Chapter 27: The Crimson Sorceress Knew My Name Before We Met

Raven discovered the next morning that sleeping with two broken ribs had an interesting feature:

It didn’t matter which side he lay on.

He always found a new way to regret it.

He opened his eyes before dawn and remained still for several seconds, staring at the wooden ceiling of the inn.

He had paid for a private room, a reasonably clean bed, and a tub of hot water.

All three had cost more than expected, but after several days of sleeping on dirt and smelling like monster blood, luxury had stopped feeling indulgent.

He tried to sit up.

A sharp pain stabbed through his side.

Raven lowered his head back onto the pillow.

"Excellent."

He waited, breathed more shallowly, and tried again.

This time it worked.

The room was small.

Bed.

Table.

Chair.

A wardrobe that could probably be forced open from outside despite having a lock.

A window facing a side street.

And a door with a mediocre latch.

He had wedged the chair beneath the handle before going to sleep.

Not because he believed someone was going to break in.

Because sleeping peacefully and trusting an unfamiliar lock were two incompatible activities.

Raven looked at the bandage around his side.

No fresh bleeding.

His shoulder was still swollen, but he could move it.

His legs hurt less after using Burst Step for the first time.

Kinetic Acceleration didn’t appear to have caused any immediate side effects either.

That left one favorable conclusion.

He was still alive.

A less favorable conclusion:

He had started his new life by being stabbed, bitten, burned, beaten by monsters, and kicked by a creature made of stone in less than a week.

Local life expectancy was probably unimpressive.

Raven got up and opened his Status.

«RAVEN ASHFORD

Race: Human

Level: 5

Rank: Common

Health: Injured

Mana: 18 / 18

Authority:

"Predation — Level 2"

Traits:

"Predator’s Instinct"

"Ember Spark"

"Stonehide"

"Burst Step"

"Kinetic Acceleration"»

Five abilities in only a few days.

One from a wolf.

One from a lizard.

One from a Ravager.

One from a Gloom Stalker.

One from a human.

Predation showed no distinction between the last two.

Raven continued to find that more interesting than disturbing.

He closed the interface.

He needed several things.

First, to stop breaking bones.

Second, money.

Third, levels.

Fourth, information about the Carrion Maw.

And preferably a regenerative Trait before his body decided to file a formal complaint for workplace abuse.

He dressed slowly, put on his damaged vest, and left.

---

Greyhaven smelled better in the morning.

Not good.

Better.

The light rain before dawn had partially washed the streets and reduced the smell from the drainage channels.

Fresh bread, coal smoke, and roasting meat replaced some of the usual perfume of horses and compressed humanity.

Raven bought breakfast from a street stall.

Two rolls stuffed with meat.

Then asked:

"What animal?"

The vendor looked confused.

"Pork."

Raven held up one of the rolls.

"Just checking."

The man looked offended.

Raven walked away.

That question was going to take a few days to disappear.

The Mercenary House was already crowded when he arrived.

That wasn’t surprising either.

People who made a living through contracts involving violence tended to start early when getting paid depended on returning before the competition.

Raven stepped inside.

Several people recognized him.

Not because he was important.

Because rumors traveled quickly through any organization whose members spent too much time drinking together.

"That’s him."

"The Copper?"

"The one who killed the Stalker."

"Level five."

"Heard he found the Hollow Father group too."

Raven kept walking.

A voice behind him muttered:

"Probably got lucky."

Raven didn’t turn.

Luck was also a tool if you could repeat it.

He reached the counter.

The gray-haired woman was there.

Naturally.

Raven was beginning to consider the possibility that she was a territorial creature and the counter was her nest.

She looked up.

"You’re not dead."

"Good morning to you too."

"I told you not to accept anything last night."

"I didn’t."

"Did you kill anyone?"

Raven thought about the breakfast vendor.

"Not yet."

The woman sighed.

"That shouldn’t reassure me as much as it does."

She pulled out a sheet of paper.

"Your Iron evaluation is at noon. The examiner is available."

"Perfect."

"Until then, you can use the library."

"That’s what I was planning."

"And don’t take any contracts."

Raven looked at her.

"That second part is starting to sound personal."

"It’s administrative. Every time you do something, I end up filling out three forms."

"I could try killing people with less paperwork involved."

She slowly looked up.

Raven kept his expression neutral.

After a second, one corner of her mouth moved.

"Go."

Raven obeyed.

He didn’t make it to the library.

A small crowd near the entrance caught his attention.

Not because of how many people were there.

Because of the way they were moving aside.

Mercenaries who normally occupied every inch of available space were leaving a clear path down the middle without anyone explicitly telling them to.

Raven looked at the guards first.

Four.

Good-quality dark armor.

Matching swords.

Trained posture.

Not random hired mercenaries.

Permanent personnel.

Then he saw the woman between them.

He recognized her.

Not because he’d seen her the night before.

Raven hadn’t noticed the carriage.

But he would’ve remembered a woman like that.

Jet-black hair fell almost to her waist, far too well maintained for someone who spent much time around monsters.

Under the interior lamps, a subtle burgundy sheen appeared between the strands.

She wore black and dark wine, combining a dress, reinforced leather, and light armor plates in a way that managed to look aristocratic without being completely useless in a fight.

Tall.

Impeccable posture.

Fair skin.

An elegant face, slightly sharp.

Wine-red eyes.

A small beauty mark beneath one of them.

Raven evaluated her from head to toe once.

Extremely attractive.

That was information.

Not an order.

Some men were stupid enough to reorganize their decisions whenever a beautiful woman entered the room.

Raven had known several.

Some had died because of it.

The woman walked toward the counter without waiting in line.

No one complained.

The gray-haired clerk didn’t seem surprised either.

"Lady Nacht."

The woman placed a small document on the wood.

"I need access to the Blackthorn Forest records from the last six months."

She didn’t ask whether she could have them.

The difference was small.

Raven noticed anyway.

The clerk took the document.

"Deep archives require supervisor authorization."

"Then get the authorization."

"Garrick is busy."

The woman looked toward the stairs.

"Not anymore."

The gray-haired clerk maintained a professional expression for several seconds.

Then gestured toward another employee.

"Go get Supervisor Venn."

"Thank you."

She didn’t sound thankful.

Raven continued toward the stairs.

He had no reason to care.

Local nobility was a problem for local nobility.

Then the woman spoke.

"Raven Ashford."

Raven stopped.

Turned.

She was looking at him.