378: Never Wasteful (Patreon)

As the Trial faded around him, yet he remained ensconced within an orb of blue, Nicolai had little to do but review the notifications his Mark jumped out at him. The first simply read, Transporting to lobby in 10 seconds, but the second was more engaging.

Thrynn Assassin Role Trials, final results:

Orb, First Touch: Tanaka

Orb, Longest Held: Nicolai

Orb, Delivered: Nicolai

Most Eliminations: Nicolai

Most Stealthy: Vex

There was something wonderful about seeing his name beside three out of the five. It made a statement, one he was sure the nobles of House Thrynn would find near irresistible.

Or perhaps the joy he felt was from the fact the three goals with his name beside them shone brighter in the UI, possessing that unusual quality which told him they could be mentally clicked. Upon doing so, three more notifications sprang out.

He had gained three Heavenly Rewards, to be claimed at a time of his choosing. That would have to wait, because the countdown hit zero. First there came a flash over his body, as all of his damaged equipment was instantly restored to the state it had been in at the start of the Trial, and then with another flash he was back in the lobby.

An instantaneous spike of murderous intent pulled him spinning around and he found himself near face-to-face with Severin. The hazy logic of Heaven’s random spawning system had put him and the assassin right beside one another. That led one or two Modules to wonder at just how random that system was, but Nicolai kept all his focus trained on the figure before him.

Severin’s grey-tinged Soul Sense boiled like a sea at storm, emanating a killing rage as it poured toward him. The assassin’s monowire unfurled from his wrist like something alive, then it lunged.

Nicolai and the Modules, in the milliseconds they had, performed a very brief test. He raised a finger from which spat a laser, a thin bar of red that flickered, there then gone, catching at Severin’s shin.

Then he stopped moving backwards, ceased the activation of his Shield, and instead threw himself towards Severin and that lashing monowire, arms spreading like one leaping from a skyscraper, eager to embrace death.

Alas, Severin’s monowire reversed just before it touched him, the assassin abruptly wrenching it away with a spasmodic jerk. The attempt had failed so Nicolai stopped moving. The grey Soul Sense seethed around him, full of the need to kill but unable to vent it. Those assassins nearby had rapidly retreated, leaving an expanding, empty ring around them. No one wanted to be anywhere near someone emanating such murderous fury, Restriction or no.

Severin just stared at him so he stood there and did the same. He considered whether to say something, some kind of jibe perhaps, to further inflame the assassin’s fury. He knew that he had made himself an absolute enemy here and sometimes it was worth encouraging rage, as it could push an enemy into making rash decisions—as had nearly occurred—but considering the calibre of his opponent, he suspected it would not be so easy.

He was proven right when a puff of smoke rose from his leg, pulling Severin’s gaze.

Severin’s emotions abruptly cooled and faded away, and his Soul Sense retracted. Like just about everyone else from Earth Nicolai had encountered, even this skilled killer was not entirely able to hide his true emotions, but what Severin did was in some ways more impressive. He didn’t work to better shield his Soul, hiding his emotions as Nicolai did, instead he simply forced his fury down with unnatural speed. The assassin did work to better guard his Soul, too, but even so Nicolai could still catch a hint. The fury had transformed, becoming cold and calculating.

With that Severin turned and started away, heading straight towards the doors.

A voice struck out, surprising some of the shadowy figures around him. Now, they all turned towards the voice.

Up on the stage, the Patriarch was calling out to Severin’s retreating back. ‘Don’t be so hasty, my man. You have proven yourself. I would have your service.’

Severin paused then turned, staring up at the Patriarch. ‘Me and who else?’ he asked, with a glance at Nicolai.

‘You, and him, and him,’ said the Patriarch, pointing to Severin, then Nicolai, and then the white-robed hacker. From his manner, he seemed quite sure Severin would accept, smiling wide as though bringing good news.

Severin gave an ugly bark of a snort, crackling from his helmet’s speakers, then turned away.

‘Where are you going?’ cried the Patriarch, clutching at the railing before him. ‘I offer you a place!’

‘I will not work with him,’ said Severin, still walking. ‘I will find employment elsewhere. Then I will kill him. And then I will kill you.’

The Patriarch spluttered, and perhaps he would have argued, but Severin was already out the door and striding away.

Nicolai turned to face the Patriarch, clicking his tongue as though in dismay. ‘Alas,’ he said, spreading his arms in a helpless shrug, glad his repaired helmet hid the smile on his face.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to kill Severin. That particular setup, the monowire, Silver Net, and strange Soul Sense, was difficult to deal with. But he was sure that he was going to find a way. Perhaps this very day, if the Role he would momentarily be gaining worked as he hoped. The best time to strike would be before Severin gained the same.

‘Fine,’ muttered the Patriarch to himself, shaking his head. Then his finger jabbed out at another. The plain-clothed man who had shot Nicolai twice in the head at the end of the contest. ‘You,’ he said.

The man nodded and smiled. From his easy nature he seemed entirely unaware that he was receiving a gaze from Nicolai, through helmet-visor, that was not too dissimilar from Severin’s murderous glare.

His own killing rage was tightly bound, he was pleased to note. But even so, the memory of being shot twice in the head was far from pleasant. It inspired in the Dark a primitive but powerful hunger for revenge, which he wouldn’t act on unless there was good reason. Fortunately for the Dark, he had at least two good reasons.

That pistol was very dangerous, far too dangerous to leave in the hands of someone else. Plus, he wanted it. Therefore, he effectively had no choice but to kill plain-clothes as soon as possible.

‘Come with me, you three,’ called the Patriarch, waving his hand in a rather grumpy way. ‘Everyone else can leave. We’re done here!’

The remaining assassins filed out, a disappointed mass of murderers. Many strutted or strolled, exhibiting much the same energy as a cat who, having just failed its leap onto the sofa and crashed ungracefully to the ground, will then curl up and lick itself in the most casual and unconcerned of ways, as though it had always wanted to end up on the floor. Just the same, the body language of these assassins seemed to imply that this whole competition was so far beneath them and, if anything, their unconcerned walks seemed to say, they were glad not to have won. Nicolai watched them go, his eyes picking out a few in particular. People of interest, for one reason or another.

It was around this point that the Modules finished linking back up with the network of drones he had left in the city. He gave some instructions to that network, sending images of all the people from the Trial he wanted to keep tabs on. Severin, obviously, plus a few others.

His brow creased when he found a number of voice messages waiting for him. He had told Serrin how to message him and it seemed the Hornet had been doing so. Without Nicolai around to answer, the messages had been stored and were now at last passed on.

Scrolling rapidly through the recordings, his frown deepened. Before he had reached the end of them all, he muttered a curse.

The Hornet had been busy, very busy. And from what he was hearing, it sounded like some possibly unwise decisions had been made.

He would discover how unwise soon. Serrin, in the latest message, had said he and his “new friends” were waiting outside. Nicolai gave a terse response, mostly revolving around the fact many dangerous people—at least one of whom hated him—were exiting the compound and that Serrin and co. should avoid being seen, then turned and headed toward the stage, climbing the stairs at its side.

The Patriarch waited just before the open doorway, arms crossed, three-eyed, tentacle-bearded face stern. Edrin stood on his right, while the rest of the family stood on the left. Nicolai knew them, because he’d done his due diligence. The Patriarch had a brother—a tall person who bore only a passing resemblance to the Patriarch himself—who seemed to be the second in command here, and the brother had two daughters. They were all there, eyeing Nicolai and the other two, looking near as prideful as the departing assassins. Bodyguards flanked the lot of them—grim-faced, armoured People cut from the same cloth as the one who’d fought alongside Edrin, with those same bat-like wings.

From the way they all positioned themselves Nicolai had the distinct impression they were hoping to impress. Perhaps they would’ve, were it not for his recent experiences. It was impossible not to compare them with Vexira and her Hive, and these nobles came up short. Only two of the bodyguards, those sticking closest to the Patriarch, bore Artifact weapons, whereas all of her Hands possessed one. Still, the Patriarch was Tier 3 and that was reason enough to be on his best behaviour.

The Patriarch spread his arms. ‘Congratulations, Players. The three of you have achieved the greatest accolade one can gain in this material realm—you have earned yourselves a place in House Thrynn.’

In a surprising moment of shared feeling, Nicolai turned his head, sharing an expressionless but still slightly doubtful look with the other two winners.

‘Along with the rest of the Revive Alliance, we are destined to win control over this Sector, rise to glory, and restore the People in the eyes of Heaven,’ continued the Patriarch matter-of-factually, and the other nobles nodded. ‘But before you can take your proper place, some preliminary tasks must be dispensed with.’ He pulled from a pocket a large green gem, shimmering with spiritual energy, then approached the plain-clothes man—who was on the far-left of the line Nicolai and the other two had formed into—and with a wave of his hand created a globe of magical silence.

Nicolai and the hacker watched as the Patriarch and the plain-clothed assassin engaged in silent conversation. Naturally, Nicolai made use of everything he and the Modules had available to lip-read plus body language and gestures. A little tricky with the various language barriers, but the Modules had a reasonable understanding of the People language, now.

After only a minute the Patriarch nodded, satisfied, and moved to the hacker. Another minute passed then he came for Nicolai.

‘We were very impressed by your performance,’ said the Patriarch, smiling. ‘In fact I am convinced that you, Nicolai, are my man. These other two,’ and he glanced with a faint frown at the others, ‘I am less convinced by. But you have earned the lead role.’ Nicolai nodded. The conversation was going as anticipated. ‘However,’ hissed the Patriarch, eyes suddenly narrowing. ‘There is something I must check.’ His thumb rubbed at the green gem. ‘What is your name?’

‘Nicolai,’ said Nicolai.

‘Good,’ said the Patriarch, grudgingly. ‘Were you sent by Morvain, or Veyron, or any of our other enemies?’

‘No,’ said Observation. The Module hadn’t been sent by anyone.

‘Do you mean to betray my House in any way?’

‘Nope,’ said Observation. The Module had no particular desire or pressing need to betray anyone, it was merely along for the ride.

‘Do you mean to—’

There were a few more questions, each receiving a cheerful denial by Observation, then the questions ended and the Patriarch nodded, satisfied.

‘You will sign these,’ said the Patriarch, pulling three small scrolls from a pocket and handing one each to Nicolai and the others. ‘Then you will truly be one of us.’

Nicolai opened up his scroll the moment he received it, following the suddenly insistent urging of Legal, which had woken from its slumber and was eager to tear into the contract. For a legal document, it was surprisingly short and to the point. Legal quickly concluded that this contract had been written by Heaven. The People were a lot wordier with their legal documents.

After only a few seconds more, while the other two were still frowning down at the scrolls they held, Nicolai looked up at the Patriarch. Beneath his helmet, he was smiling. Legal was full of good news. ‘I will sign.’

Matters progressed quickly from there. The other two seemed to feel pressured by his quick acceptance, as they followed suit. Once they had signed, the Patriarch took the contracts back, tucking them into his robes.

‘Good,’ said the Patriarch, voice gruffer. ‘You work for me now and you will do as I say. I name you as the Assassins of House Thrynn. Nicolai, Senior Assassin. Tanaka and John, Junior Assassins.’

Nicolai’s Mark flickered beneath his glove, a new shape taking form, and it was done.

After that the nobles relaxed slightly, the Patriarch’s manner especially seeing a change. The demanding, impatient version Nicolai had noted previously replaced the smiling one of before, and he told them that there would be three more Trials held that day, and by the end Thrynn would have its full complement, all Roles filled. They should return then. In the meantime, Nicolai and the others were told to familiarise themselves with the grounds, and Edrin was quick to say he’d show Nicolai around.

‘It seems almost fated that you succeeded,’ spoke Edrin, as they walked through a corridor. ‘First you came to my aid against Morvain, now you won the place as our assassin. You know, none of us—none of the others, I mean—thought one of your kind would end up taking the main spot. They were all sure it would have to be one of the Shenrans. Who would have thought it would end up being down to two of your kind? And that fight! It didn’t involve as much skulking about as I had anticipated, either. My father was very pleased with your performance, though he’d also hoped to acquire Severin too.’

The young nobleman looked expectantly at Nicolai, who was wondering whether Edrin had decided they were friends, or if he was canny enough to actively seek to make advantageous alliances.

‘Did you and him know one another?’ pressed Edrin. ‘It seemed like there was something personal between you.’

‘We’d never met until today,’ he answered. ‘But…’ he shrugged, glanced at Edrin, did a little shuffle of his shoulders and flashed a subtle emanation, as though he was considering whether to speak, whether to give some piece of personal meaning away, whether Edrin was worthy of it.

‘For someone like me and someone like him,’ he said at last, in a voice of manly brooding, ‘it would always go like that. Killers of our calibre can’t abide one another’s presence.’

‘I see,’ breathed Edrin, with a wide-eyed, near-fawning level of excited interest that told Nicolai he’d judged precisely right.

‘What can you tell me about the rest of your family?’ he added, his eyes forward. sunlight was blossoming at the end of the corridor, and after a moment they emerged into a garden. He paused, turning his head to take it in, and Edrin paused with him. This compound was not dissimilar to the one in the Trial, perhaps a common design amongst the People.

‘Oh, my cousins?’ said Edrin. ‘Well, they’re a little sharp, but I’m sure they only mean the best. Probably. My uncle, though, hmm.’ Edrin frowned. ‘You know, I’m never quite sure where I stand with him.’

Nicolai saved that little snippet for data mining. Psychology was already diving in to investigate every twitch of Edrin’s face.

‘Will you watch the remaining Trials?’ continued Edrin. ‘I was wondering if your friend might make a play for the Captain role.’

He was about to give a noncommittal answer, because of course Serrin couldn’t take part, when he paused. Based on the details in Serrin’s recent messages, that was no longer the case. And if so, then he saw no reason not to push Serrin to do just what Edrin suggested.

‘He might do at that,’ he replied. He’d planned to wait a little longer before leaving, but with that realisation he opted to get moving immediately. After bidding the somewhat confused Edrin farewell—the noble had only been showing him around for about four minutes—he headed out of the compound. The new addition to his Mark made doing so very easy, as the spiritual protections on the place recognised him as a member of the House. He’d gone through it earlier but checked on it again while scaling the wall, just to reread it, experiencing a surge of delight at the wording.

Mark Function—Phantom City Assassin Role, Lead

Charges: 2

Assassins may cut through the Restriction that guards those in the City from harm at will. Activating this Mark function allows you to create a hole in the Restriction. The shape of the hole is up to you, but it must have a total maximum size of 30 square metres, and cannot be thinner than 0.5 metres at any point.

As the Lead Assassin, you have two charges and a used charge restores one hour after use.

Upon landing in a crouch outside the wall, Nicolai did not head directly for Serrin. Alas, Severin had entirely disappeared, but through his network of drones he had spotted someone else he was interested in. The Mask stirred and began to grumble, realising his intentions, and Nicolai marshalled his reasonable arguments. The first of which was: a charge took an hour to recover and he had two. Therefore it was optimal to continuously use one charge to gain benefits, then keep the last ready for whatever might arise while the first recovered. That way he would be able to make use of it perhaps twelve to seventeen times on each trip to the City. It would be wasteful to behave otherwise, and a Better Man was, among other things, never wasteful.

###

Serrin, shifting uneasily from foot to foot and throwing many a glance back at Junko and her increasingly impatient companions, straightened up with relief when he saw a familiar figure coming down the street towards him.

‘Nicolai!’ he called, ‘at last. What took so long? There are some people I want you to meet, they…’ Looking behind him, he trailed off. Junko, Marlowe, Maverick, and Yue were all staring at Nicolai with something that even he could recognise as a kind of frozen horror, mouths open and faces paling.

‘He’s your friend?’ hissed Junko. ‘I saw him in the Tournament!’ She no longer sounded quite so relaxed and ready to meet his friend as she had before.

‘Yes,’ he replied, then, ‘Oh. You saw that?’

‘Serrin,’ spoke Nicolai, arriving, head turning and faceless helmet scanning over the group. ‘You have been busy.’

‘I…’ Serrin frowned, staring at Nicolai. Seeing his friend all of a sudden with new eyes, imagining how the group must be seeing him, he winced at all the vicious weaponry, the pure murderousness Nicolai’s form embodied. A murderousness that was reinforced by the latest addition to his excessive amount of equipment—a bandolier of knives, all of which looked and felt like Artifacts to Serrin’s eyes. There was a stain all up one side of it, fresh, bright red blood. ‘Uh, there’s… some red on you.’

Nicolai glanced down. ‘Ah,’ he said.

Serrin had become quite good at reading Nicolai’s body language and there was something very fond about the way he looked at that bandolier. ‘Where did you get that?’ he asked, suspicious.

###

‘I… procured it,’ said Nicolai, then moved past Serrin to stand before the diverse group the Hornet had found. ‘So. Who do we have here?’ he prompted, eager to distract Serrin from his wonderful new bandolier full of returning Artifact Knives.

He’d already endured the Mask’s objections over his recent actions, there was no need to subject himself to the same from Serrin. While moving he casually shifted it around his body—in what Psychology assured him was a totally normal way—so the bloodstained part was hidden below his armpit, while wondering how he’d missed that. Stopping, he took the group before him in, gaze moving from one hostile little face to another, pausing briefly on the dog, finishing on the girl who’d reportedly dug a hook of some kind into Serrin.

‘The Summoner,’ he said, in a voice he intended to pitch as… musing.

She crossed her arms, frowning up at him.