I Can Multiply My Daily Gacha by 100x

The back room was a small storeroom lined with shelves of tools. Varn pulled a rug aside and lifted a wooden trapdoor in the floor.

Underneath it was a narrow staircase leading straight down into the dark.

”Where does it go?” Dante asked.

”To the old service tunnels. They run under the entire floor.” Varn lit a lantern, ”I used them to move supplies when the guild wasn’t looking. There’s a way up to Floor 51 through a maintenance shaft, and nobody watches it.”

Dante stared at him.

”They check every single pass at the main lift,” Varn explained. ”But nobody checks the shaft. It was built for pipe work, and most people have forgotten it even exists.”

”Why are you helping me now?”

The old smith set the lantern down on the floor.

”Because a man came to my shop yesterday,” he said slowly, ”asking if I had seen a hooded stranger in the district.”

Dante’s eyes schoked ”Who?”

”A Radiant Dawn captain. A big guy with a scar on his lip. He said Marcus wanted every smith on the floor to report anyone who came in buying plain, unbranded weapons.” Varn’s mouth twisted into a bitter line. ”He gave me a gold coin to make sure I remembered. I took the coin and told him I’d keep an eye out.”

”So you took a bribe.”

”I’m telling you I lied to his face,” Varn said, meeting his eyes directly. ”I don’t take their coins to do what they ask. I take them so they leave me alone.”

Dante looked at the old man’s face for a long moment.

”Thank you,” Dante said.

”Don’t thank me yet.” Varn pulled a folded piece of paper out of his stained apron and held it out. ”I need to show you something else. It’s the real reason I locked the front door.”

Dante took the paper and opened it up.

It was a printed notice. The Radiant Dawn crest was stamped clearly at the top.

PUBLIC TRIAL AND EXECUTION

Subject: Yenna (Beast-Kin, Tracker).

Charge: Aiding the traitor Dante Grey.

Location: The Grand Arena, Floor 55.

Date: Three days from this notice.

All hunters are welcome to attend.

Dante read the words. The paper began to crumple tightly in his fist, and he didn’t even notice he was doing it.

”She’s the bait,” Varn said quietly. ”Marcus wants you to see this. He wants you to try and walk through the front gate with everyone watching. There will be a thousand guards inside that arena, and even more waiting outside.”

’Three days’, Dante thought.

The storeroom suddenly felt cold. From the next room, he could hear the forge popping softly as the fire died down.

”They put her in a cage,” Varn continued. ”A courier told me she doesn’t speak at all anymore. Elena sits right outside the bars every single night, with a knife resting on her lap.”

Dante’s hand tightened even more against the paper. The edge tore, and a thin line of wet ink smeared across his thumb.

’Yenna.’

He pictured her back in the snow, with frost coating her ears, gripping a warming potion with trembling claws and whispering I agree. He hadn’t been kind to her. He hadn’t even used her name properly. He had just called her a pet.

’She didn’t abandon me’, he thought. ’Marcus took her because of me.’

”Boy,” Varn said, his voice very gentle.

Dante lifted his head. His face was completely calm. His eyes were not.

”Which way is the shaft?” Dante asked.

Varn let out a long breath, and a faint smile pulled at his rough beard.

”This way,” the smith said. ”Take the lantern.”

He turned toward the dark stairs. Dante folded the execution notice carefully and slid it deep into his pocket. He didn’t look at it again. Then he stepped down onto the first stone stair, and the light from the lantern threw their long shadows against the wall.

Above them, in the shop, a sudden sound come from the front door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Varn froze instantly on the steps.

”Smith!” a deep, booming voice shouted from the street outside. ”Open up! Guild inspection!”

Varn looked up at Dante. Dante looked back down at the open trapdoor.

The knocking came again, much harder this time, rattling the door.

”I said open the damn door!”

”Smith! Open up! Guild inspection!”

Varn didn’t move. He stood at the top of the stairs holding the lantern, and the light shook against the wall.

”Go,” he whispered. ”I’ll keep them busy.”

”They’ll search the shop.”

”Let them. I’ve got nothing to hide but a hole in the floor.” He pushed the lantern into Dante’s hand. ”Pull the trapdoor closed behind you. Pull the rug over it. I’ll do the rest.”

”You–.”

”Boy.” The old smith’s good eye was steady. ”For twelve years I shod their horses and forged their swords. Let me do one thing for you.”

The pounding came again, hard enough to shake the wood. The door cracked. Dante nodded once and went down.

The trapdoor closed over his head. Above him, he heard the rug slide across the floor, then the bolt scrape open, then Varn’s slow, tired voice saying, ”Coming, coming. Give an old man a minute.”

Then the darkness took over, and there was only the lantern light. The tunnel was narrow and low. Dante had to duck under the pipes running along the ceiling. Water dripped somewhere ahead, and the air smelled like rust and old stone.

He walked slowly, keeping one hand on the wall. Every few steps, he stopped to listen.Above him, stamped across the shop floor. A crash of metal. Someone laughed.

”Nothing here, Captain!”

”Check the back room!”

Dante closed his eyes. ’They’ll find the trapdoor in ten minutes’, he thought. ’Less, if they’re thorough.’

He kept moving. Fifty meters in, the tunnel split. A narrow side passage turned left, and a rusty ladder rose into the dark on the right. A faded sign was painted on the wall: 51. MAINT.

Dante put his foot on the first rung.

Then he heard it.

Creak.

It came from behind him, a long way back where the stairs met the tunnel. A trapdoor lifted slowly, and a slice of lamplight fell across the wet stone.

Dante stopped. He turned his head very slightly.

A shadow moved on the wall.

’One man’, he thought. ’Not a squad.’

He took his foot off the ladder. He stepped to the side, into a dark corner where the lantern light didn’t reach, and pressed his back against the wall. Then he set his lantern down, blew it out, and let the dark close around him.

The footsteps were slow . A big man, carrying weight, breathing hard through his nose. Every few steps, there was a small metal sound.

”Come out,” a deep voice said, sounding almost sweet. ”I know you’re down here.”

”I saw the smith’s face when I knocked,” the voice went on. ”He was too calm. Old men who have nothing to hide are afraid of the guild. Old men who do have something to hide get brave.”

The light came closer. Dante saw him now. A big man with a scar across his upper lip, wearing a captain’s cape. He held a short sword in his right hand. In his left was the lamp. A small crystal bead hung at his ear, and it was dark.

’No signal’ , Dante thought. ’He hasn’t called anyone yet.’

”You’re thinking I’ll call it in,” the captain said, as if he could read Dante’s mind. He stopped ten steps away and tilted his head. ”I won’t. Do you know why?”

”Because five hundred million is a lot of money, and I don’t like to share.” He grinned. ”I was going to take the smith in for questioning. But when I saw the back room, I thought, why not follow whoever’s hiding in the floor? If it’s what I think it is, I won’t have to split it with the squad.”

[Open Profile]

[Name: Brann Kessel.]

[True Rank: A-Rank.]

[Summary: Radiant Dawn captain, Interrogation Division. Known for his work in the lower cells.]

[Heart Reading]

Greed: 88

Cruelty: 72

Loyalty to Marcus: 64

Fear: 0

Killing Intent: 40

[Dominant Feeling: Hunger.]

[Intent: Find the hidden target. Take the reward alone.]

’Interrogation Division ’, Dante thought.

His fingers curled.

The captain took another step. ”Come on. Don’t make me search every pipe.”

”You work in the cells,” Dante said.

The big man stopped. The voice had come out of the dark, calm and it wasn’t what he expected. He raised the lamp. The light fell on the pipes and the wet stone, but it missed the corner.

”Well,” Brann said slowly. ”Aren’t you a polite one.”

”The cells on Floor 55.”

”Some of them.” His smile widened. ”Why?”

”A cat-kin girl. Beast-kin. Black ears.”

After a short pause –

”Oh,” Brann said, and he laughed, low and warm. ”Her. The tracker. Everyone’s asking about that one. She’s famous now.” He swung the lamp lazily from side to side. ”What’s your interest? Are you a relative? A friend?”

”Is she alive?” Dante asked.