Chapter 38

As we made our way back from the Colosseum, Valeria was unusually quiet, though I could feel her gaze on me more often than not. She was thinking, plotting perhaps, and I knew from experience that when Valeria fell silent, something was brewing. The villa came into view, but instead of bidding me farewell, she leaned closer and spoke in a tone so quiet it almost escaped the rumble of the carriage wheels.

"I think I can make this blessing of yours... very useful to you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Useful? How, exactly?"

A sly smile tugged at her lips. "Give me some time. I believe I could arrange... let's call it an assignment. Something special for you. With the right favor to the right people, you could find yourself among the upper echelons quicker than you might think."

I resisted the urge to scoff. In this city, everything came with a price. "That sounds promising, I suppose."

She nodded, her eyes glittering with purpose. "Leave it to me. I'll investigate, see what doors can be opened."

I couldn't help but wonder what, exactly, she was aiming for. Valeria wasn't one to make idle promises, and her influence among the elite was well-known. But still, I kept my response neutral. "I'll wait to see what you uncover."

As the carriage slowed near my workshop, she diverted her path, heading in the opposite direction of her villa. I watched her go, mildly amused by whatever new scheme was churning in her mind. Knowing Valeria, it would be something grand—likely involving more political maneuvering than I was prepared to deal with. Still, if it got me closer to where I needed to be, I wasn't about to object.

Back inside my workshop, I took a deep breath and let the familiar smell of wood shavings, oil, and rune dust calm my mind. There was something soothing about getting back to work after an evening of social games and power plays. The commissions were piling up, and the need to replenish my coffers was always present. You couldn't forge connections—or survive in this city—without money.

I worked late into the night, etching intricate runes into armor plating and weaving enchantments into weapons. The soft hum of magic beneath my fingertips was a comfort, far more predictable than the webs of intrigue Valeria was surely spinning.

As the night wore on, a sense of satisfaction settled over me. There was something inherently satisfying about watching a commission come to life, the runes glowing faintly as I sealed the final enchantment on a blade that would cut not just flesh but soul if need be. I stepped back, wiping the sweat from my brow, admiring my handiwork under the flickering light of the lamps.

Then, the pounding came. Heavy and insistent, echoing through the quiet night like a hammer on an anvil. I paused, frowning. Pounding at this hour usually meant trouble.

I set down my tools and moved to the door, opening it cautiously. Outside, three Empire soldiers stood waiting, their faces hard and unreadable. Their armor gleamed under the moonlight, and the rank insignias on their chests left no doubt—they were here on official business.

"David Goodchild?" The lead soldier's voice was gruff, more of a statement than a question.

"That depends," I said, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Who's asking?"

His expression didn't change. "By order of the Imperial Council, you're to come with us. Now."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It was always 'by order of someone important.' "Do I at least have time to put on something appropriate? Or is this one of those 'drag me in my work clothes' situations?"

The soldier's gaze flicked over my leather apron, still smeared with dust and oil from my work. "You've got five minutes. Make it quick."

I could've argued, but something about the way they stood—their rigid posture, the hand hovering near their sword hilts—suggested it wouldn't be wise. Best to play along for now. "Fine. Give me a moment."

I left the door ajar as I went back into the workshop, quickly changing into something more suitable for a meeting with an official—if that was, in fact, where I was being dragged. The Empire wasn't known for its spontaneous hospitality, and I had a feeling this wasn't a social call. When I returned, the soldiers were waiting impatiently.

"Lead the way," I said with a gesture, as if I had all the time in the world.

The trip through the streets was silent, save for the steady march of the soldiers' boots against the cobblestones. The city looked different at night—darker, of course, but with an eerie stillness that seemed to stretch between the towering buildings. Normally, I would've appreciated the walk, the cool night air against my skin after a long day of work. But now, with these three stoic guards and an unknown summons looming over me, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease settling in the pit of my stomach.

As we turned a corner, the looming shadow of the Imperial Palace came into view, its towering spires cutting into the night sky like spears. Well, at least now I knew this wasn't a minor matter.

We entered through a side gate, where more soldiers waited. They barely acknowledged me as I was led through the hallways of the palace—richly decorated with tapestries, gold-leafed statues, and the faint scent of incense wafting through the air. Everything screamed wealth and power, a not-so-subtle reminder of who was really in charge around here.

Eventually, we reached a large chamber, and the soldiers stopped, motioning for me to wait. They disappeared through an arched doorway, leaving me standing there like a misbehaving schoolboy called to the principal's office.

The room I found myself in was grand—intimidatingly so, with ceilings so high they made you feel small, as if just being in there was enough to remind you where you stood in the world. The mosaics along the walls were intricate, each one telling a story of the Empire's victories, reminding me that here, power was painted on the very walls. The floor beneath my feet gleamed with polished marble, reflecting the dim light of the candelabras like ripples on a still lake. A place meant to dazzle, meant to overwhelm. It was working. Even I, with my fair share of experience in powerful circles, felt a twinge of unease.

Then, from the side of the room, a group entered, each person more finely dressed than the last. My eyes skimmed over them, taking in the rich fabrics and jewelry that practically screamed "nobility." These were people who didn't need to flaunt their wealth; it was stitched into every inch of their clothing, woven into the very fabric of their being. There was a certain ease to how they moved—confident, as though the world revolved around them.

But there was one figure in the back of the group that caught my attention—Valeria. Her presence was quieter than usual, a stark contrast to the assured woman I was used to. She lingered at the rear, almost as if she wanted to fade into the background, her posture slightly stiffer than usual. It didn't take long for me to realize why. We were both out of our depth here, but she, for once, wasn't in control. Whatever this meeting was, she wasn't running the show.

As for me, well, I was used to playing the fish-out-of-water role. But Valeria? Not so much. She looked as though she was trying very hard to pretend she belonged, and for the first time since I'd met her, I saw a crack in that armor of hers.

In the center of the group stood a figure I couldn't ignore—the one everyone else seemed to orbit around. Tall, dressed in regal attire that put everyone else's to shame. There was a subtle hush in the air whenever he moved, as though even the room itself acknowledged his presence. I caught snippets of conversation, whispers of "Prince" floating around, confirming my suspicions. This was no ordinary noble. A princeling, perhaps. He wasn't much older than me, though the sharpness in his gaze made me reconsider just how young he really was. There was something disarming about those eyes—young, yes, but dangerously aware. The kind of person who'd been given power far too early, but knew how to wield it nonetheless.

It clicked why Valeria was so subdued. We were swimming in deep waters here, and not just any provincial pond. This was the kind of meeting that could shift tides. I wasn't sure whether to feel flattered or unnerved.

The princeling didn't waste any time with pleasantries. He turned to me, his expression unreadable. "Is it true?" His voice was sharp, like a blade just shy of being drawn. "That you have the blessing of the elves?"

I hesitated for a moment, but lying didn't seem wise in a place like this. "It's true," I answered, keeping my tone even. His eyes flickered with something—curiosity, perhaps, or maybe interest—but I couldn't be sure.

He gestured, and a man stepped forward, someone I recognized instantly for what he was—a runeweaver. He held a small device, a curious piece of machinery etched with runes that hummed softly with magic. Without so much as a word to me, he moved closer, the device in his hand starting to glow faintly as he passed it over my body.

I stood still, letting the device do its work. The runes on my body stirred in response, a faint tingle running along my skin. Whatever the runeweaver was looking for, he found it. He nodded toward the princeling, his face unreadable but clearly satisfied. "The blessing is authentic," he said, his voice as measured as the lines of his carefully etched runes.

That seemed to please the young princeling greatly. The murmur of approval swept through the gathered nobility as if this were some grand event they had all been waiting for. A sense of anticipation filled the room, like the air before a storm.

I stayed quiet, keeping my thoughts to myself, though inwardly, I couldn't help but marvel at how significant this 'blessing' seemed to be for them. I had freed one elven slave and found myself in the middle of a courtly game I wasn't even sure I wanted to be part of. But power, in any form, was still power. And these people seemed to think I was holding quite a bit of it.

Valeria shifted beside the princeling, her eyes on me, and for a moment, I saw that calculating gleam return to her gaze. Whatever game she was playing, I was a piece in it now. But what kind of piece, I couldn't yet tell.

"So, what now?" I asked, crossing my arms, keeping my tone neutral.

The princeling's lips quirked into the faintest of smiles. "Now, we see just how far that blessing of yours can take you."

Valeria shot me a glance, one that held the weight of a thousand unspoken warnings. There was a plan forming behind those eyes of hers, and I had a feeling I was about to find out what role I was meant to play.

For a few minutes, I was left in that unbearable limbo of being completely ignored. It was as though my presence wasn't even worth acknowledging while the princeling and his entourage huddled together in hushed conversation. Their low voices reverberated off the marble walls, creating a murmur that felt both conspiratorial and dismissive. Valeria stood in the far corner, her eyes boring into me with that unmistakable "don't do anything stupid" expression. She wasn't subtle. I could see her mouthing words at me—something along the lines of, don't say no to anything.

I wasn't planning to, but the implicit threat in the air was hard to miss. I glanced around the room, noting the cold stares and occasional side glances from the guards, the kinds of looks that told me disappearing wouldn't be hard. I imagined myself being dragged off to the Colosseum to meet a fate like one of those criminals we'd just seen. My stomach churned at the thought. Definitely not on my to-do list.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the princeling broke from his little group and approached me, his expression as unreadable as ever. He didn't command so much as assume I would obey, a kind of casual arrogance that came from someone who had never been told "no" in his life.

"You will be my personal envoy to the elven nation that's been causing... problems," he said, with a wave of his hand as if the "problems" were a mere inconvenience.

That was it. No explanation, no elaboration. He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the rest of us in a stunned silence. My mind raced. Envoy to the elves? I barely had time to react before a younger man—someone with a strange look about him, as though he had young skin but ancient eyes—stepped forward.

He gestured for Valeria and me to follow, and I noticed a few soldiers falling in behind us. We moved quickly, our footsteps echoing down the long corridors until we were led into a smaller, dimly lit office just off the main room. The air in here felt heavier, more oppressive.

"Sit," the man said, his tone clipped and official. He motioned to two chairs in front of a small, cluttered desk.

We obeyed without question, Valeria still eerily quiet. Her usual confidence was nowhere to be found, and that, if anything, unnerved me more than the situation itself.

The man—let's call him Marcus, because he looked like every "Marcus" I'd ever met—settled himself behind the desk, looking every bit the bureaucrat. He placed a map on the table, flattening it out with deliberate slowness, as if to build tension.

"You are to be the envoy to the elves," he said, repeating the princeling's words but adding a layer of weight to them. "Your task is to convince them to either come to the table for peace negotiations or send a delegation to the city."

I waited, sensing there was more.

"If you fail," Marcus continued, his tone steady, "Valeria stays here as collateral. Should you not succeed in your mission, she will be executed. Plain and simple."

Well, that was a bit of a gut punch.

I glanced at Valeria, who remained stoic, though I could see the tightness in her jaw. She had known this was coming, or at least suspected something along these lines, but that didn't make it any easier.

Marcus wasn't done. "The mission is to be kept secret. No one is to know. You'll take a small group for protection, but you must be discreet. The journey will be dangerous."

He tapped the map, pointing out a location deep in the forested regions where the elves usually made contact—if they were inclined to talk at all.

"Any questions?" he asked, looking at me with the kind of indifference one reserves for an underling.

"Can I get some money for this?" I asked, knowing full well that the request was going to land like a lead balloon.

His face twisted in offense. "You'll be reimbursed when you return—if you succeed. Do you think this is some sort of mercenary task?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Of course it was. But I simply nodded, knowing pushing the point wouldn't help.

With that, I was dismissed, led out of the office like some minor official whose usefulness had run its course. The guards escorted us down a few more hallways before unceremoniously dumping us into the night. The streets were quiet, but not in the comforting way. There was a kind of stillness that made me feel like eyes were on me from every shadow.

I began walking, the rhythmic sound of my boots hitting the cobblestones the only thing grounding me in the present. Valeria had been whisked away without a word, and I couldn't help but wonder if I'd ever see her again. There was a nagging thought at the back of my mind, a question I didn't want to answer: Did I even care?

Of course, I did. That was the problem. I wasn't sure why—Valeria certainly didn't love me, and I wasn't foolish enough to think I loved her. But there was something about her, something magnetic. Maybe it was her ambition, the way she maneuvered through life with such calculated grace, as if every step she took had been planned three moves in advance. It intrigued me, and I found myself caring more than I should.

You don't care about her, I told myself. You care about the game she's playing—and you want to win.

But there was more to it than that. I hated the idea of her being used as leverage. In my line of work, people were just as likely to be weapons as they were to be pawns. Valeria was both, and I had a sinking feeling I was walking into a trap—one she and I might not walk out of.

By the time I reached my workshop, the night had settled into that unsettling quiet that only cities can have, where the hustle has stopped, but the energy remains, buzzing just beneath the surface. I unlocked the door, stepping into the familiar warmth of my space, but there was no comfort in it tonight.

I went to my desk, rolling out the map Marcus had given me, my eyes scanning over the detailed lines. The elves weren't going to be easy to find—let alone convince to come to the negotiation table. And the stakes couldn't have been clearer: succeed, or Valeria dies.

The decision wasn't exactly a difficult one. When you have the proverbial sword hanging over your head, threatening not just your neck but someone else's—someone you're not even sure you care about but still can't seem to let be—you don't have a lot of room for waffling. Valeria was in danger, and if I didn't succeed on this mission, I might as well start counting the days until her elegant head was rolling in some back alley or Colosseum dungeon. Not that she'd make it easy for them, I'm sure.

But still, it meant I had to go. I didn't have the luxury of indecision. So, the next morning, I got to work. I wasn't exactly the type to go unprepared into a death trap, especially one that involved an elven nation and diplomatic negotiation that no one but the princeling seemed to think was possible.

The first step? My workshop. I decided I'd need some serious storage solutions—nothing like traveling halfway across the wilderness with the bare minimum. Oh no, that wasn't my style. I grabbed a few rings and amulets from my stash, each one a blank slate, ready to become powerful storage devices. I smiled as I worked on the runes, my fingers moving deftly over the objects. These would be compact, discreet, but able to store more than a small army's worth of supplies. Think of it like packing your entire house into a pocket—if your house was filled with the kinds of magical tools and gadgets that could blow holes in mountains or heal wounds faster than any doctor could stitch.

A few hours later, I had about ten storage devices ready to go. I kept two rings for myself, a personal backup in case things got a little too heated, and the rest were for my companions on this wonderful little journey. If they were going to stick their necks out for me, I'd at least make sure they could carry enough supplies to keep us all alive.

I packed everything. And I mean everything. Tools, weapons, food, potion ingredients, random artifacts I wasn't even sure I'd ever need but thought, "why the hell not." If things went sideways, I wanted options. Plus, you never know when you might need an enchanted fishing rod. Don't ask.

The workshop looked oddly bare when I finished. It was strange seeing it so empty, like all the life had been sucked out of it. But with the storage rings on my fingers and everything neatly tucked away in a portable dimension, I locked the door, sealing it with a few protective runes just in case some local thief got overly ambitious.

As I stepped into the street, I noticed the sun had risen higher than I'd expected. Time moves fast when you're prepping for a potential suicide mission, apparently. The city buzzed around me with its usual chaos—vendors shouting, children running through the streets, and the ever-present hum of people going about their business. It was strangely comforting, knowing that while I was about to disappear on some dangerous quest, the world around me would keep spinning, oblivious to the madness I was walking into.

Before I could get too lost in thought, I stopped by the shop below mine. One of the girls—Letta, I think her name was—looked up from her work as I approached. Pretty thing, but with that kind of wide-eyed innocence that made me wonder if she was ready for the world outside her little shop.

"I'm going to be gone for a while," I told her, flashing what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "If anyone comes looking for me, tell them... I'm on an important job. And no, I don't know when I'll be back."

Letta blinked up at me, clearly used to my odd disappearances by now but still not entirely sure what I did for a living. "Sure thing, Master Goodchild. Stay safe?"

I gave her a nod and left it at that. No need to complicate things by explaining the finer points of diplomacy, elven magic, and potential assassination attempts.

The next stop was the Colosseum. If I was going to survive this little adventure, I needed protection. And not just any protection—I needed Caius and his men. Enhanced or not, these gladiators were the best at what they did, and I had no illusions about what lay ahead.

I found Caius at the training square, his men sparring under the harsh afternoon sun. He noticed me the moment I walked in, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. I wasn't exactly a frequent visitor here, and when I did show up, it usually meant trouble.

I walked up to him, cutting to the chase. "Caius, I need your help. Got a mission, and I'm going to need an escort."

He cocked an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Escort, huh? How long are we talking?"

"Long enough that you're going to wish you'd never agreed," I said, grinning despite myself. "It's a dangerous trip. High stakes. I need men I can trust."

He looked me up and down, clearly weighing whether this was worth his time. Caius wasn't a fool—he knew exactly how much danger was involved when someone like me showed up asking for help. After a beat, he nodded. "Ten men. At least. If this mission is as dangerous as you're implying, that's the bare minimum."

I raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? You're all... enhanced, after all."

He smirked, but there was a seriousness in his eyes. "We might be stronger, but we're not invincible. Ten men. No less."

I sighed. "Fair enough."

We'd already agreed on the payment, but I handed over half up front anyway, a sizable dent in my funds. Caius didn't even blink as he took the coins, tucking it away without a word. He'd be one of the men coming along, of course. The others volunteered—gladiators eager to test themselves, drawn to the danger like moths to flame. I had to admire their bravado.

When I looked at the men gathered before me—the same gladiators I'd enhanced not too long ago—I couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of dread. This trip, this mission to broker peace with the elves, was no casual stroll through the market. And these men, as capable as they were in battle, weren't exactly diplomats. They were killers, trained to break bones and spill blood, not negotiate treaties.

The more I thought about it, the deeper I felt myself sliding down a rabbit hole of despair. The weight of everything—the mission, Valeria's life hanging in the balance, the political tightrope I was walking—pressed down on me like a vice. I hadn't asked for this responsibility, but somehow, I was neck-deep in it.

And yet, as quickly as that wave of negativity came over me, I recognized it for what it was. Shock. Stress. My mind was reeling, stuck in a feedback loop of worst-case scenarios. I needed to rein it in, or I was going to unravel before this even started.

I took a deep breath, letting the cool air of the Colosseum grounds fill my lungs. It was time to pull myself out of this mental quagmire. I needed to reset.

"Alright, focus, Goodchild," I muttered under my breath, mentally dusting off a few exercises I'd learned years ago—psychological techniques to steady the mind. Useful when life threw you into the deep end, which seemed to happen more often than I liked.

Step one: grounding. I flexed my fingers and shifted my weight, paying attention to the way my boots pressed into the cobblestone beneath me. I focused on the solidity of the earth, the grounding force that held me in place. "Feel the ground, let it anchor you," I reminded myself. This was the simplest of exercises, but sometimes the basics are all you need to keep from spiraling.

Step two: mental distancing. I closed my eyes for a brief second and visualized my anxieties as physical objects—strange, murky clouds hanging around me, trying to get in my way. I imagined myself pushing them aside, one by one, creating space for clarity. This wasn't just a psychological trick; it was about taking control of my own thoughts, not letting them control me.

Step three: positive reframing. Now came the hard part. I had to shift my thinking, even if it felt like forcing a square peg into a round hole. The situation wasn't ideal—fine. But it wasn't impossible, either. I had resources. I had Caius and his men, strong and loyal, enhanced by my own runes. I had the advantage of being the one they feared and respected. And most importantly, I had leverage—Valeria's life was important not just to me, but to people far more powerful. There was a way forward. I just needed to keep my head straight.

As the gladiators finished signing up, I could feel my focus sharpening. The fog of doubt that had clouded my mind lifted, replaced by something clearer, sharper. My body relaxed, but my thoughts were now honed, each one a deliberate movement toward the goal.

"Psychological tricks," I whispered, smiling to myself. They weren't magic, but in moments like these, they were almost as good.

I let out a slow breath as I watched Caius move around, talking to his men. They were an intimidating group, broad-shouldered, battle-hardened, and sporting that gleam of barely-contained violence in their eyes. But they respected me, or at least the power I'd given them through the runes etched into their skin. That respect, maybe even fear, was going to keep them in line. And right now, I needed that more than I cared to admit.

When Caius finally walked over to me, his usual scowl in place, I could tell he had questions.

"So, what's the real deal here, Goodchild? You don't just show up asking for an escort unless it's more dangerous than you're letting on," he said, folding his arms across his chest.

I met his gaze evenly. "You're right. This isn't a simple bodyguard gig. It's a mission. And it's going to be long, dangerous, and potentially suicidal. You're free to back out if you want."

Caius raised an eyebrow. "And where exactly are we going?"

I took a breath, debating how much to tell him. These men didn't need to know every detail, but they deserved enough information to understand the risks. "We're heading into elven territory. I'm supposed to broker some kind of peace or get them to send a delegation. It's a diplomatic mission, but... it's likely going to be more dangerous than any battle you've fought in the arena."

"Elves?" Caius said, his tone flat. "You know they don't exactly welcome outsiders."

I nodded. "I'm aware. That's why I'm bringing you."

Caius considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine. Ten men. No more, no less."

More money slipped out of my pocket, and with each coin, I felt the growing weight of this so-called mission. Caius and I were working quickly, organizing the necessary supplies for what would surely be a grueling trip. I found myself grateful, not for the first time, that I had thought ahead to create the inventory storage items—rings and amulets with hidden spaces capable of carrying everything we'd need without the bulk. No need for pack animals, no heavy carts. Just the convenience of a well-placed rune. If only all my problems could be solved with that same efficiency.

"Goodchild," Caius called out as he finished up with some of the men. "You've done us a favor with those storage items. Saved us a lot of headaches."

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'm glad you approve. Let's hope it's enough."

Caius grunted, his version of agreement, as the gladiators began splitting off into smaller groups, each heading to different supply shops across the city. We needed food, camping gear, and a few extras that would ensure we survived the month-long journey. Caius stayed behind with me, leaving the logistics of gathering supplies to the others. I noticed his focus shift as he leaned in over the map I had unrolled on the table. The Colosseum wasn't exactly a travel agency, but there was something comforting about planning out the journey in the same place where these men had fought and bled for glory.

"Alright," Caius muttered, pointing to a route across the map. "We'll cut through here. This'll take us through some of the rougher territory, but it'll save us a few days. With the storage you've given us, we can move faster without worrying about too many resupplies. Should cut down our travel time."

I nodded. "A month on the road is still a long haul. We'll need to make sure we're stocked on everything—medical supplies, water runes for purifying the river water, food that can last."

He tapped his finger against the map again, his brow furrowing. "This won't be an easy trip. You've got men with you, but don't mistake them for bodyguards. They're gladiators—they're good in a fight, but they're not invincible."

I couldn't help but smirk. "Believe me, Caius, I'm under no illusions about that. This is still dangerous, no matter how fast or strong your men are."

Caius shot me a sideways glance, his lips tugging upward in a faint grin. "You've got a real positive outlook, Goodchild."

"Just calling it like I see it," I said with a shrug. "But thanks for the pep talk."

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Look, we'll handle the danger as it comes. Things always work out, and if they don't, well, worrying about it doesn't help. Best to stay focused and move forward."

Sage advice, even if it sounded like something he pulled out of a cheap philosophy scroll. Still, I appreciated the sentiment. My mind, for all its psychological tricks, could still spiral into the dark side of things if left unchecked. But with Caius's straightforward logic—and my own mental exercises—I could feel myself inching toward something resembling optimism. Not quite there, mind you, but close enough.

I had started the day muttering about this "suicide mission," but now, there was a faint light at the end of the tunnel. A dim, distant light, but a light nonetheless.

By the time the gladiators returned, they no longer resembled the blood-soaked warriors I had come to know. They looked... ordinary. Just regular guards ready to escort a merchant caravan, nothing more. It was almost unsettling to see these men dressed in plain clothes, their weapons tucked out of sight. Even Caius had traded his usual armor for a simple tunic and trousers, though the scars crisscrossing his arms still gave away his true profession.

"Well," I said, eyeing them up and down. "I suppose you clean up nicely after all."

One of the gladiators—a younger man with an easy grin—snorted. "Don't get used to it, Goodchild. It's all part of the act."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what act is that?"

Caius stepped forward, arms crossed. "We're blending in. This mission of yours, it's not a straightforward one, is it? We don't want to attract any unnecessary attention."

I couldn't argue with that. The last thing I needed was someone realizing we were headed toward elven territory. This mission was supposed to be quiet, and nothing about a group of armored gladiators screamed subtlety. With any luck, the change in attire would help us slip past the wrong eyes—at least for a while.

As we prepared to set off, I couldn't help but reflect on how quickly things had changed. One day, I was running my workshop, dealing with commissions, and now, I was about to lead a small group into hostile territory, all while trying to negotiate peace with a race that wasn't exactly known for its warm welcomes. It wasn't lost on me how absurd it all seemed. But then again, that was life, wasn't it? One ridiculous challenge after another.