The fight started with a wet crunch.

  The Harvester spat out what was left of his front teeth and stumbled back, clutching a mouth that was rapidly becoming a ruin. Blood leaked through his fingers. He stared at me with wide eyes that couldn't decide between anger or the sudden, sinking realization that he had brought a spellbook to a fistfight.

  “Y-you…” Blood sprayed from between his fingers in a fine mist, catching the orange glow of the burning workshop behind us.

  His two companions moved to flank him, dark energy swirling around their fingers like living ink. The tallest one helped steady their leader.

  "You're dead," the tall one said.

  Shadows writhed under his skin like black eels trying to chew their way out. That didn’t look like a usual Skill. So the plan was simply not to let it touch me.

  I glanced back. Finn was trembling behind Borric... his world was burning down around his ears. And these clowns thought posturing was going to make me shake in my boots?

  Funny.

  "Borric," I said, my voice unnervingly calm even to my own ears. "Back off a little. Keep the boy safe."

  Ragna hefted her club, a savage grin splitting her face. "Finally! It's time to crack some skulls!"

  "No," I said, my eyes never leaving the three cultists. "Both of you, go with Finn. I'll handle this."

  "What?" Ragna's enthusiasm deflated into outrage. "No way! I want fight too!"

  I turned just enough to meet her gaze. "The boy matters more than these trash. Protect him. I'll be along shortly."

  Something in my voice stopped her. She stared at me for a second, then nodded. Thankfully Borric was less stubborn and nodded, understanding the situation. He reached for Finn's hand. "Come on, Ragna. I think these men are about to learn why the eastern kingdoms tell stories about angry Valtherians."

  “Huh, they do?”

  Borric pulled her away. As they retreated with the boy, the Harvester leader finally managed to stand upright. Blood dribbled down his chin, staining his immaculate robes.

  "Kill him," he gurgled through his ruined mouth. "Slowly."

  The three of them spread out, surrounding me. I remained in my position, letting them maneuver. The fire from the workshop cast long, dancing shadows across the street. The heat against my back felt appropriate. An opposing force of the cold rage building inside me.

  The tall one laughed, a brittle sound like cracking ice. "Three masters of the Black Concord against one savage? I think we'll manage."

  “Don't say the name, stupid,” his partner whispered.

  “What matters? He's gonna die anyway.”

  I smiled. It was not a nice smile. It was the kind of smile that promised bad endings. "Then by all means," I said, gesturing broadly with my hand. "Start."

  They attacked simultaneously. Coordinated and confident. The tall one launched a barrage of shadow bolts from behind me, while the stocky one to my right charged with a blade that suddenly was enveloped in darkness. The leader began tracing complex patterns in the air, preparing something more powerful.

  They attacked at once. Shadow bolts from behind and a dark blade from the right.

  I didn't waste time dodging.

  My hand shot out, catching the blade between my palm and fingers. The dark blade sizzled against my skin, trying to overpower the storm that cackled on my palm. It felt like plunging my hand into a bucket of frozen needles. But it couldn't penetrate.

  The wielder's eyes were wide now, his momentum suddenly halted. My ax cut through the air, gashing his chest.

  "That's one," I said.

  Without looking, I kicked backward. My foot connected with the tall one's chest. I didn't hold back. The impact was a dull, wet thud, and he flew twenty feet through the air before crashing through an abandoned market stall in a shower of splintered wood.

  "That's two."

  The leader's spell died on his fingers. He stared, his arrogance finally cracking, seeing his two companions dispatched in as many seconds. The perfect tactical formation had dissolved into a one-on-one confrontation he clearly hadn't anticipated.

  "Impossible," the leader spat. "No one can touch our shadow magic with bare hands!"

  I examined my palm where the dark blade had struck. The skin was unmarred. Fire and lightning still danced. "Guess your magic isn't that strong."

  Just as fear began to bloom on his face, a massive spear of pure shadow materialized and hurtled toward my back. The tall one had recovered, pulling himself from the wreckage with a roar of fury.

  I was a little surprised he’d recovered this fast. Was this a boon of being a cultist? Even so, I didn't have to turn back; the ionized air let me sense the attack coming. I stepped aside and grabbed the spear shaft as it flew past. The darkness burned cold and nasty, but my elemental aura countered it, creating a hissing steam where the opposing energies met.

  "It's rude to attack from the back," I said, turning the spear in my hand. "Do better."

  I drew back my arm in a wide motion and threw it with all my strength. It was a bolt of black lightning. The spear caught the tall cultist in the shoulder, the force of the impact spinning him like a top before pinning him to the stone wall of a building behind him. He hung there for a moment, impaled, before slumping into unconsciousness.

  The leader was alone now.

  He backed away, tripping over his own robes. Fear had broken him.

  "Wait!" he cried, raising his hands. "You don't understand what you're interfering with! I- I'm not just some government official, I'm with something that's beyond your feeble minds! We serve a higher purpose! Don't you dare harm me!”

  "Is that what you told the boy?" I asked, advancing steadily. "When you took his grandfather? When you burned his poor workplace? Was that your higher purpose?"

  Desperation gave him focus. Maybe he thought my guard was down because I started speaking? He gathered every ounce of his power, creating a massive orb of destructive energy between his hands. The sphere pulsed with malevolent intent, shadows and violet light swirling within.

  "DIE!" he screamed.

  He launched it. The orb hurtled toward me, expanding as it came, a sphere of void that looked less like magic and more like a hole in the world trying to suck everything in. It looked hungry.

  Storm energy flared around me like a mantle. I'd never used [Storm Call] like this before, but after using the False Phoenix’s [Solar Mantle] thanks to Osmotic Evolution, I was inspired.

  I walked straight into it.

  Somehow the shadow magic struck me full-on, despite the storm. It enveloped me in a void that tugged at my very essence. For a moment, I got worried. It probed for fear, for doubt, for weakness.

  It found none.

  My elemental aura flared higher like a newborn sun. Fire, lightning, and ice erupted from my body in a perfect harmony of destruction.

  I stepped through the dissipating shadows, my expression unchanged.

  The leader's face went slack. He scrambled backward, looking less like a dark mage and more like a man realizing he was about to die in a dirty alley. "Stay back!" he shrieked. "I am a Harvester of the Black Concord! I am beyond your jurisdiction!"

  I said nothing.

  My hand closed around his throat, lifting him off the ground. His feet kicked helplessly, hands clawing at my wrist. I stared into his eyes, letting him see the absolute lack of mercy there.

  "Please," he wheezed. "I can offer you power..."

  I slammed him down. The cobblestones cracked beneath him in a spiderweb pattern. The impact echoed through the night. He lay still, broken but alive.

  I straightened, surveying the three fallen cultists. The street fell silent except for the crackling of the burning workshop and the distant sound of approaching city guards. My elemental aura slowly subsided.

  I looked toward the direction Borric and Ragna had taken Finn, and began walking.

  "That was... impressive."

  Ragna leaned against a wall, arms crossed, a look of grudging respect on her face.

  "I told you to go with Borric and the boy," I said, more weary than angry.

  She shrugged. "Borric is with him. Found some hidden cellar. Thought you might need help." Her eyes swept over the three unconscious bodies. "Guess I was wrong."

  I approached the leader's crumpled form and hauled him up by the back of his robes. "We need answers. Where's this cellar?"

  Ragna pushed off the wall and retrieved the other cultists, throwing them over her shoulders. "This way. The boy said it's behind what's left of the old workshop." She paused, studying my face. "You didn't kill them."

  "Oh, they will die," I said. "They have one last use before that. One last."

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  We followed a narrow alley behind the burning workshop. The path opened into a small courtyard where an old iron-bound door was set into the ground. Borric stood guard beside it, Finn peering out from behind him. The boy's eyes widened when he saw us.

  "You... you beat all of them?" he asked, his voice small with wonder.

  I nodded. "Bad men are always weak, Finn. You're safe now."

  Finn stared at the limp form of the leader, the man who had terrorized his family. His small face hardened. "Thanks," he said simply.

  Borric pulled open the cellar door, revealing stone steps descending into darkness. "This way. The boy says this place has been forgotten for years."

  We descended into the cool darkness. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and something older, like forgotten wine. Ragna unceremoniously dumped her two captives at the bottom of the stairs, the bodies thudding against the packed dirt with satisfying finality. I placed the leader against a wall, his robes pooling around him like spilled ink.

  A groan interrupted the silence.

  The Harvester leader was stirring. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. When he realized his situation – the cellar, the barbarian girl with her mace, the merchant who looked surprisingly grim – fear flashed across his face.

  He looked scared for a second. Good. Fear makes people honest. But then he blinked and the mask of arrogance slammed back down like a visor.

  "Water," he croaked, his voice raspy.

  I ignored him. My gaze was fixed on the single lantern Borric had lit, its flame casting long, dancing shadows that made the cellar feel alive and predatory.

  "The Halden family," I said, my voice flat. "What’s so special about them, what do you want from them, and where is the grandfather?"

  The leader actually tried to smile, a grotesque sight with his ruined mouth. "Gone. Beyond your reach."

  Something cold settled in my stomach. A familiar feeling. The quiet dread that precedes bad news. "Dead?"

  "Not yet," he replied, and the confidence in his voice was infuriating. He thought he held all the cards. He thought he was dealing with amateurs. "But soon, if the terms aren't met. A more direct approach was required."

  "What does that mean?" Ragna demanded, taking a step forward and raising her club.

  The leader's gaze flickered to her, then back to me, clearly identifying me as the one in charge. "It means you are out of your depth, savage. You cannot possibly comprehend the forces you're meddling with! Let me go this once, and you may live to join us. Are your low-grade brains developed enough to understand that?!"

  I let the silence stretch, a weapon in itself. The only sounds were the crackling of the inferno above and the man's ragged breathing. He was waiting for me to threaten him, to shout, to do something predictably barbaric.

  Instead, I turned to Borric. "Time to test the new class."

  Borric stepped forward, the lantern light glinting in his eyes. He looked different down here. The timid merchant was gone, replaced by someone who understood that the world ran on transactions far more brutal than coin.

  "I am a Contract Sovereign," Borric stated, his voice carrying a new, strange resonance. Ideally we wouldn’t want people to know about this, but Borric’s Class only worked if he was being direct and not hiding anything. "I can offer you a magically binding agreement. A deal, enforced by the System itself."

  The Harvester's eyes widened slightly. He clearly knew of such things.

  "The terms are simple," Borric continued, his confidence growing. "You will answer all our questions, truthfully and completely. You will tell us everything you know about the immediate threat to the Halden family and their assets. In exchange... we will allow you to live."

  The leader stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed. A dry, rasping sound like dead leaves skittering across pavement.

  He laughed. A dry and rasping sound. "Contracts need consent. I don't give it."

  He was right, of course. That was the crux of it. The beauty and the flaw of Borric's power. It required a willing participant.

  Consent can be... encouraged, I thought. Sometimes, all a man needs is a clear demonstration of the alternative.

  I looked over at Finn. The boy was huddled near the stairs, watching with wide, terrified eyes. He shouldn't see this. Even in this fucked-up world, some things were not meant for a child's eyes.

  "Ragna," I said, my voice soft.

  She looked at me, questioning.

  "Cover his eyes."

  She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her gaze flicking from me to the cultists, then back. Understanding dawned. She nodded grimly and moved to the boy, kneeling down and gently placing her hands over his eyes. "Don't look, little warrior," she whispered. "The world is ugly sometimes."

  With the boy shielded, I turned my attention to one of the unconscious cultists Ragna had brought down. I walked over to the limp body, my footsteps unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet.

  The Harvester leader watched me, a smirk playing on his bloody lips. "What are you going to do, barbarian? Beat a man who's already down? How predictable of you."

  I didn't answer.

  I knelt, grabbed a handful of the man's robes, and lifted his head from the floor. Then, with no ceremony, no warning, and no wasted motion, I drew back my fist and punched him in the face.

  It wasn't a fancy punch. It was just physics and hate.

  The sound wasn't a clean crack. It was wet like dropping a pumpkin off a roof onto pavement. The man's head didn't snap back so much as it collapsed inward.

  [You have slain a Black Concord Cultist – Level 37!]

  [You have gained experience points!]

  I let the body drop. It hit the dirt floor with a soft, boneless thud. Grotesque brain matter splattered the floor and my clothes. I wiped some from near my eyes.

  Silence.

  The leader's smirk had vanished. His face was a mask of disbelief.

  I walked over to the second unconscious cultist.

  "W-wait," the leader stammered. "What are you doing? He's no threat to you!"

  I ignored him. I performed the exact same action. The same lift of the head. The same punch. The same wet, conclusive sound.

  [You have slain a Black Concord Cultist – Level 39!]

  [You have gained experience points!]

  Two down.

  I stood up, wiping a small splatter of something warm and viscous from my knuckles onto my trousers. The act was casual, mundane. Like a man wiping dust from his hands after a bit of dirty work.

  Then I turned and walked back to the leader. I knelt in front of him, bringing my face close to his. My expression was blank. Utterly, terrifyingly blank.

  "Borric," I said, my voice still quiet, still calm. "Ask him again."

  The leader was trembling now, a fine, uncontrollable tremor that shook his entire body. His eyes were locked on the two crumpled forms on the floor, on the dark stains spreading beneath their heads.

  The arrogance, the confidence, the belief that he was part of something untouchable – it had all been punched out of him.

  Borric, though visibly shaken himself, stepped forward. "I offer you a contract," he said, his voice a little unsteady but firm. "Answer our questions. Live."

  The leader didn't hesitate. "I agree," he gasped, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "I consent! By the Concord, I consent!"

  Golden light flickered between Borric's outstretched hand and the man's forehead. A deal was struck.

  "The Halden family," I said, my voice like ice. "Where is the grandfather?"

  The magic of the contract took hold. The man's fear was still there, but his voice became flat, automated, like a machine reciting data.

  "He's at the grove. They took him there an hour ago. A more... direct approach was required to harvest the ironwood."

  "What does that mean?" Ragna demanded from behind me. I heard her hands come away from Finn's eyes.

  "Without the family's permission, the grove's natural protections are... problematic," the Harvester recited. "But not insurmountable with the right sacrifices."

  Finn gasped from the stairway. "No! The trees will fight back! Father said they'd destroy anyone who tried to take them by force!"

  "Precisely why your grandfather is with them," the Harvester continued, his voice a monotone. "His blood connection to the grove's guardianship makes him... useful."

  "A sacrifice," Borric translated, his face hardening. "I’ve heard of such cases… One time my daughter wrote me a letter telling me a story. A classmate of hers had been caught to be sacrificed to some Devil Pillar or something, I don’t recall the details. Not good. They're going to use his bloodline to bypass the grove's defenses. It's the only way a contract of guardianship can be broken by force."

  This was bigger than a land grab. This was desecration.

  I stood, my decision made. "Borric, stay with the boy and this one."

  Ragna twirled her club eagerly, the motion a blur in the lantern light. "Where we go?"

  "To the grove. We don't have much time." I replied, heading for the stairs. I paused for a moment. Was I being too rash? Well someone’s life was at stake, but at the same time, I had to ensure I was prepared to save it. I looked back at him. “You, bastard. Is there anything else I should know about?"

  "W-well…" the leader attempted to keep his jaws shut but they opened anyway, the contract compelling him to offer up everything. A note of genuine terror entered his mechanical voice. "Ugh, dammit! You’re messing up everything… You savages just never understand!”

  “Oh? Understand what?”

  “The Concord has been planning this for years! The ironwood is merely the first step in a larger design! Don’t you- don’t you dare meddle in this!! Even if you do, you can only delay it… the Domain Lord will butcher both of you weaklings!"

  I doubted he’d have said all that in a typical situation. Borric’s Class is crazy useful as I suspected. But… Domain Lord, he says? I waited on the foot of the stairs, pondering while my hand was on the rough stone wall. "What’s a Domain Lord? What larger design? Tell me in detail."

  He licked his bloody lips. "The Domain-Lords… they’re the 2nd highest ranked within the cult. The high generals and viceroys of the Concord. They are granted a sliver of the Sentinel's divine authority… Our team leader is one of the Domain Lords, and he likes to be called the branch leader of this area.”

  “And what larger design?”

  “The Murmuring Glass," he growled through gritting teeth to stop himself from talking, but failing to do so. "Lord Thalasson seeks it, but he doesn't understand its true purpose. The Concord knows. We've always known."

  The name sent a jolt through me. Marius Thalasson. Isolde's uncle. Before he could continue, I interrupted. “Is the Marquis working with your cult?”

  “No,” he replied to my surprise. “He’s an enemy… he wants the Glass for himself.”

  I heaved a sigh of relief. Isolde’s psyche wouldn’t enjoy another betrayal. Even if he was a piece of shit, at least he was still supporting her. Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

  “Continue. What does ironwood have to do with the Murmuring Glass?" I demanded.

  The Harvester's expression became almost reverential, even through the compulsion. "The Glass requires a vessel that can withstand its power. A frame to give it form and focus. Common materials would shatter. But ironwood... ironwood can channel divinity without breaking."

  Checkmate. The whole board was laid out before me. The cult, Marius, the ironwood, the Glass. It was all connected.

  “Hmm.” In my heightened emotions, I’d forgotten to ask one important thing. "Where is this grove, exactly? We searched the northern hills and found nothing."

  The Harvester's jaw clenched, but the contract forced the words out. "I-it's not in the hills, it's under them. There… there's a hidden entrance in a collapsed quarry, a mile east of the 'Three Sisters' rock formation. The entrance is masked by an illusion."

  I turned to Finn, who had been listening with wide eyes. "Finn, the Three Sisters. Do you know it? Can you mark it on the map?"

  The boy nodded immediately. "Yes! Grandpa called them the 'Wolf's Teeth.' He said to always keep them in sight when we went to the 'quiet place.'"

  For the next few minutes, I proceeded by asking specific questions and getting a map marked by both the cultist and Finn. Their descriptions painted a vivid picture, so I was hopeful of finding it next time. If not, I did have a local who could help…

  "Secure him," I told Borric. "We'll be back. With the grandfather."

  As Ragna and I climbed the stairs, Finn called after us, his small voice echoing in the cellar. "Please save Grandpa! He's all I have left!"

  I looked back at the boy, his face a small, pale oval in the darkness. He was small, brave, and far too familiar with loss. I couldn’t take him with me, and if I was leaving him behind, someone had to be here to protect him. Borric may not be super strong but he couldn’t be taken out easily either.

  "I promise," I said. The words felt heavier than any oath I'd ever sworn.

  The night air was a shock as we emerged from the cellar. I didn’t enjoy it anymore. The workshop was still burning, a funeral pyre for a family's legacy, sending orange embers floating skyward like vengeful spirits.

  "So," Ragna said as we slipped into the shadows, her voice alive with anticipation. "We fight cultists, save old man, and stop them from cutting down magic trees?"

  I nodded, my mind already plotting our route to the northern hills, my hand resting on the hilt of my axe. "That's about it. But first… we need an ally.”

  I hadn’t missed the man’s words about a Branch Leader. I didn’t mind risking my own life, but Ragna? Since she was involved, I had to be more cautious.

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