Another week slipped by, and Arwin spent his time nearly split straight down the middle. Half of it went toward researching how the strange metal that Twelve’s weapons were made out of worked, and the other half went toward preparing for Olive’s upcoming tournament. The Menagerie had gathered a number of materials for him to work with between Olive and Rodrick’s dungeon runs, and he’d spent a fair amount of time sifting through everything to determine what the best pieces would be. It got to the point where further preparation would only deliver middling improvements, and Arwin knew they didn’t have forever. Even though the Secret Eye had yet to swing by to tell them exactly what day the Proving Grounds would be held, he knew it was soon. Rodrick had kept them all updated on just about every rumor that had been spreading around town — and there had been a lot of them. Arwin hadn’t realized quite how much attention was on the Secret Eye’s tournament until he’d been walking through town and overheard to elderly women gossiping over the participants. This was the time to act. He didn’t want to have to rush through finishing everyone’s armor in the last few days. It was better to have something workable now and to spend any extra time simply polishing it up or making some bonus equipment. But before Arwin could jump right into making armor, he wanted to see just how Olive, Elias, and Maeve actually fought. It would give him the best insight into what his armor could do for them. After all, there was no point making something that made someone as fast as a bounding cheetah if they could already move like the wind. And that was how he found himself standing a dungeon for what felt like the first time in months, even though it had truly only been a few weeks since he and the rest of the Menagerie had gone through another dungeon together with Yonas. But this time, the rest of the Menagerie wasn’t here. He stood in a spacious cave awash in light from rivers of flowing golden veins running through the walls. The only ones with him were Olive, Elias, and Maeve. Well, them and all the monsters they were killing in the Adept Ranked dungeon. Today was a horrible day. Lucas had sworn up and down that it wouldn’t have been, but it was. He’d promised that they’d get a good mark, and that hiding in this shitty path would all be worth it once they got a few coins. Hazel was of half a mind to throw in the towel entirely and turn to a career that didn’t force her to lounge in dirt with insufferable morons for hours on end, but she couldn’t quite get over the feeling of sliding a blade between someone’s ribs. There really just wasn’t anything like it. The rush of blood pouring across her hand as she twisted the hilt of a sword, watching the life fade from an anguished face — it was like concentrated power. There was nothing better than the feeling of complete and utter control over someone else’s fate. At least, that was the case when their mark actually had something that made them worth killing. But when Hazel stared at Lucas’ chosen target of the day, she couldn’t help but feel a strong urge to run her blade through his back instead of the poor sod standing surrounded in the middle of the road. The man wore ratty, bloodstained clothes. A mop of dirty, wet hair hung over his face, obscuring much of his face; gaunt and haunted eyes peered out from beneath, lifeless. He didn’t have a bag or a weapon. For that matter, he didn’t seem to have anything worth taking. Not even a life. “Empty your pockets,” Lucas said, looking down the tip of his sword at the man. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Hazel asked, thrusting her sword in the direction of the ratty man. He hadn’t so much as budged since they’d burst out around him. He just stood there, vacant-eyed. Staring. “He doesn’t have shit!” “He’s got pockets, and I see a bulge in them. There’s nothing wrong with an easy target,” Lucas replied. He thrust his sword again. “Out with the pockets, scruffy. Let’s see what you’re hiding.” The man stared at him. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “No.” “No?” Lucas repeated, arching an eyebrow and looking to the two large bandits behind the scruffy man. Joe and Joe — those were actually their names — stepped forward and raised their clubs in unison. The brutes were twins, and had presumably had two different names at one point. Unfortunately, they were so stupid that one had forgotten his and just stolen the name of the other. “One last warning,” Lucas said. He waved his sword around, trying to look intimidating but coming off more like he was trying to swat a fly. “Empty your pockets, and we’ll let you leave with a beating. Don’t, and I let Hazel here play with you for a little while — and I can promise you won’t enjoy it.” “I don’t even want to kill this idiot,” Hazel said. “I’m about half a step from stabbing you, though. You made us lie in wait for this? An ugly, smelly, homeless vagrant?” “I’ve heard there’s a healer in this direction,” the vagrant said. “Is that true?” “He not a healer. He a smith. It’s bullshit,” Joe said. “Yeah. He just a smith,” Joe agreed. Hazel’s eye twitched. “Fuck this. I’m going to go take a shower — and dump my dirty clothes on your bed. Pick someone worth stabbing next time, Lucas. This raggedy doll isn’t even worth me having to clean my blade.” She turned on her heel and strode away. “No more warnings,” Lucas said behind her. She heard a boot scuff against the ground as he stepped forward. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Joe, Joe — part him with his coin.” He doesn’t have any coin, you daft moron. There were two loud crunches. Hazel would have winced if she could have been bothered to have any sympathy. It sounded like Joe and Joe had landed their attacks at the same time. At least the vagrant wouldn’t have to suffer. He was probably already — A scream rang out — a voice she recognized. The second Joe fell beside the first, joining his brother in a howl of pain. They both clutched at their knees, gasping and crying in pain. “Where’s the healer?” the vagrant asked. His voice hadn’t changed in the slightest. “You bastard!” Lucas roared. “Wait!” Hazel yelled, grabbing her own sword and pulling it free. “How did he—” Lucas blurred, blue magic enveloping his body as he activated his abilities and leapt through the air, streaking down toward the vagrant in a blur, his sword aimed straight for the ratty man’s neck. The wet thud of a blade meeting flesh rolled across the clearing. Hazel’s shoulders started to relax, but she froze before even an instant had passed. Lucas’ blade hadn’t met the vagrant’s neck. It had slammed into the man’s riven palm and driven straight through his hand, but the vagrant hadn’t even flinched. His fingers wrapped around Lucas’ hand in a vice grip. The bandit’s eyes widened in fear, but it was too late. With a roar, the vagrant twisted his entire body, throwing his whole weight into a punch. It slammed into Lucas’ cheek with a crunch. Lucas’ head snapped up. He took a step back — as far as he could move while the vagrant still clasped his sword and fist alike — but he didn’t look too injured. The strike hadn’t been as powerful as Hazel had — Another crack rang out. Then another. Over and over, the vagrant’s fist slammed down. Lucas’ nose shattered. His cheekbones caved in, and his blood splattered across the ground to join the teeth flying from his mouth. By the time Hazel remembered she was also armed, Lucas had fallen to his knees, his face a bloodied mess.