She walked down the steps and handed it to Teclos, who did not open it yet.

"There is a church records office near the east wall," the boss said. "It’s a small place that is poorly watched because of arrogant priests and lazy guards. Inside is a locked cabinet containing several documents that I need. On the list I gave you are the names of the documents and what you’ll need for this job, so don’t disappoint me, kid."

"That’s it?"

"It might sound easy," the boss said. "But you can’t be seen, you can’t kill anyone, and you can’t lead anyone back to us. If you are caught, we don’t know you. And if you speak our names, your mother’s little herb shop burns before sunrise."

He clearly warned Teclos and then leaned back into his chair again.

"Do this properly, and perhaps you are worth feeding. Fail, and Marek can explain to me why he wasted my time."

He lifted his wine cup.

"Simple enough, right, beggar?"

Teclos’s fingers curled at his sides.

If he did this, there was no going back.

He remembered his mother’s sobbing.

The lack of coins on the table.

The shithole they had to live in.

"Alright. When?"

The boss smiled.

"Tonight."

Teclos just nodded.

"Do this right," he said, voice lower now, "and you’re part of our family."

The boss raised his cup toward him in a mocking blessing.