Above Silver Scale Bay, the gray eagle circled gently on the sea breeze, its gaze fixed on several antlike figures below.

The sun sank, and the sky deepened toward night.

Cooking smoke rose throughout the town as lamps were lit one after another. More than half the pedestrians had left the streets, making them considerably quieter.

The blue-robed figures hurried to a secluded dock and entered a warehouse one after another.

The warehouse was dilapidated, with a crooked door and several large holes in the roof. It had stood abandoned for years.

As night fell, furtive figures appeared around the warehouse. More than a dozen entered within half an hour.

When Anser received the report at the inn, he sighed. It seemed he would have no opportunity today.

He had not expected a tiny fishing town to contain so many cultists.

More than an hour passed.

The cult gathering finally ended. People departed in separate groups and headed in different directions, displaying considerable caution.

Anser thought their caution entirely self-important. Who besides him had the time to watch them now?

Gass and his two companions emerged last, suggesting that the elite classed individual was the Order's local leader.

After leaving, however, the three unexpectedly separated. Two retraced their route, while one boarded a small sailing ship moored at the docks. Judging from his build, that one was probably the elite.

"Could this be a trap?" Bratt found the situation too convenient.

Finn immediately contacted the gray eagle and instructed it to descend for a closer look. It confirmed that no one else was following them.

"They probably never saw us. They remained in their rooms while we were eating." Anser carefully reviewed everything and found no obvious oversight.

"Maybe that man doesn't stay at the inn and only came to meet them," Bratt guessed.

"Possible." Anser nodded. "Let's move. There's no time to waste."

The three armed themselves, put on surcoats that concealed their faces, and quickly left the Moonshadow Quelin.

The guards seemed accustomed to such attire. They neither questioned nor stopped them.

They slipped through the town's quiet streets, reached an intersection ahead of their targets, and hid in an adjacent alley.

Bratt and Finn concealed themselves in the shadows near the alley entrance. Anser waited farther back, his magic hidden but ready.

No one spoke. Only barely audible breathing disturbed the silence.

Several minutes later, footsteps approached, and two dark figures appeared at the alley entrance.

Just as they were about to pass, an obscure phrase in Draconic shattered the silence.

Innate Sorcery + Metamagic: Twinned Spell + Hold Person!

The two blue-robed men were horrified. Before they could even see their attacker, paralysis swept through their bodies. Their movements stopped, leaving them frozen like wooden statues.

Bratt's lips curled into a silent, savage grin. He crossed the distance in several steps. Cold light flashed, and one man's head flew from his shoulders, blood spraying like a fountain.

[Target killed. Gained 69 Combat Experience.]

With a crack, Finn knocked the wand from the other man's hand with the back of his blade. An upward elbow dislocated the man's jaw; then Finn forced him down and bound his hands and feet in several practiced movements.

Watching Finn's smooth technique, Bratt's eye twitched. He strongly suspected Finn had once worked another line of business.

"We didn't get the wrong people, did we?" Anser jogged over, though the Combat Experience had already confirmed there was no mistake.

"Don't worry. It's them." Bratt was meticulous; he could not have mistaken their silhouettes.

Finn pulled the hood from the captive's head, revealing Gass's terrified face.

"Clean up the body. We're leaving immediately," Anser urged.

The area was secluded, but people still passed occasionally.

Bratt produced a waterproof sack and placed the corpse inside. He and Finn each carried one man and quickly followed Anser.

"Mmm! Mmm!"

Terror twisted Gass's face. Unable to speak, he kept struggling until Finn grew irritated.

Finn drove an elbow into his groin, and peace immediately returned to the world.

Anser found an isolated ruined house while Bratt stood guard outside.

With a thud, Gass hit the ground hard. Broken stones dug painfully into his body. When he tried to open his mouth, agony stabbed through his jaw.

Crack!

Finn roughly forced his jaw back into place.

Gass clenched his teeth and did not dare cry out. Looking up, he saw a black-cloaked figure towering over him. Several shafts of moonlight fell through holes in the roof, casting the figure into shadow.

"Who are you?" Gass widened his eyes and tried to see the face beneath the hood.

"Gass?" Anser asked softly.

"Yes." Gass's heart chilled. This was no accident. "Whatever you want, I'll give it to you. My mentor is an elite classed individual. If I die, he'll investigate until he finds the truth."

"Your mentor... What's his name?" Anser's expression turned strange.

"Alvis. We only just separated..." Gass attempted to make his captor hesitate.

"Wasn't your mentor named Fabian?"

"What? Who are you?" Gass asked in alarm.

"That isn't important. I ask, and you answer!" Anser deliberately refused to explain, leaving him to choke on the uncertainty.

Only a foolish villain revealed his identity merely to satisfy a desire for revenge. Corpses could speak in this world, so caution was best.

"If I tell you everything, will you let me go?"

"That depends on your performance."

Gass closed his eyes in despair. He feared death and feared torture even more. Resigning himself, he said, "Ask."

"How did you join the Order of Blue Fire?"

"What?" Gass froze. His captor seemed to know everything. He dared not conceal anything and revealed all he knew.

Questions and answers followed in rapid succession.

One side did not want to give the other time to think, while the other had no intention of hiding anything.

Gass had stolen Fabian's belongings and escaped safely to Rivington. When he confirmed that something had happened to the Weave, he fell into despair. Years of persistence and hope had turned to nothing.

At that time, the Order of Blue Fire began preaching among the populace, primarily targeting low-level Wizards and wizard apprentices.

Gass was overjoyed. He used money to gain access to his current mentor, Alvis, then spent most of his wealth to become a Sorcerer.

The process was remarkably simple. He drank a potion, lay down inside a ritual array, and went to sleep. When he awoke, he was a Spellscarred Sorcerer.

The greatest change was the appearance of strange blue tattoos across his body. Every time he cast a spell, blue light erupted around him, making the condition easy to recognize.

Spellscarred Sorcerers differed from ordinary Sorcerers. At Level 1, they possessed only one predetermined 1st-level spell. In exchange, they cast quickly and with greater power.

The class remained incomplete, however. Gass frequently suffered nightmares and heard inexplicable whispers. Blue fire continuously eroded his mind and body, causing an unknown arcane mutation.

Anser pulled open Gass's clothes and found his chest covered in magic tattoos. Other parts of his body had changed as well: his hair was turning blue, and a small patch of skin on his shoulder had become translucent, exposing the blood vessels beneath.

"I have no way back. Every few days, I must drink a blue potion called Magecleanse to suppress the mutation. Each bottle costs one hundred gold pieces..." Gass's eyes reddened. It was the first time he had confided in anyone, even if involuntarily.

Anser felt no sympathy. Gass had chosen all of this himself. "What are you doing here?"

"Hunting a famous Sorcerer," Gass answered without concealment.

Anser's mind tightened. "Why? A cult dares to make enemies everywhere?"

"I don't know the details." Gass shook his head. "I heard the other priests say the primary ingredient in the magic-tattoo potion is Sorcerer blood..."

A Magic Tattoo is an item that blends magic and artistry through ink and needles, imbuing its bearer with extraordinary power.

Once inscribed on a creature's body, damage to the tattoo does not impair its function, even if the design is marred.

When receiving a tattoo, a creature can customize its appearance. A Magic Tattoo might resemble a brand, scar, birthmark, pattern of scales, or any other cosmetic marking.

The rarer a Magic Tattoo is, the more space it generally occupies on a creature's skin.

(End of Chapter)