Chapter 34

The morning light crept into the workshop through the narrow windows, casting long beams across the scattered tools and half-finished projects that filled the room. I stretched, feeling the familiar ache in my muscles from the previous night's work. The place still smelled of wood shavings and hot metal, mixed with the faint hum of residual magic from the rune stones resting on the shelves. This little workshop had served me well, tucked away near the tower where anonymity was easy to maintain, but things had changed. Now that I had the official guild stamp, it was time to make a shift. Time to play the part.

I glanced around the workshop one last time. Tools, scrolls, stones—everything in here was a part of the life I'd built in secret. But now, with the guild master's approval, I couldn't afford to keep playing the shadowy craftsman in the back alleys. I needed something more polished, more fitting for a master rune weaver. Appearances were everything in this city, and I had a new image to cultivate.

With a flick of my wrist, I activated the storage stone I kept tucked inside my vest. The stone vibrated faintly, and one by one, the items in the workshop disappeared, drawn into its magical depths. It was a marvel, really—capable of storing entire rooms' worth of materials in a space no larger than a coin. Swift, efficient, and more importantly, discreet.

Within minutes, the workshop was bare, leaving nothing but the empty shelves and the faint outline of where my tools had once rested. I took a moment to appreciate the silence. There was something satisfying about leaving a place with no trace that you'd ever been there, like a ghost passing through the world unnoticed. But now, I wasn't interested in being a ghost anymore. I had bigger plans.

Stepping outside, I was greeted by the bright morning sun, the city already bustling with life. The streets were filled with the sounds of merchants setting up their stalls, the calls of vendors selling everything from fresh bread to glimmering trinkets, and the distant clatter of horse-drawn carts rumbling down the cobblestone roads. The air was thick with the scent of fresh fruit and herbs from the marketplace mixed with the more pungent odor of burning coal from the blacksmiths' forges.

I adjusted the collar of my tunic—a fine piece of craftsmanship in itself. High-quality material, but understated. Artisan wear, designed to give the impression of a man with wealth who indulged in his craft as a hobby rather than a necessity. Exactly the appearance I wanted to project today. Let them think I was just another wealthy patron dabbling in the arcane arts. It would serve me well when I started making connections in the more "official" circles of the city.

The streets were already alive with activity, the rhythm of Roman-like life in full swing. The clatter of sandals against stone, the steady murmur of conversation, the occasional shout from a merchant haggling over the price of fish—it was all part of the city's never-ending dance. I weaved through the crowd with ease, my steps purposeful but unhurried. Today, I was looking for something specific: a new workshop. A place that would reflect my newfound status as a certified rune weaver, somewhere that would look the part for clients who expected more than just skill—they wanted prestige.

As I made my way toward one of the more artisan sections of the city, the buildings around me began to change. The rougher, worn-down facades of the lower market district gave way to more refined structures. Shops with intricately carved wooden signs and polished windows lined the streets. These weren't your everyday vendors. These were artisans—painters, sculptors, jewelers—each of them selling their wares to the city's wealthier patrons.

The closer I got to the more upscale district, the more the streets began to fill with the kind of people who cared less about price and more about exclusivity. Rich women draped in flowing robes walked with their heads held high, flanked by servants carrying baskets and bags filled with their latest purchases. Men in finely tailored tunics strolled by, speaking in low, measured tones, their sandals gleaming as they moved with the slow grace of people who had nowhere urgent to be.

I passed a few shops that caught my eye—boutiques with elegant displays in the windows, offering everything from high-end clothing to rare rune enchanted trinkets. But I wasn't here to shop. I was looking for something more specific—a workshop that catered to the richer clientele, something with a boutique on the lower floor and a private space above where I could work in peace.

After a bit of wandering, I found exactly what I was looking for.

The building stood slightly apart from its neighbors, its wide storefront displaying a tasteful array of enchanted items—nothing too flashy, but just enough to draw the eye of those who appreciated quality. Above the shop, the upper floors had wide windows that looked perfect for a workspace, offering both light and privacy. A small sign hanging beside the door caught my attention: For Lease: Workshop and Residence Available.

I smiled to myself. Perfect.

The front of the building was clean and elegant, with wide columns supporting the awning above. The windows gleamed in the sunlight, and the shop's interior looked inviting, with polished wooden floors and neatly arranged displays of fine craftsmanship. This was exactly the kind of place that would attract the right kind of clientele—those who cared more about reputation than price.

I stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming softly as I entered. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and an air of efficiency, looked up from behind the counter and gave me a polite nod.

"Good morning," she said, her tone professional but warm. "How can I help you?"

"I'm interested in the workshop and residence upstairs," I said, keeping my voice casual but direct. "Is it still available?"

Her eyes flicked over me for a moment, taking in my attire and likely assessing whether I was worth her time. After a brief pause, she nodded. "It is. Would you like to see it?"

"I would," I replied with a smile. "I'm looking for something discreet, but high quality. I believe this might be just the thing."

She stepped out from behind the counter and led me to a narrow staircase at the back of the shop. As we ascended, I could already feel the potential of the space above. It was quiet, set apart from the hustle of the streets below. Perfect for the kind of work I intended to do.

The workshop itself was spacious, with large windows that let in plenty of natural light. The walls were bare, ready to be filled with shelves, tools, and rune stones. The air was still, heavy with that sense of untapped potential that comes with an empty room just waiting to be transformed.

"And the residence?" I asked, turning to the shopkeeper.

She gestured to a door at the far end of the workshop. "Through there. A private living space. Comfortable, but nothing extravagant. It's meant to be functional for someone focused on their craft."

I nodded, stepping over to inspect the room. It was simple but well-appointed. A place to rest, but more importantly, a place to hide away when I needed to work on something... sensitive. The location was perfect—discreet enough to avoid prying eyes, but close enough to the upper market that I could attract the kind of clients who would pay handsomely for the right services.

"I'll take it," I said, turning back to the shopkeeper.

She smiled, clearly pleased. "I'll have the papers drawn up immediately. We can have you moved in by the end of the day if you like."

"That would be ideal," I replied, already picturing how I would set up the workshop. "Thank you."

The lady I had first met led me downstair to see the boss of the shop below. It was clear from the moment I stepped into the shop that I'd made the right decision. The space below my soon-to-be workshop wasn't just any storefront—it was elegant, refined, and, most importantly, it catered to exactly the kind of clientele I wanted to attract. The shop was filled with glimmering displays of finely crafted jewelry, the kind that could only be afforded by the upper crust of the city's elite. And standing behind the counter, her eyes sharp and business-like, was the jeweler herself—Claudia Aeliana.

Claudia was a woman who radiated competence. Mid-thirties, with sharp features softened by just the right amount of charm, she had the look of someone who could smile while negotiating a deal that left you wondering how you ended up paying double. Her hands moved deftly over the gemstones she was inspecting, each motion precise and deliberate. She barely glanced up as I approached, but I could tell she was already assessing me, filing away the details.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Goodchild," she said, her voice smooth but efficient. It wasn't a question—Claudia clearly knew who I was, or at least had made it her business to know. "I assume you're here about the workshop upstairs?"

I smiled, nodding. "You assume correctly. I was thinking we might be able to help each other out."

Her eyebrow arched slightly, but there was a glint of interest in her eyes. "Oh? And how exactly do you see that happening?"

I glanced around the shop, at the finely crafted bracelets and necklaces gleaming in the soft light. "Jewelry like this speaks to a certain... refined clientele. People with taste. People with money. They're exactly the type of customers who could appreciate a fine piece of rune armor, don't you think?"

That caught her attention. She straightened slightly, setting the gemstone in her hand down and folding her arms. "Rune armor, you say?"

"High-quality work," I continued, keeping my tone casual but confident. "Discreet, powerful, and beautiful. The kind of pieces that don't just protect—you know, the ones that make a statement."

She gave me a considering look, her sharp eyes narrowing just slightly. "And you would want to display these... statement pieces in my shop?"

"That's the idea. Your jewelry, my armor. They'd go well together, don't you think? A perfect pairing of beauty and power. And of course, we'd come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Claudia tapped her finger against her chin, clearly weighing the potential benefits. It didn't take long for her to nod slowly, a small smile curving her lips. "It could work. If the quality is as good as you say, my clients would certainly be interested. And if it draws more attention to my shop... well, I wouldn't say no to that."

I pulled out the letter of recommendation from the guild, along with the rune stamp that marked me as an officially certified rune weaver. Her eyes flicked over the documents, and for the first time, I saw genuine respect in her expression.

"You're not playing around, are you?" she remarked, impressed.

"I never do."

With that, the deal was struck. Claudia was more than eager to write up the paperwork, and the arrangements for displaying my work alongside her own high-end jewelry were quickly put into motion. She suggested we head to the local administration center to finalize the lease on the workshop and make it official. Naturally, I knew the process would involve a few "extra" expenses to grease the right palms and expedite the paperwork—this city ran on more than just good intentions, after all.

When we arrived at the administration center, it was exactly the kind of place you'd expect: grand, imposing, and filled with clerks who looked as though they had spent their entire lives buried under mountains of parchment. Claudia's presence helped—she had a certain authority about her that kept the bureaucrats in line. A few coins discreetly passed under the table, a knowing nod exchanged, and soon enough, the paperwork was signed and sealed, the rune mark shimmering in the light as the deal was officially completed.

With that done, it was time to set up shop.

Back at the new workshop, I stood in the middle of the spacious room and took a deep breath. The space was perfect. Light poured in through the large windows, casting long shadows across the bare stone floors. There was a quiet hum in the air, the kind of energy that came from a room waiting to be filled with purpose. And I had just the thing to fill it with.

I reached into my vest and pulled out the storage stone, feeling the familiar pulse of magic beneath my fingers. One by one, I began pulling the items from my former workshop out of the stone, placing them carefully around the room. Tools, rune stones, carving equipment—it all appeared in a flash of light, taking its place in the new space as though it had always been there.

The workbench was the heart of the workshop, a massive slab of polished wood surrounded by shelves that held all manner of engraving and carving tools. Each one had a specific purpose, from delicate chisels for fine etching to heavier blades designed for more rugged materials. Next to the bench, I set up the magnification array, a series of lenses and runes that allowed me to perform the finer work that required absolute precision.

The walls were soon lined with boards covered in runic diagrams—complex symbols and patterns that altered the properties of the materials I worked with. Some of the runes enhanced stability, others allowed me to change the form of a material entirely, turning metal into something as flexible as cloth or as hard as diamond. These were the secrets of the craft, the kinds of techniques that separated a true rune weaver from the rest.

The centerpiece, of course, was the rune board—a large slab covered in intricate runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. It was the foundation of my work, a magical array that allowed me to bind the power of runes into whatever I was crafting. With it, I could transform simple materials into something far greater, something imbued with power and purpose.

As the workshop began to take shape, I could feel the magic of the place settling into its new home. This was more than just a room filled with tools—this was the heart of my operation, the place where I would forge my future, piece by piece.

The simplicity of setting it all up was satisfying. There were no wasted motions, no unnecessary steps. Everything had its place, and everything worked exactly as it should. The storage stone made the process smooth, almost effortless, as the space transformed before my eyes.

I stepped back, taking in the room with a critical eye. It wasn't just a workshop anymore—it was my workshop. The tools, the runes, the arrays—it all spoke of power, precision, and possibility. This was where the real work would begin.

As I stood there, I couldn't help but think back to the deal I had made with the guild master. He had been keen—too keen, really—on those discreet commissions, the kind that didn't make it into the guild records. It was a risky game, but one I was more than willing to play. With Claudia handling the display downstairs and Aetius moving the pieces in the background, I had the perfect setup for both the official and unofficial sides of my business.

The sun had fully risen high in the sky now, casting warm light across the workshop. Outside, the city buzzed with life, but in here, it was quiet, focused. This was where I would carve out my place in the world, one rune at a time.

With everything in its place, I turned back to the workbench and pulled out a piece of armor—something simple, for now, just to get a feel for the new space. My tools were in hand before I even realized it, my fingers moving with the kind of muscle memory that came from years of practice. The rune I was carving began to take shape, glowing faintly as I etched it into the metal.

I smiled to myself as the familiar hum of magic filled the room. It felt good to be back at work. This city had its politics, its power plays, and its endless machinations, but at the end of the day, all of that faded away when I had a piece of metal and a rune stone in front of me.

By the time the sun was hanging low in the sky, casting long, lazy shadows across the streets, I had finally finished setting up the last of the security runes in my new workshop. It wasn't the kind of place where I could afford to let my guard down, not with the kind of work I was doing. And certainly not with the kinds of clients I was attracting. There was a distinct difference between looking official and being foolish enough to leave yourself vulnerable.

The security system I had designed was subtle but effective—an array of runes carefully etched into the walls and windows, each one programmed to detect any unwanted magical interference. I wasn't naive enough to think a few wards could stop a determined intruder, but they'd at least give me time to prepare. More importantly, the system was discreet. No need to advertise that I was guarding something worth taking. Let them think this was just another craftsman's workshop, until it was too late.

I also set up a more mundane system for communication with the shop below. Claudia's jewelry business was doing well, and she'd need a way to get in touch with me without coming upstairs every time. A simple chime, connected by a thread of magic, would alert me to any messages or requests. Not that I expected much at this point—business was still getting off the ground, after all.

As I finished up, I glanced at the sky outside. The city was beginning to wind down for the evening, but the vibrant hum of life still buzzed through the streets. The light of the setting sun filtered through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow across the workshop. I should have felt content. Everything was falling into place. But something about this city kept you on edge, even when things were going well. Especially when things were going well.

The chime rang, breaking my thoughts. I glanced over at the small magical device I'd set up near the entrance—it pulsed with a soft glow, indicating I had a message. Curious, I headed downstairs to see what Claudia—or one of her employees—needed.

I took the side stairs that led directly to the street. One of the perks of this new setup was that I didn't have to go through the shop every time I wanted to leave or enter the building. Privacy was paramount. And besides, I liked to keep my dealings separate from Claudia's more mundane business. Let her focus on the jewelry. I had bigger things in mind.

As I reached the street, one of the young shop girls, a pretty thing with a nervous smile, stood waiting. She gestured toward a messenger who lingered by the corner, eyeing me cautiously as if sizing me up. He was holding an envelope in his hand—no doubt the source of the chime.

"Message for you, sir," the shop girl said, her voice polite but with a hint of shyness.

I flashed her a grin, the kind that always seemed to make people blush and feel a little more at ease. She blushed just as expected, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. Always good to get along with your neighbors, I figured. No harm in being charming when it suited.

"Thank you," I said smoothly, tossing her a couple of copper coins. She curtsied slightly and scurried back inside, clearly pleased with the small reward.

I turned to the messenger, who handed over the envelope. There was something unusual about it—the faint shimmer of a magical ward glinted across the paper, and I could feel the familiar tingle of protection runes carefully woven into the seal. Whoever had sent this didn't want it falling into the wrong hands.

"Here," I said, tossing a few more coins to the messenger. He nodded and disappeared into the crowd without a word.

Back in the privacy of my workshop, I took the envelope upstairs and placed it on the workbench. The ward on the envelope was keyed specifically to me, meaning it would likely burn or otherwise disintegrate if anyone else tried to open it. A nice touch. Subtle, but effective.

I ran my finger over the seal, letting a small pulse of magic unlock the ward, and the envelope clicked open with a faint hiss. Inside was a small piece of parchment, along with something heavier—a tiny object wrapped in cloth. I unfolded the parchment first, scanning the familiar scrawl of Aetius.

Goodchild,

I hope this reaches you in good spirits. I've already secured your first commission, and it's a delicate one. A client of mine—a lady of some importance—requires protection. Specifically, from certain forms of mental manipulation. You know the kind: compulsion, persuasion, seduction, and the more... invasive kinds of magic that can twist the mind.

Enclosed is the brooch she's requested you work on. The materials are finely tuned for enchantment, but the runes need to be precise. She wants protection from every angle, and she's paying well for it. Discretion is, as always, expected. Aetius

A brooch. I couldn't help but smile. So, this lady wanted to be free from all manner of magical influence. From compulsion to more... persuasive forms of mental control. It was smart—especially for someone of her standing. I knew enough about the city's power games to know that the more important you were, the more people wanted to get into your head. And not everyone played fair.

I unwrapped the cloth to reveal the brooch—a delicate piece of silver, finely crafted with a small, empty center where a gemstone would usually sit. It was a simple thing, elegant but unassuming. The kind of jewelry someone would wear every day without drawing attention. Perfect for what it needed to be.

The real challenge would be in the runes themselves. That required finesse. It wasn't enough to slap on a basic shield rune and call it a day. Mental magic came in many forms—subtle, persuasive, seductive. Some attacked directly, twisting the mind with force. Others slipped in quietly, a whisper in the back of your thoughts that you didn't even realize was there until it was too late.

I'd need to account for all of it.

I sat at the workbench, turning the brooch over in my hands as I considered the task. First, I'd need a rune to block basic compulsion magic—the kind that made people act against their will without realizing it. That was simple enough. A rune of mental fortification, etched around the perimeter of the brooch, would create a shield to repel those kinds of attacks.

But then there was the more... subtle magic. Persuasion, seduction—the kind of enchantments that didn't force your hand but instead convinced you to do things of your own volition. That was trickier. I'd need to design a rune that could detect those kinds of influences before they took root in the mind. It would need to constantly scan for foreign magic, picking up on the slightest hint of manipulation and shutting it down before it could take hold.

And then there was the darkest kind of mental magic—the kind that didn't just influence but invaded. The kind that wormed its way into your thoughts, twisting your very perception of reality. For that, I'd need something more aggressive. A rune that didn't just block the attack but fought back, purging any intrusions from the mind with force.

The work would take time, but it was exactly the kind of challenge I enjoyed. Precision, power, and protection all wrapped up in a single, delicate piece of jewelry.

I reached for my carving tools, feeling the familiar weight of the metal in my hand. The magnification array hummed softly as I activated it, bringing the brooch into sharp focus under the lenses. I began to sketch the rune patterns in my mind, each one flowing into the next, weaving a net of protection that would shield the wearer from every possible threat.

As the first rune was etched into the silver, a soft glow spread across the surface of the brooch. The magic responded immediately, settling into the metal like it had been waiting for this moment. It always amazed me how runes and materials worked together—one couldn't function without the other, but when they were in sync, the result was something far greater than the sum of its parts.

I worked through the night, my hands moving steadily as I etched each rune with precision. The workshop was quiet, save for the faint hum of magic and the occasional scrape of metal against metal. Time seemed to blur, the hours slipping away as the brooch began to take shape under my hands.

By the time the first rays of dawn crept through the windows, the brooch was complete. I held it up to the light, watching as the runes glowed faintly in the soft morning glow. It looked no different than it had before—still the same simple, elegant piece of jewelry. But now, it was something more. Now, it was a shield, a fortress of the mind that would protect its wearer from any who tried to manipulate or control them.

I leaned back in my chair, exhaustion tugging at the edges of my consciousness, but a sense of satisfaction filled me. This was why I did what I did—this delicate balance of power and precision, the quiet thrill of creating something that could change the course of someone's life without them ever knowing it.

I carefully wrapped the brooch back in its cloth and set it aside. Aetius would be pleased. His client, even more so.

I looked at the item that was beside the brooch as I had made a similar device for myself but in the form of a bracelet as if she needed to have this protection so did I.

As the first rays of dawn crept into my workshop, casting faint golden lines across the floor, I realized I'd done it again—spent the entire night hunched over my workbench, lost in the intricate art of rune engraving. There's something almost meditative about the process, the quiet hum of magic as I etched lines that would eventually protect, empower, and transform. But as the sun peeked over the horizon, the reality hit me: tonight was the night of that blasted party Valeria and I had been invited to by Minister Almont. I needed sleep, and I needed it soon.

I rubbed a hand across my face, feeling the familiar grit of exhaustion. My body was a finely tuned machine when it came to work, but even I knew there were limits. Especially when I had to rub elbows with the city's upper crust later tonight.

Looking around my newly appointed workshop, I felt a moment of satisfaction. The space had come together nicely, with all my tools neatly arranged, runes aglow, and the faint hum of enchantments filling the air. This was my domain, my sanctuary, and the rest of the world could wait. At least for now.

I made my way to the back of the workshop, where the private living quarters had been set up. The apartment was more luxurious than I was used to—thick curtains draped the windows, a large bed with a plush mattress dominated the room, and fine Roman-style furnishings gave it a sense of understated wealth. Claudia had outdone herself in choosing the decor. Then again, her clients were high-end, and this aesthetic was exactly what would appeal to their sensibilities. I, on the other hand, cared less for frills and more for function.

I stretched out on the bed, the soft linen sheets cool against my skin. I needed a few hours of sleep if I was going to endure the evening's festivities without nodding off into my wine. As I lay there, my mind wandered, replaying the details of the commission from Aetius, the delicate rune work I'd completed. The brooch for his client had been a masterpiece of subtle protection, and I had a feeling it would only be the beginning. Power and influence flowed through this city like an underground river, and I had just tapped into a rich vein.

With that comforting thought, I drifted off into the kind of deep sleep that only comes after a long night of work.

--

I woke in the mid-afternoon, sunlight spilling through the windows in a warm, lazy glow. The city outside was already coming to life, but I took my time getting up. The bed was hard to leave, and I was more than aware that the evening would demand my full attention. Parties like the one Minister Almont was hosting were more than just social affairs—they were power plays, subtle exchanges of influence and favor wrapped up in fine wines and empty pleasantries.

I stretched and made my way to the wardrobe. For an event like this, nothing short of the best would do. The people—and this city loved its traditions—took their fashion as seriously as their politics. For me, tonight called for a toga virilis, a formal garment worn by those in the higher echelons of society. Mine was crafted from the finest fabric, a deep, dark blue trimmed with silver, signaling wealth and status without being too ostentatious. It was designed to drape perfectly over my shoulder, cinched at the waist with a silver brooch—subtle, yet enough to show I wasn't just another craftsman.

The sandals I slipped on were simple but made of the finest leather. It was the little details that made all the difference. Even if I didn't entirely buy into the pomp of these occasions, I knew enough to play the part when it mattered. Tonight wasn't just about making an appearance—it was about solidifying my presence in the city's elite circles. Every detail, every stitch, had to project an image of someone who belonged.

Satisfied with my appearance, I gave myself one last glance in the tall mirror. Not bad, if I do say so myself. The deep blue complemented my eyes, and the silver accents gave just the right touch of refinement. I almost looked like someone who cared about these kinds of events.

As the chime from downstairs rang out, I knew Valeria had arrived. The thought of her coming to collect me amused me slightly—it was the kind of thing that would draw attention, and Valeria liked to be seen. I made my way down the private stairs, deliberately slow, giving myself a moment to compose the right mix of detachment and mild interest.

The door to the street opened, and there she was, standing just outside her carriage. Valeria had a way of making entrances, and tonight was no exception. She was dressed in what looked like the very latest fashion—an emerald green gown with intricate golden embroidery, the fabric flowing in waves of silken elegance. Her hair was done up in a style that spoke of both power and beauty, with jeweled pins glinting in the fading sunlight.

I have to admit, I was impressed. But then again, Valeria always knew how to outshine everyone else in the room. Even me.

The girls from Claudia's shop were gathered at the windows, wide-eyed and whispering to each other as they watched Valeria. I couldn't help but smirk. The signs of jealousy were written all over their faces—every glance they stole in her direction was laced with envy. I knew that look well. It was the same expression I saw whenever a woman of higher value walked into the room, instantly making every other woman feel like a background character in someone else's story.

It was fascinating, really. I'd talked about it in one of my lectures—the way women reacted to competition, the subtle shifts in body language and tone. The way their eyes narrowed just slightly, their lips pursed, as if they couldn't quite believe they'd been outdone. They'd smile, of course, play nice, but the jealousy simmered just beneath the surface. In the grand game of social hierarchies, Valeria was a master, and they knew it.

"Well," I said, approaching her with a half-smile, "you've certainly outdone yourself."

Her lips curled into a smirk. "You didn't think I'd let you have all the attention tonight, did you?"

I chuckled, offering her my arm. "I wouldn't dream of it."

As we climbed into the carriage, I couldn't help but glance back at the shop windows where the girls were still watching, their eyes following Valeria like she was a queen descending from her throne. Women always admired and resented beauty in equal measure, especially when it was displayed with such effortless grace.

The carriage ride was smooth, the streets beginning to glow with the warm light of evening lamps. Valeria and I exchanged a few pleasantries, but we both knew tonight wasn't about conversation—it was about being seen. And more importantly, about listening to the right people, making the right connections.

Minister Almont, ever the political chess master, had somehow managed to secure the party at one of the minor temples—a place with a certain gravity and history that whispered of forgotten gods and long-standing influence. Temples, after all, were not typically lent out for mere social gatherings. I could only imagine what favors had been called in, what subtle threats or promises had been exchanged to host an event like this on sacred ground. He always did know how to make an impression, especially when he wanted something.

As Valeria and I pulled up in the carriage, I could already hear the soft murmur of the evening in full swing. Laughter mingled with the clink of crystal wine glasses, and the low hum of conversation buzzed just beyond the temple gates. The sound was unmistakable: the symphony of subtle power plays and backroom dealings, all dressed up in togas and polished smiles. The party may have looked grand, but beneath the surface, it was nothing more than a market of influence.

The temple itself was an architectural marvel. It wasn't one of the grander ones dedicated to the more prominent gods, but the minor temple stood in quiet defiance of time, its towering columns stretching up into the twilight sky. Fountains gurgled softly, their waters illuminated by hidden lights that cast a glow on the intricate stonework. It was an oasis of calm in the middle of the city's chaos, and tonight it had been transformed into a stage for the most delicate of performances—politics disguised as pleasantries.

Valeria was the first to step out of the carriage, and as always, she commanded attention with the effortless grace of a woman who knew exactly how to make an entrance. Her gown, emerald and shimmering with gold thread, clung to her in all the right ways, flowing like liquid wealth as she moved. There was a murmur from the gathering crowd as she passed, a ripple of admiration and jealousy alike. Eyes followed her, heads turned, and whispers trailed in her wake. I could practically feel the sting of envy emanating from the other women gathered near the entrance.

I followed her, offering my arm in a manner both polite and calculated. I knew how this worked: Valeria was a force of nature, and standing next to her made a statement. Let them talk. Let them wonder. Every glance, every subtle tilt of the head from the crowd was a calculation. And if I played my part right, we'd leave here with more than just empty smiles and a few glasses of wine.

As we ascended the marble steps, the sound of our footsteps echoed in the evening air, the stone cool and solid beneath our feet. The guests were already mingling in the expansive courtyard, which had been lavishly decorated for the occasion. Toga-clad officials and aristocrats moved about, their movements slow and deliberate, each conversation a careful negotiation, each smile hiding a thousand unspoken thoughts. The evening air carried the scent of rich wine and exotic perfumes, mixing with the crispness of the fountain's spray.

The moment we entered, I instinctively began scanning the room. Years of experience had taught me to recognize the key players almost immediately. Minister Almont, naturally, was at the center of it all, surrounded by sycophants and hangers-on, his sharp eyes glinting with satisfaction. He held court with the ease of a man who knew exactly how much power he wielded, and those around him fawned and flattered in the hopes of catching some of his favor. He saw us enter, his eyes flicking between Valeria and me, and raised his glass in a gesture that could only be described as a calculated welcome.

A subtle smile curled at the corner of my lips as I met his gaze. He knew why we were here, and so did I. This wasn't just another evening of socializing; this was a meeting ground for alliances, for deals to be struck in whispered conversations. And Valeria, ever the brilliant tactician, knew it too. Her grip on my arm tightened ever so slightly, a small but unmistakable signal that she had already begun scanning the crowd, identifying targets, weighing opportunities.

The game had begun, and we were in the thick of it.

As we moved deeper into the crowd, I couldn't help but marvel at how the evening had been so carefully orchestrated. Almont's choice of venue was a masterstroke—the temple's sanctity provided a veneer of respectability, masking the true nature of what would take place here tonight. Conversations that appeared polite and mundane would be laced with barbed intentions, alliances would be forged with the clink of glasses, and enemies would be made with little more than a pointed glance across the room. And in the middle of it all, Valeria and I would move like shadowed figures in a well-rehearsed play.

We reached Almont's circle, and as expected, he welcomed us with open arms—figuratively, of course. His smile was warm, but his eyes were as sharp as ever, calculating, measuring. I knew that look well. It was the look of a man who was constantly assessing value, constantly figuring out who could be useful to him and how.

"David, Valeria," Almont greeted, raising his glass. "So good of you to join us. You've managed to bring a certain... flair to this gathering."

Valeria smiled, a delicate tilt of her head that suggested both humility and pride. "Minister Almont, you flatter us. How could we refuse an invitation to such a splendid evening?"

"Indeed," I added, keeping my tone light but letting just a hint of sarcasm slip through. "It's not every day one gets to sip wine in the shadow of a god. Minor, though he may be."

Almont chuckled, clearly not missing the jab. "Ah, yes. The gods. Always present, even when we forget they're watching." His eyes glinted with something darker as he glanced at the temple's towering columns. "But enough about that. Come, you must meet some of our esteemed guests."

He led us into the fold, introducing us to a parade of officials and dignitaries, each one more eager than the last to curry favor. The conversations flowed easily, full of pleasantries and light banter, but underneath it all, I could feel the undercurrent of tension. Everyone here wanted something—power, influence, control—and they were all playing the same game.

As Valeria and I made our rounds through Minister Almont's temple-turned-political-stage, I had the distinct sense that I was being watched. Not in the paranoid sense—this wasn't my first time navigating a room full of schemers and social climbers—but in the way a hawk watches a mouse just before it strikes. Someone was sizing me up. And I had a strong suspicion who it might be.

Sure enough, not long after Valeria disappeared into another conversation with a senator, I found myself approached by none other than Cornelius Marcellus—guild master of the Rune Weavers. He moved with the kind of deliberate grace that comes only from years of knowing exactly where you stand in the world: at the top. His toga, white and trimmed in deep purple, marked his status, but it was the way people moved aside for him as if by instinct that told me everything I needed to know. In a place like this, power didn't need to be announced—it was felt.

"Goodchild," he said, his voice smooth but carrying just enough weight to command attention. "I've been meaning to meet you properly at an event like this and not in the office."

I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral. Being singled out by Cornelius Marcellus could be a good thing—or a very, very dangerous thing. "Guild Master, the pleasure is mine as it is nice to see each other in a social setting."

He smiled, but there was something calculating behind his eyes. "You've made quite the impression, both with your work and your discretion. That's a rare combination these days. I like to keep an eye on people like you."

He gestured for me to walk with him, and I fell into step beside him, keenly aware that eyes were on us now. Marcellus wasn't a man who mingled lightly, and anyone he spoke to carried a new weight in the eyes of the room. As we moved through the gathering, people parted for us, their conversations lowering as we passed by, their gazes shifting from polite curiosity to speculation.

"I hear you're quite skilled with custom work," Marcellus continued as we walked, all for the show so people could hear us, his tone casual, though the implication was anything but. "Very... tailored pieces, from what I've been told."

I raised an eyebrow. "I do my best to meet the needs of my clients. Some have more specific requests than others."

"Specific, yes," he mused, a faint smile playing on his lips. "And yet you manage to create items that never seem to pass through the guild's official records. It's a talent, keeping things clean."

Ah. So that's what this was about. I had suspected as much, but hearing it laid out so openly was surprising, even for Marcellus. The Rune Weavers' Guild was many things, but subtlety wasn't usually one of them. Still, it appeared that with the right company, even the guild master was willing to bend the rules—or at least look the other way.

"I take pride in my discretion," I said, careful to keep my tone light, as though we were discussing nothing more than an ordinary commission. "And in making sure all parties remain... satisfied."

He chuckled, a low sound that told me he was pleased with my response. "Good. Very good. There are always clients who prefer to avoid the usual channels, clients with more... delicate needs. I suspect you'll be hearing from some of them soon."

The meaning was clear enough. Marcellus was letting people know that I was open for business. It was a calculated risk on his part, but then again, this entire city ran on calculated risks.

As we moved through the crowd, he began introducing me to various officials and potential clients, each one more eager than the last to meet the "rising star" of the rune weaving world. I shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, all while my mind buzzed with the implications of the evening. Marcellus was effectively setting me up as the guild's unofficial... fixer. The one who could do the jobs that didn't make it onto the official ledgers.

And the more people I met, the clearer it became that these were exactly the kinds of clients who would have those sorts of jobs.

"You'll find that our patrons appreciate efficiency and discretion above all else," Marcellus said smoothly, nodding toward an aging aristocrat whose robes practically dripped with gold embroidery. "And you, Goodchild, seem to have a particular knack for both. I'll leave you to make an impression."

I inclined my head as he moved off, clearly satisfied with his work. Now I was on my own, surrounded by the city's most influential and ambitious. I could feel their eyes on me, assessing, measuring, calculating. This wasn't just a party anymore. This was a market, and I was a commodity.

As I made my way through the crowd, listening to the hum of gossip and the occasional biting remark, I began to pick up on something else. A recurring theme in the conversations, one that piqued my interest: the elves.

From what I could gather, the empire was having trouble with one of the elven nations—a particularly reclusive group that was resisting the empire's expansion into a wilderness region. Normally, elves weren't much of a problem. They kept to their forests, rarely interfering with imperial affairs, and for the most part, the empire allowed them their isolation. But something had changed. Rumor had it that this particular nation wasn't just resisting—they were actively stopping the expansion, holding the empire's forces at bay in a way that suggested more than just passive resistance.

"They don't even have an envoy in the city," I overheard one official whisper to his companion, a nervous edge in his voice. "Not a single representative. No negotiations, no contact. It's like they're not even interested in talking. Just... keeping us out."

"Typical elves," his companion muttered, taking a sip of his wine. "They think they're above all of this. Isolationist nonsense. But mark my words, they'll have to come to the table eventually. No one can hold out forever."

But there was something in the way the first man responded, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "I don't know. This feels different. They're not being combative, they're just... there. Blocking every move we make, without a word, without a fight. It's almost eerie."

I tucked that information away for later. I had heard that the elves were always a wildcard in the empire's affairs, but this sounded like more than just the usual tension. And if they weren't even bothering to send an envoy, it suggested they had no intention of negotiating—or they didn't need to.

Valeria reappeared at my side, her eyes gleaming with that familiar look of triumph. Whatever deals she'd been making, she had clearly come out on top. She smiled up at me, slipping her arm through mine as though we were merely two old friends enjoying the evening, but I could see the sharpness in her gaze.

"Making friends, are we?" she teased, glancing at the group of officials I'd been speaking with.

"Friends might be a strong word," I replied with a smirk. "But certainly, some useful connections."

She gave a small laugh, her fingers tightening ever so slightly on my arm. "You've certainly been making an impression. Even Marcellus seemed pleased."

I raised an eyebrow. "You were watching?"

"Of course," she said lightly. "It's always fascinating to see how people react to you. Some are intrigued, some are wary... but they all know you're important now."

I couldn't help but smile at that. "Well, it helps to have a beautiful woman by your side. Keeps them guessing."

Valeria smirked, tilting her head ever so slightly. "Let them guess. It makes the game all the more interesting."

As the evening wore on, the temple grounds seemed to pulse with the quiet hum of whispered deals, masked by the clink of crystal goblets and the laughter that rose from clusters of finely dressed officials. Minister Almont had outdone himself, transforming the temple into a perfect stage for the night's political ballet. Each guest played their part, alliances forged with a subtle glance or the delicate raise of a glass, while others were quietly dismantled with a word carefully disguised as charm.

I, however, had my fill of these well-practiced routines. After what felt like the hundredth insincere smile and empty conversation, I needed a break from the thrumming energy of the party. My mind buzzed with the evening's successes, but the constant need for polite performance was starting to grate. Even a professional schemer like me needed to breathe now and then.

So, I wandered.

The temple was large enough, with wings and corridors that extended far beyond the main event. The further I drifted from the central courtyard, the quieter it became. The sounds of the party dulled into a background murmur as I let my thoughts turn over the events of the evening. Minister Almont's skillful maneuvering, Marcellus's not-so-subtle encouragement, and the ever-persistent ripple of gossip about the elves—each one a potential thread I could pull, each one an opportunity waiting to be seized. The only question was which direction to push first.

The soft glow of the temple's wall sconces cast elongated shadows along the stone walls, and the cool air held that familiar weight of ancient places—the kind of silence that felt almost sacred, as if the stones themselves held memories. I continued my walk, absently running my fingers along the carved reliefs of forgotten gods and lesser-known deities, the kind that hadn't seen a worshipper in centuries. There was something almost soothing about the solitude, the separation from the constant noise of ambition that filled the main event.

I turned down a hallway that looked promisingly empty, my thoughts still inward, until I reached a set of ornate double doors, slightly ajar. Curiosity tugged at me—just a little—and I pushed the door open, stepping inside without thinking much about it.

And immediately regretted it.

The scene that greeted me was... not what I expected.

In the center of the room, surrounded by low-lit candles, stood several gladiators, their massive, muscular forms glistening in the dim light. And with them, a group of high-class women—dressed in the finery typical of this city's elite—lounged in various states of undress. It wasn't hard to see that I had walked into something... well, something that definitely wasn't on the party's official itinerary.

I paused, instinctively stepping back toward the door. Too late. One of the women—her expression a mix of annoyance and surprise—locked eyes with me. Her bare shoulders were still draped in the last remnants of her gown, though she made no effort to cover herself fully. I recognized her instantly. Lucilla Varinius. Wife to a high-ranking senator, known for her influence and even more so for her temper.

She didn't shout or panic. No, that wasn't her style. Instead, she gave me a look that would have turned lesser men into stone and, with a flick of her hand, gestured toward one of the gladiators.

"Deal with him," she said coolly, her voice carrying that aristocratic bite that came from years of getting what she wanted. "And make sure he doesn't leave with anything to say."

The gladiator—a giant of a man with a body carved like a marble statue and a face that seemed to have never heard of humor—stepped toward me, cracking his knuckles. His expression was impassive, the look of someone used to carrying out orders without question.

I took a breath, my mind racing. This was a situation I hadn't planned for. It wasn't that I cared about what Lucilla and her friends did behind closed doors—gods knew everyone in this city had their vices, some more creative than others—but she couldn't risk me running my mouth. Appearances were everything in a place like this, and for people like Lucilla, reputation was currency.

I tried to step back again, but the door seemed much farther away now with a gladiator filling my view. Lucilla, already adjusting her gown with casual indifference, turned away as though I were nothing more than an inconvenience that would soon be forgotten.

"Not looking for trouble here," I said, keeping my voice steady and my hands where they could be seen. "Just made a wrong turn. Thought this was another room."

The gladiator cracked his neck. His face remained unreadable. Not a word passed his lips as he closed the distance between us. He wasn't going to kill me—Lucilla's order was clear enough—but I could tell he wasn't going to make this pleasant.

As my mind raced for options, I couldn't help but think back to some of the things I had spoken about in my previous podcasts and lectures—the complex dynamics of power and reputation in a city like this. It wasn't always about wealth or even status. It was about control, and more specifically, about maintaining the appearance of control at all times. Lucilla, like many women of her standing, couldn't afford to let the illusion slip. I was a loose thread in her otherwise perfectly woven tapestry of influence.

The question was, how much of a loose thread did she think I was?

The gladiator's shadow loomed over me now, and I could feel the tension radiating from him. This wasn't personal for him, I knew that. To him, I was just another task. A problem that needed solving. But to me, this was an opportunity—one that I needed to navigate very, very carefully.

In these moments, it wasn't strength that would save me. It was understanding the game.

I glanced at Lucilla, who was now turning her attention back to her "entertainment," clearly uninterested in whatever happened next as long as it was dealt with quietly. The gladiators resumed their... activities with the other women, their laughter punctuated by the occasional grunt of exertion.

I smiled, not because the situation was funny, but because it was so perfectly Roman in its absurdity. I had wandered into a room where power wasn't just wielded—it was flaunted. The men in this city fought their battles in the Senate and on the battlefield, but the women? They fought their battles in rooms like this. Quietly, efficiently, and always with a dagger hidden just beneath the silk.

And here I was, the unfortunate soul who'd seen what wasn't meant to be seen.

I held up my hands, palms open, showing the gladiator I wasn't looking for a fight. "I have no interest in whatever's happening here. Your secrets are safe."

The gladiator paused for a moment, considering my words, though his fists were still clenched. Maybe he was weighing whether or not it was worth leaving me in one piece.

Lucilla's voice cut through the tension like a blade, bored but final. "Just make sure he understands."

The gladiator, built like a marble statue carved by someone with a serious obsession with anatomy, lumbered toward me. He cracked his knuckles as he approached, the grin on his face showing more amusement than malice. To him, I was just a slight distraction, something to toy with for a few minutes before he went back to the real entertainment.

Unfortunately for him, I wasn't going to be an easy mark.

Before he could even raise a fist, I activated the runes inscribed on my body, feeling the familiar surge of magic rush through me. The world around me seemed to slow for a moment as my senses heightened, my reflexes sharpening like a blade fresh off the whetstone. The runes glowed faintly under my skin for just a second, then dimmed as the power settled in.

The gladiator swung, his fist cutting through the air where my head had been a heartbeat earlier. But I wasn't there anymore. I slipped to the side, my body moving faster than his eyes could track, and I watched with mild amusement as he grunted in confusion, his fist hitting nothing but empty air.

"Not going to be that easy," I muttered, half to myself.

The thick-set gladiator turned, his face already showing frustration, and lunged at me again. I dodged with ease, my movements fluid, almost lazy, as I sidestepped each clumsy attempt to land a blow. The man was strong, no doubt about that, but speed wasn't his game. And right now, speed was all that mattered.

By the third or fourth miss, I could see the frustration boiling in his eyes. He was used to opponents standing still, or at least meeting him halfway. This? This was a game of shadows, and I was slipping through his grasp like smoke.

"Come on, big guy," I taunted, dodging another swing. "You're making me look good here. I just want to leave—no fuss, no talking."

But, of course, we were already past that point. The other gladiators in the room had noticed, their attention drawn away from the women they'd been entertaining. One by one, they stood, their eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and pride. I'd embarrassed one of their own, and now they couldn't let me walk out of here without a proper demonstration of why that had been a very bad idea.

"Really, lads?" I said, glancing at the group that was now moving toward me. "You sure this is necessary? You don't want to end up like him, do you?"

The tattooed gladiator, still fuming, snarled something unintelligible and charged at me again. I slipped around him, avoiding his bulk with practiced ease, but now the others were closing in. Their pride was at stake, and that was something they weren't willing to lose—not in front of Lucilla and her elite audience. The women were watching now, their eyes narrowed with irritation, and I could see the calculation in Lucilla's gaze. She was irritated, but not concerned. Not yet.

This was about to get worse.

I kept dodging, evading each gladiator's attempt to corner me, all while keeping an eye on their movements. They were strong, yes, but predictable. Each step they took was heavy, grounded, while I moved like water around them, never staying in one place long enough for them to catch me. The frustration on their faces was becoming more obvious with each missed swing, and I could hear their grunts of anger mixing with the growing murmur of disapproval from the women.

That's when things escalated.

One of the gladiators, a scarred brute with a wild look in his eyes, reached into his inventory pouch and pulled out a sword—a short, vicious blade designed for close combat. The dull glow of runes etched into the blade told me it wasn't just for show. This thing was deadly, and it had just changed the game.

"Ah, great," I muttered, my heart racing.

Now, dodging wouldn't be enough. The moment that blade was in play, it wasn't just about bruises and pride—it was about survival. And I had no intention of being on the losing side of that.

The runes on my body flared, their power surging through me as I kicked into high gear. The world around me seemed to slow to a crawl, each movement of the gladiators becoming painfully deliberate in my enhanced vision. The scarred gladiator swung the sword at me, but I was already gone, my body moving at superhuman speed as I ducked under the blade and landed a swift punch to his ribs. The impact sent him crashing into the nearby wall with a heavy thud, the sword clattering to the floor.

The others didn't hesitate. Two of them charged at me from opposite sides, their fists raised, but I was faster. I spun, delivering a sharp elbow to the first man's jaw before twisting around and kicking the second in the chest. Both of them went down, their bodies hitting the floor with a satisfying thud.

My movements were precise, practiced. Every strike landed exactly where I intended, each blow carrying the weight of the rune-enhanced strength coursing through my veins. This wasn't the first time I'd fought under these conditions—the tower had given me plenty of practice—and I could feel the familiar rhythm of combat settling into my bones.

Another gladiator came at me, his fists swinging wildly, but I dodged easily, my body a blur of motion. I kicked out, sweeping his legs from under him, and sent him sprawling onto his back. Before he could recover, I brought my heel down onto his chest, knocking the wind out of him with a single, well-placed strike.

"Come on," I said, glancing around at the remaining two gladiators. "We don't need to do this. I'd rather not have to hurt anyone else tonight."

They didn't listen. One of them lunged at me, but I sidestepped, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind him before shoving him into the final gladiator. They collided, stumbling over each other, and I took the opportunity to finish them off with a series of quick, powerful punches that left them both crumpled on the floor.

The room fell silent. The gladiators lay scattered around me, groaning in pain, while I stood in the center, my chest heaving with adrenaline. My knuckles ached, and I could feel the bruises forming where I'd been hit, but I was still standing. Still in control.

Lucilla, now fully dressed and back in her seat, watched the scene unfold with an expression that was difficult to read. Her eyes flicked from the fallen gladiators to me, calculating, but still unnervingly calm.

I took a breath, straightening my clothes and letting the runes on my body dim once more. The energy faded, leaving behind the familiar fatigue that always followed a fight like this, but I kept my stance relaxed, my eyes fixed on Lucilla.

"Well, that was fun," I said, my voice edged with sarcasm. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to leave. Unless anyone else wants to take a shot?"

Lucilla remained silent for a moment, her fingers tapping lightly on the armrest of her chair as her gaze swept across the room, lingering on the fallen gladiators. I could feel the weight of her eyes on me, evaluating, calculating. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips—a smile that wasn't warm, nor particularly friendly. No, this was the smile of a predator who had just witnessed something unexpected and was already contemplating how best to use it to her advantage.

And then, to my surprise, the smile shifted. There was a sudden glint of something far more dangerous in her eyes—lust, desire, or perhaps simply the thrill of seeing strength displayed in a room where control was usually hers to wield.

"I just love a display of strength," she purred, her voice low, dripping with amusement. "Come and join us, darling."

The words slithered out, more of a command than an invitation, and as if on cue, the other women in the room giggled softly, their eyes flicking between me and Lucilla with a mix of curiosity and hunger.

I had to admit, the offer was... tempting, in a very dangerous, self-destructive way. Lucilla was beautiful, that much was undeniable, and her friends, equally so. But this wasn't about attraction. This was about power, and she was testing me, seeing just how far she could push. Still, it never hurt to add a little flattery into the mix, if only to smooth things over.

With a half-smile of my own, I shook my head, letting my eyes sweep over the room before locking back onto hers. "As tempting as the offer is, and believe me, it's very tempting—you're all quite stunning—I'll have to pass."

Lucilla's eyebrow arched, her smile faltering for just a moment before she recovered. She didn't like being turned down, that much was clear. But I wasn't here to play her games.

"I've got somewhere to be," I continued, taking a step toward the door. "And besides, discretion is my specialty. So, rest assured, everything that happened here stays here. That is, if you can keep my secret as well."

I had no secret, really—unless you count rune-enhanced speed as something they needed to worry about—but planting the idea in her mind wasn't a bad move. Letting her think she had some leverage, a piece of information to hold over me, would keep her off my back.

With that, I gave her a polite nod and made for the door, moving just a little faster than was strictly necessary, my mind focused on putting as much distance between myself and Lucilla as possible. She might not have pursued the matter now, but I wasn't about to hang around and give her a second chance.

The sound of soft laughter followed me as I closed the door behind me, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My ribs still ached from the fight, but the adrenaline was doing a good job of numbing most of the pain.

I almost sprinted back toward the main hall, my footsteps echoing through the now-empty corridor. There was no point in being subtle anymore. I'd been lucky—this time. But I swore to myself, right there, that I'd never go wandering off alone at one of these parties again. The city might be a hotbed of political intrigue, but the real danger always seemed to lurk in the shadows, where people like Lucilla played their own version of the game. A game that didn't care about who got hurt, as long as the players came out on top.

I rejoined the main party, the lights, the sounds, the smells of the evening immediately washing over me like a wave. The clinking of wine glasses, the soft murmur of conversation—it all felt strangely normal after what had just happened. I smoothed down my clothes, trying to look like I hadn't just been dodging fists and swords a few moments ago. The crowd was as oblivious as ever, too wrapped up in their own petty conversations to notice I'd almost been turned into entertainment.

The evening continued around me, oblivious to the chaos that had almost unfolded just a few rooms away and I soon found myself heading home where I could rest.