“The people that were here last night with the fist symbol on their arms, what's their deal?”

  “They are part of the steel fist. Which is under House Ironhart”

  Probably their own little soldiers they can order around or maybe a military.

  “What is the steel fist?”

  “They are Tainted that protect the normal humans by hunting monsters and criminals.”

  Right. So, privatized militia basically.

  “Does every house have their own steel fist?”

  “Each house has a Tainted group under them; however, they are not all named the Steel Fist.”

  Great, every house has a privatized militia under them, fantastic. I'll have to make sure not to get involved with them. For now, though, I need new clothes. I dont look presentable in these tattered rags.

  “Where do I get a change of clothes?”

  “Go out, then head left. There is a tailor nearby.”

  Right then, I know all I need to know. Let's get some proper clothes, then get this job done. Ethan puts his foot down and turns his gaze away from the innkeep and towards the door. He pulls the handle and steps out.

  The bright light of the sun shone down onto him, blinding and burning his eyes.

  Fuck.

  Once his eyes adjusted. He moved through the city towards the left. He could see the city much more clearly than last night. It was bright, lively and loud. People walked through the streets, most of them wearing plain, simple clothing. Merchants shouted from their stalls advertising their products, whether it be grocers, swordsmiths, armorers, or scribes. Sticking out of a white painted stone building was a sign that had no words on it, instead sporting a swath of cloth and scissors.

  A tailor?

  He walked up to the wooden door, unlike the others he had seen, it wasn't rotted and musty instead, it looked almost luxurious, compared to the poor sight he had seen before. He pushed on the handle and opened the door.

  Inside was a counter with the owner standing behind it and mostly empty shelves fit for holding clothes. The owner had black hair and a stubble beard. He looked experienced and well off but not old.

  The shelves that weren’t empty housed a range of clothing, varying from simple tunics made from cheap and rough wool to silk scarves.

  “Hello. I want something decent, not too expensive but it should look good and be comfortable to move around in.”

  “Well, our clothes are mostly made to order, so I will have to measure you, then it will be ready in about a week's time.”

  A week? I don't have that time.

  “I don't have time, I need something now.”

  “Well, I do have something that might fit you.”

  The Tailor walked over to one of the shelves and grabbed multiple articles of clothing he walked back and laid them on the counter.

  “Have a look at this. A customer ordered these a long time ago but never showed up to collect. They should fit you as far as I can see.”

  The items on the counter were a black longcoat with a flared collar. A simple gray tunic and black hose.

  It's decent, doesn't beat a suit, but I would look presentable at least.

  “I'll take it. How much?”

  “80 silver”

  Fucking 80! that damn prince only gave me 300 for saving his life. Fucking bastard. He sighed. I do have to look good though, people won't trust me if I look poor.

  Ethan fished out 80 coins out of his pouch and reluctantly gave it to the Tailor.

  “You don't want a belt, sir?”

  I do need a place to store stuff that I need quick access to.

  “I do but i need a bag and a dagger sheath with it. How much would that be?”

  “20 silver”

  Fucking hell one third of my money is gone.

  “I'll take it.”

  The man went over to one of the shelves and took out a leather belt adorned with a sheath and a small bag.

  Ethan took out 20 coins and put them on the counter while grabbing the belt.

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  “Changing rooms there,” The Tailor pointed towards a door to his right.

  Ethan walked into the changing room, a tight room with no windows or any furniture, just enough space for people to change.

  He took off the dirty rags he was wearing and put on his newly bought clothes. They were much warmer and comfortable. They didn't bind or hinder him at all except for his legs. Feels like I'm wearing skinny jeans.

  He folded his old clothes and left the changing room. He nodded slightly at the Tailor before he went out the door. He looked around. To his left was the bustling streets of the city, and to his right was a narrow street leading to seemingly nowhere. Perfect.

  He went on the narrow dirt road and found a small patch of land isolated from the rest of the city. It was completely empty. Holding the tattered remains of his clothes, he dropped them forcefully onto the dirt. Goodbye, Hugh Johnson. Hello Victor Hale.

  Now then, let's get to business. He breathed in deeply as if readying to sing. “The one who deals in shadows unseen, who knows the truths that remain between. The herald of knowledge, I beseech you, enlighten me.”

  Blunt pain hit him in the skull as if someone had taken a hammer to it. His vision went blurry as his foot almost gave out underneath him. He threw himself at the city wall and clung to it for support. His feet gave out under him as he fell onto the ground. Blunt pain rushed through his back as his head almost burst open. His eyes slowly closed as his consciousness faded away.

  …

  He awoke from his stupor in a state of normalcy there was no head pain or blurry vision. He rose onto his feet and recollected himself. At the forefront of his brain was a thought that seemed almost foreign.

  “In the slum region of the Bastion, there is a blacksmith by the name of Robert. He was a former member of the consortium that had been removed. He has stolen a total of 200 silver coins from us. Get it back.”

  The hell? Did he manage to make me black out and invade my mind? And all it took was me saying a couple of words? Is that the power of those higher grades?

  I want it.

  Alright then, get money from Robert the blacksmith in the slums, pretty simple. Where the hell are the slums, though? I'll just ask that tailor.

  Ethan walked back down the tight alleyway and reached the familiar wooden door of the Tailor. He pushed it open and stomped in.

  “Hey, where are the poorer regions of the Bastion?”

  “Oh, so you're new to town. They're in the northern part. The wall closest to the Ruins”

  With a slight nod Ethan leaves. As he looked around the sun was starting to set the merchants shouted last chance to the passerbys but the sounds were almost masked by the loud ring of a church bell.

  Ethan made his way past the shouting merchants and walked across many buildings with signs depicting vegetables, quills, armor, and swords. The further up the road he went, the more rust dust and decay settled onto the buildings.

  The northern wall kept getting closer and closer to him as he went on till he reached a part of town that couldn't even be considered a city. Worn-down wooden shacks, small huts, and muddy roads.

  There was no extra smell to mask the reality here. Just shit.

  He noticed a worn-down, almost unreadable sign sticking out. He could barely discern out a hammer out of it. This should be a blacksmith, right?

  The building that it was sticking out of was more like wooden scaffolding. Just a roof and shoddy slim rods, no walls.

  An anvil, a bucket, and a furnace sat in the middle. The anvil had noticeable cracks running throughout it as if one strike would make it shatter. No person was manning this decrepit forge. Damn it.

  Thud!

  A small amount of force hit him in the back. “Owww.” As he looked behind him he noticed a red-haired child in tattered clothes, clutching his head, prone.

  The child took a look at Ethan and tensed up. “I'm sorry, sir, I didn't see you there. I'll go now.” He quickly rose to his feet and tried to scurry away. This kid should know where the hell this Robert is. “Wait”

  The child froze in place as he heard him as if it was a king's command.

  “Robert the blacksmith, do you know him?”

  His eyes darted around. “Uhh, n-no sir”

  He's lying, but why? Do people go looking for this guy often? And why would a random kid protect him? Unless it's his kid, let's go for that angle for now.

  “I'm a friend of your father I'm here to help him.” Ethan smiled as widely as he could doing his best to fake empathy.

  After all, there was no one he wouldn't lie to. Not even a child.