Hitman with a Badass System

Upon stepping through the portal, Michael experienced a rapid change of scenery. In the blink of an eye, he found himself standing in the midst of a magnificent marble hall, where rows of tables were laden with books and scrolls, resembling a vast library. As he observed his new surroundings, a young orc, clad in gleaming metal armor, approached him.

“Do you feel that?” Sarba whispered, her voice tinged with concern. Michael sensed a peculiar sensation in the air, as if something had departed from him.

“There’s no energy in the air,” Sarba added in a hushed tone.

“Show me the token,” the young orc demanded, his voice cold and distant. Michael extended his hand, revealing the coin he held.

The orc scrutinized the coin, examining it closely before nodding. “Seems legit. Welcome to Goldspire, capital of the Kingdom of Sagespire,” he recited in a manner that suggested he’d uttered those words countless times.

“Thank you,” Michael replied politely.

“You can proceed to the lobby through that door,” the orc pointed towards a door in the corner of the hall. “One of the assistants will assist you with any questions you may have.”

“Well, I was hoping for a warmer welcome, but we’ll have to make do with that grumpy orc, I suppose,” Ayag grumbled.

Ignoring Ayag’s complaints, Michael focused on the strange atmosphere around him. He could sense no energy, yet his own powers remained intact. He realized he could cast spells if he wished, but there was an undeniable sense of peculiarity in the air.

“Let’s move on from here,” Michael suggested before making his way toward the indicated door.

Upon opening the door, Michael stepped into a brilliantly lit hall, bathed in the warm embrace of morning sun rays. The vast space was abuzz with activity as people from diverse races bustled about, deeply engrossed in discussions, examining the numerous portraits adorning the walls – depictions of renowned runes and runemasters.

Amidst the lively scene, emerald-green robed orcs and young female elves went about their duties, assisting visitors with their inquiries and offering guidance. Michael’s eyes were drawn to a particularly beautiful young elf, gracefully approaching him.

With a friendly smile, she introduced herself, “Greetings, traveler. I am Lyria, a steward of the Guild. How may I assist you today?” Her voice carried a gentle and welcoming tone, making Michael feel at ease in this unfamiliar place.

Michael promptly activated his Eyes of Darkness, surveying the surroundings, only to perceive the same green aura enveloping everyone in the hall.

𝞸𝐯𝓁xt.𝑪𝞸𝓂

“I’m new to Sagespire,” Michael began, “and I can’t help but notice this peculiar sensation as if I’ve lost my connection to the energy around me.”

Lyria maintained her kind smile, her demeanor patient and welcoming. “Ah, that would be the divine array at work, my dear friend. Within the sacred domain of her holiness Seshat, all are considered equal. Here, the only distinction lies in one’s knowledge, not their cultivation stages,” she explained, shedding light on the reason behind the unusual feeling Michael experienced.

Lyria elaborated, “In Sagespire, there are no cultivators. Those who arrive here from other domains find their cultivation temporarily suppressed, leveling the playing field. This ensures that unnecessary conflicts and disputes are greatly reduced.”

Michael, intrigued by this unique approach, inquired further, “But if there are no battles of strength, how do people here resolve their disagreements? In even the most peaceful of kingdoms, conflicts tend to arise one way or another.”

Lyria continued to explain, “Well most conflicts find resolution through debates and intellectual battles. Her Holiness Seshat values wisdom and knowledge greatly. However, she is not blind to the fact that some disagreements cannot be settled through words alone, and at times, battles must be fought with strength and steel.”

Intrigued by this revelation, Michael probed further, “What does that mean, exactly?”

Lyria clarified, “It means there is an arena, for those who prefer to settle their disputes through physical combat. However, it’s considered a last resort, and such confrontations are closely monitored and controlled. Seshat encourages peaceful resolutions whenever possible.”

Michael couldn’t help but find the whole arrangement intriguing. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said, “Interesting.”

Lyria, with a relieved expression, chimed in, “I hope you stay away from the arena and find whatever you’re seeking here in Sagespire peacefully.”

Michael smiled, teasingly adding, “I’m not here to pick fights, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’ve come to attend the Divine Towers auction.”

Lyria let out a sigh of relief and said, “Ah, then you must be a runemaster?”

Michael shook his head, grinning, and replied, “More of a blacksmith, actually.”

Lyria looked at him with surprise, her gaze traveling across his muscular and imposing figure. “Well, that certainly makes sense.”

Michael chuckled at her response, and Lyria continued, “In that case, you should visit the blacksmith guild. It’s just a couple of blocks from here.”

“Thank you,” Michael said, offering a friendly smile. “I’ll do that. Goodbye for now.”

With their brief conversation concluded, Michael headed out of the guild hall, ready to explore Sagespire and make the most of his time in this new realm.

As Michael stepped out of the runemasters guild, he was greeted by a sight of sheer elegance. The street before him was a symphony of grandeur and intellect. Ornate fountains adorned with intricate sculptures sprayed crystal-clear water into the air, creating a refreshing ambiance. Paved pavements, lined with trees, stretched gracefully in both directions, providing a serene pathway for pedestrians.

Most of the people strolling along this charming street held books, scrolls, or various forms of written knowledge. It was evident that in Sagespire, learning and wisdom were highly prized.

Carriages moved through the streets with a peaceful rhythm, their horses clip-clopping on the well-maintained cobblestone roads. 

Each building that lined the street possessed its own unique style of architecture, showcasing the diversity of cultures and races that had contributed to the city’s rich tapestry. 

“Go check out the Blacksmith guild. We have fifteen days to the auction and no token to enter the auction. The Blacksmith guild might be worth checking out,” Sarba recommended.

Ayag, perched on his other shoulder, added her own perspective. “And the arena. I’m more interested in the battle arena.”

Taking their advice to heart, Michael embarked on his exploration of Sagespire, his thoughts now focused on seeking out the Blacksmith guild.

As Michael walked along the bustling streets of Sagespire, he couldn’t help but overhear the animated conversations of the city’s diverse populace. The air was filled with palpable excitement and anticipation for the upcoming Divine Tower auction.

A group of young men, their faces glowing with enthusiasm, chatted amongst themselves. “I heard they have some ancient elven tomes up for bidding this time. I’m saving every coin for that!”

A trio of women, each holding a collection of scrolls, discussed their potential purchases. “The runemaster guild rumored to have crafted some powerful runes. We mustn’t miss them.”

Michael observed with surprise the rich tapestry of races represented in the city. Elves, orcs, dwarves, halflings, and humans mingled in the streets, each group fervently engaged in discussions about the auction.

A halfling, standing on a crate to be heard, chimed in excitedly. “And the dwarven artifacts! Can you imagine having one in your possession?”

Michael couldn’t help but smile at the excitement of the crowd. The diversity in Sagespire was not just in its people but also in the shared passion for knowledge and rare treasures, all converging towards the impending auction.

As Michael strolled further down the elegant street, he soon noticed a distinct change in the atmosphere. The soft rustling of leaves and the murmur of conversation were gradually replaced by the resounding clang of metal upon metal. The air grew warmer, tinged with the distinct scent of heated iron.

Turning a corner, the source of the cacophony became clear. Before him stretched a long, narrow street flanked on both sides by bustling forges. Muscular orcs and stout dwarves toiled amidst roaring flames, their hammers striking hot metal with rhythmic precision.

From the forges came a symphony of shouts and commands. “Pass me the quenching bucket, Hrothgar!” one orc yelled, while a dwarf barked orders at his apprentice, “Steady now, Glimmer! The blade’s edge must be true.”

At the end of this fiery avenue stood the Blacksmith Guild, an imposing building with walls of deep, earthy brown. Its large, rectangular windows allowed the golden glow of firelight to dance across the cobblestone street. The guild’s entrance was adorned with a massive oak door, expertly carved with intricate designs that hinted at the artistry within.

As Michael wandered the streets, he couldn’t help but be drawn to the warmth of the forges and the harmonious symphony of clanging metal. The rhythmic pounding of hammers and the rhythmic dance of blacksmiths at their craft stirred something within him.

“I miss my forge,” Michael sighed wistfully, his eyes fixed on the diligent blacksmiths.

The blacksmiths and their apprentices were engrossed in their work, their attention solely on the creation of their weapons and armor, too absorbed to notice the newcomer.

“For a kingdom that prides itself on peace and intellect,” Ayag observed, “this level of weapon production does seem rather contradictory.”

Sarba chimed in with agreement, “Indeed. Lyria’s words about the kingdom’s values don’t quite match the reality we see here.”

“So what’s the play here?” asked Ayag.

“I don’t know yet,” Michael confessed, his gaze fixed on the towering Blacksmith Guild at the street’s end. “Let’s check out this Blacksmith Guild. Perhaps they have something to offer us.”

As Michael approached the imposing Blacksmith Guild, his path was intercepted by two armored guards stationed at the guild’s entrance. One was a sturdy dwarf, and the other a stocky human, both clad in formidable armor.

Their expressions were stern as they blocked his way, and the dwarf, with his gruff demeanor, spoke first. “If you’re here to buy something, you’d best look for one of the smiths down the street.”

“Can’t I just look around?”  He politely inquired.

The guards exchanged a glance, and the human guard replied, “Sorry, friend. The master blacksmiths are currently occupied with recruiting new talent. If you’re interested in exploring the guild, you’ll have to return at a later time.”

Michael had another idea in mind. “What if I want to join this recruitment?” he asked, his tone suggesting genuine interest.

The human guard, displaying a hint of skepticism, questioned, “Are you a blacksmith?”

Without hesitation, Michael confidently affirmed, “Yes, I am.”

The dwarf guard, more experienced in discerning the truth from a person’s hand, spoke up. “Show us your palm, then. Let’s see if it bears the marks of one who’s wielded swords and hammers.”

Michael offered a warm smile and extended his palm for inspection. The dwarf scrutinized the lines and calluses etched into Michael’s hand, a testament to years spent mastering the craft.

After a moment’s examination, the dwarf nodded approvingly. “You’re free to enter the guild, friend. May your time here be fruitful.”

Once Michael had entered the Blacksmith Guild, the human guard let out a bemused sigh, clearly perplexed by the dwarf’s ability to discern a person’s profession from their palm.

“I still don’t understand how you can tell if someone’s a blacksmith just by looking at their palm,” the human guard admitted with a hint of frustration.

The dwarf, on the other hand, couldn’t help but chuckle at his colleague’s skepticism. “Ah, lad, a palm tells a story, it does. The lines, the calluses, the scars—all of ’em speak of a person’s trade.”

The human guard shook his head, maintaining his doubts. “Well, that young man didn’t strike me as a blacksmith.”

The dwarf continued to wear a knowing smile as he replied, “That young lad’s palm told the tale of someone who’s spent far too much time wielding swords and hammers,”