The Classless Sorcerer's Self-Stealing System

A gust of cold wind ripped the hood right off Blychert's head, storming through and exiting the dungeon plaza as quickly as it had come about. The wide-open square was emptier than usual that morning, with only a handful of market stalls and food vendors open for business, the former of which seemed to be exclusively in service to those high-ranking adventuring parties still permitted to be on dungeon delving duties as of that morning.

Bly's gaze shot across the plaza from where he sat, settling on the dungeon's entrance, or rather the increased military presence safeguarding it.

The Silver Vault wasn't closed, per se.

Despite the impending doom on everyone's lips, dungeon volatility still needed to be regulated, and a dungeon the size of Frostwall's required more than its fair share of delving parties to keep that number low. Of course, he doubted anyone had been anticipating the King of Calvergia giving the Adventuring Hall absolute authority over dungeon access, even if it was only for a short time to ensure absolute safety. The decree had been issued in the twilight hours late last night, which Blychert supposed explained the lack of people in the plaza today.

Somehow, he doubted it would stay that way for long, especially if the dungeon remained "closed" for greater than the rest of the city could withstand. Despite his foul mouth, Bredic might have been on to something. For better or worse, Calvergia was in a spot of trouble. And if Blychert had something to say about it, then the same people that had run him out of his home were the same ones mucking around in Frostwall. But to what end? How did messing around with the ley lines and potentially opening a dungeon rift help the Guild or the Church? Wasn't the Pale Lady the one messing around with the dungeons?

Unless, they were fighting over the same thing?

"Morning."

Blychert picked up his gaze from where it had settled on a corner of the stonework, just on the edge of the bench's shadow, and looked directly at the familiar visage of Skaldan, approaching from the western side of the plaza.

The black-haired youth slowed to a halt and yanked his hands out from his pantleg pockets. Folding one arm over the other, he smiled, "Sleep well?"

Bly frowned, "Not exactly."

"Me neither." Skaldan chuckled, before flipping up his own dark hood, saying, "Come on, let's get out of here."

Together, Blychert and Skaldan exited the plaza on the northside, the stalwart silhouette of the disappearing behind them as they stepped onto one of the many city thoroughfares. It was a silent walk for several minutes thereafter, and only the city's soundscape echoed around them as they headed forth beneath the midday sun. Eventually, however, Skaldan did speak again, but only after what seemed to be a calculated maneuver on his part to get them onto a street with a lot more pedestrian traffic, and thus a lot more sound to mask his voice.

"What do you make of the city?" he asked randomly, "I mean, if you had to choose something that you liked about it the most. What would it be?"

Shrugging, Bly confessed, "I haven't really been here that long. Why do you ask?"

"No reason…" Skaldan replied, but his voice trailed off after that. They split off from one another for a moment, stepping around either side of a horse-drawn cart in the middle of the street, before coming back together again. Skaldan continued, "I'm guessing you've thought a lot about last night? Same as me."

"Yeah," Bly nodded, squinting somewhat as they crossed onto a sunnier section of the road, "It still doesn't really much sense though. Who is that Cynric guy, anyway? What's his deal?"

Skaldan grumbled under his breath quietly, before saying out loud, "He's an artificer. Or, at least, that's what they say."

"Artificer?" Bly furrowed his brow.

"Magic items, inventions and stuff like that." Skaldan answered, "I don't know the exact story, but last year he supposedly got into some big trouble back home, up at Kuldir Khag, and he's been on the run from the Khaglayn's enforcers ever since. Now obviously, Calvergia has a good relationship with the Khaglayn, so our man Cynric has quite the bounty on his head. But that's not the only thing,"

The pair turned west onto a narrow alleyway, and continued.

"Allegedly, he was hiding out in Frostwall for a while."

"Makes sense." Bly nodded, "Big city, easy to lose yourself in too, I bet."

"Exactly." Skaldan snapped his finger once, posting and shaking his index finger at the same time, "Problem is, Cynric isn't the kind of person to stay quiet. He's got these… I don't know, ideas? Schemes? Anyway, he starts poking around the city's magical roots. I'm talking about real high-brow stuff. here That research leads him to ley lines, and ley lines lead him to—"

"The dungeon." Blychert supplied the answer, "But what does that have to do with the Guild? The Church? And what about Gurogan?"

"Relax, would you?" Skaldan laughed, "Come on, save some of it for when we get there."

Bly's eyebrows creased, "Get where, exactly?"

Skaldan smirked, "Somewhere they'll never reach us. Well, not unless they're dumb enough to try it."

Blychert held his tongue, wondering if Skaldan understood who he was dealing with here. Bly did. Even though his appearance had changed over the last year, and his secret identity was solid, all it took was for Administrator Caelus to recognize him up close for things to turn upside down.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

When it came to the Guild, Bly was certain that nothing was off-limits.

Blychert's jaw was practically on the ground as Skaldan led them through the castle grounds. He'd figured Skaldan was just being cocky, but all of that changed in an instant when not just the gatehouse guards addressed him as "Your Highness" but effectively every other guard, servant, or otherwise thereafter.

"Uh… hey?" Bly stammered awkwardly, his voice slightly louder than a whisper, "Just who the hell are you?"

"Hm?" Skaldan looked at Bly confusedly, "I'm… Skaldan? We met yesterday. Did you hit your head or something?"

"What? No—" Bly dismissed the question immediately, "I mean—they're all calling you your highness. Are you—you're not really…"

Skaldan sighed, almost as if this wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with this line of questioning, "Oh yeah… that. I forgot we don't really know one another. Right, let's get this over with—"

Halting abruptly just inside the castle's main antechamber, Blychert felt himself forcibly turned by the shoulders, and soon found himself staring into an aggressively stubborn looking expression.

"My father's the king. My mother's the queen. That makes me a prince." Skaldan started, shaking his head all the while, "Not the prince, not your prince, just a prince. But that's neither here nor there. Honestly, we'd be better off just forgetting about all that nonsense. Okay? You and I, we've got real work to do. Work that matters. Clearly, higher powers wanted us to run into each other. Why else would I have thought to follow you out of the hall last night?"

"Uh…" Bly mumbled, not sure how to answer that without offending.

"Actually, don't answer that." Skaldan frowned, interjecting well before Blychert could respond. Sobering, Skaldan insisted, "Look, you know things that I don't know. And I'm betting I know things that you don't know. Nobody wants my help, and I'm guessing they don't want yours either. So, maybe we help each other instead?"

He has a point. Bly thought.

Nelkaar, Alyse, Bartolo… despite his desire to be more truthful, there was a good reason not to tell them everything. The more they knew about what he knew, the more they'd tried to keep him out of it.

Frankly, that just didn't seem like an option anymore.

"Well…" Bly sighed somewhat, before smirking, "I suppose if His Highness is asking, far be it from me."

"Smart ass." Skaldan muttered, all before punching Bly's shoulder with a grin of his own.

The pair proceeded through the castle for a short distance, passing through several corridors, a scullery, and the main kitchen on the first floor, before stepping out onto an exterior balcony overlooking the western side of the city. Far down below the sheer cliffside, the gentle river waters flowed, emptying out into the bay to the south, and beyond the wide gulf that was the sea. Buildings by the hundreds and thousands speckled the cityscape, with winding streets that snaked up and down across the city's hills. Beyond those, the massive bulwark of Frostwall wrapped around the city, protecting it like the mythical shield of the city's namesake.

For a moment, Blychert wondered about Calvergia's ancient heroes. He imagined their struggles and ambitions were quite different from his, and yet here he stood overlooking the same landscape, threatened by no shortage of problems, if only in a different time.

"So, Cynric." Blychert said, his mind turning quickly onto other matters, "Hiding out in the dungeon. It sounds like whatever they wanted him for, it's largely fallen by the wayside. Doesn't mean he's not useful, but clearly the Administrator has other plans. Nárthimr? How do they play into this?"

Stepping forward, Skaldan leaned over the stone balcony and stared. His hair tousled in the wind momentarily, as he chewed on his lower lip, seemingly deep in thought. Belatedly, he answered, "You ever heard the story about Harkkus?"

Puzzled by the question, Blychert tried to wrack his brain from the last few days of reading. It was a bit blurry, but he replied, "Some kind of sea serpent?"

"Well, sure," Skaldan scoffed lightly, "That was his mortal form. King of the wyrms, bane of mankind, and as it happens, the Triskelion's mortal enemy."

"Right…" Bly nodded, slowly remembering the story from his time at the library, "They fought him, didn't they? He laid siege to their homeland."

"Huge battle, thousands dead, heroes and ancient warriors alike fighting against the spawn of Harkkus himself." Skaldan painted the picture with his words, "They say the icy-blue waters of the Hvenes ran red for years thereafter."

Blychert rolled his eyes.

"Stay with me." Skaldan seemed to catch onto Bly's skepticism, adding, "My ancestors, the ancient iskeirds, thought of death magic as an absolute sin against the natural order of the world. So, you can imagine, Harkkus's main lieutenant? A necromancer who went by the name Nárthimr."

"And you think this is the same guy?" Bly asked, feeling himself grow dumber by the second.

"Oh, shut up." Skaldan groaned, "That's not what I'm saying at all. Besides, the Nárthimr of myth was covered in molten bronze and buried somewhere in the wilderness. I'm talking about the here and now. Copycat. Something to evoke a sense of…"

"Grandeur, or… fear." Bly nodded. It made sense, given the context.

Skaldan nodded, "Whether any of that crap is real or not, it makes no lick of difference. The cult of Harkkus is alive and well. It has been for centuries. Grey cloaks have been on their asses on and off, on and off, around and around they go. But this time it's different. They have… I can't say. Ruthlessness? Secrecy? Resources? Hell, they have a lot more compared to what this city is used to dealing with. You walk the streets long enough, you'll hear the talk; rituals, blood sacrifices, all of it."

"And I'm guessing this lines up with all the aberrant ley line activity that's been going on this year?" Bly pondered aloud.

"I wouldn't say it lines up." Skaldan shook his head, "I've never heard of the cult being interested in ley lines or the dungeon, none of it."

"But…" Bly picked up where the other boy left off, "The sister said they'd have what they needed within a few months. If it's not related to what's going on with the dungeon, then what is it?"

"I don't know…" Skaldan murmured. His fists clenched, and he added, "I'm going to find out though."

Blychert furrowed his brow, "That important to you, huh?"

"No doubt." Skaldan confirmed with a nod, and his tone was completely cold. However, his expression shifted just as quickly, and he smirked, saying, "So, what do you say, Trelen? Want to help me find a dwarven artificer?"

Blychert couldn't help but grin amusedly, "What makes you think we'd have any better luck than them? The Guild alone has tons of reach, and I don't even want to know how far the Church extends. Plus, I'm not exactly jumping at the opportunity to come between a Sister of Mercy and her goals without more of a plan."

"Hey, they already did all the work for us!" Skaldan insisted excitedly, "We just have to use it to our own advantage."

"And how do you propose doing that exactly?" Blychert asked, admittedly somewhat intrigued by the other boy's enthusiasm.

They were talking complete nonsense, and they were probably going to get themselves killed, but at least they were doing something. Bly wasn't exactly known for his pragmatism, even he had to admit.

"Wasn't it obvious?" Skaldan shrugged, "We're going to weasel our way onto a delving party."

"Wait, you can't mean…" Bly began, but his words trailed off at the implication.

"Trelen, my friend." Skaldan said with an ominous grin, throwing an arm over Bly's shoulder, "What do you say about sneaking into the dungeon with me?"