The raucous noise from the bandits' table swelled again, filling the tavern like a flood.

  Patrons winced, hunching their shoulders as if to make themselves smaller targets. One of the larger bandits made a clumsy lunge for the serving girl as she passed with a tray. She twisted away with fright, causing the man to stumble and crash onto the ground. His grumbling was drowned out by the roaring laughter of his companions.

  “Oi! She’s playin’ hard to get!” one of them jeered.

  The fallen bandit licked his lips as he scrambled to his feet and began chasing the terrified server around, his friends whooping and pounding the tables in encouragement.

  Through this chaos, the Vice Leader’s unnerving smile never wavered.

  “As I was saying,” he continued, his voice smooth. “I’m offering you a chance to be free of that mountain on your back. All you have to do is agree to a meeting. Our leader and I would like a meeting. We pay handsomely for particular talents, and you happen to have what we’re looking for.”

  Lucon’s mind, though addled by a wastrel lifestyle, was not broken. This was an obvious trap. His debts were legendary, a sum so vast that even his father, the man they once called the ‘Merchant Hero’ who could make a profit from anything, was stumped.

  Gambling losses. Disastrous business ventures. Damages across more than one kingdom. If it could be cleared, he might have been tempted.

  But these were bandits. He was a wastrel, not a fool.

  Seeming to read the skepticism on his face, the Vice Leader leaned in closer. “I know what you’re thinking. But we are not normal bandits.”

  Hilda rolled her eyes and snorted. Lucon feared she might incur the Vice Leader’s wrath.

  He decided to force a slow, considering nod. He would play along. There had to be a way out of this.

  “I see,” he said, his voice purposefully neutral. “Sounds like a mighty proposal to a man so ensconced in debt like myself.”

  He needed to say “Banner Steel” somehow. It was a phrase Hilda would respond to. It meant only one thing—go fetch Captain Morva.

  The Vice Leader sighed, “You’re not listening, boy.”

  Then, it happened.

  Red light burst from his body, swirling like living flame. The table rattled. Their tankards shuddered. The air around them buzzed with power.

  Aura.

  Hilda squeaked and ducked fully behind Lucon’s chair.

  Lucon recoiled, his shock momentarily eclipsing his headache.

  A mere bandit…a common thug…was an Arisen? Lucon remembered the nights he spent hacking away at a training dummy, getting up early every morning to train, his father sparing no expense in helping provide valuable elixirs for growth.

  Yet, it didn’t happen for him.

  But somehow this bandit had what he didn’t.

  The Vice Leader flexed a hand, the red energy rippling. The tavern around them had fallen silent for a moment before the other bandits watching began to cheer, their voices even louder than before.

  The bandit chasing the server had cornered her.

  “Like I said,” the Vice Leader spoke as he rolled his shoulders casually, “we are not common bandits.”

  Lucon’s hope fizzled out like the last drop of water in a drought.

  A bandit with Aura.

  His odds of slipping away plummeted. If he tried escaping the tavern on his own, the Vice Leader could stop him before he made it past the table. Not to mention Hilda was still there.

  She was the last person who still believed in him. He couldn’t abandon her.

  But trusting this bandit, even if he had Aura, was not going to happen. He wouldn't have trusted this man if he’d manifested a full, unbroken halo and proven he was from Nimbora itself. Trusting bandits was like trusting a wolf not to eat the sheep it had cornered.

  This was a kidnapping, plain and simple, with want of a ransom. And the barony couldn't afford what would cost to free its wastrel son. His only move was to stall and get the code phrase out. Just say "Banner Steel," and Hilda can slip away to find Mavor.

  At the bandits’ table, a chant began to rise:

  “Hel-to! Hel-to! Hel-to!”

  The Vice Leader, Helto, preened for a moment before turning his attention back to Lucon, raising his own tankard.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "A toast," Helto offered. "To new opportunities."

  Lucon shook his head, his voice strained. "I don't drink. I've quit."

  Helto's expression flattened. "So, the rumors are true. The Prince of Revelry, putting away his crown." He tapped a finger along the rim of his mug. "It seems...unnatural. A man should follow his true nature. To stray from that path can only lead to misery."

  The words struck a chord within Lucon, reminding him of a gentle, chiding voice: "Still straying, even after you promised you wouldn't."

  "Drink," Helto urged, his tone leaving no room for debate.

  From his periphery, Lucon could see Hilda shaking her head.

  This was it. He had the right phrase in his head to use “Banner Steel” with and send Hilda for help. He just needed to get it out.

  But before he could speak, metal rasped against wood. Helto unsheathed a thick saber from his belt and laid it on the table, the point aimed slightly off toward Lucon, almost as if it were directed behind him.

  "Where I'm from," Helto said softly, "it's considered great disrespect to refuse another man's toast."

  Lucon's anxiety spiked. It wasn't for himself. He was, for all his failings, the Young Lord Edelyn. He had ransom value. His eyes traced the saber’s point to see it was actually directed at Hilda.

  She was just a maid. They didn’t have any reason to spare her.

  The other bandits were now whooping as their comrade grappled the server against the bar, leaning in to force a kiss on her as she turned her head away in dread.

  Lucon was out of time and out of moves. Even if Hilda tried to run off when she heard “Banner Steel,” she would not get far. Not in front of an Arisen.

  With a resigned exhale, Lucon grabbed the tankard. The smell of cheap, strong ale hit his nostrils, and his headache, traitorously, seemed to yearn for it.

  Helto's smile returned, wide and triumphant. "That's right. We should follow our nature. For men like us, we're..." He paused, lips pursed, searching for the word.

  Lucon found it for him, the memory of Herephyn surfacing.

  "Fallen," he murmured. "We just have to learn to enjoy it."

  Helto's face lit up. He slapped the table, making the saber jump. "Couldn't have said it better myself!"

  They raised their drinks.

  Hilda continued to shake her head—but Lucon lifted the cup anyway.

  And he drank.

  The ale hit his tongue—

  —and the world changed.

  It wasn't the dulling of senses he was used to; it was an explosion of them. His head no longer hurt and his mind wasn’t foggy—it was moving like lighting, endless thoughts swarming like a floodwater. None of it was random; they were readings.

  Everything around them was communicating something to him.

  The items in the tavern. The dust. The air. All of it was exuding a presence, some possessed intent. It was an ocean of sensation, and he could feel every current.

  One of Lucon’s eyebrows arched as he stared at the eyebrowless Helto. He wasn't just seeing a man anymore. He could see into him. The red flames of Aura, not as a mere glow, but as a living system. Inside the bandit, a little sun burned around his heart, pumping threads of power through his limbs.

  His gaze dropped to his own hands. There, he saw soft golden motes that sparkled like a starry night beneath his skin. His holy blessing. Not much, but present.

  His eyes scanned the room for more sights. No other Aura, but he could feel the pulsing, warm energy of life forces from the tavern’s patrons. Then his gaze landed on Hilda. And he saw it: a small, still pool of cerulean blue liquid glowing in the center of her torso.

  Mana.

  They had known each other most of his life. She had never used magic.

  “Master…?” She tilted her head, brow scrunched with concern.

  Lucon ignored her, the new senses flooding him was too intoxicating.

  The bandits were cheering again—louder than ever—as their comrade with the pinned server clamped onto her head with his hand so he could land a kiss.

  Helto, misreading Lucon's silence, said, "You upset about breaking your vows or something? I heard you were kicked out—"

  [Swift Missionary]

  Golden light enveloped Lucon. The golden specks glittered brightly in his body, granting him speed. His hand shot out, snatching the heavy saber from the table before Helto could react. In the same fluid motion, he flung it across the tavern.

  The bandit pinning the server yelped as the blade sliced a neat line across the top of his ear before clattering onto his comrades' table, sending tankards, plates, and food flying in a noisy crash. The trapped server successfully scurried away in the midst of the chaos.

  Then silence.

  Helto’s eyes narrowed, the red of his Aura pulsing with his sudden spike of anger.

  Lucon met his gaze, his voice calm. "Do they ever shut up?"

  The tension shattered—Helto burst out laughing. "Hah! I'd heard you got crazy when you drank, but I didn't think it'd be like this!"

  Lucon knew, with absolute certainty, that this had nothing to do with the drink. This was something else entirely. He felt like a different person.

  "Alright, you lot!" Helto barked at his stunned men. "We're leaving! And someone grab my blade!"

  He rose to his feet—and halted.

  Lucon was no longer at the table.

  He was already headed for the door. The Vice Captain seemed ready to pounce when Lucon simply held the door open for him.

  "Opportunity awaits," Lucon said smoothly.

  The Vice Leader laughed again, a mix of disbelief and delight.

  Hilda rushed to Lucon's side, her voice a frantic whisper. "Master, just say the word! Just raise the banner!"

  Lucon didn't look at her, his eyes fixed on the sun-drenched street outside, every particle of dust dancing in the light, calling him to come out.

  "Banner Golden," he said.

  Hilda blinked, stupefied.

  Banner Golden.

  The signal that everything was perfect.

  Helto led the way out into the sunny day, and Lucon strutted after him, his head held high, allowing the overwhelming symphony of the world outside to rush over him. Hilda could only scramble after them, utterly bewildered.

  A wide, genuine smirk turned Lucon's mouth crooked as he walked, a spring in his step he hadn't felt in years.

  “Damn,” he murmured to himself. “I feel good.”

  “I think this calls for another kind of banner, master!” Hilda pressed, walking briskly to stay in pace with the taller Lucon’s stride.

  Lucon swung his arms wide as he kept on. “I wish there was a better banner to use. Golden will have to do.”

  Behind him, the bandit who had his ear sliced was glaring murderously at him.

  “I can’t let you do this,” Hilda insisted. She inched closer to Lucon seeing a few of the bandits stare at her, one winking at her. “I…I will go to the captain!”

  Listening in, Helto’s brow furrowed at the word “captain.”

  Lucon stretched his neck, relaxed. “Trust me, Hilda. I just have a feeling that everything will be fine.”

  Hilda fretted, “I’m sorry, master. I know you can trick divines, but I think this is a bad idea.” Her resolve solidified. “I’m going! Banner Steel!”

  Lucon gave her a poignant look. “Maybe we should create something like Banner Mana. We can use that for when we need your magic.”

  Hilda paused, her expression blanking. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, Master.”

  “Then keep your secrets. For now, let the Prince of Revelry have his fun.”

  Hilda became silent the entire way across town and through the woods.

  They traveled until they reached an encampment. More bandits were there, one of which glowed blue.