Headed by a Snake

« System, set target destination on that Hammer fellow. He should still be within range. »

[Calculating route.]

Tycon leisurely walked the streets in his dark hood and a set of leather armor. The leathers were the easiest to don in a hurry. Following the System's directions, he turned the street corners with ease. Lone hurriedly followed, knocking into the occasional trash can.

If it wasn't for the harsh, howling wind, Tycon was fairly certain they'd have been caught by Lone's sleep-addled blundering. With the System's assistance, Tycon could accurately keep within a few hundred yalms of the other guild.

After nearly half-a-bell of time, Tycon and Lone tracked their movements to a cliffside manor overlooking the ocean. According to the signs that Tycon read, it belonged to one Francesca Couture.

"What... what are we doing here, Boss?" Lone asked, his teeth chattering in the cold. The former ruffian had forgotten to bring the cloak he usually wore, and instead wore a thin linen blanket he had appropriated from the inn.

Tycon frowned as he peered at the System-provided map that only he could see. Analyzing the blueprints of the house... Hammer and his guild were in some sort of central room.

He didn't want to deal with them. He turned his attention to the larger rooms, resembling living quarters.

"We're here to pay a visit to Lady Couture," Tycon said as he scaled a wall.

Lone gawked, "B-boss, how did you move so fast?"

Tycon knelt atop the wall, wordlessly reaching his hand out for Lone to grab. The leather armor he wore made scaling the wall much easier than usual, allowing him to climb simple walls with speed similar to Dragan. He decided not to explain.

"Hurry up," Tycon urged.

...

« System, Cancel Snake-Form. »

[Small Snake Form Cancelled. Returning to Human-Form.]

Tycon emerged from Lady Francesca Couture's closet. The woman was reading a book in her undergarments, sampling peeled grapes and smoking a long pipe. Sweeping back a long strand of purple hair behind her ear, she looked up from her book with drug-glazed eyes.

"Strange. How long have I left you in there?"

Tycon shrugged casually, "Ah, don't worry about it, Mistress."

The two inhabitants of the bedroom were the scantily clad slavemistress and a naked, well-muscled, male slave tending to a room-heating stove. Though the pair stared in curiosity, Tycon walked to a shuttered window and unlocked it to allow Lone to enter.

Couture's eyes widened, gaining a hint of sobriety, "What in the-- who are you?"

Tycon smiled radiantly, "We're part of a group that's robbing your household right now, Mistress."

The slave began slowly moving towards a sheathed sword, propped on the wall near him. Still smiling, Tycon pointed.

Lone dashed forward, smashing one of his wolf-headed maces onto the slave's hands, crushing his bones to powder. With a second swing, a mace struck the man's abdomen, winding him.

Tycon snapped his fingers.

[Commander's Strike activated.]

Lone's body was filled with raging mana. With inhuman speed, he smashed both maces into the slave's ribcage, breaking his bones. The slave spat thick, dark crimson blood before slinking to the floor, dead or wishing he was.

Tycon smirked, placing his hand on his chin, "I've noticed that none of your nearby slaves are Metal Rank..."

Sucking in air through his teeth, Tycon continued, "Summoning them... probably won't help you. With all due respect, Mistress, please surrender all items of value."

The woman sighed, "Then your men are occupying Little Yu."

Lone raised an eyebrow, "Who's--"

Tycon glared to stop him.

Lone coughed, "Whosoever that person is, I'm stronger!"

Tycon smiled cordially, steepling his fingers, "Anyroad, if you have any large quality goods-- ah, or in lieu of that, perhaps a ship and crew, we'd very much like to requisition it."

The woman chuckled softly to herself, emptying her long pipe in a small silver box. She stood up, seductively swaying, before grabbing a long, thin curved blade and tossing aside its sheath.

"What makes you think I'll just lay down and give you what I want?" the noblewoman winked.

The temperature of the room dropped significantly, causing Lone's teeth to chatter and. He wrapped his blanket around himself, once more.

« System, basic information. »

[System response: Francesca Couture, Bronze-Rank Human Warmage]

Stepping forward, she cut an icy slash down at Lone, "Blue Flame Blade."

"Counter it," Tycon commanded.

[Jumping Knee Counter activated.]

Lone blocked the attack with a cross of his weapons, icy crystals blooming in the air instead of sparks.

A frenzy of mana filled Lone's body again as he crossed his maces behind Couture's neck. He smashed his knee into the woman's abdomen. Repositioning himself, he mercilessly struck with his opposite knee, driving the woman back.

With a snarl, the wolf-eyes on his dark iron maces glowed red as the heads burst into flames.

Tycon rolled his eyes. As impressive as Lone's flaming weapons appeared, the fiery mana extended only to his weapons and not to his attacks. Unless he literally held the burning weapons to an opponent's skin, the damage it dealt was negligible. Francesca Couture, however, was a capable elemental sword wielder.

A prolonged fight was not in Tycon's and Lone's best interests. He wasn't here to train Lone. He was here to rob the slavemistress and frame that group of rude fellows.

"Hurry up," Tycon sighed.

With a nod, Lone began to attack recklessly. Couture focused on her defense, accurately blocking the rough warrior's swings, but Lone's strength quickly taxed her stamina.

Tycon snapped his fingers.

[Commander's Strike activated.]

Lone smashed through the woman's sword, the wolf-head bloodying the woman's nose. With a side swing, he struck her jaw. The woman smashed her side against a table, spilling papers and books to the ground, as well as breaking her ornate, expensive-looking pipe.

Tycon snapped his fingers again.

[Commander's Strike activated.]

The woman was trying to reach for her sword, but Lone brutally kicked the woman in the gut, then smashed a hammer into her elbow. The woman groaned loudly in pain, holding her shattered arm. Sweat matted her purple hair and tears ruined her purple eyeliner. With a deeper groan and a nod of her head, she fell unconscious. Or dead.

Tycon immediately began looting, placing items of value into his spatial ring. He'd sort through the goods later.

The woman wore an expensive-looking ring with a slight magical enchantment. Tycon took it. Why shouldn't he?

There were books on business, making money, and non-fiction studies on various cultures. Tycon took them. They would be a nice gift for Sorina or Reynard.

A long two-handed sword. Perhaps it would do as an interim weapon for Dragan. Nice.

Tycon tossed Lone a gilded chamberpot.

"Very funny, Boss," he rolled his eyes.

Tycon glared, "It's not for you to use as a piss-pot, you dolt. Fence it and buy yourself a coat or something."

"...Oh," Lone hung his maces on his belt and tucked the pot under an arm.

"You can head back now. Remain unseen," Tycon began climbing out the window.

"What about you, Boss?"

"I think I'll watch our new 'friends' for a bit longer."