Touch Of Fate 289 Crisis Of Faith

The illicit organization that the Broker worked for had set up in the business office of a seemingly abandoned s.h.i.+pwright's complex located docklands of the southern New City. The moldering remains of a half-finished vessel still sat in the drydock, looking sad and dilapidated. Combined with the obvious disrepair of many of the buildings, it appeared that no one had used this place in quite some time.

[For a major city, the capital seems to have a strangely large number of abandoned properties. I wonder if there is some reason for that.]

Mike took a moment to scan his surroundings with Aerosense, noting the half dozen hidden guards who were watching him as he approached. Although he could see two of them once he knew where to look, the others were too well concealed. One even appeared to have some sort of invisibility or illusion effect active, since he wasn't visible despite not actually hiding behind anything.

[Impressive as always. Now, let's see. I needed to knock three times…]

He banged on the office's door, and then stepped back and waited. After a few moments, it opened and a well-dressed man ushered him inside. Much like the last time he'd visited this organization, the interior of the building was in direct contrast to its outward appearance, being tastefully decorated in a manner that spoke of wealth and elegance.

Winding through a few corridors that seemed to have been laid out in an intentionally confusing manner, he was eventually directed into a parlor-like room and told to take a seat on one of the couches. After declined the offer of refreshments, he was left to his own devices until the Broker arrived. Thankfully, this didn't take long, and within a matter of minutes Mike was facing the unusual merchant once more.

"Welcome again to our humble offices, Sir Dragonknight." The emaciated man began with a wan smile. "What can we do for you today?"

"I'm here for two purposes. First, If you haven't heard by now, I am planning on leaving for the Riverlands in the near future. Since I don't have any established connections over there, I wanted to check to see if your organization had branches in the region, should I need your services."

The Broker nodded dispa.s.sionately. "We do. Although I am not personally acquainted with those particular representatives, I can guarantee you that they will be more than willing to accommodate you if you reach out to them."

"And how would I go about doing that?"

"The same way you scheduled this meeting. Leave a message at the Adventurer's Guild and they will get in contact with you. That being said, I'll have a letter of introduction drawn up as well. With it, you should have no trouble dealing with my Riverlands colleagues."

"That would be most helpful." Mike said with a smile. He'd been hoping for something like that. "As to my second task, I would like to take a look at your catalog."

The Broker hesitated for a moment. There was a brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes before his usual poker face returned. "While we would normally provide that service to a repeat customer such as yourself, the war has disrupted many aspects of our business. Our selection is far more limited than would otherwise be the case. I can certainly give you a list of what we have available, but I cannot guarantee that we would be able to deliver every item on it to you in a reasonable amount of time. If you have some idea of the kinds of books you are looking for, I can see what I can do about acquiring them."

[Hmm...I have a hard time believing that the war has affected them so greatly. Everything I've seen about the way they operate suggests that they are more than capable of maintaining their supply routes despite the blockade. Is this an intentional effort to steer me away from something? Or does he want to avoid revealing his hand too early?]

Deciding that there was little to be gained by arguing the point, he acquiesced. "Very well. First, I'd like to know if you have anything along the lines of a guide to the Riverlands. Preferably one that details regional powers and influential people. The more current the better."

Nodding, the Broker consulted a notepad. "I believe I have something that fits your requirements. It's a travel guide written by a former adventurer who spent the better part of a decade roaming the region. While it is a little out of date, I doubt you will be able to find anything more recent without a significant drop in the quality of information."

"That sounds promising. May I see it?"

"I'll send for it." The emaciated man replied while standing and moving to the door to exchange a few quiet whispers with his subordinate on the other side. After sitting back down, he fixed Mike with a blank look. "Of course, there is no book that can take the place of an expert guide. I recommend finding someone to show you around once you get there. Now, is there anything else you are looking for?"

"Yes, actually. Do you have any books that cover resistance skills and their acquisition methods? I'm especially interested in any that cover mental defenses or provide protection from illusions."

The Broker frowned. "That is a bit more difficult, I'm afraid. Few holders of resistance skills choose to detail the method they used to acquire it, and fewer still have a well defined means of improving said skill. However, if acquisition is all you are looking for, I can see about compiling a list of possible methods based on our information network."

"That would be perfect, however, I intend on leaving by tomorrow. Will there be enough time?"

"a.s.suming you are willing to pay up front, I can have it delivered to you by the end of the day."

[I suppose resistance skills are probably easier to acquire than others. One simply has to get hit by a corresponding effect often enough. Still, it would be nice to get an idea for how many of them there are.]

"That will be acceptable." He replied. "Alright, next I'm interested in…"

He spent the next half hour going back and forth with the Broker, trying to find other books that might be of use. However, it seemed like the man wasn't kidding when he said that their inventory was limited. Most of the subjects he was interested in were either unavailable, or only a possibility if he was able to wait a few weeks or months. Considering the tight timeline he was under, this was basically a non-starter.

Luckily, they were able to provide at least one of the things he was interested in.

"The Beltanian style of unarmed combat, also known as the Way of the Flowing Fist, is widely recognized as being one of the most potent styles of martial arts practiced in the Inland Sea Region. Unfortunately, many of the secret techniques have faded from popular consciousness in recent years, leaving its modern pract.i.tioners struggling to match up with the other major schools." The Broker was explaining as he handed over the manual. "This is a rare copy of the instructionary text used by Yorutine, the first disciple of Beltan to take on students of her own. As such, it should be far more effective than those used today."

Mike gladly paid for the rare tome, which ended up costing almost twice as much as the list of resistance skills and the guide put together. A few weeks ago, he might have hesitated to sink so much money into a single book, but now he was so rich that it was hard to take the expense seriously. Honestly, he would have to do something like this hundreds of times before it started making a dent in his wallet.

With his business concluded, he bid the Broker farewell and went on his way, feeling a small amount of relief in the realization that he would likely not need to deal with the strange figure again. Despite his professionalism and skill, Mike found the emaciated man a little unnerving for reasons that he couldn't quite put into words.

[Strange. I didn't get this feeling the last time I dealt with him.]

Putting his thoughts aside for the moment, he concentrated on putting some s.p.a.ce between himself and the s.h.i.+pyard. He figured that he'd start flying as soon as he was far enough away. Or at least that was the plan. Circ.u.mstances made such an option more difficult.

While he was still walking along the deserted street which ran the length of the docks, Mike detected several sources of hostility in the area around him. Although it was a little haphazard, they were laid out in a cla.s.sic ambush formation. Using Aerosense, he tried to determine their ident.i.ty.

[Looks like there are five of them. All living, breathing humans. How surprising, I didn't think my enemies were so bold as to attack me in broad daylight. I'm going to have to give Tal credit for predicting it.] He thought with some amus.e.m.e.nt before getting serious.

Moving quickly, he closed the gap between himself and one of the ambushers, appearing behind him with a hissing bar of fire held threateningly in front of his face. The man stiffened, but otherwise maintained his composure. Something that was quite impressive, given the circ.u.mstances.

"Now then, let's start with the basics. Who are you, and why are you preparing to ambush me?" He asked quietly. He could tell that the other members of the ambush group were probably aware of his position, but they'd evidently decided to not take any action at the moment.

The man remained silent, so Mike used Appraise on him.

----------------------

Robert

Age: 34

Race: Human

Cla.s.s: Inquisitor

t.i.tle: Devout

----------------------

[...I can safely say I didn't expect this, but I suppose that's the point. Jokes aside, if he's an inquisitor, I a.s.sume he's affiliated with the church in some capacity. If that's true, this could be a bit awkward.]

"So, Robert," He started, earning a flinch from the ambusher, "let's try this again. What reason does an inquisitor have to lay in wait for me."

The man flinched, and then hissed under his breath, "Devil…"

"Oh? What was that?"

Suddenly full of raw anger and hostility, Robert rounded on him, gaze blazing with rampant hatred. "Devil! Monster! You are an abomination before the G.o.ds!"

For a second Mike was taken aback. As far as he was aware, he'd never done anything to the church that would warrant such a response. Perhaps the surprise showed on his face, since the man took the opportunity to break free from his grasp. Not quite ready to commit a ma.s.sacre just yet, Mike let him go and waited patiently as the rest of the ambushers revealed themselves and surrounded him.

A quick scan with Appraise told him that they all held similar cla.s.ses and t.i.tles.

[Based on their armaments and obvious skill, I take it they are some kind of covert squad belonging to one of the churches.] He thought before turning his attention on the one that had the best chance of being their leader, a lanky and almost sickly looking man whose greying, blonde hair had been tied back in a ponytail.

-----------------------------

Harold Greyson

Age: 47

Race: Human

Cla.s.s: High Inquisitor

t.i.tle: Divine Scourge

----------------------------

"Alright, I've been patient, but I'm beginning to get agitated. Explain what all this is about right now." Mike commanded, making sure to project both confidence and irritation as he did so. He even added a little mana to drive his point home.

Apparently, though, he'd underestimated the potency of his abilities following his ascension to Tier 4, and the force of his voice created an almost visual disturbance in the air, which spread out from him in a wave of barely perceptible energy.

As his words rolled over the street, the effect of his Communication Magic became immediately obvious. The four regular inquisitors, who'd been watching him with burning gazes, faltered under the force of his projected will, and began to look a little uncertain.

Harold, for his part, flinched under the onslaught, but was able to maintain his hostility. "Threaten us all you want, devil, you will not be able to shake the hearts of the truly faithful. For the sin of your existence, you've been sentenced to death. Surrender yourself to the mercy of the G.o.ddess, and you will be shown leniency. Resist, and your suffering will be endless."

Mike sighed, and resisted the urge to rub his forehead. He had a feeling that this would be annoying.