Arphin's white, pulsing runes lit up the red liquid coating his surface, spreading a grotesque pink light. The tip of the sharp yellow blade trembled, and it took Rylan a moment to realise his shaking hand was the culprit.

The man lying three feet from him took another gurgling breath, followed it up with a wet exhale, then grew perfectly still.

Rylan almost jumped out of his skin at the voice that suddenly spoke, seemingly from very close by.

《Proficiency requirement met, Attribute requirements met,》Ethereon said, dispassionate as ever.《Congratulations. You are eligible to obtain the Skill: Knife-Fighting. Do you accept?》

Rylan stared numbly at the corpse in front of him. That was... just about the worst possible timing. The last thing he needed right now was to draw attention to himself, and especially from any nearby Quinthar.

"Blessed Ethereon," he mumbled. "Please give me a moment to consider."

There was no response, which Rylan interpreted as silent agreement.

Shakily, he got to his feet. 'Did anyone see that?!' he sent to Arphin, glancing down the slightly curved alley at the small sliver he could see of the nearby street. 'Is anyone running to fetch the guards?!'

[I-I'm not sure, Boss; nobody's running, at least!]

Gritting his teeth, Rylan fought the urge to immediately start running himself. Running was suspicious. Nothing drew attention like someone in a clear hurry, and nothing screamed guilty like running. He had to stay calm.

'Arphin, let me know the second anyone comes or looks this way.'

[You got it, Boss!]

First things first. Rylan knelt down next to the man, and started wiping Arphin clean on his would-be abductor's tunic. As he did so, he glanced down at his coat. There were some specks of something dark, but it was frankly impossible to tell whether it was blood or something that had dripped onto him down in the caves. Good. Gross, but good.

Once Arphin was mostly clean, Rylan calmly moved to his backpack, opened it up, and returned Arphin to his ornate sheath. The spiritblade didn't even complain about the final streaks of red marring his surface.

Rylan would get to those later, after he'd thoroughly scrubbed his hands. Only a few drops of blood had actually gotten on his fingers, and he'd long wiped those off, but they didn't feel clean. He knew it wasn't rational, but it felt like anyone who looked at his hands would know exactly what had happened, what he'd done.

《You are eligible to obtain the Skill: Knife-Fighting,》Ethereon reminded him.《Do you accept?》

"I just need a little more time," he replied quietly, glancing at his backpack. He itched to start moving, but once again held himself back.

If this man had recognised him from the posters, others might too. He'd need to do something about that, lest this turned into a recurring event. Rylan's eyes fell on the man's dark grey cowl. He took a deep breath, and steeled himself for what he was about to do.

Rylan stepped out of the alley a minute or two later with his hair and most of his face covered in dark grey cloth. Only his distinctive, light-purple eyes could still give him away, but the odds of that happening had to be slim.

He walked with his chin up, his shoulders relaxed, and he didn't glance back once as he made his way down the street at what he felt was a determined, but not overly hurried pace.

There were no sudden cries or gasps behind him, no heavy hand suddenly landing on his shoulder, yet his heart didn't slow down until he was well away from the scene of the crime.

After a short walk, the street led unto another small, square plaza which featured a fountain in the shape of a fogturtle, with water spewing out of its mouth, and fog cascading from the gaps between its shell and its flippers. Both fed into a stone basin, where the fog drifted eerily across the surface of the water.

Behind the fountain there was a small line of people holding waterskins and buckets—seemingly waiting for their turn to draw water at a small tap embedded in the stonework—but other than that, it was pretty quiet.

Letting out a shaky breath, Rylan sat down on a small bench in a shady corner of the plaza, making sure to keep his face properly covered.

He lifted his trembling hands, studying them intently for any remaining flecks of red, which he quickly scratched off with his fingernails. He longed to wash them in the fountain, but he wasn't sure whether that was considered a normal thing to do, and he didn't want to draw any undue attention.

Only once he was confident there was no hint of evidence left on his hand did he allow himself to relax, letting out a deep sigh.

《You are eligible to obtain the Skill: Knife-Fighting,》Ethereon reminded him once again.《Do you accept?》

"Blessed Ethereon," Rylan muttered quietly. "Thank you for your patience. I gratefully accept."

Rylan felt the approach of Ethereon's attention, and glanced up briefly to watch the motes of light—the same shade of blue as Cubes—descend upon him from the sky.

He tried not to show any physical reaction to the energy entering him. He was probably the only one who could actually see the little lights, but other Quinthar would be able to feel the event taking place, at the very least.

Thankfully, he hadn't seen any yet since entering the city and moreover, these events were probably a lot more commonplace in the city than they had been down in the cloudsea.

And of course, non-Quinthar were completely oblivious to what was happening, as evidenced by the queue of people at the fountain not even turning their heads or reacting in any way to the Quintessence flowing past them across the square and into Rylan's chest.

《Skill conversion successful. 100 Quintessence Credits have been added to your balance. Awarded 1 Free Attribute Point.》

Rylan still blew out a breath of relief as the event finished without anyone pointing at him or even looking at him funny.

Even Arphin hadn't reacted, clearly preoccupied with his job as lookout.

After a moment, Rylan reached into an inner pocket of his wool-lined leather coat and fished out the dead man's purse, heavy with guilt more than coin. He hadn't taken it for the money, he told himself. Only to make it look like a mugging that had escalated.

It still felt wrong as he counted out his profits, coming to four bronze quarters and seven copper bits.

The man had taken a risk, going after dangerous quarry, and he'd paid the price. On the one hand, Rylan felt justified in his self-defence. On the other, the man hadn't been trying to kill him.

Of course, it wasn't just Rylan who had killed the man. Arphin had played a big part as well, perhaps the bigger one, even.

'You all right, buddy?' Rylan sent as he stuffed the pouch back into his pocket, his eyes wearily scanning the plaza for more danger, but finding none.

[Yes! I think we're in the clear, Boss.]

'That's good,' Rylan replied, feeling himself slowly untense as his heartbeat wound down to a more normal pace. 'But not what I was asking. That was the first time you killed a human being...'

[Oh! I'm all right, Boss. I mean, I'm a weapon. Killing is what I was made for, right?]

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Rylan's brows drew together. 'That's not... look, Arphin, what you were made to be and what you are now are two separate things, all right? You may have been forged as a tool, but you've outgrown that. You're a being now. You don't have to be a tool for anything, if you don't want to.'

[Right, right... of course.]

Rylan's lips quirked up, thankfully hidden by his cowl. It was actually quite convenient that no one could see his expressions as he chatted with Arphin. 'You don't get what I'm trying to say, do you?'

[Ah, can't fool you, can I, Boss? Yeah, you kinda lost me.]

'That's all right. Take some time to think it over.'

[You got it, Boss!]

"Ethereon," Rylan said out loud, though quietly. "May I see my Knife-Fighting Window please?"

Knife-Fighting

Rank 1

Effects

Improved handle grip

Edge protection

Forceful impact

Attribute Requirements

Strength ≥ 1

Dexterity ≥ 3

Endurance ≥ 2

Improved grip, that's an interesting one... I could see that coming in handy.

[Oh! Did you just get Knife-Fighting? That's awesome! Now you've got two Skills to use on me! I guess you could technically use me for Cooking as well, if you really wanted... I think I'd prefer Knife-Fighting, though. Vegetables are kinda gross.]

Smiling, Rylan shook his head. 'Don't worry; I would never use you to cut vegetables.'

Next, he checked out his Status Window as well.

Status

Mana Pool: 13.6/14

Mana Shell: 4.4/6

Attributes

Strength 3

Dexterity 3

Endurance 2

Mind 4

Perception 3

Presence -1

Free points: 1

Skills

Knife-Throwing, Rank 3

Jumping, Rank 3

Cooking, Rank 1

Knife-Fighting, Rank 1

Quint Structures

Mana Core, Tier I

Mana Pool, Tier I

Mana Shell, Tier VI

Quintessence Credits: 248

Wow. He only got through about a quarter of my Mana Shell...

Not for the first time, Rylan was supremely glad Soren had convinced him to invest heavily in the personal shield. Still, he felt the sixth tier was plenty for now, so he would continue saving up for a better Mana Core. In the same vein, he wasn't about to make a rash decision about his free Attribute point.

Satisfied, Rylan waved his window away and sat there for a few more minutes, slowly unwinding, until his belly let out an embarrassingly loud sound. While it felt almost a little irreverent after what had just happened, his rumbling stomach wouldn't be denied, so he pulled out some of the braised boar sealed in bamboo for dinner.

Remembering in time that he wasn't supposed to use mana in plain sight, he left his firemetal pan in the bag, and just ate it cold. It was still delicious.

Right as he was finishing up his meal, however, he saw a flicker of something from the corner of his eye.

Turning his head, he spotted an approaching green glow through a wall. Or actually, two green glows.

Rylan froze, then slowly continued packing up, keeping his head down and only peeking up when a man and woman came sauntering around the corner.

If the colour of their spirits hadn't given away their status, the bright green coating of lacquer on their armour would have.

The woman—who wore scale armour and had a sword on each hip—was gesticulating wildly, clearly in the middle of a story. The slightly taller man wore a full suit of plate armour, and both the kite shield on his back and mace on his hip bounced up and down as he laughed boisterously.

Each of them bore the Cliffport coat of arms—a stylised three-layered wall—on their chest, making it clear where their allegiance lay.

Rylan remained tense for a moment longer, but neither of them so much as glanced in his direction.

Right, unlike him, they had no way of telling whether a passing stranger was a Quinthar. Not without exchanging the Quinthar salute, anyway.

Rylan let out a sigh as they passed the corner, partly out of relief, and partly out of longing. Lacquered armour was a Cliffport speciality, worn almost exclusively by their Quinthar, and colour-coded to match their grade. The special finish was made from the sap of a small, well-guarded copse of actual trees that grew in the inner circle.

While Rylan didn't necessarily want to tie himself too firmly to the city, the sight of it still filled him with a nostalgic longing. He'd spent quite a number of sunny afternoons chasing after Soren with Zahra, pretending they were Cliffport's Quinthar, trying to catch a crook.

Now, he was technically a murderer—albeit in mostly accidental self-defence—hiding from them.

Shaking his head, he slung on his backpack, got up, and walked over to the people waiting in line for the tap to ask for directions.

Rylan got some weird looks when he addressed people without uncovering his face, but he didn't dare pull down his cowl. Thankfully, most folks were still polite enough to help him out, and some actually knew where to send him.

It turned out the plaza with the fountain was already considered part of the South Harbour District and moreover, only a short distance from the Knackered Hag.

And now, he was standing in front of the pub itself.

It was... actually not as dingy as he'd expected.

Like the food vendor had said, there was definitely more gull poo and trash on the streets here, but the Knackered Hag itself looked clean and well-maintained.

The front of the building was covered in a deep red plaster with little to no cracks. Above the ornate, copper-plated bamboo door, there was a steel sign painted in bold colours that depicted an old woman lying hunched over a table, clearly asleep, an empty tankard of ale lying next to her face with the last dredges of foam dribbling out.

Finally, in front of the pub, was a small terrace with clean wicker chairs and tables, where a few patrons were having dinner or just enjoying a pint of pale rice ale in the last rays of the setting sun.

Rylan stood there for a moment longer, taking it all in. Then he drew a deep breath, and headed inside.

As he stepped through the door, the murmuring coming from inside swelled to a noisy racket of chattering and laughter, and his nose was hit by the smells of stale ale and grilled meat.

Scanning the crowded interior, Rylan spotted a couple of reddish noses, but none that stood out in particular. It was just a ragtag group of men and women, some engaged in hearty conversation over dinner, others quietly nursing a drink at the bar. An orange-haired girl his age in a white and brown ensemble swished past him with a tray of empty plates and glasses, and a tall, dark-haired man with a broad moustache and an apron with a nametag that read 'Sloan' was methodically sweeping the floor.

Feeling rather awkward standing in the doorway, Rylan walked up to the limestone bar, put down his backpack, and sat down on an empty wicker barstool.

After only a moment, a balding, big-bellied man with a ruddy face and bushy brown eyebrows came over with a big smile. There were some rather glaring stains on the man's once-white apron that Rylan absurdly considered would've definitely gotten him scolded by Miss Amberleaf, but which the man didn't seem bothered by in the slightest.

"Hey there!" the ruddy-faced man said in a jovial baritone, never putting down the glass he was polishing. "What can I get for you?"

Rylan blinked, for some reason not having expected the question. "Ehm..." he started after a moment, but apparently, he'd already taken too long to answer.

"I've got ales, wines, and delicious teas. Our kitchen is open for another hour if you want some dinner, too! Would you like to see a menu?"

"No—thank you, though," Rylan replied. The man cupped a hand to his ear and leaned in, so Rylan lowered his cowl a little to uncover his mouth before he continued, speaking up. "I'm actually looking for someone who told me I could find him here. Do you know a, ehm, Red-Nosed Art?"

The man's bushy brows shot straight up. "Art!" he exclaimed, like he'd figured out the solution to a riddle. "Sure, I know Art! He's a regular. He's not here right now, though."

"Oh... Could you tell me where to find him?"

The man chuckled, putting down the well-polished glass without looking as he flipped his tea towel onto a big stain on his shoulder. "Well, I don't know where he lives; he frequents my place, not the other way around, you know? I suppose I could take a message for you? Though, to be honest, I haven't seen him in a while."

Dread pooled in Rylan's stomach. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"Phew... um... I can't really recall. Maybe sometime in the middle of Solis?"

Rylan felt the blood drain from his face. The middle of Solis? That was... that was right about when he'd left the Thistlethorn Estate.

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