The Unshackled. That was the name that Bleddyn’s slave revolt up in the Principality had taken for themselves.

  This guy…was from him?

  In an instant, I rapidly reevaluated the man I was holding at knife-point. Initially, I had thought his thin and ragged appearance had been a result of being homeless. But it wasn’t, was it?

  This man, if he were a part of Bleddyn’s uprising…

  He might just be a fellow former slave. The wiry muscles and wary demeanor certainly seemed familiar to me.

  First, though, confirmation.

  I lifted the dagger away from the man, to his obvious relief, but that didn’t last long. I roughly turned him around, and over his protests, yanked down the collar of his thin grey shirt to expose the back of his left shoulder blade.

  And there it was, standing out starkly on his tanned, rough-looking skin.

  A brand. A familiar one, at that.

  The stylized Savoy ‘S’ that marked the bearer as the property of Magnus’s birth family. It was old, too, healed over and appearing to have been from years ago. Just the sight of it on another human being was enough to get my blood up, but there was, at least, one detail that gave me a thrill of vicious satisfaction.

  Two small scars on either side of the letter, about the approximate distance between the tongs of a small bident.

  I resisted the urge to snort at the sight. Perhaps Bleddyn was under the impression that you need to really get the tongs in, if a Bond Breaker was to work.

  I relaxed and released my grip on the man, stepping away. He immediately spun in place and backed up, almost seeming like he was going to bolt. I didn’t blame him for it. Sometimes, people could act unpredictably if they found out you were a former slave. But I heard him pause as he took in the sight of what I had just done as well.

  I'd turned my back on the man and lowered the collar of my own shirt to show off my own brand. Curiously, I had discovered it was the only scar on my body that had never taken on the black scales of my ‘curse’ from Rhazal. After a moment, I put my clothes back in place and turned to meet the curious gaze of the man. I nodded at him. “I’m Nathaniel Hart. What does Bleddyn need?”

  After all, there was a lot I was willing to do for my old friend. All he needed to do was ask.

  To my surprise, the man shushed me, looking around frantically for a moment. “Don’t say that name!” He hissed. “You don’t know who’s listening!”

  I smiled slightly, unperturbed. “I do, in fact, know who’s listening,” I said calmly, not lowering my tone at all. “Nobody.” At his raised brows, I just tapped the side of my head knowingly. “But alright. What are they calling him?”

  Bleddyn’s apparent agent understood my meaning and relaxed. “Ah…we call him Cazaro,” The man said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. He abruptly jolted and seemed to remember his task, reaching into his coat. When they came out, he was holding a grubby-looking scroll in his hands. “Here. Take it and read it. When you make a decision, we can…meet here again?” He said, looking around at the dingy space between buildings I had dragged him into. He nodded more confidently. “We can meet here. I’ll be in town for a week, and stop by around sunset every day to wait for you.”

  I met his eyes and reached for the scroll. Once I held it, however, the man didn’t release his grip straight away. Instead, he bowed his head toward me humbly. “Please. He…said I shouldn’t say anything, but please help us.”

  With that, the man, whose name I still didn’t know, released the scroll and almost sprinted away from me, out of the alleyway. He seemed a bit embarrassed, honestly.

  I frowned, staring down at the scroll in my hands.

  ‘Please help us.’

  And here I was, thinking my life had finally settled down. I sighed and slipped the scroll into my bag. I’d deal with this…later.

  Right now, I was late for dinner.

  …………………………………..

  The enchanted streetlights of Blutstein had fully come alive by the time I arrived at the small family restaurant that Sylvia loved. Something I’d noticed about Blutstein was that most businesses and restaurants didn’t exactly have their name printed on the front like back on Terra. Instead, they had pictorials, typically with something that represented it. Like, an anvil for a Smith, or a book for a scribe.

  I…didn’t know what to make of the sign bearing a flaming table.

  At the very least, it was a homey-looking building. Two stories, with an open patio out front bearing a number of different tables, already occupied by many different people. Something I did notice, though, was that there was a large percentage of Rorician patrons in attendance, happily conversing over their meals. Not to say it was entirely Rorician, but, you know. It almost seemed like a local gathering place for the foreigners.

  I shrugged and approached the door of the establishment, amused despite myself at the stylized flame painted on the glass set in it at head height. A bell jingled above me as I stepped inside, barely audible over the low murmur inside. Despite that, a slight, honestly somewhat tiny Rorician woman with long, black braids and wearing a dress in a style I wasn’t familiar with immediately popped up before me. Judging by the tray in her hands, as well as the welcoming smile on her dark lips, I was betting this was the waitress.

  “Welcome to Marasa’s Table!” She said in a loud, friendly tone so she could be heard over the din. “Do you need a table?”

  Nailed it.

  I smiled at the perky woman and shook my head. “No, I’m meeting someone here!” I matched her tone, looking around. “Sculpted woman, silver skin, gold hair?”

  The waitress tilted her head at me. “Sylvia?” I was a bit startled when the woman eyed me up and down for a moment. Abruptly, her smile shifted into a smirk. “You’re him, eh?” Before I could even parse that, she shook her head, jostling her braids, and then jerked a thumb over her shoulder towards a lone door. “She’s in the back. Girl asked for a private room.”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “Uh…thanks?” I said, edging around her. I swear I could feel her smirk on my back as I walked toward the room, weaving my way around the tables.

  When I reached the door, I knocked on it with two knuckles. From inside, I thought I heard the muffled voice of Sylvia, but it wasn’t audible over the din out here. Still, judging by the welcoming tone, I took it for an invitation. Opening the door, I found that Sylvia’s ‘private room’ was little more than a small, cozy-looking looking cylindrical room ringed with a padded booth done in red leather. In the center of it was a small circular wooden table, and one end of it…was Sylvia.

  The Sculpted woman was lounging over the table, with her chin in one hand and what looked to be a stuffed pepper of some kind held in the other. She was nibbling on it idly as I stepped into the room, but she straightened up at my entrance. I received a decidedly cool raised eyebrow from her as I did, as I noticed that she was still in her Academy uniform, much as I was.

  I winced as I realized what that meant. She must have been waiting here longer for me than I’d intended.

  “I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” Sylvia said mildly, in a tone that sent warning bells ringing in my mind.

  I laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck. “Ah…sorry about that. First I was busy with your Father, and then I got…held up by something very unexpected. I can tell you about if, if you like.” I said, setting my bag down on the floor next to the booth and throwing my cloak over the back. I did my best to smile at her as I slid onto the red leather. “I’ll pay as an apology.”

  Sylvia eyed me for a moment more, causing me to sweat, before she inclined her head. “Very well. I haven’t ordered yet, but I know what they’re serving today.”

  Mmm. That was one of the downsides of not living on modern-day Terra. Most restaurants you went to only really served one or two dishes a day, unless you went to the really upper-class ones. If you didn’t want to cook for yourself, you just kind of had to roll with it.

  “Oh? What is it?”

  My response from my fellow former Nocturne was a playful smile, her earlier displeasure seemingly forgotten. “Let it be a surprise.” She said, standing up and opening the door. She stuck one arm out of it and waved, catching the attention of the waitress from earlier. I saw the Rorician woman shoot Sylvia a thumbs up, and then Sylvia closed the door and sat back down.

  I couldn’t help but laugh a little at the exchange. “I’m guessing you’re a regular here.”

  “You could say that,” Sylvia smiled slightly. “I had…my first meal not cooked by either Father or Lady Honoka here, not long after I ‘woke up’, so to speak. I’m afraid it colored my tastes forever. In that time, Nalia, Marasa’s granddaughter, came to be something of a…friend, I suppose you could say. I am comfortable with her.”

  I’m guessing ‘Nalia’ was the waitress from earlier.

  “Friends with the owners, huh?” I said, my own smile taking on a teasing edge. “I guess that comes with the benefit of a private booth.”

  I earned a light, tinkling laugh for that. “I don’t normally dine in a booth, in truth,” Sylvia said, shaking her head. “I enjoy the typical hustle and bustle of the floor. The Roricians have never cared about a Sculpted in their midst. However, it’s particularly busy out there today, considering the news, so I requested the use of the booth.”

  I quirked an eyebrow at her. “News? I haven’t heard anything.”

  That earned me a surprised, Mithril eyebrow of my own. “I’m surprised Father didn’t mention it. He’s certainly received an invitation, and considering your status…he’ll likely send you in his stead.” Before I could ask again, Sylvia continued with almost smug turn to her lips. “The Primector of the Church has announced a visit to the capital, all the way from the Fatum Primarium down in Roricia. In response, the Regent is throwing a Ball to welcome the head of the Gyreite faith. From what I understand, the Lords and Ladies of the land are quite…excited, at the opportunity.”

  A Ball, huh. That almost seemed…out of character, from my understanding of Wenzel. He wasn’t one to spend money frivolously on things like parties. Then again, it wasn’t every day that the head of the local faith decided to take a trip up to the capital. To my understanding, brought on by my History classes, that wasn’t a common occurrence. The current Primector of the Church was a man by the name of ‘Aurelius’, supposedly another old contemporary of Grey’s. The man was a homegrown Preceptor, someone who had grown in strength entirely under the purview of the Church. Nobody was even sure if he had combat capabilities, despite his advanced level and age. Still, he was generally viewed well by the people, if not seen as a tad reclusive.

  Sylvia was right, though. I was likely going to be invited to the Ball. If not for my status as an official Knight of Herztal, then definitely in my capacity as Grey’s official apprentice.

  That suited me fine. It presented…opportunities.

  I was knocked out of my thoughts by Sylvia speaking again. “How are you…progressing?” She asked, a tad awkwardly. I hid a smile at her insecurity.

  Typically, it was viewed as a tad…insensitive for people who were stronger than you to ask after your level. I think the custom had something to do with the taboo of using Observe on another person. It had trickled down even into conversation, where it was considered rude in polite company to ask after another's strength.

  And Sylvia was ahead of me in levels, even if the gap was small. She’d been working with the Order to curb the surge of monsters, both natural and artificial, that had stemmed from the war. It was only natural that she would be a bit farther along than me, considering I had mostly been taking it easy over the months. Both in Kawamara-

  (Besides all the business on Goryuen).

  And here in Blutstein. I hadn’t killed a single monster in the last two months, not since Renauld had grounded me. After a checkup with Honoka, she had even reluctantly agreed with the Gnoll’s advice that I avoid combat. As such, I’d gained about five levels since my arrival in the capital, purely from all of the crafting and experimenting I’d done with Grey. The result was that I’d grown to level one hundred and eighty-four, and received little in the intervening months. Really, the only thing was that I’d gotten my last Skill before level two hundred, that being a small addition to my activated arsenal in the form of what were colloquially referred to as ‘afflictions’. These were activated Skills that left a small ‘curse’ on the target, causing them to either take damage over time, or ‘afflicted’ some form of deleterious effect on them. Mine was the former, and considering my combat ban, I hadn’t had much use out of it.

  Still, Stellar Blight at least sounded interesting.

  All that to say, I knew that Sylvia was farther along than I was. In fact…

  “Aren’t you close to the Second Breakpoint?” I asked her, very interested to hear her thoughts on the matter. So much so that I leaned forward in the booth. "I'm not too far from that myself."

  Every one hundred levels, serious Classers had to undergo ‘Ascension Rituals’ if they wanted to keep growing in strength. Without them, there just wasn’t enough room in the Soul for all of the accumulated Level Aether to be stored. You couldn’t even really gain any more levels if you didn’t go through with them. They were different for Cultivators and Magi, though. For Cultivators, you had to do a form of physical purification, purging the built-up impurities and toxins in the body. I’d even been witness to Sylvia’s First Breakpoint Ritual, and the smell had certainly been…something. For Magi like me, though, we purged the built-up Aetherial impurities that accumulated in our Mind, which acted as a filter to the Soul.

  Last I’d spoken to her, Sylvia had been nearly level one hundred and ninety-seven. That was nearly a week ago, now.

  She had to be close.

  “Ah…” Sylvia said bashfully, brushing her golden hair behind one Mithril ear. “I’m only a level away, now. I’ve…been working on the Ritual design with Lady Honoka, with leave from the Academy. They understand the importance.”

  I was tempted to ask if I could watch this ritual too, but…I’m not sure we were as close as we had been during her first one.

  Then again…we hadn’t exactly been together together at the time…

  Before I could ask, the door to the booth was opened, and the waitress Nalia stepped into the room holding a tray bearing several steaming hot dishes.

  Looks like the food was here.

  As the Rorician woman started to unload our meals, I decided to put the question off for later.

  For now, I had a meal to enjoy.