Knowing he couldn't parry both the black daggers that were quickly closing on his chest, Fritz leapt a foot to the side, dodging narrowly. Craig rapidly adjusted and followed the movement, his stabbing motion swept into a series of slashes. Heeding the warnings of Danger sense, Fritz stepped between each cut and attempted his own thrust, right at the Browncoat's heart. The thug's body blurred and he slid around the blade with ease.

  Fritz felt a prophetic pain in his side. He rolled forward, ducking under the stab and attempting to take the man's back. But when Fritz gracefully regained his feet he was face to face with Craig and was assailed with another set of three stabs. Fritz parried the first and stopped the second by seizing and twisting a wrist with his free hand. However, the third strike of the previously foiled blade struck true, despite his efforts. It was too swift for him to track and it sunk into his flesh, skewering his liver, or would have if he hadn't slid into his shadowed form.

  Craig spat and waited for Fritz to reform.

  "I said no Abilities," he growled.

  "It's a Passive," Fritz said, his voice thin and bleak.

  "Suppress it," Craig demanded.

  Fritz solidified, scowling. "Why should I? That strike would have killed me."

  Craig shrugged his surprisingly thick shoulders. "You would have been fine if you could fight proper."

  Fritz doubted it, but he also knew the man had no intention to kill him outright, not yet at least.

  "And how does one 'fight proper?'" Fritz asked.

  "Watch what I do and copy me," Craig said.

  It became apparent to Fritz, that the man was a piss poor teacher. A stark contrast to Adam, whose harsh critiques were backed with astute, actionable advice.

  "A bit hard to do so when you're trying to cut out my organs," Fritz argued blandly.

  "Sorry. Was I going too fast for the lordling?" Craig asked mockingly. "I thought you were a Scout, a Guide's son no less, and you can't keep up? Pathetic."

  Craig spat again.

  Fritz bristled, but swallowed his pride, knowing he needed to be on the cut-throat's better side to actually learn anything.

  "I would appreciate it if you slowed a little," Fritz entreated. "Your Speed far outpaces my own Attributes."

  He hoped the way he spoke would ease the man's grudge, but Craig didn't seem to like his tone at all. His face soured like a cat denied a rat, but, eventually, he nodded once and motioned for Fritz to raise his dagger again.

  "Suppress the Passive or I won't pull my punches," Craig warned.

  "You're not punching," Fritz said glibly.

  The man just levelled a cold stare on him.

  "Right," Fritz said, closing his eyes and searching for the Umbral Phase within his Sanctum. He located its shadows and the innumerable dark tendrils that sprung from it like the tangle of a jellyfish's tentacles. They stretched out from the edges of his Sanctum before fading into nothingness, or somewhere else, somewhere darker.

  Fritz had never taken the time to investigate this particular Ability, as he was just glad he had the life-saving phase at his command. He quickly compared it to his other Powers but found they were equally odd in their own way, though they tended to have a more... orderly feel at their core. Well, all save Eldritch Flame and Cloak of Dusk which were discordant and chaotic in quintessential contrast.

  Craig coughed, and Fritz remembered what he was meant to be doing. He pressed down on the Passive and felt the tendrils retract, he held the sensation for a moment before letting go. The tangle didn't seep through his Sanctum as he thought it might, but he also knew that with only a thought he could pull the power out in less than a heartbeat, if danger demanded so.

  Fritz opened his eyes and nodded once.

  They clashed again, this time Craig fought slower and his movements were far easier to follow. The thug held himself low, his strikes were simple, but fast and each aimed at Fritz's centre mass, always seeking to pierce his gut or slide beneath his ribs.

  Fritz did his best to defend, parrying and blocking, only to be rewarded with long shallow cuts down his forearms. His shirt sleeves were ruined within a moments. Occasionally, Craig would slip a more subtle, Speed suffused, thrust into his flurries, ones that came at his throat or eyes at oblique angles. They were unpredictable and left Fritz flinching and jumping back every time he was forewarned.

  Fritz imitated the man's crouched stance and straightforward stabs and slashes, though he made sure not to truly ingrain them as he had the Arte Pugilist. He wouldn't risk filling his last channel with a knife-fighting Technique if he could help it. Even if this style was more fitting to his fighting methods than many he'd come across so far, he didn't want to delay his recalling of The Inevitable Blade.

  They fought for about a minute. It felt like far more. Fritz made no attempt to attack, focusing only on defence and reading the man's strikes. Still, fatigue set in as did the minor bleariness of blood loss from his many dripping wounds. Craig stopped their near-deadly bout, obviously reaching some arbitrary limit on his abuses.

  "You're not a whiner at least," Craig observed.

  "Thank you," Fritz said, pulling a tin of Naomi's healing grease from his pocket. He began to slather the foul-smelling substance over his arms, shoulders and hands.

  "You have a lot to learn," Craig espoused. "But you do have a killer's eyes. Who did you murder?"

  "Some thug named Steve," Fritz said, trying at an indifferent shrug. "And some of his crew."

  "Grudges settled?" Craig inquired.

  "Survival, it was me or them. I chose me," Fritz said.

  "A good choice. I would do the same," Craig said.

  Fritz nodded.

  "Right, you two test your blades against each other now," Craig said, sitting on a barrel at the outskirts of the ring. "Winner gets a prize."

  "How do you win?" Toby asked.

  "First to three cuts," Craig stated.

  Fritz frowned, looking over the nine numbed cuts on his own skin, realising he'd lost three bouts without repaying a single scratch. And the thug had been holding back. It was a bitter truth that Craig hadn't been boasting of his murderous prowess and that Fritz did indeed have a lot more to learn about fighting to kill.

  Toby came forward, also stinking of bitter-bile-mint and the cut-throat pitted them against each other.

  Fritz forced a sharp smirk onto his face, and Toby did similarly, his naturally dark expression lending him more than a little credence to the act, as he felt no ill intent from the man. With slow, soft shifting of feet and cautious circling they closed in on each other gradually before bounding into motion, each trying to win the first blood.

  Toby was quick with his two blades and Fritz was confident and controlled with his own. He could parry, then slip past one strike after another, but the slashes flashed faster and he found he couldn't simply defend against the attacks forever. It soon became apparent that Fritz couldn't hope to keep up the pace with just Mortal Edge.

  He had bested the man before, in the Mer Spire, had dealt him a mortal blow, but that was with the full suite of his Abilities and the greater reach Quicksilver afforded him. In these confined and close skirmishes, Toby, with his greater speed and skill with the dagger, had the advantage. As he demonstrated by slicing a line down Fritz's thigh.

  Soon Fritz found himself doing as Toby had in his fight with Craig, leaning into the Arte Pugilist Techniques for a few close-up tricks, trips, punches and kicks to throw off the opponent's rhythm or simply land a cheap blow. It wasn't ideal but it stopped him from losing too badly, having at least scored one cut against Toby before their bout ended. Panting and sweating, Fritz absently offered his hand in a show of camaraderie. Toby took it with a smug smile.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Craig clapped sardonically as they shook hands.

  "What propriety. What honourable conduct," he said an evil light entering his eyes. "And here I thought you two had only hate in your hearts for each other."

  "I can respect a man's skill, no matter where or who it comes from," Fritz stated. "And I can bury a grudge if I am ordered to."

  Craig glared at him, then shrugged. "Guess you're smarter than I've been led to believe."

  "It would be hard not to be," Toby said. "His reputation's well earned, but not exactly true."

  "Fair. Few reputations are," Craig said.

  "Save the Cutter's," Fritz flattered. "A consummate killer, through and through."

  The man smirked at that. "True as the rain. But enough about me, let's start on what you need for walking over wards."

  A spark of excitement lit in Fritz's chest and he nodded. This skill was something he wouldn't be able to learn reputably so he had to take advantage of such a rare opportunity.

  "I'll tell you now, so you don't get your hopes up. But you'll need to learn to read to get the most out of the ward-breaking tricks I know," Craig said.

  "I can read and write," Toby said.

  "Is that so? I was expecting it of the lordling, but of a gutter rat like you? That strikes me as odd," Craig said.

  Toby shrugged.

  "Right, well that makes my job far easier," Craig said. "Back to the roofs it is."

  "What about my prize?" Toby asked.

  "Prize?"

  "For winning the bout," Toby said.

  "Right. Here you go," Craig said flicking him a vial of dark liquid.

  "What's this?"

  "Blood Serum, it's good for blood loss and recovery," Craig said.

  Toby shrugged and drank the tar-like contents of the vial. He grimaced, but his pale face regained some colour.

  "Feel weird, tastes worse," he said.

  "Have any for me?" Fritz asked.

  "I only have prizes for winners," Craig said. "Let's go."

  ---

  Fifteen minutes of running and leaping later, they found themselves led into a hidden basement tucked between two warehouses. It was surprisingly dry, though Fritz quickly found the reason for that. Dim blue light leaked from the lines of glyphic circles inscribed upon the ceiling. They were only visible in the deep darkness, disappearing when Craig lit a lantern.

  The warmer glow illuminated the small room, catching on a small table, some cushioned chairs and the walls set with shelves. Those shelves were stacked with old, cracked books and bundles of scrolls tired with dull string. It was nowhere near as impressive as the King's Archive, it was more the size of a modestly wealthy nobles collection.

  "What's all this?" Toby asked.

  "Wardbreaker's Den," Craig said.

  "Where did this all come from?" Fritz asked.

  "Don't rightly know. I inherited it from my predecessor after I killed him," Craig said. "Greedy bastard hid all this. Was taking too many liberties when on his jobs, which earned The Nightshark's ire. You two are lucky fellows to be allowed to use this place. Usually, I don't have a reason to share."

  Fritz looked around at all the tomes, reading the titles on their spines. A few caught his attention, though most had inscrutable titles that were more jargon than enlightening. There were glossaries of glyphs, encyclopedias of enchanting and the instructions on inscribing. It was a wealth of impossible-to-obtain and extremely rare knowledge.

  "Is this all real?" Fritz asked reverently.

  "Nah, most of them are false, old, incomplete or ruined," Craig said.

  "Oh," Fritz said dejectedly, feeling his excitement flee.

  "Don't despair. There's some good stuff in here, you just have to find it," Craig said, pulling a large battered book off a shelf and dropping it onto the table. "Start with that one, it has the most in common with the kind of wards used in Rain City."

  "They use different wards elsewhere?" Toby asked.

  Craig shrugged. "Can't say, I just know that these ones match the ones made here the best."

  "There's books on enchanting," Fritz observed.

  "Yeah, wardcrafting is close to enchanting. They're like twins, or so I'm told," Craig explained.

  "Really? Then I could learn how to inscribe my knives?" Toby asked.

  "Maybe, if you have a talent for such things and get lucky finding a real inscribing method. But that's not why you're here, you're here to learn how to break or fool wards," Craig reminded them.

  "You just want us to read this book?" Fritz asked, peeking at the tarnished silver letters on the thick leather cover, that read: A Glossary of Water-Aligned Warderies and Glyphic Grammars, Authored by Gilliam Glim.

  "As a beginning, yes," Craig said. "But there is another thing you should practise. It's a Nightwell thing. You both have it, right?"

  Fritz nodded as did Toby.

  "It has a proper name I'm sure, but I call it shadow gloves," Craig said. "You gather the shadow mana from your Sanctum, squeeze it a certain way and wrap it around the skin of your hands and fingers. Like gloves, see?"

  The thug raised his hand and displayed the tiny, wisping black tendrils flowing over it.

  They stared.

  "You can do that? How do you do that?" Toby said.

  "As I said, find your Nightwell then pull it out of your Sanctum, squish and stretch it around your hands. If that's too hard start with one finger then expand it from there."

  "That's all?" Fritz asked.

  "No, that's the starting point, but you got to get that right before you can start to wield it against wards," Craig explained.

  Toby frowned and looked down at his hand, Fritz imitated him.

  Small flickers of darkness spat from Toby's hand and wrist, thin and sparse. It seemed the practice was more difficult than Fritz thought, because the man started to sweat, the beads rolling down his furrowed brow. The slight spikes of shade stopped and Toby rubbed at his hand.

  "Cold," he grumbled, clenching and releasing his fist.

  "Yeah, it can hurt if you don't do it right," Craig smirked.

  Fritz quickly pretended to focus on his own magic. He knew he didn't have Nightwell, so he decided to feign incompetence for now, glaring at his hand as if it betrayed him.

  "Nothing," Fritz said. "It won't come out."

  "You're mana's shy?" Craig taunted gleefully. "I thought you had Control, this should be easy for you. Though it wouldn't surprise me if you were inept and your shadows are soft."

  "I can do it, just give me a moment," Fritz demanded, his tone one of frustration.

  "You can show me later, I have better things to do than stand around watching you play with your flaccid shadows," Craig mocked. "You have all you need for now, I'm leaving. I'll see you both again tomorrow night. When we get to do this merry dance again, and again."

  "Until we fail and you get to kill us, I know," Fritz said.

  "Exactly. And one last thing, don't steal the books. I'll gladly knife you early for that," Craig stated smirking.

  With that said, he left in a swirl of shadow.

  They stood awkwardly, waiting for at least a minute before either spoke.

  "Is he actually gone?" Toby asked, wiping his forehead.

  "I don't know," Fritz replied, pulsing his Awareness. He felt that the cut-throat had departed, but Fritz didn't feel that Craig had quite... gone. He could be hiding in any of the deeper shadows. Fritz flicked a thief's sign, one of warning, just in case he was still watching.

  Even if Craig could read it, the motion wouldn't come off suspicious, it would just look as though Fritz was paranoid. Which he was.

  "What time do you think it is?" Toby asked. "I told Jane I'd be back by dawn. How many hours do we have?"

  "Plenty, we have most of the night still," Fritz said.

  "Doesn't feel that way. I'm already dead tired," Toby groused, then he yawned. "You want to read the book first? I might take a nap."

  "If you can trust me not to stab you in your sleep, then go ahead," Fritz said, aiming to remind the man that they had to keep up their false enmity. At least for now.

  "Right. I almost forgot you're a gutless worm, equal parts noble and slime," Toby grumbled darkly.

  "And you'd do well to remember it," Fritz replied with a slightly over-the-top glare.

  Toby almost laughed, but covered it with that gloomy scowl he usually wore and began to pour over the glossary in front of him. Fritz took his time scanning the shelves and taking in the titles he could read. There was bound to be more than simple wardbreaking to be learned and he decided to take advantage of the unforeseen vault of knowledge.

  Although he wanted to attempt the shadow glove pattern Craig had shown him, he knew he'd have to do so in seclusion. He didn't know if he could use Dusksong in Nightwell's place, and even if he could it might have a distinctly different appearance. No, he'd have to practice it somewhere more secret.

  Fritz plucked what looked like a copy of the glossary Toby was reading off the shelf. It had some water damage, but its first chapters were mostly legible. He grabbed a seat and pulled it away from the table, into a corner, so he could read with his back to the wall.

  Toby scowled and Fritz smirked, but soon they returned to their books.

  ---

  Craig watched Toby and the lordling from his hiding place. It was boring. The two had a history, had some nasty grudge, yet his attempts to worsen it failed this night. Still, he had plenty of time to rile them both up, then one of them would slay the other and he'd have one of them off his hands. He considered, for a moment, which one to be rid of, and settled firmly on the lordling.

  He resented having to teach someone who could eventually replace him, like he had his own boss. Now he had two such upstarts. It rankled, especially because this Tolling's catch was unusually powerful and full of potential. As the Nightshark had stated.

  A trickle of cold went down his spine at the thought of the woman. His scheme to have the two hopefully kill one another went against her orders to keep them alive for now. But he couldn't truly be blamed if, by some accident, they slit each other's throats while training.

  He ground his teeth quietly. He wished he could just murder them now and be done with it, but she would know if he had, she was good at getting the truth out of people and knew his face too well. He wondered if he should risk lacing the Blood Serum with rage root, red dust or searing petals. Or maybe a nice mix of the herbs. It would be close to poisoning, but only close, so he could feasibly mislead his master.

  Craig nodded his head and the lordling glanced up to where he was hiding. Then the fool let out a yawn and rubbed his eyes, pretending he hadn't seen a thing. Craig's lip involuntarily twitched.

  For all his idle foppery, that man was all too perceptive and his Awareness was sharper than normal, even for a level twenty. It must be the Guide training he'd received. Bastard.

  Craig had thought it before and he thought it again: the Nightshark should really kill this one, he was an ambitious schemer and nothing good came of keeping such a man. No matter how much gold he could take out of the Sunken Spire or the usefulness of his title.

  After he'd watched them for an uneventful hour, stewing in his grievances, he slowly stood and left. They didn't seem to notice.

  He closed the hidden hatch on silent hinges, striding out into the rain, seeking a tavern before he he found a brothel. He passed by a beggar, and with a swift cut opened his throat. He watched as the man died, the blood mingling with the rain in that pleasant way. It didn't ease his annoyance as it usually did, or bring him much joy, so he sought out another who wouldn't be missed. A labourer, drunk and bedraggled. That blood wasn't much better.

  Then it was a young mugger, in the wrong place at the wrong time. And the price to be paid for such a mistake was a knife right through the ribs. Three times. He gurgled and spat as his life was cut short.

  There was some elation, but little relief. Both the face of the lordling and the features of the young upstart, Sid Smiles, swam in his mind, smirking at him. He'd show them. They'd be dead in a month, three months tops. He'd make sure of it.

  ---

  Fritz began his trek home at about two hours past midnight. He used the roofs as much as he could, finding them a faster, if more draining, alternative to the streets. Though he contended that it was time that he was lacking, not Stamina. In truth, it was both, but he pressed on all the same before finding his way into bed.

  It felt like his head barely met the pillow before there was a banging on his door and a ringing in the hall. He was up with a groan and a gasp. His arms, legs and chest were on fire, he Activated the Ring of Pain Suppression still on his finger and nothing happened. He reached for his triad pouch and quickly fed two gold to the greedy Treasure, then tried again. This time his agony fled like it had been blown away by a numbing wind.

  He sighed, then stood, able to meet the day.

  He ate breakfast with his team, their tutor arrived and then they began their training.

  And it was not at all easy.