Chapter 53: the Enemy of my Enemy is a Distraction

William Oh singlehandedly started the Crusades.

• Jason Salazar.

Will and Loth ventured out of their modest inn together on the third day, walking along the boardwalk that was cobbled together out of twisted swamp-wood, winding between the raised buildings of Way Station.

I wonder where they get the big beams for the stilts, Will thought as he wandered along, enjoying the omnipresent smell of smoke that drove off the biting insects.

Or at least…discouraged them slightly.

I’m starting to see what Roger sees on this floor. There was a rustic simplicity in the way everyone approached life and each other. There wasn’t enough time, money, or safety, for people to play politics with each other. Everyone minded their own business…

And when your level was high enough, the ambience of the floor shifted from ominous swamp filled with horrors to liberating natural wonder.

Oh, gods, I hope I didn’t get some Mycelium in the brain, Will thought, their feet thumping along the wet boardwalk.

Their first stop was to the local blacksmith to see if he could get a chakram (whatever that was) and/or a cannonball a little smaller than his fist. Given how fast he was shooting the sling bullets, something even slightly heavier would be absolutely devastating.

The blacksmith knew what a chakram was, essentially a metal throwing disk with a blade all the way around the edge. Most people didn’t use it because there was no safe way to handle and throw it without years of training and/or a chain gauntlet.

Or…a phantom hand that accelerates it faster than a sling bullet.

Wow. Loth has brutally good ideas.

Will could simply release it at full speed right next to someone’s neck and decapitate them in the blink of an eye.

Except maybe someone like Reggie. Or Mark Wyrd, for a completely different reason.

Speaking of…Will frowned, his gaze landing on Mark Wyrd sitting at an outdoor restaurant that served barbeque alligator.

The lordling glared back at them, but didn’t stand up.

Huh, I guess he’s still alive. To be fair, there wasn’t actually much in the Swamps that posed a threat to the young man.

“…Why is he not trying to kill us right now?” Will asked as Mark took a sip of his beer, gaze never leaving the two of them. Not even to blink.

“We’re in town. Too many witnesses The Tower can draw from.” Loth said.

“So…we can’t attack him either?” will asked.

“Not in public, anyway,” Loth said.

That right there is a liability that is going to come back and haunt my team. Even if Mark Wyrd failed to kill us, his father could probably wipe all of us out without too much effort. And he will, as soon as Mark tells him about what we did in Oilton.

Wait a moment…

A deviously paranoid realization struck Will between the eyes.

“Do you think he told his father what happened in Oilton?” Will asked, his mind racing.

Loth cocked her head. “I think it’s possible in his desire not to return home empty-handed, he has avoided telling his father the details of the debacle. The Lord probably knows Oilton was destroyed, but not who did it and how.”

“So he’s desperate for a scapegoat because if he goes back empty-handed, it’s the belt for him.” Will mused.

“Or whatever the equivalent for an adult Thorns-tank would be,” Loth pointed out.

Right…

“Loth, I have an idea. It’s either really good, or really bad.”

Will went back to the inn and grabbed some props for his gamble.

My job as the leader is to line up advantages in my Party’s favor. Throwing a few of our enemies off the scent is a good advantage.

Will hustled back to the outdoor restaurant and was pleased to discover the young lordling was still sitting there, watching Will as he approached.

“You’ve got some balls.” Mark said as Will slid into the bench seat across from him. Will could pick out a handful of the surviving members of the lordling’s Party tense up as he sat down.

“I thought we could talk about this situation we find ourselves in like adults and come to an agreement,” Will said.

“Your face…you couldn’t possibly be an adult, what are you, fourteen?”

“Not sure,” Will said with a shrug. At the orphanage they celebrated the day he was dropped off as his birthday, but it was anyone’s guess how old he had been at the time. Malnutrition can shave years off of someone’s development, and Will had been a skinny child. Hence the Will Special at the inn.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

You know, that’s weird, my parents should know my exact birthday and age, shouldn’t they? Shouldn’t they…?

Mark waved his hands in front of Will’s face.

“Eh?” Will asked, refocusing on the lordling who wanted him dead.

“Speak.” Mark said.

“Does the rest of your Party know why you’re hunting me?” Will asked.

“What does it matter to you?” Mark asked.

“Ask them to give us some privacy, and I’ll tell you.”

Mark glanced at his Party members. “Give us a minute.”

One by one, they stood up and shuffled off to the boardwalk to speak amongst each other and send Will mean looks.

Once they were far, far out of earshot, Will asked the question that had burning in his mind.

“How long is your father going to live? A hundred, hundred and sixty years? Maybe longer?” Will asked. “Body that high surely means a long life.”

“What are you getting at?” Mark asked.

“Do you like your dad?” Will asked.