568 You’ll Do What? Part One (2/2)

When she turned back, the Tactician had disappeared... ”Slicker than owl sh*t, you--”

She swung her broomstick in an arc behind her. She didn't belong to a martial class, but any decent strike from a Gold-Rank would give the fella a nasty lump.

Her weapon stopped.

It was blocked... by the haft of a crimson spear-- and it didn't make a Flame-taken sound. She didn't feel any magic that blocked the impact... or enchantment that silenced the noise. The spearwielder had someone managed to... catch her strike, and ease it back.

He was good. Real good.

The Tactician was inside her embarrassingly tiny home, looking at an old painting on the wall... something she whipped up to cover one of the many big holes in the wood paneling.

Standing beside him was a young boy with sandy blonde hair-- he couldn't have been older than twelve or thirteen. That boy-- that impossibly young child was a Gold-Rank... just like she was.

He wore custom-molded armor... bright blue, all of it Tyrion steel. On his shoulder was the only known sigil of the forbidden holy spell ⌈Ultima⌋.

Only one class of person could wear that symbol in the Holy Country... the personal guard of the High Oracle.

But where did he come from? He wasn't there when she opened the door.

Putting her angry face back on, she kept as quiet as Elvenly possible, trying to get this snake to leave, ”Y'all are *not* welcome here, I don't care who--”

”We're not here for you,” Tycon interrupted her.

Ariadne furrowed her eyebrows, ”What in the seven hells and eleven heavens do ya mean, by that?”

”Stand down. We're here to speak with... 'Mister' Ariadne,” Tycon gestured flippantly. ”So to speak.”

”You an' what army, bub?” She scoffed.

Tycon nodded towards the boy, ”Pale.”

Ariadne turned to look and everything... stopped. All the tiny hairs on her neck and arms, all of them were standing. Her heart had stopped pumping. Something dreadful was rumbling in her gut and making her sick. Bells and whistles were going crazy in her head, like she was staring in the eyes of a direbeast and she was a thirty-year-old Sapling again.

All she could see... was white... and the boy.

There was... so much mana radiating out of the child... and it washed over her like a flood. Her knees buckled and she was about to fall when the Tactician caught her by the arm.

”That's enough,” The Tactician whispered.

And all at once... everything was normal again.

The clock on the wall, it was ticking. Her heart was beating. Sweat dripped out of every pore on her body. Blood was trickling down her nose... and dripped onto the floor.

”Elves tend to have a very acute perception of mana,” Tycon explained. ”Any more and Lady Ariadne was at risk of injury.”

”Ohhhh, got it, Boss,” Pale nodded and bowed politely, ”I'm sorry, um... Milady.”

”Tactician...” Ariadne gulped, ”You recruited... a Hero? To Guild Letalis?”

”Oh, is it that obvious?” Tycon mused.