Heir of the Fog

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Credits for Carnage

It was time to hunt again. Not only did I want to test my Hazeveil, but my food was nearly gone. I had already eaten most of the gloomwing I'd taken down, with only a few scraps left. As Kara predicted, that meat seemed to have done wonders for me; I felt a tangible increase in body mass, and there was something else, some qualitative boost that came from consuming magical beasts. I couldn't say I understood any of it well, since I hadn't eaten district-produced meat to compare. But all that mattered now was that my supply had run out, and I needed more.

I prepared to slip on my cloak and go hunting. Thinking back on the many beasts I had seen in the fog, I considered several options before settling on another pack of diremaws. I wanted more ebony cores, I needed meat, and I also wanted to gauge how much my abilities had grown. Between my improved skills—bolstered by my last long sleep and my desire to test the cloak, the choice seemed obvious.

It took me only a few hours to locate another pack. This time, there were four diremaws traveling together. I lured them into a ruined house by leaving bits of meat as bait. I set no traps inside; somehow I felt confident, eager to fight, and my mind buzzed with anticipation. The thought of battling four diremaws at once made my pulse quicken, but I also yearned to test my cloak under real pressure.

Evening was approaching, but full night had not yet fallen. Because of that, my cloak of shadows wouldn't be at its full potential outside. Inside ruined buildings, however, the light was far more limited. Deep shadows pooled in corners, letting me move dangerously close to the beasts. I had left my bags and spears back in my hideout, taking only three daggers—two in my hands and a spare if needed. Staying light on my feet was crucial for this stealth-based approach.

I also chose not to burn any weeds to hide my scent. I wanted to know if my new artificial scent would be enough to fool a diremaw's keen nose. As the beasts slunk in, attracted by the gloomwing remains I had left behind in the building, I crept only a few meters behind them, undetected.

Inside, the diremaws spotted the meat. Immediately, the first one to reach it tried to take a bite, but another lunged in, snarling to claim the meal. Their scuffle broke out in a flurry of claws and snapping jaws. I seized the opportunity. With a spring in my step, I vaulted upward, nearly hitting the crumbling ceiling, and came crashing down onto the neck of one diremaw that had been watching the fight. My daggers sank into its flesh, and it collapsed with a wet thud.

The other onlooker was my next target. I hurled one of my daggers at its face, hoping for a clean kill. The blade struck true but didn't pierce deeply enough. Without pausing, I leaped forward and slammed my entire weight against the protruding handle in a fierce kick, driving the dagger deeper into the creature's skull. The diremaw collapsed, and I spared a glance to confirm it was dead.

Then I shrugged off my cloak, letting it fall to the floor. The two diremaws that had been fighting each other halted mid-battle, staring at their fallen companions. With a menacing snarl, they both launched themselves at me. I met one in mid-leap with a knee to its jaw, feeling bone give way under the impact. Pain flared bright in my knee, a burning jolt, yet my mind library instantly dampened the worst of it.

The second diremaw rebounded off the wall, twisting to attack from an odd angle that nearly caught me off guard. Its claws swiped for my head, but at the last possible instant, something seemed to interfere—my cloak flew across the room as though caught in a gust of wind, veiling the beast's face. Startled, it missed by inches.

Had my cloak truly moved on its own to blind that diremaw? I couldn't sense any breeze strong enough to propel it. But I had no time to think about coincidences. Seizing the opening, I rammed my blade into the beast's neck. The diremaw with the broken jaw still reeled from the blow I had given it, so I finished that one too, ending both creatures in a quick, brutal flourish. Soon, blood pooled on the cracked floorboards.

I stood there, breathing heavily, surrounded by four lifeless diremaws. I had actually done it—taken on four without traps. I supposed I owed some gratitude to Hazeveil for that one bit of unlikely help. Maybe I was just ridiculously lucky, I mused. Leaning down, I retrieved the Hazeveil and muttered, "Thanks." As if in response, mana rippled along the runic construct woven into the cloak, the symbols shifting ever so slightly.

Nothing exploded, so I only shrugged. I picked up my daggers and inspected my injuries, finding no major wounds beyond the sharp ache in my knee. But I knew it would heal quickly. By anyone's standards, especially Kara standards, this was a significant victory.

"So, what do you think?" I murmured, half to myself but really addressing the presence in my head. With no one else around in the fog, Kara was my only companion to speak with.

For a few moments, she said nothing. At last, her voice resonated in my mind.

[Kara]

[Congratulations. Your strength and… luck far surpass my initial estimates.]

"I know, right?" I said, grinning even though no one could see me. "Maybe I deserve a day without training for this, huh?"

She gave no response, which I took as a refusal.

"Well," I sighed, "at least you could lighten my schedule a bit next time?"

Again, silence.

"You can be quite cold, you know," I remarked. "Right?"

[Kara]

[Negative. Coldness would contradict my assigned parameters. In fact, I believe I am assimilating human speech fairly well. Moreover, I have adjusted my own syntax to mirror the user's speech patterns and avoid causing feelings of inferiority.]

She had insulted me so politely that I wasn't sure if I should thank her or argue. In the end, I whispered, "Thanks… I guess."

[Kara]

[You are welcomed. Small eye blink.]

"That's not how it works," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "If you say 'small eye blink,' it sort of defeats the purpose of actually blinking."

A moment later, I saw a projected, smiling face blinking at me in my vision. I couldn't help but shudder; Kara's attempts at human expressions always felt unnatural.

"Anyway, I really should go," I said, gathering up my belongings. "If I spend a few more days here, talking only to you, I might go completely insane."

Even as I said it, a new worry flickered in my thoughts: If I did lose my mind, would my mind library simply remove that broken part of me? The image of a piece of my consciousness being removed because Kara made it go crazy felt unsettling.

"Yeah," I concluded, shaking off that idea, "I should hurry."

Kara, of course, was privy to every stray fear crossing my mind, but she remained silent as I headed out. This was my life now—no secrets, no hiding from Kara.

I proceeded to extract only a portion of the beasts' blood, storing it in small containers, then removed four ebony cores, which were simple to locate in diremaws once I knew precisely where to look. I intended to use the blood for a ritual that required the life essence of multiple creatures, so Kara thought it safest to gather smaller samples from a variety of beasts, then rely on a larger quantity from just one for most of the ritual. Unfortunately, I didn't have the containers to carry enough blood on this trip, which was one of the reasons I planned to stop at District 99 before forming my core.

The good news was that I was already quite close to District 99—barely a kilometer out from their ward's boundary. I had chosen this spot to lure the diremaws specifically for that reason: I wanted to bring them as an offering or gift to the district. I suspected people there would appreciate fresh beast carcasses, possibly enough to compensate me with supplies or funds. Maybe I could even buy new clothes.

The Blackthorn family, after all, had never envisioned I would travel such distances. They hadn't given me money for this journey because, in their eyes, I would either wander the fog for a few minutes and come back or perish. I had not mentioned my real plan to trek all the way to the lower districts that had fallen.

Besides, most folks in District 98 probably presumed I was dead by now, especially if an entire year had passed, according to Kara's estimates. Word would have spread to District 99 through other Chainrunner teams passing by. However, I carried a badge identifying me as part of the Blackthorn family, and, well… these days, not many humans roamed the fog—Markus being a strange exception, and the Chainrunners, of course, who only dashed between wards rather than truly wandering and Markus wasn't actually a human.

I had expected to lure a small handful of diremaws, not four of them. Their combined weight might be half a ton. Dragging all that meat to the ward at once was impossible. I settled on moving them one at a time using ropes.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

I prepared to leave at first light, not wanting to attract nocturnal beasts like gloomwings by hauling a diremaw's carcass through the darkness. Luckily, in the fog, creatures tended to target those of a similar tier. They sought growth by fighting comparable foes and preferred meat infused with enough mana to benefit them. Thus, if I dragged a diremaw around, I would mostly draw in other Tier 1 beasts. Even so, Hazeveil wouldn't conceal me well if I was hauling a huge carcass.

Still, I had considered all of this beforehand. Thanks to Kara's memory of the Chainrunner maps we had studied, I knew a route that followed the main road straight to District 99's guard post, minimizing the chance of encountering anything too dangerous along the way.

While on that road, I saw signs that large beasts had tested their ward recently—deep claw marks, scattered rubble—but nothing harried me during my brief approach. As I inched closer to the edge of their ward, I caught sight of the guards shifting into defensive stances. Some grabbed weapons, others pointed at the gloom. They must have assumed another beast was about to assault their ward.

I could see them more clearly than they could see me at first, so I stayed quiet. I had no desire to end up with an arrow in my throat, reminiscent of the near miss I'd had back in District 98 when Mareth nearly shot me, thinking I was a talking beast.

Now that I thought of it, the situation felt strangely similar. The main difference was that I no longer felt such dread about lurking creatures, nor was I overly worried about stray arrows. I felt confident enough in my reflexes to dodge them, if necessary.

As I drew nearer, the guards who had raised their crossbows and spears started to lower them, noticing my human shape under the fog's dim light. Yet, there was still something peculiar about the scene: ropes ran from my shoulders to whatever lay on the ground behind me, and they couldn't see the carcass just yet.

I counted at least a dozen guards. Their uniforms looked similar to those worn in District 98, but each bore the number 99 embroidered or painted on the shoulder plates, marking their home district. The guard post itself was heavily fortified, with tall barricades set near the perimeter and ample space to maneuver should a beast actually attack.

Stepping closer, I felt a flicker of nervous energy, but also relief. I had made it here without incident. If everything went well, I could offload part of the diremaw's meat, trade for items I needed, maybe even secure more containers for blood.

As I drew closer to the ward, I realized I had already crossed its boundary. The entire process felt oddly dreamlike, as though I had been wandering in my usual half-daze without noticing. That same tendency to lose myself in thought had unsettled many people before. Yet inside the fog, I usually stayed focused. Perhaps my mind library had shifted its priorities again and with that came a flood of small worries—like the weight of dragging a dead beast behind me.

I wondered if these guards would view me as another threat.

Would they think of me as just another beast? I pondered, feeling a knot of tension tighten in my chest.

"No," I murmured to myself. "They won't. I've crossed the ward."

Sure enough, the ward recognized me as human. One of the guards, an older man sporting a white beard, called out the moment I came into clearer view. A crossbow rested in his hands, and a sword hung at his hip, its scabbard battered from long use.

"You," he said loudly, "who are you?"

I stepped forward, rummaging for the Apprentice Chainrunner badge I carried from District 98. Producing it, I held it up where he could see. A ripple of surprise passed among the guards, and I sensed a shift in their stance—wariness mixed with curiosity. Then their attention fell on the heavy diremaw carcass I dragged behind me, finally visible in the lights near the guard post.

"I'm currently traveling," I explained, letting go of the ropes for a moment. "I need some resources, and I'm offering this as trade."

I took a step back, reclaiming my ropes. The bearded guard bent to study the diremaw. He exchanged worried looks with a few others. I could all but see the questions swirling in his mind—questions about who I was, how I got here, and why I brought a dead monster to their doorstep.

He looked up at me sharply. "Wait," he began, glancing at the beast. "Where are you going now?"

I turned, letting the ropes dangle from my shoulder. "To bring the rest," I said simply.

Without another word, I walked back into the fog, returning to gather the remaining diremaws. Each time I ventured outside, the swirling gray vapor enveloped me in its familiar warmth. My Hazeveil cloak clung to my shoulders, and I sensed a subdued resonance, like it merged with the fog's ambient mana. It was not as strong as the full comforting energy I felt deep in the haze, but it was enough to reassure me that the item was functional.

Over the next hour, I dragged in all four diremaw carcasses. By the time I delivered the second one, a crowd had formed. Whispers spread among the people of District 99: talk of an Apprentice Chainrunner, rumors of beasts slain just beyond their boundary. Several onlookers stood at a distance, eyes wide, as though half expecting these monsters to leap up and resume fighting.

I left my badge with the white-bearded guard, trusting him for the moment. While I brought in the rest of the beasts, I noticed more soldiers arriving to bolster the guard post's defenses, setting up a perimeter near the ward. Then, a regal procession appeared—an ornate carriage adorned with a polished crest. Its face was a shield of gold and silver, bearing a rapier crossed with a key at its center. The entire spectacle moved slowly, flanked by uniformed figures who shared that same emblem on their tunics.

I recalled that District 99 was said to be larger than 98. The arrival of a formal carriage for a matter like this suggested a different sense of style or perhaps more complex social hierarchies. The technology of the ancients varied widely among districts. But I still found it jarring that a carriage like this might be used for something other than practical travel and it moved so slowly, even slower than the people walking.

Many nobles travel by carriage. The books say that in ancient times, there were creatures called horses that carried people and were very common. Nowadays, however, carriages move on their own using something called an engine motor. The Blackthorn family has one of these, but I thought they were meant to be used, not just displayed like this. I also didn't think it would be so slow.

Meanwhile, I felt a touch self-conscious. I was basically half-dressed, with only the Hazeveil to shield me from the public eye, and people stared as though I were an oddity. The four diremaws lay on the ground behind me—no one had touched them, possibly out of fear or respect, I couldn't tell.

"Tobin, fetch the man some water," ordered a voice from within the carriage. It carried the authority of someone used to giving commands, and the bearded guard—presumably Tobin—answered with a brisk, "Yes, Sir," hurrying off toward the guard post.

From the carriage emerged a man who was thin and wiry, with sharp features and pale skin. His chestnut hair, slicked neatly back, caught faint highlights under the street lamps. Narrow green eyes gleamed, set above a finely tailored uniform that seemed equal parts guard's attire and noble finery. A rapier hung at his side, its hilt engraved with the same crest found on the carriage.

He approached slowly, as if wary of stepping too close to the ward's edge. Then he extended his right hand toward me. I hesitated, uncertain how formal I was supposed to be, but I shook it. Noticing my discomfort, he offered an explanation.

"I'm sure you've heard of me," he declared in a resonant voice designed to carry over the murmuring crowd. "Cairen D'Velmont, Captain of the City Guard of District 99 and head of House D'Velmont."

I blinked, studying him. His posture radiated confidence, and people nearby gave him a wide berth, as if he was someone not to be trifled with. Yet I truly had no idea who he was. "I don't have a clue, sorry," I admitted plainly. "Did you come to buy these diremaws? They're in good condition, but I already took out their cores."

My bluntness caused a ripple of unease among the onlookers. Many still gazed anxiously at the slain diremaws, unwilling to go near them. Cairen's face registered a flash of disappointment, my ignorance must have pricked his pride, but almost instantly, he recovered, schooling his features into a polite smile.

"Yes," he said, forcing cheerfulness into his tone. "I would be happy to take them off your hands, if you're willing to sell. Tell me, what price do you want?"

My mind ground to a halt. I hadn't thought much about how to price them. Ten credits per corpse? Twenty? In District 98, I sometimes heard Jharim mention his annual earnings hovered around seven or eight thousand credits when there was work. So how did that translate to the value of a diremaw? Might I be too low? Since this is a day's work, should I value it at maybe three pieces of bread? But would twenty credits be enough for a bread, or would that be too much?

"Twenty," I said, floundering, not even sure what that really meant in terms of purchasing power.

Cairen's eyes flickered with confusion. "Twenty?"

I nodded, heart pounding. Had I aimed too high? Or maybe too low? I couldn't tell. But Cairen's expression shifted again.

"I must be honest," he replied gently, "that sounds quite cheap. Are you certain?"

Oh no, I thought, I totally messed this up. I suppressed a grimace. But it felt wrong to backtrack now that he'd shown me courtesy of pointing out my mistake. I shrugged and forced a smile. "If you think it's cheap, you can keep the difference. I can always go back into the fog and hunt more if I need more credits."

A murmur went up among the crowd, as if they couldn't believe how casually I spoke about going back into the fog for more kills. Cairen's guarded expression softened, and he offered a nod of approval.

"Understood," he said. "In that case…"

He reached into the carriage and retrieved a handheld device about the size of a small book. It gleamed with metal edges and bore runic imprints. This was the credit machine. I'd seen one before—the ancient technology used to transfer money without physical coin. He placed his thumb on it, then gestured for me to confirm the transaction.

"Excellent," he declared. "Let's call it twenty thousand credits per beast, so that makes eighty thousand in total. A pleasure doing business with you."

My thoughts whirled. Did he say twenty thousand per corpse? That was worlds away from the number I had in mind. But I noticed the machine's display showing my name, Omen Blackthorn and a new balance, leaping from zero to eighty thousand in mere seconds.

He must have misunderstood me from the start, I realized in a daze. But if that was his assumption, it wasn't my place to argue now. My mind reeled at how much I had just earned. I wondered if Jharim had ever made this much in his entire career—eight thousand a year was already decent in District 98. Eighty thousand could support me for ages.

Words stuck in my throat. I looked up from the glowing screen, meeting Cairen's gaze. He looked remarkably calm, as if such sums were a trifling everyday transaction. A hush had fallen over the onlookers, and I sensed a deep rift between my life in District 98 and the affluence here in 99.

I swallowed, finally managing to speak. "Thank you," I said hoarsely, still not quite believing it.

He smiled with practiced ease, snapping the credit machine shut. "No, thank you for the offering," he responded. "You'll find District 99 quite hospitable, especially to those who brave the fog."