The city of Greywick had a permanent metallic scent—the coppery smell of blood that had soaked into the cobblestones over generations. Blaze was used to it after a short time in the city, but Kael, the beastman, walked like he was breathing it all in, his nostrils flaring as if the chaotic air of Greywick was home.
They passed the same Mercenary Hall Blaze had seen a few days ago. It was just as he remembered: drunk mercenaries spilling out the front door, boisterous men shouting at clerks behind bulletin boards, and women in revealing dresses calling out to anyone with a few coins left. Their laughter was a harsh, ugly sound and most of the men smelled more of cheap ale than steel.
"That's the hall," Kael muttered, nodding toward it. "All bark and no bite. You won't find anything worth the trouble in there."
Blaze's eyes lingered on it for a moment. Last time he was here, he'd thought of Greywick as a snarling, diseased, but powerful beast. The hall was its gaping, loud, and foul mouth.
"No," Blaze said softly. "Those are the teeth they show to the peasants."
He turned and led Kael down the street, away from the noise. The alleys grew narrower here, the lamps fewer. As stone walls swallowed the drunken laughter, the air cooled. A pair of stone-faced mercenaries with deep scars leaned against a doorway, their arms folded. Unlike the brutes outside the hall, these men were sober and alert. They watched Blaze and Kael until they were sure they weren't just a couple of drunks stumbling by.
Kael shifted. "The real Guild?"
Blaze gave a single nod. The Mercenary Guild Headquarters loomed ahead, a block of dark, quarried stone that seemed to have been dropped from the sky. Its walls were thicker than any tavern's, its narrow windows barred with iron. The heavy oak door was reinforced with bands of blackened steel. This wasn't a building that welcomed you in; it weighed you up as you approached.
Blaze slowed his pace, taking in the sight. "That's the difference, Kael," he said under his breath. "The hall is noise; this is silence. The hall bleeds coin; this bleeds power."
Kael's wolfish teeth showed in a grin. "So there's something to hunt inside."
Blaze's lips twitched. "Not prey. Tools."
The guards at the door tensed as the pair approached. A broad man with a crooked nose put his hand on his sword's hilt. "Guild business?" he barked.
Blaze didn't break stride. His cloak trailed behind him as he fixed his gaze forward, his very presence making the guard's fingers stiffen on his hilt. "Business," Blaze said simply.
The guard's jaw tightened, but he stepped aside.
The air inside the Guild was a stark contrast to the chaos of the hall. There was no brawling or loud laughter. It smelled of oil, steel, and parchment. The stone floor was clean, the torches carefully trimmed to burn without smoke. Men sat at long tables, their conversations quiet and measured. Sober faces looked up as Blaze and Kael entered, their eyes narrowing as if trying to place them.
Kael leaned closer to Blaze. "They know you don't belong."
Blaze let a small smile spread across his face. "Good."
He scanned the chamber, where the hierarchy was obvious. The younger sellswords sharpened their blades and counted coin at the tables nearest the doors. Farther back, older men with long-earned scars spoke quietly with clerks who recorded contracts in ledgers. Along the right wall, a flight of stairs was guarded by two armored mercenaries. No one went up without permission.
Blaze took a seat at an empty table near the center of the room. He didn't need to announce himself. The air around him, filled with a faint predatory calm, was enough to make three different tables glance his way. Even the scratching of quills in the corner seemed to pause.
Kael sat beside him, his hand hovering near his blade.
"Patience," Blaze murmured.
They sat in silence for several long minutes as the Guild watched them. It was a test. Blaze could feel it in the way eyes lingered, in the way shoulders pretended to be relaxed. These weren't drunken cattle; they were wolves, and wolves circle anything new that enters their territory.
Finally, a deep voice broke the quiet. "Well now," came a rumble from the back. "What have the winds blown in?"
The speaker rose from a table near the stairs. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and silver streaks at his temples. His armor was simple and well-kept, the kind worn by a man who didn't need flashy gear to prove his worth. A scar cut across his cheek, and his cold gray eyes swept the hall with the easy confidence of a man who commanded it.
Kael tensed. Blaze simply watched the man walk toward them.
"Not often we see strangers walk past the hall into the Guild without an invitation," the man said. "That takes either ignorance… or intent."
Blaze met his gaze. "Which do you think I carry?"
The man's scar twitched with something close to a smile. "Intent," he said. "And that makes you interesting."
The quiet of the hall deepened. Men pretended to go back to their business, but Blaze could feel their attention sharpen. This wasn't a chance encounter; this man was their center of gravity.
He extended a calloused hand. "Ronan Vale. Guild captain of Greywick."
Blaze didn't take the hand. He gave the slightest nod. "Blaze."
Vale's eyes narrowed, not offended, but assessing. After a long pause, he let his hand fall to his side. "Blaze, then. You look like a man who doesn't need drink or dice to prove himself. That's a rare thing around here."
Kael gave a low chuckle. Blaze remained silent, his eyes steady.
Vale smiled thinly. "Why don't you step into my office? Men like us shouldn't waste words where lesser ears can steal them."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward the stairs. The guards gave Blaze and Kael a longer look, but moved aside when Vale gestured.
Kael leaned close as they followed. "He's sizing you up, master. The same way you size up your prey."
Blaze's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Let him."
They followed Ronan Vale up the stairs and into the heart of the Guild.
Ronan Vale's office was a world away from the busy, noisy hall and the stiff, formal main floor of the Guild. It was like a war room carved right out of the stone—maps covered the walls, candles flickered low, and the air was thick with the smell of ink and old leather. Two suits of dented armor stood in the corners, silent reminders of old battles. A big, dark wooden desk took up most of the space. It was scarred and gouged from years of use, but perfectly clean. On it sat an open ledger with neat rows of numbers and, next to it, a short blade polished so bright you could see your reflection in it.
Vale gestured to two chairs in front of the desk, then sat down behind it as if taking his throne. His gray eyes focused on Blaze, took a quick glance at Kael, then came back to Blaze.
"Let's get one thing straight," Vale said, folding his hands. "I don't usually invite strangers up here. But you're not a stranger, are you?"
Blaze sat down without a second thought. "I am to you."
Vale gave a short laugh. "Half the gangs in the gutters are already whispering about you. Some call you a butcher, others a ghost. Either way, I like men who stir things up. This town is drowning in its own filth."
Kael leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. "Maybe they're whispering because they're afraid."
Vale tilted his head, studying Kael's snarl, then looked back at Blaze. "Afraid men shout. Afraid men beg. You? You let them whisper. You don't try to correct them. That tells me something."
Blaze said nothing, his stillness a clear answer.
Vale leaned back. "You're dangerous. Not because you kill—every idiot in this city kills—but because you watch. You wait. You choose." His smile disappeared. "That's what men who plan to climb do."
The silence stretched on. Kael's hands twitched on the arms of his chair, itching for a fight, but Blaze's calm was like a heavy blanket. Finally, Blaze broke the silence.
"And what do you think I plan to climb?"
Vale put his fingertips together, forming a steeple. "Greywick itself. Or maybe something bigger. Doesn't matter yet. What matters is, I don't get in the way of ambitious men. I use them."
He leaned in, his voice dropping. "You're strong. I can feel it. Not just from your muscles or scars—it's something colder. I've seen it before, in men who survived wars everyone else forgot. You've got it. And that makes you valuable. To me."
Kael let out a low growl. "And what do you want with him?"
Vale's eyes darted to Kael, sharp as a drawn blade. "I'm talking to him." Then, to Blaze: "The question is, do you want to work for me—or do I need to break you first?"
The air thickened. Blaze didn't flinch. His gaze met Vale's and held, calm, flat, and unreadable. Slowly, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair.
"You've got it wrong," Blaze said softly. "I don't work for men. I use them."
A savage grin spread across Kael's face. Vale's eyes, however, narrowed. For a moment, the tension could have snapped like glass. Then Vale barked out a laugh.
"Bold." He slapped the desk, making the ledger jump. "Bold, and stupid, and exactly what I wanted to hear. You've got teeth, Blaze. Not many men around here do."
Blaze's lips barely moved. "Then we understand each other."
Vale studied him for a long moment. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he pulled a sealed parchment from a drawer and tossed it across the desk. Blaze caught it with two fingers, unrolling it just enough to see the contents.
A contract. A name. A price.
"Mercenary work," Blaze murmured.
Vale shrugged. "On paper, yeah. A job, nothing more. But I don't care if you get it done with a knife, a fire, or a few whispered words in the right ears. What I want to see is how you operate. How you choose. That's worth more to me than whether some caravan leader lives or dies."
Kael frowned. "A test."
"Call it what you like," Vale said. "Pass it, and I'll make sure the Guild doors stay open for you. Refuse, and I'll know you're just another shadow passing through." His gray eyes sharpened. "And if you fail..." His hand tapped the polished blade on his desk. "Failure doesn't last long in Greywick."
Blaze rolled the parchment back up, weighing it in his hand.
Vale leaned forward again. "So. Will you work with me, Blaze? Or do we fight it out right here and now?"
The office was silent except for the faint crackle of the candles. Kael tensed like a wolf about to attack. Blaze's expression didn't change.
He placed the parchment back on the desk with deliberate care. "I'll decide when I see if the prey is worth the hunt."
Vale's scar twitched. He studied Blaze for another long moment, then slowly nodded. "Good answer."
He leaned back, folding his hands again. "Take the night. Walk the city. If you come back with blood on your hands, we'll talk again. If not..." He gestured to the blade with a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "I'll consider that its own answer."
Blaze stood up smoothly, Kael right with him. He gave a slight nod—not out of respect, but in simple acknowledgment. "Until then."
Vale didn't move, just watched them as they turned toward the door.
As they stepped into the hall, Kael muttered under his breath, "He wants to put a leash on you."
Blaze's eyes glimmered faintly in the torchlight. "Then we'll see who holds the chain."
In the chilly air outside the Mercenary Guild, the smell of stale beer and desperation hung thick. The sound of dice hitting tables and men's loud, drunken boasts spilled from the nearby taverns, mixing with the metallic clatter of the market guards securing their gates for the night.
Kael walked close beside Blaze, his shoulders tight with tension. He kept his head down, but his gaze darted around nervously. "I don't like him," he grumbled.
"You shouldn't," Blaze said, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, yet it felt as sharp and dangerous as a drawn blade. "Men like Vale don't want partners. They want weapons they can use."
Kael looked at him. "And you're nobody's weapon."
Blaze didn't answer right away. He stopped at the edge of the square, watching a group of mercenaries stumble out of the Guild hall, their faces red from drinking, their swords loose at their sides. Anyone else would see them as a threat. Blaze just saw prey.
"I don't need to fight Vale," Blaze said finally. "Not yet. I need him to think he's in control."
Kael's lips curled into a snarl. "You're going to let him test you?"
Blaze started walking again, his boots making a soft, rhythmic sound on the cobblestones. "No. I'm going to use his test as a way to learn about him. He'll think he's watching me, but in reality, I'll be watching him. I'll see what jobs he offers, what targets he chooses, and who he trusts when things get difficult." He narrowed his eyes. "Vale thinks he's the hunter. But hunters show their hand by where they set their traps."
Kael grunted, and some of the stiffness left his shoulders. "So we pretend?"
Blaze gave him a brief look. "We get ready."
They moved through the city's winding, shadowy alleys, past overflowing trash and swaying lanterns, with hushed voices making shady deals in doorways. The contract was still folded in Blaze's cloak, its seal unbroken.
"Are you going to read it?" Kael asked.
Blaze's fingers brushed the parchment but he didn't pull it out. "Not yet. A cornered animal doesn't reveal itself until it thinks you're chasing. I'll let him wait, let him wonder why I haven't done anything. His doubt will tell me more than that paper ever could."
Kael let out a dry, humorless laugh. "He'll be fuming, all right. Vale hates being ignored."
Blaze stopped. They stood at a crossroads where three alleys met. Up ahead, two men were trying to drag a half-drunk man into the shadows, his muffled protests a desperate struggle against their hands.
Kael's eyes lit up, ready for a fight.
Blaze just watched for a moment. Then he said, "No."
Kael blinked. "No?"
Blaze stepped into the alley, his shadow stretching out long under the streetlamp. The two thugs froze, turning to face him, a sudden, cold fear in their eyes. They didn't understand why their grip on their victim loosened or why the man slipped from their grasp and ran away—but they felt it, a freezing terror crawling up their backs and tightening in their throats.
"Run," Blaze said softly.
They did.
Kael stared after them, then scowled. "You let them go."
"I need whispers, not dead bodies," Blaze said quietly. "Two scared dogs running into the night will spread more fear than a bloody corpse on the ground. Fear spreads. Death just makes things quiet."
Kael looked at him for a long moment, then his face broke into a savage, satisfied grin. "You're not just building a group. You're building a legend."
Blaze didn't say anything, but in his mind, the strange ring he wore pulsed with a warm, approving feeling.
Later, in their run-down loft, Kael restlessly paced while Blaze sat at a wobbly table, finally holding the parchment. He broke the seal and read the neat handwriting.
A name. A caravan leader from Greywick. A payment to make sure his next shipment never reached the border.
Kael looked over his shoulder. "Sounds like an easy job."
"Too easy," Blaze said, tapping the paper. "If Vale truly wanted to test me, he'd pick something more difficult. This is just bait. He doesn't want to see if I can kill, he wants to see how I do it."
Kael frowned. "So, what do we do?"
Blaze folded the contract back up. "We choose. And with that choice, we show Vale what kind of hunter he's dealing with."
Kael tilted his head. "What kind is that?"
Blaze looked up, a faint, hungry gleam in his eyes. "The kind that hunts the hunter."
The cursed ring on his finger hummed against his skin, a voice whispering in his mind like smoke. Yes… use them… bind them… bleed them dry when they think they've got you…
Blaze's lips barely moved. "We'll play his game. But we'll be the ones making the rules."
Kael's grin was wide enough to show his teeth. "Now that's the Blaze I follow."
That night, as the city was filled with laughter and muffled screams, a new rumor began to spread through the streets.
The stranger hadn't taken the Guild's test. He hadn't accepted or refused. He had just left Vale waiting.
And in Greywick, sometimes silence was the most dangerous thing of all.