Double-Blind: A Modern LITRPG

Chapter 295

In and out. Merchants section, Vernon, then back here. Ten minutes. Fifteen at most.

My pulse pounded in my neck as I stepped out of the gateway into the portal room. As my mind absorbed the incessant humming from the concave arrangement of magical entryways, it was a relief to find it empty. Not even Sybil was present, the woman that served as Hastur's surrogate and mouthpiece.

When I first joined the order, for the most part, people ignored me. Those out of the loop saw little more than a shady newcomer. The rare few with close ties to either Aaron or Sunny that knew Myrddin was the Ordinator gave me a wide berth. Not surprising, as I'd joined soon after the system powers that be drew the connection between the Ordinator and the mass casualty event that defined the first transposition. There were reasonable concerns that I'd snap at the first sign of confrontation, tapping into whatever god-forsaken powers I apparently had to transform the entire silo into an eldritch hellscape.

Despite the considerable bounty on my head, the smart ones stayed away. But impatience is the downfall of intellect, and eventually, the potential reward of power and escape from the dome grew too tantalizing to bear.

I'd dealt with the threats proportionally. Not equally—I'd learned quickly, in early days, if you only match what you're given, it eventually catches up in a bad way. By the same token, if the response is too devastating, you risk souring general opinion. Users here had friends, connections, people they were close to. A perfect, proportional response is one that left those friends and connections quietly shaking their heads as they visited you in the infirmary, not seething with anger and plotting vengeance. Thinking, "Damn, that sucks, but come on. You had it coming."

The real trick was making it look effortless. And that the mercy wasn't mercy at all.

For a while, it had worked. In contrast to the Order's many rules, Aaron didn't seem to care much if we fought among ourselves, fostering his old-world hedge fund philosophy of letting the strong rise to the top.

Lately, despite my best efforts, the random attacks and confrontations had gotten worse. Rumors circulated. There was too much blood in the water. And I had a feeling the members of the order would be feeling the stress of the timer as much as anyone else. Possibly more. Because unlike everyone who existed outside the order, it was common knowledge now that if you didn't want to deal with city-sized horseshit, there was one ticket out. And his name was Myrddin.

The double-security doors sequestering the portal room whooshed open to the third floor of the order's silo. Padded impacts echoed up from the half-dozen fenced-in octagons on the bottom floor, the stench of sweat mingling with cooking meat from the nearby cafeteria as dozens of conversations blended into a constant din of anxiety and paranoia.

"Well shit, y'all. The friendly neighborhood Ordinator's on deck!" someone bellowed with a raucous cackle. Conversations died as heads turned. There was plenty of wariness in their expressions, but there was something new, too. A hunger that perhaps had always been there. Difference was, no one seemed interested in hiding it.

I kept my presence small and moved at a steady, unhurried pace, not bothering to hide my disdain as I scanned faces and monitored for threats. By now I could spot the markers from a mile away. An intentional nudge, a muttered word, usually followed by some muscle head standing to his feet and moving to intercept me.

Oddly, no one made a move. There were plenty of Users around that looked scared enough to try something, but not a single one of them budged.

Elevator's got a lot of people around it. Guess that means stairs again.

The long, windowless stairwells weren't much better in terms of safety. Key difference was space. Room to maneuver. Unlike the boxed-in metal coffin of an elevator, I could do a lot with three flights of stairs.

I kept a grip on the rope in my pack, forming a plan to secure the upper door, so if there were people waiting at the bottom, I couldn't be flanked from above.

murmured, and I saw the point of a blade in my mind's eye, plummeting towards my neck.

A rogue today, huh? That's new.

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I yanked the coil of rope from my pack and tossed it straight up, the length unfurling overhead. With the momentum from the turn, I knocked the incoming blade aside, catching the throat of my attacker with my free hand, getting a good look at him for the first time. Pissed-off gray eyes stared back, perfectly coifed black hair completing a look somewhat stereotypical for the class. But there was a franticness behind the hard edge, like he'd known he was out of his element this whole time, and gone through with it anyway.

"Who put you up to this?" I scanned the cafeteria behind him. It was almost certainly someone watching nearby, possibly one of the shadowy faces whispering in the cafeteria.

"Kill yourself," the rogue spat back.

"Disappointing." I shoved him back and released my hold, narrowly dodging the flashing blade as it struck towards my neck. The rope overhead landed, Audrey's blind spirit following my instructions as one end tightened around the rogue's neck, looping around his shoulders, the other tying itself to the base of the nearby railing. "Being completely honest here, I hate shooting the messenger, but there's no time to be picky."

"Huh?" The rogue croaked, eyes widening as the noose tightened around his neck.

"Solid last words."

He made one last desperate, awkward lunge at me, and I caught him, directing my movements as I repurposed his momentum and, almost effortlessly, tossed the man over the railing.

Seconds later, the rope snapped taut.

As tempting as it was to lean over the edge for confirmation, I reminded myself that the casual callousness of the violence was the point. So instead of looking, I stuck my hands in my pockets and returned to my previous destination. The stairwell.

The door latched behind me, my own footsteps echoing off the stone walls as I murmured to Azure. "Status."

Azure's chipper voice resounded in my head. "Alive and healthy! Though delightfully convinced that he's choking to death."

"He's not though."

"Not at all," Azure chuckled. "Our mutual friend has loosened her grip, and the vines masquerading as ropes around his shoulders are bearing most of the weight. Not that anyone in the growing crowd below has made that connection. The rogue's name is Chris, if you care."

"I don't. Get anything from him?"

"Nothing telling." My summon's shadow flickered as he walked alongside me in the stairwell. "The rogue's blade is coated with a potent paralytic."

"Why paralytic and not poison?"

"As you surmised, he was strong-armed by another user. Big man upstairs towards the back of the cafeteria. Tau. Took a shot at you a few weeks ago. Once you were incapacitated, Tau intended to follow up for the kill."

I paused to think.

"You broke his legs," Azure provided.

"Right." A tattooed face came to mind. The man was built like a mountain of muscle and almost entirely absent neck. "Doesn't make sense. I remember him now—and he was scared shitless. Why the hell is he coming back for more?"

"Unknown. Largely because Tau seems to have suddenly wised to the practice of integrating mental shielding to his build," Azure said meaningfully.

"Fucking Aaron." I realized, remembering how stressed he'd seemed in my region, when he'd asked Matt to speak to Myrddin on his behalf. Turned out he wasn't just micro-managing. The strike-team's effectiveness unnerved him, and he'd gleaned more insight watching from a distance than he should have.

"My guess as well. Shall I track him down? See if I can catch him monitoring the situation?"

I weighed the options for a moment, then shook my head. "Aaron's too smart to just wait around slack-jawed. Even if he wasn’t, it doesn't tell us anything we don't already know. Monitor the surface thoughts of the people in the crowd, sift for anything valuable. Half the order will have their opinion of Myrddin front and center, and that doesn't happen every day."

"Roger that." Azure's cheerful expression melted back into a cluster of shadows on the wall, disappearing entirely.

There was a time walking through a waiting crowd—especially an angry one focused on me—would have given me no end of anxiety. Now, as I threw the stairwell door open and walked through them, placidly scanning the dozens of faces that panned me with latent hostility as they parted beneath the red-faced rogue struggling for breath, I felt little beyond tacit annoyance. All things considered, it didn't take much to intimidate them. The problem was an issue of retention.

"Ay. You gonna let him down?" someone groused, the speaker conveniently hidden by the crowd.

"Depends."

"On what? He's dying for chrissakes."

A glint of metal on the concrete ground caught my eye. Not wanting to stoop over and present an easy target, I wedged the toe of my boot beneath the hilt and kicked upward, catching the hilt. I studied it blandly. "On whether the knife he tried to stab me with is poisoned." Casually, I hurled the blade towards the hanging rogue, late application of ensuring its slow rotation hit the mark blade first. The knife hit with a thump, sticking about an inch through the rogue's calf. He emitted a strangled cry of surprise, and almost immediately began to seize, his flailing limbs stiffening almost immediately.

"Shame." I took one last look at the rogue before entering the smithery.

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