Thief of Time

Two hundred metres away from him, a small caravan trundled on. There were very few men guarding the shipment of goods, and those that were there didn’t look particularly formidable. From the looks of it, the three of them probably had a similar repertoire of life skills — those that enhanced one’s survivability when living under a really tight budget, like Create Food.

Ruffians like these would not be trusted to deliver goods alone. No, there was probably a mercenary taking the lead and cowing them.

He found one such mercenary a few seconds later. The man was standing at the front of the carriage, looking like a bog-standard mercenary. Such a person would probably have four or more combat skills. Mercenaries usually had four skills that were standard, with the other two something else according to individual preference.

Instant Slash — a single slash that was hard to follow with the eye.

Hyper Parry — for the next second, deflect all attacks at a one-folder’s speed, although what that standard exactly entailed Claud didn’t know. Magic could be cut, but it wouldn’t block the effects of an explosion.

Heightened Senses — for the next thirty minutes, the user could detect any movement in a thirty-metre radius.

Heightened Response — for the next thirty minutes, the user’s reflexes would be enhanced.

These four skills were the basics of the mercenary profession; lack one of them and you would be considered substandard. Of course, the more famous ones didn’t use the standard get-up either, but the mercenary Claud was staring at looked like an average one.

The only uncertainties lay in the mercenary’s exact skills. It would be for the best if he could dispatch his target with a single strike, which was how Presence Nullification would be used. If, however, he had some less common skill that enabled him to avoid attacks, it would probably be a bit of a problem.

There was no two ways around it, however.

Tearing up one of his few skillstrips that had Presence Nullification, Claud walked in a diagonal direction to intercept the moving caravan. Within minutes, he was within arm’s length of the mercenary, and Claud clenched his fist.

The sword wasn’t needed here.

His armour glinted as Claud punched out. His fist landed onto his skull, and as the mercenary opened his mouth to scream, he stuffed a wad of cotton into his mouth. Smacking him on the head a few more times for good measure, Claud caught the fellow as he fainted, before rolling him out of the way.

That was easy.

Before that thought vanished, the ruffians guarding the small carriage shrieked and bolted for it. They were probably spooked by his sudden appearance, which was nothing short of convenient. Claud looked at their departing figures, and then hurried over to the caravan. Huge boxes were stuffed inside it, but those weren’t his targets. Money was no issue to a master thief — walking around for an afternoon would fatten his wallet.

No, what he wanted were lifestones and lifestones only. He only had 104 years of life left; that wasn’t a lot, no matter how one cut it. In fact, he’d heard rumours that lifestone mines were drying up — if he didn’t brave the Moons now, the opportunity might never come again.

Scanning around furiously, Claud soon located the treasure box that was described to him. Decorated ornately, the box was the size of his chest, only to be emptied a moment later as he poured the contents into a sack. It was less classy, but far more convenient.

His ears twitched.

Someone…a lot of someone-s, even, were headed his way. Without hesitating, he activated his Presence Nullification and walked out of the caravan, where an encirclement of unkempt men and women had formed around it. Their eyes were filled with greed — Claud clearly wasn’t the only one who had access to this intel.

Keeping a wide berth from them, he slipped through the encirclement easily. There would be enough food and goods in that caravan for everyone here; this little…offering had prolonged their lives by a few days. As for whether they would be captured and executed a few days later, no one knew, but taking the risk to rob people was infinitely preferable than dying from starvation.

Casting one last look at the caravan, which was now being ravaged by a host of desperate people, he retraced his steps to Licencia, prize in hand.

For him, it was an average heist, but the same couldn’t be said for the people there. Given that the robbery had occurred just a few hundred metres away from the city, it was possible that the ruffians who had deserted their post earlier had ran for help; soldiers, mana-users and opportunists were probably on their way here now.

Glancing back at where he came, Claud suppressed his desire to warn them. It would not do; if he was to return, he would almost definitely be caught up in the fight to come. Far better to be a coward…

“Coward…” His eyes lit up. The caravan was still in sight, which meant that something straight could pass through from here to there. Raising his hand, he aimed the Windburst at the large target. The blue lines that adorned the wristguard darkened, and a burst of blue light shot out.

Seconds later, the caravan exploded. Screams rent the air, and Claud, who had ducked into the bushes, stopped his breathing as he spotted a small crowd appear on the main road. He had no choice; the moment the Windburst caused panic, his skill had stopped working.

A second volley of shouts followed as the looters, having awakened from their looting spree, noticed the same thing as he did. Scattering like ants, the small crowd of desperate people fled in all directions, prompting the pursuers to follow suit.

“Let’s hope that most of them get away,” he muttered. “They should, right? I can’t imagine someone with Quick Sprint not escaping from guards.”

Something twitched in his pocket, and Claud rolled his eyes. Crown probably agreed with him, but since he couldn’t tell if the little fellow was jiggling or doing some weird movement…

Taking the time to hide the lifestones he’d stolen into little nooks inside his clothes. Claud rolled around in the bush and looked up at the sky. Tonight, Plota, the blue moon of wisdom, was the only one visible. Legend had it that such a night was the most suitable for training the mind…and for opening it to new possibilities.

Like learning a skill.

Legend had it that nights like these were where old skills could be forgotten, even without new ones to prompt it. As for how to do that…well, Claud didn’t quite care about it.

Most importantly, the blue moonlight was nice on the eyes.

After lying on his back for an hour or so, Claud finally got up and stepped onto the main road. More than once, soldiers escorting boxes had walked past him; either the stolen goods had been tossed aside by the looters, or those looters had been killed on the spot.

He’d tried, at least.

Activating his other artefacts to erase any suspicious bits of mud or dirt, he walked over to the city gates.

“Halt,” one of the soldiers said.

Claud took a small card — his proof of residence in Licencia — and the guard’s face softened. “Why are you out this late into the night?”

“I was delayed. Saw soldiers chasing some people, so I decided to stay out of their way and not interfere with their work,” Claud replied.

“He’s telling the truth,” a soldier by the guard’s side said, and Claud smiled inwardly. What he’d said was correct; he’d intended to return, but since he saw soldiers chasing some people, he decided to lie down low and not interfere.

“You used a skill on me?” Claud asked, interested. “Why?”

“There was a robbery earlier on,” the guard replied. “I apologise for my rudeness.”

“I see,” Claud replied. “Keep up the good work. You uphold Count Nightfall’s good name.”

“Thank you for your praise.”

Exchanging a few more niceties, the guards let him through, and the familiar streets of Licencia sprouted before him again. The streets were rather devoid of people, save for some small-fry criminal elements squatting around and making their dastardly plans. Pairs of soldiers hung around lights, chatting over some smokesticks and drinks.

Once in a while, a dog would bark, drawing everyone’s attention there. And that, was about as exciting as an average night in Licencia went. No one wanted to offend Count Nightfall, who was an implicit partner in the darker occupations. Thieves and other elements restrained themselves in his city; they didn’t want to change his mind.

The hairs on his neck prickled as he walked past an alleyway.

“Hold.” A voice spoke from behind him.

Claud turned around. Four…people, each of them looking as if they were related to each other, were looking at him.

“You need something?”

“One-folder, right?” The woman in the lead, sporting black hair that reflected the blue moon perfectly, tilted her chin. “You’re a local. Mind giving us a tour?”

“’Fraid not. I’ve been delayed by events earlier. Can’t miss my appointment. And besides” —he gestured at the random assortment of ruffians and soldiers— “they’re better people to ask.”

The four exchanged looks.

“What if we insist?”

“Then you can follow me,” Claud replied. “I’m not going to spend my time bringing strangers ‘round town. But I can bring you to a place where others will be happy to do so.”

He produced a small coin and flipped it. “Heard of the best bar in town?”