Chapter 20: A Desperate Appeal (Patreon)

Warning! Your health is at 40%.

I scowled as the Game message opened in my mind. I was still leaning over the half-orc and not much time had passed since I had been taken the blow from the player, but already, my health had dropped five percent from the bleeding debuff.

It also confirmed what I’d been feeling. The pain in my shoulder was growing steadily worse.

“Why are you hesitating?” Adalinda asked. “Drink the potion you looted from the half-orc.”

“It’s our last one,” I told her.

“So?”

“What if we run into someone else and Soren or Alon, or even you, need it?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she scoffed. “We could just as easily run into something that no potion can heal. Then what?”

Sighing, but still feeling guilty nonetheless, I upended the potion in my mouth.

You have restored 30% of your lost health with a moderate healing potion. Your health is now at 70%.

You are no longer crippled or bleeding.

I exhaled in relief. The numbness in my shoulder faded, not entirely, but enough that it stopped driving me to distraction, and more importantly, I regained control of my arm.

“Better?” Adalinda asked.

“Much,” I agreed. Extracting the onyx amulet from my pocket, I tied it around my neck.

You have equipped the masochist’s necklace.

There was something else I needed to do before we could move on. The encounter with the half-orc had reinforced what I already knew, and that was I couldn’t ignore my Constitution. The last thing I wanted to be was a glass cannon.

“Ada, I’m going to invest my new attribute point. You should too.”

Closing my eyes, I willed my intention to the Game and felt the celestial do the same.

Your Constitution has increased to rank 2.

Adalinda’s Perception has increased to rank 1.

“Perception?” I asked, opening my eyes in surprise. “Why Perception?”

“We’ve encountered players twice now,” she replied. “The rogue who you failed to spot because of your low Perception and the half-orc who we wouldn’t have spotted if Alon hadn’t noticed him first.”

I frowned. “So, you think we’re going to run into more hidden players?”

“I think we need to round out our attributes a bit more.”

I nodded, seeing the sense in that, and rose to my feet. It was time to get moving.

✵ ✵ ✵

Alon and Soren remained on high alert for the rest of our short journey. I tried to stay so myself but found that my attention kept wandering.

There was the gold to consider. Neither Soren, Alon, nor I had ever held so much wealth before, and I wasn’t sure what I would do with it. I had tried to split it with them, but they’d both refused.

What shall I do with the money? I wondered.

I could buy health potions—lots of them, I hoped—but a better solution would be to purchase an ability that lessened my reliance on potions once and for all. There was also equipment to consider. What would suit me? But at this stage, it was all academic.

I wasn’t even sure where I would find player gear. There were certainly no shops in the poor quarter that stocked such items. At some point, I needed to give the matter serious thought, but not right now.

Turning my attention outwards, I considered the surroundings again. We’d almost reached our destination—Eoman’s headquarters and the Raccoons’ main base. Having lived in the gang’s territory for so long, all of us were familiar with its location.

As we turned the corner, the base itself came into view.

It hadn’t changed much since I’d last seen it. Like many other buildings in the poor quarter, it had begun life with grand ambitions, only to end up half-finished and abandoned.

The building was squat and built low to the ground. Barred windows lined it all around. From the outside, there was no sign anyone lived within. The base wasn’t attractive by any means—or what you would expect of the lair of a major gang in the poor quarter—but I assumed that was by design.

Taking a deep breath, I followed Alon and Soren to the main doors guarding the base’s entrance. Soon, I would find out how much of a fool’s errand all this was.

As we drew closer, I noticed that the doors had been recently reinforced with steel bands. A sketch of a raccoon wearing a red bandana—the gang’s insignia—grinned down at us from the adjacent wall.

Our approach hadn’t gone unnoticed.

The moment we came to a stop, the doors creaked open, and a man stepped out.

He was middle-aged, stoutly built, and bald. Not your typical guard. But despite that, his eyes were hard, and he carried at least three weapons that I could see.

“And who are ye’ lot?” he demanded.

Soren stepped forward. “Don’t you recognize me anymore, Vigil?”

Vigil’s eyes narrowed. “Soren? What are you doing here, boy?”

“We’ve come to see Eoman.”

“It’s not a good time,” he said, scowling. “Haven’t you heard what’s—”

“It’s about that we’ve come,” Soren interjected.

“You’ve come to fight?”

Soren hesitated, then said firmly, “Yes.”

Vigil’s scowl deepened. “You know Eoman won’t like that, and besides, three more fighters won’t make much difference, not with what’s coming.”

I drew back the hood of my cloak. “We have information. Information I think your boss will want to hear.”

Vigil stared at me in confusion for a moment, then his eyes widened, and his gaze darted from Soren to me and back again—noticing the resemblance, I suspected. “Is she who I think she is?” he asked, still addressing Soren.

“She is.”

“And you brought her here? Now?” Vigil asked, his voice sounding half-strangled. “Why?”

My brother sighed heavily. “What matters is that she is right, Vigil. We have information Eoman needs to hear.”

Vigil’s eyes flickered to the empty streets and then back to me. “Cover up girl!”

Wordlessly, I did so.

“Wait here,” Vigil ordered, turning around. “I’ll go tell Eoman you want to see him, but I tell you, it was a mistake coming here.”

“I know,” Soren whispered, almost too soft for me to hear.

✵ ✵ ✵

Less than five minutes later, Vigil let us in.

This was my first time in the Raccoons’ base, and I found the inside to be in stark contrast to the outside. Nowhere was there any sign of disuse or neglect. While the furnishings were simple, they were clean and well-maintained.

Vigil led us across the entryway and into a small corridor with doors on both sides. It was uncannily silent, and we encountered no one as Vigil swept us through the building. Where is everyone? I wondered.

I knew the Raccoons were supposedly mustering for war, but even so, I expected their headquarters to be busier than this.

Finally, Vigil drew to a stop before a closed wooden door. He knocked once, then opened it, and warm, light washed out. With Soren leading the way, we entered the room.

The chamber was cluttered. Rows and rows of bookshelves lined every wall, all overflowing with books, while manuscripts, almanacs, and various odds and ends were piled high on almost every table.

“This is a ganglord’s room?” I murmured. It was certainly not what I was expecting.

“Perhaps he is a scholar,” Adalinda replied.

“A ganglord scholar?” I asked skeptically. “That would be even stranger.” Still Eoman, or the old man as he was oftentimes referred to, did have an odd reputation in the poor quarter.

At the rear of the room, a tall man with silver hair rose from the high-back armchair he’d been seated in. The woman beside him remained seated in her own chair.

“Your guests, Eoman,” Vigil announced.

“Thank you, Vigil,” the Raccoon leader replied, smiling genially.

I studied him intently as he approached. Eoman’s clothes were elegant, his mustache trimmed, and his hands clean and manicured. Not a scholar. A lord, I thought, immediately feeling dirty in his presence.

How long has it been since I bathed? I wondered idly.

“Too long,” Adalinda quipped.

Ignoring her, I returned my attention to Eoman. Despite his unwarlike demeanor, the gang leader walked with the same dangerous grace Soren possessed, and suddenly, though I could not see them, I was sure there was more than one blade concealed about Eoman’s person.

“Come and sit, please,” he said, waving us towards three wooden chairs that looked like they had been recently placed in the room.

The door slammed shut behind us, and Alon and I jumped around, startled.

“Apologies,” a crisp voice said.

Turning around, I faced Eoman’s companion. She was a short, blonde-haired woman with startling blue eyes. Her appearance was as regal as Eoman’s, and she gave every impression of being his equal.

“Vigil guards our privacy jealously,” she explained. “I hope he didn’t scare you?”

“Not at all,” I lied.

An amused smile toyed at one corner of the woman’s mouth as if she didn’t believe me.

Furrowing my brows, I began to study her more closely, but was interrupted as Alon and Soren brushed past to seat themselves. Shaking my head at their impatience, I moved to join them.

“We’ve come with important—” Soren began.

Reseating himself, Eoman held up a hand. “First, I believe introductions are in order, my boy.” He gestured to the woman beside him. “This is Celeste, my partner.”

The woman inclined her head, and Eoman looked pointedly at Soren.

Taking the hint, he introduced us. “This is Alon and Elana.”

Alon nodded, looking as uncomfortable as I was. When Soren didn’t go on, Celeste asked, “Aren’t you going to take off your hood, Elana?”

Having expected to be asked to do so at some point, I did so without hesitation.

Eoman’s gaze flickered from me to Soren. “Your sister?” he asked softly.

My brows creased. Was that a trace of anger in the ganglord’s voice?

Wincing, Soren nodded.

Celeste didn’t miss the byplay. “You know the boy, Eo?” she asked, looking surprised.

The gang leader waved aside the question. “The son of an old acquaintance, no more. I check up on him every so often.”

Celeste’s gaze sharpened. “I see,” she murmured.

I felt my own interest piqued. An old acquaintance? Eoman could only mean my parents. How did Eoman know them?

My gaze flitted to Soren. There was obviously more to his relationship with Eoman than I knew about. Was that the real reason Soren hadn’t wanted us coming to the Raccoons? Just how many secrets are you keeping, brother?

Eoman turned to me, his face studiedly neutral. “It is nice to finally meet you, Elana,” he greeted.

“And you, ganglord,” I replied. I wanted to ask him how he knew my parents but something—perhaps it was the queasy look on Soren’s face—stopped me.

“Call me Eoman,” the raccoon leader said. “Everyone does.” Before I could respond, he turned to my friend. “Alon, you are a soldier, I take it?”

“Just a trainee,” he replied quickly.

“Ah, but you will be one, I have no doubt.” Turning to Soren, Eoman finally gave him his full attention. “So, my boy, tell me, why have—”

“Aren’t you going to ask the girl,” Celeste interrupted.

The gang leader arched one eyebrow. “Ask her what?”

“Why Cantos has placed a bounty on her head,” she said brightly. “And why he is telling everyone who will listen that she is a player, of course.”

Looking pained, Eoman sat back in his chair. “Do we really need to credit every rumor coming out of the Butcher’s mouth?”

It was Celeste’s turn to look surprised. “You don’t believe them, then?”

“Of course not,” Eoman said. “What would the girl still be doing in the poor quarter if she was a player—” he threw me an apologetic look—“and why would she go around looking like that?”

“Ask her then,” Celeste challenged.

Shrugging, Eoman turned to me. “Are you what Cantos says you are?” he asked mildly.

I licked my lips. There was a warning in Soren’s eyes, and in the ganglord’s too, I thought. But about what?

To tell the truth or not?

“Don’t,” Adalinda said suddenly.

I opened my mouth.

Alon beat me to the punch. “She is,” he said defiantly. “She is exactly what Cantos says—and more. And if you accept our help, we’ll help you grind the Devils into dust!”

Eoman closed his eyes but not before throwing me an inscrutable look. I didn’t understand much of what I saw in his gaze, but there was one emotion I thought I recognized.

Regret.