Solo Strategy

The man who entered the room was someone I had never seen before. He appeared to be around thirty, with long light-brown hair and a slender build, slightly taller than average. The suit he wore was expensive yet considerably worn: the fabric on the shoulders had thinned to the point of transparency, and the knees and elbows showed signs of long wear. On his feet were shoes that were once undoubtedly luxurious but now worn down almost to the base, as if their owner had traveled many long roads in them.

Frankly, he didn't look like a spy or a sect member. He was too flashily dressed, and his gaze was more like that of a petty scoundrel than a professional who could keep a cool head in any situation. Had I met him under different circumstances, I would have taken him for a bard. There was something typical of that ilk about him: not only the desire to appear wealthier—despite his worn attire, it had once been very expensive—but also a particular manner of moving. And the calluses on his fingertips were very similar to those left by frequent playing of stringed musical instruments.

The stranger entered the room like a cat—smoothly and silently, carefully closing the door behind him. His movements were measured and calm, only his darting eyes betraying a bit of nervousness. It seemed he was expecting some trouble and wasn't very confident. His rank turned out to be Wootz, so if anything went wrong, I could handle him in a couple of seconds. He apparently was also informed of my Elevation rank, so he was in no hurry to approach me. Instead, he moved along the wall to the table and stopped behind it.

For a few minutes, the stranger scrutinized me, then shifted his attention to my clothes hanging on the back of the chair, to the belt and boots lying on the floor. When he looked at the belt, something like interest flickered in his eyes. Apparently, he knew who wore such items and under what conditions they could be obtained.

"Raise your right hand," he ordered.

I obediently did as instructed, staring melancholically at one spot.

"Clench your right palm into a fist."

Another command, which I followed precisely.

"Straighten your index finger."

Sure, no problem.

Orders from the stranger poured out one after another: stand up, walk, turn around, raise one hand, then the other, then sit back on the bed.

"Put your hands behind your back, wrists crossed," said the uninvited guest, who by this time seemed to have calmed down a bit and felt much more confident.

He even relaxed enough to sit in the chair where the courtesan had been sitting earlier.

"I need you to answer a few questions," he said, pouring himself some tea. "Nod if you understand me."

I had to do as he said.

"Good. First question: do you know who I am?" the "guest" asked.

"No," I answered honestly.

"And I suppose you don't even have a guess?" he asked, squinting cunningly.

I didn't respond to that; under the Bad Student's potion, such behavior seemed most natural.

"Do you not have any idea at all?"

I almost ignored the stranger's vague prompt, but in the end, I still answered:

"No."

Not hearing a "yes" from me, the uninvited guest relaxed even more. His movements became more natural and slightly loose, and I realized he was a bit drunk. No, it couldn't be—more likely, he just rinsed his mouth with wine and was acting well.

"When did you take the Bad Student's potion?" he asked, bringing the mug to his lips.

"Two hours ago," I reported clearly.

"What orders did Master Eddart give you before sending you here?"

"Proceed to the Stiff Mast. Ask for Shilota. If offered another girl, agree to the substitution and obey her commands as if they were the master's." My voice sounded a bit slow.

"So, now you follow my orders?" the uninvited guest clarified.

"Yes." The shorter my answers, the fewer doubts he would have.

"Are you a sheriff of the Tunnellers' Guild?"

"Yes."

"Your rank?"

"Sapphire."

"Your purpose in Deytran?" With each second, this felt more and more like a real interrogation.

"Training."

"Any other goals for your stay in Deytran?"

"Dyled's Tower."

"What was written in your notice on the Tunnellers' Guild branch's board in that unknown cipher?" A surprising question.

"An address to the sortudo."

"Who are the sortudo?"

"My countrymen."

"Quote the text you posted on the board."

Not denying myself the pleasure of annoying him, I followed the order to the letter: I quoted everything accurately and in full, but in English. For a minute, the uninvited guest just stared at me blankly, then added:

"Translate your message, posted on the Tunnellers' Guild branch's board in Deytran, into the common tongue."

Thanks to my slowed speech, I had no trouble coming up with a fairly coherent story on the fly. I had to admit, his request was unexpected and caught me off guard. At the end of my speech, I added a detail that was supposed to explain why I used a "cipher."

"'I'll help solve problems for a reward,'" the stranger quoted my last words and smirked. "I see why you encrypted the message." Then he added, glancing out the window, "Sheriffs have become quite crafty these days..."

The uninvited guest got up from the chair and began pacing the room. It seemed he was now fully convinced of the effect of the Bad Student's potion and didn't even look at me, absorbed in his thoughts.

"Who is staying at your house?" A new question came after a three-minute pause.

"Kay."

"Who is Kay?"

"My countryman."

"Are you friends?"

"No." I wasn't even sure myself if I was telling the truth or lying.

"Then why did you let him into your house?"

"Profit."

"What is your profit?" he stopped and looked at me intently.

"A good craftsman..."

I managed to get away with general statements: that Kay was a promising craftsman, cooperation with whom was beneficial, and opened new prospects for me.

It was fortunate that the locals didn't know the proper way to ask questions. Or rather, maybe some did, but certainly not this man. He tried, of course, but the precision of his phrasing was clearly lacking, which allowed me to easily navigate through his interrogation.

"That's enough," the uninvited guest stopped me and asked another question: "Tell me about a guild called the Ainuminati."

What the hell? I suspected I was heading for an interrogation, sure, but I certainly didn't expect questions like this.

Once again, I had to wriggle my way out, mixing truth with lies advantageous to me on the fly, responding to increasingly detailed queries.

Nevertheless, for some reason, I felt that neither Katashi nor the Ainuminati genuinely interested the stranger. It seemed he was merely checking how I answered and how he needed to frame his questions to hear the answer he would consider "correct."

Approaching the chair where my clothes hung, the uninvited guest paused and, for some reason, began to run his fingers over my shirt.

"Do you know Ridan the Honest Sword?"

Whoa! Where did that question come from? Too bad there was no time to think whether it was better to lie or tell the truth. And if time was short, it was better to answer honestly so I wouldn't get tangled in lies:

"Yes."

"Have you met him?" the stranger clarified.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In the forest."

"Specifically, which forest?" the guest asked a bit angrily.

"Somewhere halfway between Katiyer and Throne Peak."

"Where is Ridan the Honest Sword now?"

"I don't know."

And indeed, I couldn't pinpoint the exact location anyway.

"Did you kill him?"

"No."

Also the purest truth, as the famous swordsman was killed by Scully.

"Hmm..." the stranger drawled thoughtfully, taking my shirt off the chair and shaking it in his hands. "Where's the money you got in Tries?"

What? What money did I get in Tries? The winnings from the tournament and the bets on myself? What a strange question.

"I spent it," I answered honestly again.

"Spent it all?"

"Yes."

He had already opened his mouth to ask the next question when his gaze stopped on my guild Sign attached to the shirt. Something like surprise flashed across his face, then confusion, and finally—growing fear. His eyes widened as if he was seeing not just a person but a legend risen from the ashes of time. He swallowed a thick lump in his throat, shifting his gaze from the Sign to me and back again, over and over, as if hoping to spot a trick or convince himself he was mistaken.

"You are a Sheriff of the Book?!" The stranger's voice took on shrill, almost hysterical notes.

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

"Yes."

"Were you chosen as a sheriff by the Book of Ishid?" he clarified, his voice trembling, and his fingers twitching nervously.

"Yes."

Very carefully, as if he were holding a poisonous snake, the uninvited guest hung my shirt on the back of a chair and even smoothed it with his hand, as though trying to apologize to the garment. I read his silent lips: "I didn't sign up for something this risky!" Then he shook his head sharply and, apparently having made up his mind, quickly headed for the door. He opened it slightly and snapped his fingers several times.

"Obey the one you know as Dayrana in everything," he said in a nervous, faltering voice, and almost ran out into the corridor.

Not a minute had passed when the courtesan entered the room. She closed the door behind her and, for the umpteenth time today, carefully examined me as I sat motionless, staring at a single point in front of me.

"Bad Student's potion..." she said thoughtfully. "This means you will follow all my orders..."

I didn't like the tone with which she said that. Hopefully, this Dayrana was not some kind of pervert. There were certain boundaries I was not ready to cross, and these scruples of mine might ruin the whole performance.

"Place your palms on your knees."

I complied with relief, tired of sitting with my hands crossed behind my back.

"Good boy."

Well, maybe I would get lucky and she would not turn out to be a fan of anything too unorthodox.

Approaching the table, the courtesan lifted the teapot and, realizing it was already empty, placed it back with a slight look of disappointment. Then she began to undress—slowly, as if reluctantly.

"I still need to fulfill the order," she said more to herself than to me. "And I've never done this with someone who has already stepped beyond the First Wall. I hope the stories about the endurance of those who have risen so high, which those floozies tell over a glass of wine, have some truth to them."

Unfortunately, I didn't know how involved she was in this whole game, so I had to sit still and pretend to be a silently obedient puppet.

After removing her outer clothing and remaining in something resembling a nightgown, the courtesan approached me. She stood in front of me, her index finger pressing against my chest.

"Lie on your back," she ordered.

On my back. That was somewhat reassuring. If she had suggested lying on my stomach, I would have had serious doubts. I obediently followed her instruction.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dayrana ran her hand over my torso.

"Nice body."

There wasn't a hint of admiration in her voice. I got the impression she was saying it more to herself, as if trying to convince herself of something. Her hand slid lower, and I had to muster incredible self-control not to reveal that the potion wasn't affecting me.

"Hmm," the girl thoughtfully pressed the tip of her index finger to her nose. "And how?" she asked the ceiling. "This body doesn't react to external stimuli. And the terms of my hire were quite clear: I have to fuck him, so all the right traces are left."

While she was busy with this unexpected problem, I tried to immerse myself in deep meditation, so that my body truly wouldn't react to anything. It was fortunate that during my training with the former captain of the Trade League, I had greatly improved my meditative practices. Without that, I might not have managed when the girl began her more active efforts.

The courtesan tried for about five minutes, occasionally resorting to quiet cursing, before finally thinking it through and giving the correct order. She looked at the result of her command and, rolling her eyes, said:

"Well, praise Dairin!"

Then she shed all her clothes and positioned herself on top of me.

In revenge for her mockery and for making me display angelic patience for several minutes, I held out as long as possible out of sheer principle. And given my rank and the enhancements of the Adamantium Body, my endurance was worthy of heroes from ancient legends…

About an hour later, the exhausted courtesan finally figured out the right command and rolled off me. She lay on her back for a while, catching her breath, then got up from the bed. Her knees were trembling slightly.

She then walked over to the table, picked up the kettle again, and, remembering it was empty, nearly threw it against the wall, holding back at the last moment. She let out a string of curses worthy of drunken sailors and glared at me.

"If only I could take this chair and..." she trailed off, taking a deep breath.

And for what, one might ask? She herself expressed hope for my endurance! What ungratefulness!

The courtesan threw on a nightgown, then bent over my belt lying on the floor. With a professional gesture, she untied the purse from it and weighed it in her hand. Then she looked inside. A shadow of disappointment crossed her rather pretty face.

"Why so little?" she threw at me irritably.

What did she mean, "why"? I wasn't stupid enough to carry a lot of money when there was a chance someone might try to kidnap me. But of course, I didn't say that aloud.

Huh, she actually took the money. This could only mean that she had been paid enough to leave Deytran and stay away from the trade capital for a long time. I had long suspected that she was just a mercenary hired for specific actions and likely knew nothing about me or her employer.

The girl dressed quickly, smoothing the folds of her dress and hiding my money within them. Then she approached me and handed over a vial with a bluish liquid.

"Take it. Drink it. Give the vial back," she ordered curtly.

By the taste, I determined that I was right again—she had drugged me with a potion that erased memories of the past few hours. Fortunately, I had been clever enough to drink an antidote before coming to this brothel.

"You know what makes me happy?" the courtesan said slyly, fixing me with an irritated gaze.

"No," I replied emotionlessly.

"The fact that you'll wake up in an hour with a terrible headache and won't remember a thing that happened!" she smirked. "Lie down. Sleep," she ordered.

After making sure I had closed my eyes and my breathing had deepened, the courtesan left the room.

I had to lie on the bed with my eyes closed for another hour to avoid arousing suspicion from any possible observers. All this time, I thought intensely. But the longer I pondered, the more I realized: I didn't even have a decent lead, and everything happening felt like someone else's carefully staged play, with me cast as an actor who'd never been given the script.

The only thing I could say for sure was that this wasn't the work of the Righteous Elevation Sect. They would have asked entirely different questions and acted far more precisely, subtly, and professionally. But then, who needed me? Someone previously hidden had taken an interest in the earthlings' phenomenon and chose me as... what? I couldn't even imagine.

My thoughts spiraled, offering no reasonable solution. My only hope lay in the hired assassins. Perhaps they could shed some light on this madhouse.

And yet one thing was obvious: that meeting at Sundbad's Crossroad with Ridan the Honest Sword had not been accidental. Too many coincidences, too precise a positioning of pieces. But who could achieve such a level of prediction or... planning? In the Last Cycle, I knew only one person who could anticipate others' moves so far ahead—Morpheus. But in this Cycle I had not met him even once, and certainly had not crossed paths with him enough for him to spend effort on intrigues like these.

Or was it the sect after all? Maybe I just couldn't grasp their game. Couldn't understand it at all, so I wasn't able to see the whole picture, which left me confused.

And that money from Tries? Who could be interested in that? Pennies by the standards of serious players, not worth the efforts put into this farce. This made it even more confusing: it wasn't about the gold at all. But then why was the question asked? It was unclear and muddled everything even more.

The courtesan turned out to be right: after an hour, I did indeed have a headache, though it wasn't from the potion, but from fruitless overthinking.

After waiting another twenty minutes, I abruptly sat up in bed, clutching my head in my hands. A heavy groan escaped my lips. I hoped I had not overacted that bit. Staggering, I got to my feet and looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. I walked to the window and gazed at the sky.

"Why is it already evening?" I said quietly but clearly. "What the Da'Nnan? Where am I? Is this a brothel?"

Then I carefully inspected my body, noting the nail marks from the courtesan on my chest and stomach.

"Hmm! Funny!" I continued to express my supposed first thoughts aloud. "Did Eddart send me to blow off some steam after training, as he promised? But he picked the wrong place, and I got scammed, drugged, and even robbed!" I added, bending over my belt and 'seeing' an empty purse.

Putting on my underwear and pants, I searched the entire room, even looking under the bed. Then, fully dressed, I stepped into the corridor, walked to the stairs, and, spotting a maid, barked irritably:

"Call the manager! To the fifth room." And then added, even more angrily, "Immediately!"

Seeing the maid's frightened nod, I returned to my room.

The manager—the same woman who had been sitting at the counter downstairs—appeared quite quickly, in less than five minutes. She entered with a strained smile, but the trembling in her fingers and slightly pale lips betrayed her tension.

"What would you like, sir?" she asked in an even tone, which, however, betrayed a slight tremble at the last word.

"Does this happen often here?" I asked, swaying on my chair. "I was recommended your establishment as honest and strict in following the rules."

"If the sir is dissatisfied with something, just say it directly," she replied, bowing deeply. Her words were smooth, but I noticed a tiny drop of sweat trickling down her temple.

"Dissatisfied?!" I said with a smirk, rubbing my temples with my palms. "No. I'm furious! I've been drugged. Probably with a memory-erasing potion. And robbed!"

To prove my point, I threw an empty purse on the tea table and, extending my hand forward, displayed the Sign of Affinity with Light. The rays that ran across my skin illuminated the room. Her lips twitched, her eyes widened, and her face turned ashen.

"Me! A sheriff of the Great Tunnellers' Guild! Even in the seedy establishments in the middle of nowhere, they wouldn't dare such a thing!" I extinguished the Sign and stared directly into her trembling pupils.

In short, I caused quite a scandal. A high-quality one, with gusto and flair. In the end, not only was everything stolen from me compensated, along with moral damages, but they also gave me a herbal concoction to help flush out the alchemy from my system. Moreover, the additional compensation was quite substantial, likely because I didn't make a scene in front of the clients but called the manager to talk privately.

I was told about Dayrana, of course, but unfortunately, the manager knew little about her. The girl had appeared just a few days ago, choosing clients meticulously, but seemed diligent and honest, not provoking a single complaint. Where the courtesan was now and where she lived—these questions the manager couldn't answer. In fact, until I summoned her, she had been sure the girl was still in the room with me. So, the courtesan had slipped away unnoticed after playing her part. Which, all in all, made perfect sense.

Half an hour after I "woke up," I left the "Stiff Mast," and my purse was significantly fuller than when I entered. Then, I quickly made my way to the house of the former captain of the Trade League, where I caused another scene. That one, however, was no improvisation but a prearranged bit of roleplay. At the end, stepping out onto the street and holding the door open, I shouted:

"And don't think I'll just let this go! You'll pay back every gold coin I've given you!"

Making sure my words were heard by the curious neighbors of the Air mage, I headed toward the city center.

After walking a couple of blocks, I turned down a narrow alley and came to the shop of the familiar master alchemist. He looked me over, asked me to spit into a transparent dish, and after examining my saliva, sold me a remedy that was supposed to remove most of the side effects of the alchemy I'd consumed today. Before I left, the alchemist remarked that he wished all his clients were like me and would buy not just potions, but restorative mixtures as well.

Following another piece of advice from the master alchemist, I went to a small Temple of Elai located on the square of the Tower of Dyled. For a generous offering, the priests performed a restorative ritual over me. I understood that I was probably being overly cautious and that my enhanced body would likely handle the toxins on its own, but I decided to play it safe. I spent just under an hour and a half at the temple, and when I left its gates, the sun had already set.

After the cleansing ritual by the priests, my stomach was empty. Wandering around the city a bit, I decided to stop by one of the taverns still open at this late hour.

Entering the half-empty hall, I took a seat against the wall where I could see the entrance and placed my order. Before the food arrived, an unremarkable man sat down at my table.

Shadows immediately thickened around us, and I recognized the spell cast by my unexpected guest: Shadow of Silence. Well, "unexpected" wasn't quite accurate; something like this meeting was what I had been anticipating while strolling through the city and taking my time getting home.

"Sheriff," the representative of the Assassins' Guild whispered. "We've done everything as you requested."

"I'm listening," I nodded.

"The prostitute who took the name Dayrana wanted to become a minstrel in her youth and spent a couple of years serving Master Tapanar the Summer Singer. Eventually, it turned out that she lacked the talent, and the master dismissed her. She wandered for a while, stealing and selling herself. Then she learned a few tricks and started pulling small scams. A week ago, she was caught in the act and convinced to participate in your interrogation. She got a job at the 'Stiff Mast,' and then, I believe, you know the rest. We couldn't find out who hired her: the swindler got scared and took poison, ending the interrogation earlier than we expected."

So, the courtesan who robbed me was dead. A pity she killed herself—no one intended to eliminate her. We would have questioned her, and I would have ordered her release, with the condition not to approach Pentapolis. She made up something in her head—and here was the result.

"Next," I said curtly.

"As for the bard who interrogated you, his name is Cadence the Golden Chime. Quite the rascal. He never stays in one place for long and isn't shy about earning money not only through music but also petty theft and espionage. For a while, he was a novice at the small Temple of Ishid in the town of Shalomatr, in the southeast. Greedy, yet cowardly. He never stole or got involved in any shady dealings in Pentapolis, preferring to pull them off in the provinces. After leaving the 'Stiff Mast,' the bard wandered the city for a while but didn't notice he was being followed. Then he went to a tavern called the 'Hearty Pie' in the port district. He waited there for about two hours, but no one approached him. He didn't pass any notes or give any strange signals either. After two hours of waiting, he suddenly jumped up and ran to the port, where he boarded one of the Trade League ships heading east. We found out his place on the ship had been paid for in advance. The ship has already sailed; we didn't manage to get our person on it."

"Bad," I shook my head.

"We believe Cadence has already played his part and shouldn't have met with anyone at all. Placing someone on the ship for further observation of the bard likely wouldn't have yielded anything."

"Explain."

"After you left the 'Stiff Mast,' another scandal broke out within its walls, albeit a much smaller one. One of the girls was found sleeping in a room and could only be awakened with magic, but no one could remember her client."

"Next room over?" I guessed. "And you didn't check it?!"

"We did. Everything seemed normal: a typical pair, a prostitute and a client, busy with their 'business.' Seeing that, our people switched to monitoring your room."

"Did you check that room later?" I grimaced.

"Yes. The room showed traces of eavesdropping spells that couldn't be detected with a cursory glance. As for the 'client,' there's no good news: apparently, an Illusion mage or a good actor skilled in disguise. No traces left."

"So what did I pay you for?" I asked, shaking my head.

"The failure is solely due to your greed, Sheriff," the representative of the Assassins' Guild didn't take the bait. "You should have hired more people, not just four. Nevertheless, my guild hopes we part without hard feelings."

"Fine. You did your job," I acknowledged, realizing I couldn't afford to start a conflict with the assassins now. "I have no complaints against you."

"Enjoy your dinner, Sheriff," my interlocutor said, standing up from the table and leaving the tavern.