20. Tristan: First Job (III)

  “You tired, Little Devil?”

  Rosalina’s voice pulled Tristan out of his thoughts.

  He was tired, but more than that, he was disturbed. Shaken. Not by what had happened – but by himself. By the fact he had almost given the order to kill the Holts without hesitation.

  Back there, he had been ready to call the shot. The only reason he stopped was because of their daughter. He knew what being an orphan was like. He didn’t wish that fate to anyone.

  He lifted his head toward Rosalina and shook it, answering her question, pushing past his exhaustion, though the weight in his chest wouldn’t leave.

  “Good.” Rosalina replied calmly. “We still have around ten more minutes until we reach the White Gull.”

  Tristan sighed, not really listening.

  He recalled how back on Earth, he had done messed-up things, but never to the completely innocent. The people he beat down were junkies and lowlifes who couldn’t repay loans to their loan sharks, or straight up criminals who would’ve done the same or worse to him and his brother if the roles were reversed.

  He never felt guilt for bloodying his knuckles on scum.

  But this?

  Brayden Holt wasn’t a criminal. He was a desperate man in a dead-end life, and his only sin was wanting to survive and provide for his family. How was he different from Earth Tristan?

  And his wife? What had she done to deserve death? Married the wrong man?

  And yet, he had been willing to kill them.

  If their daughter hadn’t appeared, if her scared image hadn’t screamed at him to stop – he would’ve let Rosalina cut them down, all to protect himself.

  The realization made him feel sick.

  But then, just as quickly, he forced himself to recover.

  ‘How is this different from Earth?’

  Back there, everything he did – every fight, every crime – was for his brother’s sake. To keep his hands clean, to keep his smile intact as much as possible. But here? Here, he only had himself.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I care for myself for a change?’ He wondered. ‘Surely, no one else would.’

  He knew he needed to make the switch in his mind soon.

  To leave Tristan Clark behind and embrace what Tristan Vortalis should stand for.

  To take away everything he could.

  It would take some time, but he was ready for that sacrifice.

  ***

  They continued through the empty streets in silence.

  It was well past midnight, and Dalina’s harbor district was even more silent now than before.

  From a distance, the White Gull came to view, its sign hanging crookedly from one single chain while the other was broken, creaking softly in the faint ocean breeze. Several of the abandoned tavern’s windows were broken, with only several pieces still clinging to the frames. Inside, darkness ruled.

  Tristan narrowed his eyes looking around them. Something felt…off.

  He had visited enough slums in his time on Earth to know that those always had people in them in the dead of night. There were sounds – homeless people shifting in their makeshift beds, junkies getting alerted from the sounds of their imagination, the occasional outburst of a drunk.

  But that wasn’t the case here. It was too silent.

  His gaze flicked to Rosalina. “It’s too quiet.” He murmured. “Feels like an ambush waiting to happen.”

  Rosalina nodded in approval almost immediately. “Good instincts. You’re a natural, Little Devil.”

  Then, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a small device, fitting exactly into her palm.

  It was a metallic circle, smooth and silvery, with a green, shimmering glass embedded in the center – like a magnifying glass, but eerie in the way it didn’t reflect light properly.

  She held it up in her hand. “This little thing is a Thermolis – one of the great innovations my people had brought into this world.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “It lets you see heat through walls, no matter how thick they are, no matter what they’re made of. Useful for finding people who think they’re good at hiding.”

  Tristan’s brow lifted at the description.

  ‘So, basically a thermal imaging camera on steroids. Got it.’

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Take it and check around us.” Rosalina said, handing him the device. “Careful, though. It’s heavier than it looks.”

  The moment he took it, her arms nearly dropped. The thing was as heavy as a hammer. He adjusted his grip quickly, refusing to let Rosalina see him struggle.

  Raising the device to his eye, he scanned the White Gull first.

  A faint orange glow appeared inside the tavern, distinct against the blues of the empty structure. It was the only heat signature inside – one person, unmoving, simply sitting there.

  Then, he turned his attention to the surrounding streets and alleyways, sweeping the area for any other signatures.

  Nothing.

  Tristan frowned. It still didn’t make sense to him.

  ‘Not even a single bum?!’

  “Rosie, how accurate is this thing?” He asked, still scanning.

  “A hundred percent.” She replied. “It picks up heat from anything that exudes heat. The only way it won’t detect something – or someone – is if they are out of the device’s reach, and if they’re that far, they’re not a threat to us.” She then coughed silently. “Also, stop calling me Rosie, punk.”

  Tristan accepted the explanation but couldn’t shake the unease. The silence still felt unnatural. Too orchestrated.

  “There’s only one person inside.” He told her, keeping his voice low. “Sitting still. Barely moving.”

  Rosalina nodded. “So, no ambush, and they left a guard.” Then, she turned to Tristan. “Well, Little Devil?” She gestured toward the tavern. “What’s the plan?”

  Tristan blinked. ‘You’re asking me? A six-year-old?’

  But it quickly clicked in his mind.

  She’d been doing this all night. Letting him take the lead, pushing him to make decisions. It wasn’t just about solving a theft. She was slowly pushing him into his future role as a Vortalis.

  He exhaled slowly and straightened his back. ‘If that’s what you want, Ifrit, then sure.’

  He turned to Rosalina. “Is there a way to detect possible traps?”

  Rosalina smiled approvingly once more. “There is.”

  She reached for the inner pocket of her cropped leather jacket, pulling out another peculiar device.

  “This,” she said, holding it between her fingers, “is a Detrap Orb.”

  Tristan examined the contraption. It was shaped like a metallic orb with a smooth, shiny surface. At its center was a tiny glass lens, reflecting the moonlight.

  “It scans for hidden mechanisms – tripwires, pressure plates, mana-infused objects – things that could trigger a nasty surprise.” Rosalina explained, rolling it between her fingers. “If the trap is of the magical nature, it will detect shifts in the environment’s natural mana flow. If it’s a trap someone set manually, then it will catch the slight disruptions their setup causes in the air, ground, or walls.”

  Tristan narrowed his eyes. “And if it finds one?”

  Rosalina grinned. “If it’s a mana-based trap, it’ll absorb a portion of it and disrupt the trap, making it harmless – assuming it’s not too complex. If it’s a physical trap, it’ll just flash for us and mark the location so we could handle the rest manually.”

  Tristan was impressed. He had learned about some of Terra’s inventions, but he never expected them to be so advanced.

  “Is it an Ostian invention too?” He asked.

  Rosalina chuckled. “Nope. Unfortunately, this one belongs to the ‘great minds’ of my people’s greatest enemies – the Kingdom of Kareth.”

  Before Tristan could ask more about it, she had quickly moved on. “Keep an eye on our target with the Thermolis while I use this.”

  Without waiting for a response, she rolled the Detrap Orb forward toward the White Gull. At first, it followed the straight trajectory of her throw, but then, midway, it suddenly shifted course, as if the metallic orb had a mind of its own. It still rolled toward the tavern but now weaved from side to side as well. Once it reached the door, it stopped abruptly and flashed a bright light back toward them.

  Meanwhile, Tristan, using the Thermolis, had watched the person still seated inside. They remained motionless, seemingly unaware of their presence outside.

  “It’s a physical trap. Meaning there’s likely a tripwire or a hidden latch mechanism on that door.” Rosalina muttered. Then, she turned toward Tristan, her face growing serious. “Okay, Little Devil, we’ve gathered all the intel we need. Give me the order, and I’ll apprehend our target.”

  “What if the person inside is a mage?” Tristan asked, growing worried. “Could you even stop them?”

  Rosalina snorted. “Easily. I might be magicless, but I’m not useless.”

  Tristan narrowed his eyes but nodded.

  He was still uncomfortable with commanding her outright, but he was slowly getting used to it. If he was going to be a Vortalis, he needed to act like one.

  “Rosie,” he said, ignoring her glare at the nickname, “I want you to catch the person inside alive. We still need to find out who he and his partner are, where our Defeorica is, and which group they belong to.”

  She nodded, still sulky about the nickname, and signaled toward a stack of old wooden crates beside them, motioning for him to hide. Before stepping away, she tossed him a small fabric bag, the weight inside shifting with a soft clatter.

  “What’s that?” Tristan asked, turning it over in his hands. It felt like there were marbles inside.

  “If things go south and I can’t reach you for some reason, throw the marbles on the floor and run.” She explained, lowering her voice. “They’ll burst into a cloud of dust – enough to blind anyone chasing you for a few seconds. I’ll handle the rest.”

  “If things go south, I can just use – “

  “No.” Rosalina cut him off sharply. “I don’t want you using the Reaver Worms for this. A shipment of Defeorica is not worth it.”

  Tristan studied her face in silence, trying to figure out why she was saying this. “You know Ifrit would disagree.”

  She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “For me, Little Devil? Can you do it for me? Just…don’t use the Reaver Worms unless there’s absolutely no other way.” She hesitated, then added a quiet. “Please.”

  Tristan nodded – not because she asked him to, but because he had already made the decision himself. Until he figured out a way to counter the side effects, using the worms was too dangerous.

  With everything settled, Tristan ducked behind the stack of crates, gripping the pouch of marbles tightly as Rosalina made her way toward the White Gull.

  Tristan lifted the Thermolis to his eye, and his pulse quickened as he saw the figure inside suddenly sprinting toward the door.

  He barely had time to process what was happening before he shouted. “Rosalina!”

  The moment the words left his mouth, the tavern door exploded outward, tearing off its hinges with a loud crack. It hurled toward Rosalina with incredible force.

  In an instant, she flipped into the air. As she soared over the flying door, she detached the great sword from its magnetic holder on her back in a single, fluid motion. Then, with a sharp slam, she drove it into the ground as she landed.

  Tristan barely had time to process her incredible agility before the attacker emerged.

  A man stepped through the ruined doorway. His face was entirely concealed behind a wooden red mask, the fabric attached to it extending over his head like a hood. He held a short sword in each of his hands, their edges flickering under the moonlight.

  He twirled the blades with practiced ease before bringing them together, the steel ringing softly as they touched.

  Then, the air crackled, and immediately a surge of lightning shot from the swords’ edges, straight toward Rosalina.

  The speed was unbelievable, and Tristan’s breath caught as he saw Rosalina unmoving.

  ‘Move, damn it!’ His mind screamed.

  But Rosalina remained in place.

  The bolts of lightning struck her head-on, the bright arcs crackling across her body.

  Tristan’s eyes widened in horror, believing she was going to die.

  But then, the lightning dissipated, and she grinned.

  Tristan stared, completely at a loss.

  Rosalina stared at the red-masked attacker who took a single step backward under her gaze.

  “Pathetic.” She said mockingly.