Nikolai and Ashen had woken up later than they would have liked. The rush not to miss breakfast almost made him run through the halls — but upon reaching the second floor, he realized that, fortunately, the meal didn't seem to be a priority for anyone.
"What's going on?"
His group was gathered near the window, along with other people, watching something outside. Curious, Nikolai approached and stopped next to Daria, who seemed absorbed in whatever was happening out there.
Outside Svarog Tower, a delegation was lining up in formation.
"Apparently, these are the ones interested in the Empire's deal,"
Daria commented, still looking through the narrow second-floor window, without turning her eyes toward Nikolai.
There weren't many of them, but Nikolai wasn't naive enough to believe that only that delegation would be moving. There must be another in Medved, one more at the Fort, and certainly smaller groups advancing along the front lines. Determination wasn't lacking. Neither was greed.
"They're brave, paving the way into the unknown,"
said Andrei, almost respectfully.
"Brave? No,"
Kuzma retorted, as dry as cold steel.
"They're greedy fools. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that greed digs a shallow grave."
Daria didn't argue. She knew his pessimism was more than a habit; it was a survival strategy. Maybe that was why their group had never lost a single member: always being prepared for the worst was the best way not to be caught off guard.
Kuzma then clapped his hands, like a commander calling his troops to formation:
"Alright, everyone. Let's eat and talk. Today we've got a mission you're going to like."
Nikolai, for his part, was excited. Thanks to the deal with Svetlana, he had managed to buy everything he needed. From time to time, he still found himself gazing at his new sword — the Xiphos. The metallic shine, the well-balanced blade, the simple yet elegant guard. Everything about it seemed far above the quality any rookie would usually get their hands on.
Svetlana had charged almost the cost price, and Nikolai didn't complain; he knew her situation was critical, but he also needed the right tools if he wanted to be useful. Deep down, it was clear: he had made an excellent deal — and in return, Svetlana was betting that he would become a great client in the future.
Unfortunately, in his rush to gear up, Nikolai had spent everything he had. Even he was surprised — the amount he'd earned would be enough to support a family in Medved for two months. But he understood: it was an investment. He needed tools to ensure a steady income — not just to survive the next mission.
At heart, Nikolai felt the challenges ahead would be far tougher than his first adventure had suggested.
That was confirmed when Andrei noticed the sword hanging from Nikolai's side holster.
"Damn, kid…"
he whistled, eyes wide.
"You must be broke if you're carrying that thing around. Look at the quality! Someone here is taking this seriously."
Nikolai didn't want to hide anything from the group. On the contrary — he felt that talking about Svetlana might help her in some way, give her the recognition she deserved.
"Actually, I met a smith,"
he replied naturally.
"She's new to the craft, but I felt her products were of extremely high quality."
Kuzma narrowed his eyes, observing the weapon in Nikolai's possession. His silence hung in the air for a moment before he spoke, in a low tone, almost confidential:
"You're talking about Svetlana, aren't you?"
"Yes. How do you know?"
asked Nikolai, frowning.
Kuzma lowered his gaze, like someone chewing on bitter memories, and explained bluntly:
"Her husband was an excellent blacksmith. He had a mark like that one on the hilt of his weapon. But he had to go down to the third floor to get materials. He hired a team."
Kuzma tried to speak with indifference, but failed. After a few seconds, he added:
"…but they abandoned him in the middle of the expedition."
Nikolai turned pale. He finally noticed, at the base of the hilt, a subtle mark: the face of a small black bear.
"He was an excellent blacksmith… maybe one of the best. I never had the money to commission anything from him, unfortunately,"
Kuzma said at last.
"But… is that allowed?"
The disbelief was evident in Nikolai's voice. To him, it was unthinkable: survival inside the tower should be built on trust. Abandoning someone like a blacksmith with no combat experience was the same as condemning him to death.
The entire group seemed to grow somber. A heavy silence took over. Even the distant sound from Svarog's kitchen seemed to fade.
"Unfortunately, there are people even the lady of this tower cannot act against,"
Kuzma replied seriously.
"The culprits returned to the Fort, supposedly for 'training.' That was the punishment."
The word tasted like poison. Too lenient a punishment. Nikolai still couldn't grasp how such a cowardly act could be swept under the rug.
It was only when they sat down to eat that Daria leaned toward him discreetly, her eyes watchful of the walls, as if fearing the stones themselves might listen.
"We don't speak loudly about certain things here…"
she murmured.
"But the real reason is that the leader of the group was the son of a Triad member."
At last, Nikolai understood. Power and influence: the combination that erased mistakes, buried the guilty, and bought silence. The Triad had ruled the North since the death of the former Czar, with iron fists and long shadows. Their names — no one dared speak them. Their faces — few had seen them. But their reach was absolute. To them, Nikolai and all the commoners from Medved were nothing more than disposable pieces on a board they couldn't even fully see.
Ekaterina broke the silence, trying to change the subject. Her voice was curious but also firm, like someone examining a mineral for purity:
"Today is your last day of testing. Have you thought about what you're going to do?"
It was no secret to Nikolai that Ekaterina wanted an apprentice — Kuzma had already mentioned it to him. After all, what Nikolai had shown during the incursion made it clear he possessed a considerable reservoir of magic. Exactly how much was still a mystery to the group, but it was enough for Ekaterina to feel capable of training him.
Daria saw in that an excellent opportunity for Nikolai. Kuzma, on the other hand, believed he should learn from someone outside the group, fearing that internal dynamics could hinder his independence. Learning from someone within the same group, according to him, might limit his growth.
Still, both Kuzma and Daria knew the decision was Nikolai's. He could very well return to the Fort and try again the following year, if he wanted — just like they had done when they had the chance. In fact, no one from Kuzma's group had chosen to stay in their first year. Whether out of fear or uncertainty about their own abilities, they had all ended up returning to the Fort at least once.
Choosing to stay the first time around was, in truth, the exception — not the rule. And taking that choice away from Nikolai didn't seem fair.
Ekaterina wasn't impatient, nor was she someone sought after by other groups to train apprentices. Maybe it was her age, maybe the lack of prestige of her group. The most sought-after were usually those who reached the top of the ranking. In the end, it was something they all needed to discuss and decide together.
However, while everyone expected doubts and hesitation, Nikolai didn't waver:
"I've decided to stay. I want to help you… and Svetlana."
His words, firm and without a hint of doubt, left Ekaterina speechless. When she herself had chosen to stay — many moons ago, during her second trial — she still didn't know if it was courage… or just childishness. It would take months — maybe years — to truly feel like he belonged in that place. And now the boy was diving in without blinking.
"Holy shit, kid… you've got balls. I only stayed here last time because I met my wife. If it weren't for her, I'd have gone back to the Fort — and by now, I'd be in Gagantua."
Andrei was the first to react to the news.
"This fool was going to leave, but when he saw me, he dropped everything and ran straight to me. Always been a madman,"
Ekaterina said, laughing, as she congratulated the young man on his decision and reminisced about a nostalgic past.
"I hope we can be worthy of your choice. If you ever need anything, you can count on me and Laika."
Daria, as always, was the most polite. So Nikolai wasn't surprised to see her treat the moment with her usual elegance — limiting herself to congratulating him and Ashen, with the same contained courtesy as always.
"Well, I'm glad you've decided to stay with us. Now, let's get back to business…"
Kuzma, always serious and focused on the job, had trouble showing what he truly felt — something even Nikolai had already noticed. Still, he preferred it that way. The commander's deep voice brought everyone back to reality:
"We have an escort mission."
A murmur spread around the table.
"It will be simple,"
he continued.
"But it will be on the second floor… near the cliff."
The announcement landed like a bucket of cold water. Escort missions were simple in theory: take the client to a safe point, protect them during exploration, and bring them back alive. In practice, however, they often boiled down to babysitting — and everyone remembered Svetlana's husband. They knew that, in the underground, theory rarely survived contact with reality.
Daria was the first to respond, her tone heavy with irritation:
"Kuzma, why did he hire us? And why did you accept? You always play it safe."
Daria's concern was valid. Escort missions might seem easy on paper, but they were complicated by many factors. After all, protecting the client — someone who, more often than not, didn't know how to follow rules, ignored risks, and had no grasp of field procedures — was no small task. Almost every problem with this type of mission was, in one way or another, intrinsically tied to the client themselves. Some didn't follow orders, others pushed the contract to its limit, whether out of greed or sheer inexperience.
For the siblings, this type of mission was the worst — and that's why they avoided it whenever they could. Of course, they weren't inexperienced. They had an enviable 100% success rate in escort missions. But they knew that merit belonged entirely to the group — and, in fact, some of the worst stories they carried came precisely from that kind of work.
Now, though, without any clear reason, the mission that had always been a taboo for the group… was exactly the one Kuzma had decided to accept.
He lowered his gaze and looked at each member of the team, slowly, before answering:
"I know it sounds crazy, but the main reason is that the client wants something we do better than anyone else: a team that plays it safe."
He paused — heavily.
"Also… he's willing to pay double the initial rate. And he has a treasure map he plans to share."
The silence that followed was more eloquent than any scream. The payment alone would've been enough to raise suspicions. But the map… the map was something else.
"A map?"
Nikolai asked, confused.
Ekaterina was the one who answered, her voice low but heavy with meaning:
"A map isn't just a drawing. It marks a valuable location — rich in some resource — detailed by someone who risked their life to chart it. Normally, these maps are passed down as inheritance. I've never seen anyone sell one… let alone offer it. That smells like desperation."
Nikolai finally understood the size of the gamble, but not the reasons. Who could be so desperate as to trade a mapped treasure for protection? The group exchanged glances, all searching for answers.
Kuzma seemed to be pondering something, until he looked up and dropped the missing piece — the blade that cut through the air above the table:
"Well… I think only one of us knows the client personally. Isn't that right, Nikolai?"
*
It was after lunch when they finally gathered again. Nikolai no longer wore his wooden leg or his common clothes. In their place, a finely crafted metal cloak clung to his body as if it had been made just for him.
Ashen looked different too: he wore armor that combined tough leather with metal plates over vital areas, ensuring both mobility and sturdiness. The animal seemed larger, more solid, as if the weight of the iron came with a new sense of authority.
The rest of the group kept their usual outfits, but their weapons rested inside the storage rings — all except Nikolai's Xiphos, which remained strapped to his side, gleaming under the dim light as a reminder that he was still an armed rookie.
Kuzma was direct, his voice full of pragmatism:
"All right, Miss Svetlana. We're ready. Our only question is about the payment. And honestly… why now?"
It was rare to see Kuzma stray from his philosophy of caution. He always chose the safest path — but this time, he had relented. Daria had already commented that, despite the reasons he'd given, she believed the real reason was the child. Kuzma had been a father. He had lost his first child — and lived in constant fear of losing the second… or his wife. Nikolai understood. Perhaps, when Kuzma looked at Svetlana, he saw his greatest fear mirrored in her pain. But that didn't make him naive. He still wanted certainty.
Svetlana looked different from the day before. She wasn't wearing work clothes, but a fine, modest mesh, and carried only an empty bag on her back. Her simplicity contrasted with the weight of the mission ahead. Beside her, her small black bear watched Nikolai's group attentively.
"To be honest… I don't think you're the strongest,"
she said clearly, directly.
"But my husband always said that if something happened to him and I had to descend… it should be with you."
"I feel that meeting your rookie was more than coincidence. I feel like it's my husband's way of telling me the time has come."
The weight of the revelation caught Kuzma off guard. He had only known Svetlana's husband by sight — and by his reputation as an excellent blacksmith. Of course, they had never spoken, traded goods, or descended together to the lower floors. But the sincerity in her voice left no room for doubt.
Svetlana noticed the leader's unease and continued:
"We don't usually talk much about the groups we hire. That can influence the future. But there's one general belief about yours."
Kuzma raised his eyebrows. For the first time in a long while, he seemed on the verge of discovering something new — something about how others saw his group.
"And what do blacksmiths say about us?"
he asked.
"That you're cowards. Too expensive. Weak."
She didn't flinch under the weight of her own words.
"But my husband always believed the opposite. He said you never failed the few escorts you accepted. And that in gathering or recovery missions, if you failed, you preferred to return the contract payment rather than make excuses."
"And most of all… that you're straight."
The words, which could have sounded like an insult, didn't anger Kuzma. In truth, he had never cared about being labeled a coward or weak — as long as he could make it home with everyone alive. But knowing there was a quiet reputation, a veiled respect from some in Svarog… that did surprise him.
Svetlana took a deep breath. For a moment, her voice nearly wavered:
"I won't lie. I'm afraid to go down into that place where my beloved's life was taken. I don't want to leave my son alone. But I need money. I need materials. I need someone to keep me alive — even when my greed tries to push me toward danger. I need someone who will pull me back. Someone reliable. And above all… someone who plays it safe and reminds me that I'm not down there to get rich — but to put food on my son's table."
"That's what my husband said was the hardest part: knowing when to stop. Knowing how to recognize when enough is enough."
Nikolai understood without her needing to say more: for Svetlana, it wasn't just trust she was seeking — it was safety, above any greed. Deep down, he felt that, very likely, her husband had not respected that rule. And that was the true fear behind the eyes of the woman standing before him. She wasn't looking for brute strength. Nor glory. She wanted an invisible wall between herself and her husband's fate — betrayed, or perhaps simply forgotten, by reckless choices.
The group remained silent. A thick silence, like the one that precedes a battle. There were no shouts, no drawn swords — but everyone knew: a pact had been sealed.
"All right… when do we leave?"