The "Minor Translocation Crystal" Renn had bought at the Celestial Market vibrated in his hand with an unsettling warmth.
"Are you sure this is safe?" asked Renn, looking at the small multifaceted object. His voice sounded metallic and deep thanks to the modulator of the Shadow Mask he was already wearing.
"It is celestial technology, Substitute Lord," replied Valeria. She was standing next to him in the middle of the swamp, adjusting the gauntlets of her crystal armor. "It is infinitely safer than the rusted teleporters of the Eastern Alliance."
"That is a very low standard."
"Just visualize the coordinates Miss Thornwhisper sent you. And try not to vomit upon arrival. Instant spatial displacement tends to... upset weak stomachs."
"My stomach is made of steel. I have eaten emergency rations expired by two years."
"We shall see."
Renn turned toward Lysandra. His "boss" and "pet" had opted to keep her humanoid form for the raid, a decision that, according to her, was for "tactical efficiency," but which Renn suspected had more to do with the boredom of being a cat twenty-four hours a day.
However, to maintain anonymity, Lysandra wore a black silk veil that covered the lower half of her face and a light hood that hid her ears... most of the time. The problem, Renn noted with a lump in his throat, was not what she was hiding, but what she was leaving on display.
The black and gold dress fitted her figure with almost criminal precision. Every step she took had that feline fluidity, a hypnotic sway of hips that screamed "look at me" without needing to say a word. And her chest... well, the neckline was elegant, but the generosity of her anatomy defied the containment of the fabric in a way that made it difficult to look anywhere else.
"Are you going to stop staring at me or do I have to scratch you?" said Lysandra, her soft and melodious voice filtering through the veil.
"I wasn't looking," lied Renn quickly, grateful that the mask hid his blush. "Let's go. Coordinates locked. Northern Frontier. Sector 7."
He squeezed the crystal.
The world folded.
It wasn't like the academy teleport, which felt like falling into a well. This was like being sucked through a straw and spit out on the other side of the universe in a nanosecond.
Renn landed on the dry grass of the Northern Frontier, stumbled, waved his arms like a windmill, and miraculously, did not fall or vomit.
"A landing of 6 out of 10," evaluated Valeria, appearing at his side without moving a hair. "Better than expected."
Lysandra appeared a second later, materializing with the grace of someone who simply decides to exist in a new place. She didn't even mess up her hair.
The Raid camp was in front of them. It was an organized chaos of tents, banners from different Lords, and the noise of dozens of troops preparing for battle.
"Wow," muttered Renn, looking at the crowd. There were at least sixty people. "This is big."
"Focus, Specialist," whispered Valeria, instantly adopting her professional mercenary stance. "We are working."
They walked toward the rally point. And that was when Renn noticed the problem.
As they advanced between the tents, heads turned. And they didn't turn to look at Renn with his mysterious mask. They turned to look at the two women flanking him.
Valeria attracted looks of fear and desire in equal measure. Her aura of "if you get close I will freeze your blood" kept most at a distance, although Renn saw several Lords coveting her armor... and the woman inside it.
But Lysandra...
Lysandra was a magnet.
Her way of walking, that smooth and predatory glide, made men (and several women) stop dead in their tracks. The veil only added an air of exotic mystery. And her chest, moving softly with every step, was the center of attention for too many pairs of eyes for Renn's taste.
A group of lancers from House Vane stopped sharpening their weapons to whistle quietly. A Lord in golden armor took off his helmet to see her better, his eyes roaming over Lysandra's neckline with a lack of subtlety that made Renn's blood boil.
"Look at that," Renn heard one murmur. "Who is she? A mage? A war dancer?"
"I don't care about the class, look at those curves. I would pay my annual dues just for an hour with..."
Renn stopped dead.
A wave of irrational possessiveness, hot and stinging, rose up his chest.
That is my cat. Well, my boss. My dimensional princess. Whatever. The point is that those idiots have no right to look at her like that. Those are sacred treasures that only my eyes deserve to appreciate.
"Halt," said Renn, his distorted voice sounding harsher than he intended.
Lysandra stopped and turned, her amber eyes shining with curiosity above the veil.
"Is something wrong, Renn?"
Without a word, Renn took off his reinforced leather jacket —a piece he had bought with his first earnings from the pet shop and was very fond of— and took a step toward her.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
Renn did not answer. With a quick movement, he placed the jacket over her shoulders. The garment was large for her, and Renn pulled the lapels toward the center decisively, completely covering her cleavage, her arms, and a large part of her figure.
In the process, his hands... well, his hands had to secure the jacket. And maybe, just maybe, his knuckles grazed the soft curve of her bust with a little more pressure than strictly necessary to close a garment. It was a brief, firm, and electric contact.
Lysandra went rigid.
Under the veil, Renn saw the blush rising from her neck to her ears.
"Renn..." her voice was a strangled whisper. "What...?"
"It's cold," said Renn, crossing his arms and looking defiantly at the group of lancers who had been murmuring.
Valeria, to his right, looked at the bright morning sun. It was at least seventy degrees.
"Cold?" asked the assassin with a dry tone. "We are in the middle of summer, Substitute Lord."
"It's a... damp cold," improvised Renn, without looking back. "From the swamp. It gets into your bones. And Lysandra has a delicate constitution. She could catch a dimensional cold."
"Delicate constitution?" repeated Lysandra, her voice going up an octave. "I am an entity that can crush castles."
"Viruses do not respect power ranks," insisted Renn, adjusting the jacket on her again, making sure nothing "important" remained in view of the gawkers. "Besides, that fabric is very thin. It is for your health."
Lysandra looked at him. Her amber eyes went from confusion to understanding and, finally, to a spark of flirtatious amusement.
She knew exactly what he was doing.
And then it happened.
Under the hood, Lysandra's cat ears moved. A rapid, rhythmic twitch.
It was pleasure.
"I see," she murmured, grabbing the lapels of the jacket with her slender hands and wrapping herself in it. "If my... 'handler' insists on protecting my health, I suppose I must accept."
"Exactly. Health. Job security."
Valeria let out a sigh that sounded suspiciously like "men," but she positioned herself in a way that blocked the view of the remaining lancers.
The reaction of the rest of the camp was immediate. The lancers grumbled, disappointed by the sudden censorship. The Lord in golden armor looked at Renn with murderous envy.
"Who is that guy?" Renn heard. "The masked one?"
"I don't know, but he's lucky. Damn lucky."
"Two beauties like that and the guy has them covered up like nuns. What a waste."
"Waste?" Renn muttered to himself, feeling strangely satisfied. "Asset protection."
"Jealousy," corrected Valeria in a low voice. "Basic and territorial jealousy. It is adorable, in a pathetic way."
"Shut up."
They advanced toward the center of the camp. The Raid Supervisor, Varic (Level 42), watched them arrive.
Varic crossed his arms, his eyes sweeping over Valeria —who returned the gaze with a coldness that made the Supervisor blink— and then over Lysandra wrapped in Renn's jacket. Finally, he looked at Renn.
"You're late," grunted Varic, even though there were ten minutes left. It was pure dominance.
"We arrived precisely when we intended to arrive," answered Renn with his distorted voice, channeling all the arrogance he had learned from Lysandra. "Any problem with the time, Supervisor?"
Varic frowned. Normally, mercenaries lowered their heads. Valeria's aura and Lysandra's strange dignity made him hesitate.
"Just register. And try not to die in the first room. I'm not going to waste mana healing rookies with expensive gear."
"It won't be necessary," said Valeria softly. "We don't break easily."
Varic snorted and walked away, clearly annoyed that his intimidation attempt had bounced off.
"That man has a fragile ego," commented Lysandra. "It makes me want to break it."
"Please, do not break the Supervisor before entering," asked Renn. "We need him for... legal things."
"Specialist!"
The familiar voice made Renn's heart skip a beat. He turned to the left and there she was.
Lily.
She was wearing her reinforced leather and chainmail armor, polished and ready for combat, with her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail and her short sword at her belt. She looked competent, strong, and to Renn's eyes, absolutely radiant.
But what really caught Renn's attention was what was behind her. She wasn't alone with her four officers.
There was Lily Thornwhisper's full contingent: twenty troops in total, a considerable and disciplined force.
The elite troops —Helga and Greta with their heavy armor, Sera with her longbow, and Thrain with his double sword— were at the front, but behind them were sixteen more warriors: a mix of dwarf infantry adjusting their shields and elf marksmen checking their quivers. They were formed in orderly rows, projecting an image of professionalism that contrasted with the chaos of the rest of the camp.
"Lord Thornwhisper," greeted Renn formally, making a small exaggerated bow to maintain the role.
Lily stopped in front of them, her orange eyes opening wide upon seeing the trio.
First she looked at Valeria. The crystal assassin was imposing, her beauty sharp as a knife. Lily blinked, clearly impressed.
Then she looked at Lysandra. Even with the veil and Renn's oversized jacket, the "princess" radiated a power and elegance that made the air around her feel heavier, as if gravity were leaning toward her.
And then Lily looked at the jacket.
She recognized the jacket immediately.
She had seen Renn wear it hundreds of times at the pet shop. She knew it was his favorite. And now it was on the shoulders of this mysterious and voluptuous woman.
Lily felt a sharp prick in her chest. It was... competition. A hot stab of why is she wearing his clothes and I'm not?
"I see you brought your team," said Lily, her voice a little higher than usual, regaining her composure. "And I see that... they are very capable. And they are very well bundled up."
"The best," said Renn, oblivious to the territorial subtext. "And the weather is unpredictable."
Lily took a step forward, invading Renn's personal space with a confidence that surprised even herself. She put a hand on Renn's arm, squeezing the bicep now covered only by his thin shirt.
"I'm glad you came," she said, looking him directly in the eyes through the lenses of the mask. "I felt a little... exposed without my trusted specialist."
It was a possessive move. Subtle, but clear to anyone who was paying attention. You are my guest. You are here for me.
Renn, feeling the warmth of Lily's hand on his arm, smiled under the mask. He understood her. And he loved it.
He placed his hand over hers, squeezing it gently.
"I wouldn't miss it for anything, Lord Thornwhisper," he replied softly, lowering the volume of the modulator so only she could hear. "Besides, someone has to make sure you don't do heroic crazy things without supervision."
Lily blushed, but her smile became bright and genuine. The prick of jealousy softened at his touch.
"Good," said Lily, recovering her commanding tone. "Come, I want to introduce you to my girls... and the rest of the battalion. They are dying to meet the... 'expert'."
She led them to where her squad was waiting. The twenty troops tensed up seeing them approach.
"Attention!" barked Helga, and twenty heels hit the ground in unison. The metallic sound resonated.
"At ease, troops," said Lily, gesturing toward Renn. "This is the specialist I told you about. The external contractor who will support us today."
"The famous Swamp Lord..." started Greta with a mocking smile.
"GRETA!" Lily gave her an elbow nudge that would have dented armor. "Specialist! His name is... Shadow. Because of the mask. And these are his associates."
Greta rubbed her ribs but looked at Renn with curiosity.
"Shadow," she repeated, looking Renn up and down. "Well, well. So this is the mystery man. He looks... less muddy than I expected. And with better company."
Renn looked at the twenty troops. There was respect in their eyes, but also curiosity. They knew their Lord, Lily, had a special interest in this "specialist," and that made him an instant celebrity among them.
"I bathed for the occasion," said Renn, playing along.
"And they," Lily pointed to Valeria and Lysandra with a slightly stiffer gesture, "are Valeria and..."
"Lady Lysandra," intervened Valeria softly. "She prefers to keep a low profile today."
Sera, the elf, looked at Lysandra. Elves were sensitive to mana, and Sera's eyes opened so wide it looked like they were going to pop out. Behind her, the other elf archers of the detachment exchanged nervous glances, feeling the pressure in the air.
"By the Ancients..." murmured Sera. "Her aura is... it's like looking directly at the sun."
Lysandra tilted her head slightly, a regal gesture that encompassed the twenty troops.
"Charmed. You have a competent leader. Try not to disappoint her today."
"Yes, ma'am... uh, my Lady," stammered Thrain, who had turned red upon seeing Lysandra's amber eyes shining above the veil. Several of the infantry dwarves nodded with instinctive respect.
"Alright!" interrupted Lily, clapping to break the spell Lysandra seemed to be casting over her army. "Introductions are done. Marching formation. The entrance to the Dungeon is five hundred meters away."
The group began to move. The atmosphere was charged with electric energy. Lily's troops whispered among themselves, casting furtive glances at Renn and his companions.
"Hey," whispered one of the elf archers to Greta. "Did you see how Sera almost fainted seeing the one in the veil? That guy isn't normal. The Boss has a good eye."
"She has an eye for trouble," grunted Greta, although she smiled while adjusting her shield. "But yeah. If that guy brings that kind of firepower... maybe we'll get out of this with full pockets and everyone alive."
Renn walked next to Lily, with Valeria flanking his left and Lysandra his right. Behind them, Lily's twenty troops formed a solid protective phalanx. He felt like the protagonist of a novel, or like the guy who is going to die first to establish the threat. He hoped it was the former.
They arrived at the entrance of the Whispering Rift.
Renn had expected a cave. Or a glowing portal like in video games.
What he saw was much more disturbing.
On the slope of the rocky mountain, reality seemed to be... sick.
There was an opening, yes, like the mouth of a giant cave about twenty meters wide sinking into the earth. But the edges were not stone. They were made of something that looked like broken glass and static light. The air around the entrance vibrated, distorting the image of the nearby trees as if seen through a heat wave, even though the air was freezing.
A constant sound, like thousands of voices whispering at the same time, emanated from the interior darkness.
"Defective spatial distortion," analyzed Lysandra in a low voice, her tone clinical. "The fusion is imperfect. The physical laws inside will be... suggestions, rather than rules."
"Great," said Renn. "I love physical suggestions."
Supervisor Varic stood in front of the entrance, raising a hand to silence the crowd of sixty Lords and their troops.
"Listen!" shouted Varic. "The Whispering Rift is unstable. The objective is simple: enter, locate the Dungeon Core, and get out. Do not separate."
"Solid advice," murmured Valeria.
"Darian's Vanguard, to the front!" ordered Varic. "Support Group, center! Thornwhisper and specialists, right flank and rear! Move!"
Darian Volt, the arrogant strategist who had tried to scam Lily, marched past with his kobolds. Seeing Lily and her contingent reinforced by Renn's trio, he shot her a look of disdain, but when his eyes fell on Valeria and Lysandra, the disdain turned into confusion and then pure envy.
"Who are those?" asked Darian to one of his men.
"Thornwhisper's guests, sir."
"Thornwhisper brought that?" Darian looked at Renn. "Damn it. I should have offered twenty percent."
"Are you ready?" asked Lily, adjusting the strap of her shield. Her twenty troops tensed behind her, ready for the order.
Renn looked at the distorted darkness of the cave. He felt the familiar fear in his stomach, that cold knot telling him to run back to his pet shop and hide under the bed.
But then he felt Valeria's presence to his left, solid and lethal. He felt Lysandra to his right, wrapped in his jacket, emanating ancient power. And he saw Lily looking at him with that mix of worry and absolute faith, backed by a small army that now accepted him.
He was not alone.
He was a Level 3 Lord with a cheap mask and two cosmic entities posing as his pets, about to enter a dimensional meat grinder next to the girl he liked.
It was the stupidest and most dangerous situation of his life.
"I was born ready," said Renn, and thanks to the voice modulator, he sounded like he actually believed it. "Let's do this."
"That's the attitude," smiled Lily.
"Forward!" shouted Varic.
The group advanced.
Renn took the first step toward the distortion. The air felt electric, raising the hairs on his arms. The sound of the whispers became louder, filling his head.
He crossed the threshold.
The sunlight disappeared.
Gravity felt a little lighter.
They were inside.
"Welcome to the Rift," whispered Lysandra, and for the first time, her cat ears pinned back against her head in a sign of predatory alert under the hood. "This is where the real fun begins."
The walls were made of a grayish stone that seemed to pulse faintly with veins of blue light. The ceiling was high, losing itself in unnatural darkness, and the floor was covered in a kind of bioluminescent moss that crunched under boots like ground glass.
"Defensive formation," ordered Lily to her squad. "Helga, Greta, shield wall to the front. Infantry dwarves, flanks. Sera and archers, eyes up and diamond formation. Thrain, rear guard with the specialist."
Lily's twenty troops moved with impressive precision, forming a defensive square around Renn, Lily, and the girls. You could tell they had done this fifty times.
Renn stayed close to Lily, with Valeria and Lysandra closing an inner protective circle.
"I see movement," said Valeria suddenly.
"Where?" asked Renn, squinting behind the mask.
"Up. And ahead. It is a Swarm."
"Swarm?" repeated Lily, tensing up and raising her shield.
Before anyone could ask more, the whispers changed. They ceased to be indistinct voices and became a sharp, physical screech that drilled into the ears.
From the darkness of the ceiling, hundreds of red eyes lit up in unison.
"CRYSTAL BATS!" shouted Varic from the front. "SHIELDS UP!"
They were not normal bats. They were the size of eagles, with bodies faceted like gems and wings that looked like razor blades.
They dove down, a rain of living glass and screeches.
Chaos erupted.
Screams, spells flying, arrows whistling.
Lily's archers released a volley. Five bats fell, but there were too many.
A bat dove straight toward Lily, dodging the arrows. She raised her shield, but the creature was fast, swerving at the last second to attack her exposed flank.
"Lily!" shouted Renn.
He didn't have to do anything.
Valeria didn't even draw her daggers. She simply raised a hand and snapped her fingers.
The air in front of Lily froze. The bat crashed against an invisible barrier and shattered into fragments of light.
"Hold formation," said Valeria calmly, while three more bats tried to attack the dwarves on the left flank and were disintegrated by invisible cuts in the air. "These are minor pests. Do not break ranks."
Beside him, Lysandra sighed, as if all this were terribly tedious.
A group of five bats dove toward her, perhaps attracted by her glowing aura.
Lysandra simply moved her hand in an elegant arc, as if she were shooing away a fly.
Renn's jacket opened slightly with the movement, revealing a flash of her black dress.
CRACK.
Gravity around the bats increased a thousand times in an instant. The five creatures were crushed against the ground with such force that they were reduced to two-dimensional stains on the rock.
Lily's group of dwarves, who were fighting desperately to hold the flank, froze for a second looking at the instant massacre.
"What... what the hell was that?" asked one of the soldiers, his face pale.
"Localized gravity," said Lysandra, adjusting Renn's jacket again with dignity. "I hate things flying around my head. It messes up the hair."
Renn looked at Lily. Lily looked at Renn.
Lily's mouth was slightly open.
"Your... 'specialist'," said Lily, pointing at Lysandra. "Did she just crush five monsters with a hand gesture?"
"She is very efficient," said Renn, trying to sound casual although his heart was beating a mile a minute. "She gets paid for results."
"Shadow," said Lily, and there was a new light in her eyes. A mix of terror and absolute excitement. "I think this is going to be the best Raid in history."
"Or the shortest," murmured Renn.
"Don't get distracted!" shouted Helga, splitting a bat in two with her axe. "More are coming! Hold the wall!"
The battle continued, a whirlwind of chaos and magic.
For the first time in his life as a Lord, Renn Blackwood was not trying to survive.
He was starting to win.
And as he watched Lysandra crush another bat without even looking at it, and Valeria dance among the shadows harvesting lives, Renn could only think of one thing:
I hope no one stains Lysandra's jacket. I really like that jacket.
"We advance!" roared Varic. "Toward the Core!"
The raid was just beginning.