With an elbow on the chair’s back, Laird peered at the spot under which the bishop had disappeared. The soil was still loamy and a little depressed, darkened by the glistening patches of blood that were left. Miles caught Laird throwing the witch a wary look, and he could understand why. While Hazel’s attack had been delivered through seemingly mundane roots, they were anything but. Laden with magic and her debilitating curses, they would have pierced the bishop’s soul just as easily as his heart, and while the man might have survived his physical heart being damaged with immediate care, the fact that he got hit by both had sealed his fate. Especially considering no one had run to his rescue.

  With a sigh, Laird turned back to face the table, while his companion continued to stare at Miles, only occasionally glancing at Hazel who had created herself yet another chair on which she lounged, watching them with a half smile on her lips.

  “He was no easy company, I can tell you that,” Laird said, rubbing his scruffy chin before a rueful look entered his eyes. “But I do wish you’d given us time to validate the job completion before you killed him.”

  Miles raised a brow at that. Laird was a middle-aged man with dark skin and long, braided hair that glittered with golden braid-cuffs. He smiled easily, was quick to joke, and Miles strongly believed that the man in front of him could easily be the life of any party or social setting if he so liked. The kind that happened in a moderately noisy and warm tavern around a busy—but not too busy—table.

  Under that lens, it was easy to forget that he worked for a ruthless, underground organization that not even the Registry had managed to stamp down. One that made the Umbral Choir—the Shadow-exclusive organization that could topple guilds and end bloodlines—seem tame in comparison. Mainly due to the former not having any restrictions or limitations, unlike the state-sanctioned Choir. Whatever you needed done, be it kidnapping a pet, rescue some lost delvers, or burn a waystation settlement until nothing but char and molten rock was left was on the table, so long as you could stomach the cost. Anything was negotiable and because of that, the Exchange had been involved in some pretty heroic and valiant stories, but they weren’t often spoken of. Because they had also been involved in just as many—if not more—atrocities that made their name almost taboo. Miles had often steered clear of them through his loops, having quickly found that it was nearly impossible to snoop on them without getting knifed, but here they were, sitting at his table. Offering answers and questions of their own.

  Whatever would come out of this discussion, he had to be delicate. Just like the Registry, the Exchange had deep roots and a wide, wide, reach, existing in nearly every major settlement, waystation, and country across both the Dungeon and the surface. He could survive them with his loops, and they were thankfully almost always neutral. But just like the hegemonic Registry with its countless agents, they could make his life miserable if they really put their backs into it.

  Glancing past the man and where the bishop had disappeared, Miles raised a brow. “I’m assuming you have other ways to confirm the attempts have been made. I’d like to move on from the Church useless flailing. They’re the least interesting part of what we got to discuss, though I wouldn’t mind knowing how they got involved. I’m not surprised the Exchange learned of my movement. But the Church?”

  Miles swept his gaze from the spearman to the saber-wielding agent. Unlike her companion, his words only made her blink, as if he’d just commented about the grain of the table. In contrast with Laird, Anya was a shorter woman with a buzz-cut and steely-gray eyes who, from the looks of things, could not care less about what was being discussed. Or she was really good at hiding it. She was much more interested in studying Hazel, her gray eyes flitting toward the witch every so often. Miles was pretty sure the witch’s quiet staring was messing with them, but he was fine with that. He wanted them to be a little on edge. Even though she was lower-tier that either of them, how easily she had dispatched the bishop had an effect on them, which likely compounded with everyone’s first experience with the witch on the 10th.

  After all, she was the boss that broke the most delvers. A rite of passage that either tempered one’s resolve or shattered it.

  Miles returned his attention to Laird, who waved his first question away. “Nah, we can confirm it just fine. It’s a little annoying without him, but we have other means. Would you like a drink?”

  A battery of truth-enforced questions, most likely, Miles surmised as he shook his head, to which Laird shrugged and pulled himself a bottle and short glass. A truth-enforced interview was generally the method to confirm completion of important assignments, but it heavily relied on the quality of the casters and formations available, which didn’t come about easily or cheaply. An organization as rich and powerful as the Exchange would likely have its own access to such.

  Offering it to Anya, Laird continued, while the former just gave him one shake of her head.

  “As for the how of it, well, without giving away too much of the operation, we—me and Anya here—were already on standby since your flashy exit. Your name was already listed for potential recruitment, so we just stuck around to confirm we had the right person before we moved. Once we heard the Registry’s making a move for you as well, we were ordered out and that fellow came along. Like a … test of some sort. A first interview. And trust me, they’re the least threatening bid on your life.”

  That made him blink.

  “An… interesting recruitment strategy,” he said after a second. He’d heard of some difficult tests to join certain organizations, but surviving a hit? You didn’t see that everyday. Though by the duo’s reaction, it was as mundane as they come.

  Anya just stared at him, a barely visible frown on her face as if he’d just said something particularly nonsensical, while Laird just grinned and shrugged, unrepentant. “Well, if you can’t survive this little attempt, then what’s the point of recruiting you? And did you survive.”

  “Okay then,” Miles said, interlacing his fingers in front of him with a nod. “That clears up a couple of things. I’d like to ask a few more questions, but let me hear your offer first.”

  Miles still wanted to know about the fourth person still hidden back in the tunnel, as well as what they’d used to ambush him in the last loop. Laird was likely not going to give that up easily, but Miles didn’t need to rush him. Starting him with some easy questions would be more productive. Leaning forward, Laird dipped his chin.

  “Alright. To business, then,” said the spearman. “For starters, the Exchange has two offers for you,” he said as he raised two fingers before ticking the first one down. “The first offer is you join us. You get your picks of the jobs we’ve got, no strings attached. You pick what kind of work you’re interested in. Be it rescue missions, snooping around, or even some exploring. We start you up with a contract of a year, see how you like it and if at the end of the year you’d rather strike on your own, then you’re free to leave. That’s how confident the higher ups are in winning you over, by the way. It’s not every day that they get to woo a Blessed delver. Much less a triple-Blessed one? I’m pretty sure that thing you did with my own spear is no simple Skill.”

  Here comes the fishing for details, Miles thought with a smile while Laird continued, leaning forward as if he was telling Miles a big secret. “I don’t frequently have my skills thrown back at me, believe it or not. One fellow managed it once, but that was thanks to a soulbound shield. Funny how both of you had one of those,” the man said, straightening back.

  Miles mirrored the man, and leaned back against his own chair as he crossed his arms. This was the trick with clashing against high-tier delvers. They were sharp, and they had the experience to back it up. Of course they’d notice a couple of things after they’d fought, and Miles was pretty sure they hadn’t used everything. They must have their own hidden skills, but they had chosen to keep them close to the chest, which told him that even though they did manage to get the drop on him in the earlier loop, they weren’t here to really kill him and to them, he must seem amateurish, having revealed so much of his own fighting style. But Miles hadn’t lost much, all in all. He just had to not display as many Skills in the last loop, even if they ended up fighting. At the end of the day, he was out a couple of potions and two handfuls of Whitebite caltrops, which he could make more of on his downtime. He still had gallons of Rime Basilisk blood stored, so he wasn’t running out anytime soon.

  But before he could respond to Laird, Anya tapped a finger on the edge of the table, and Miles found her staring at him. “Four,” she said, matter-of-fact. Her voice was quiet, but somehow perfectly audible and as she spoke, her voice grew more intense. “I’ve cut Epic-Skills before, and I know my Skill hadn’t been dispelled or countered. You captured it. I sensed it. How? Can you re-summon it? Can you use it yourself?”

  By the time she finished, she was almost leaning forward, and Miles could feel her attention settle on him like the gaze of a particularly curious owl. It wasn’t anything malicious and he was pretty sure it wasn’t even on purpose, but it seemed that the subject was much more interesting to her than negotiations. But they were seeking answers from him. And that he could always use.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “I don’t mind talking shop,” he began, palms spread out as he sheepishly shrugged at them. “But if you want me to reveal some of my secrets, I’d like to hear some of yours. Specifically about those… distracting formations you guys used for your ambush,” Miles said, nodding toward the exit. He knew this could be a skill and not a formation, but he didn’t need to reveal he knew about the fourth individual just yet.

  Laird raised a brow for a moment before his gaze flicked toward his companion who just shrugged impatiently. Miles was pretty sure she didn’t care about anything they might reveal so long as she got the answers she was looking for.

  “That seems fair enough. You go first,” said Laird, and Miles smiled. There was no reason for him not to. If Laird short-changed him on the answer, then Miles would keep that in mind for next time.

  “For what you mentioned, I used two Skills,” Miles said, raised two fingers. “One sends attacks back, one captures anything sent my way. One’s Transcendent. One’s Legendary. As for you launched Skill,” Miles said, glancing to Anya as he dipped a hand into a fold of space before retrieving a little cube and putting on the table, “here it is.”

  Anya leaned forward and stared at the blue-glowing cube and at the silvery arc of cutting magic glowing within.

  “Can I?” she asked, not even looking up at him, to which Miles shrugged. She picked it up and began examining the stasis-captured Skill while Laird just let out a whistle. “So… that makes it four blessings,” Laird said, eyes glinting as they stared at the cube. “Two bound-items, and two special-grade Skills.”

  Miles considered it for a moment, then he shook his head. He was playing the honesty card, so he might as well go all the way, especially if they knew more about him than they were letting on, which he was pretty sure of. “You’re off. I have four bound items. The mask is one, and so is this,” he said, summoning the cauldron, which made Anya put the cube on the table, though she didn’t let go of it. Laird sucked in a breath, but Miles wasn’t done, and the next words had his jaw drop. “As for Skills, I got 3 Transcendent, 1 Legendary, and one you likely can’t hear because it’s Sealed Knowledge. So let’s call that nine blessings in total?”

  Technically, it was eleven blessing, but he wasn’t mentioning the Custodial Key or his second Custodial Skill. Not yet.

  Miles smiled calmly as the two agents stared at him as if he’d just grown a second head. He’d give them a second. He knew how outlandish his claim sounded, but having more than one or two blessings wasn’t unheard of. One either had to be incredibly and obscenely rich and lucky, or be a completely suicidal idiot that’d jump head-first into lethal challenges, whether that came in the form of powered-up Hazels or challenge rifts.

  Miles happened to be a bit of both. He couldn’t really call himself lucky, but rich? Sure. Suicidal? Absolutely, though thankfully, that didn’t stick. He could walk it off.

  Laird’s face shifted from stupefaction to disbelief then went all the way back to bewilderment, while Anya only frowned for a moment before she leaned back, stunned, but she didn’t seem to doubt him. Glancing down at the cube that held her launched skill, she let go of it, and the corners of her lips quirked up.

  “That… can’t be,” managed Laird after a moment, now a frown marring his expression. “I mean—how? The timeline makes no sense…”

  Miles tilted his head and grinned. That might be the first slip up he’d noticed. “What timeline? Mine?”

  Laird’s mouth snapped shut, but that only made Miles chuckle. “Oh come, now. I know you guys did your homework. Or you copied yours from the Registry. But do you see how much I just revealed to you? I went first, just like you asked. Now I’d appreciate some answers.”

  For a moment, it looked like Laird had swallowed a lemon, while Anya was suddenly very interested in the conversation. Still, Miles didn’t rush. He just gave them both time to sit in the quiet, damp cave and waited. After a few seconds, Laird’s shoulders relaxed, and he let out a long sigh before pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “This… this is a bit more complicated than I expected,” he finally said. Then straightening up, he gave Miles a sharp, re-assessing look. “Alright. I appreciate how… honest you are with us and clearly, there’s an angle here for you. But no matter how I turn this around, I don’t see why you’d say so much aside from either be willing to work with us or if you intend on killing us right here and now and honestly? I think you might be capable of that. I guess we’ll see. Still, you know I can’t just reveal everything, no matter how nice of a rapport we’re having. So let me finish the pitch first. You’ll get your answers. As many as I can provide. But this has gone off the rails, so let me finish my pitch.”

  Reaching for his bottle, Laird gulped nearly half of it over the course of a couple of seconds before he let out a sigh and straightened up.

  “I don’t know why I’m even bothering,” he muttered before he looked up. “The second option the Exchange is offering is that you continue on your path to joining the Registry and, we keep being friends. To be negotiated with someone higher up the chain as I’m not dealing with this, but… yeah.”

  Laird was not having a good time, Miles thought. Still, he raised a brow at how… blatantly honest the offer was. “That’s forward. You want a double-agent in the Registry’s employ.”

  That wasn’t a question. He knew they must have had contacts already, after all, that must how they—or whomever they were working with—had managed to time the ambush just in time for his passing. Maybe they were betting on him rising high enough to be of a value to them, though they might have underestimated him a little.

  Laird rubbed the back of his neck, wincing. “We’ll need to reevaluate the offer considering the bomb you just dropped on us, but more friends in different organizations couldn’t hurt. The Registry isn’t the easiest to infiltrate, not at the top level, anyway. We wouldn’t ask much from you, just the occasional tip or consultation. You’d always be generously compensated, and you’d have access to our side of the intel as well. You’d be basically benefiting from two large organizations without needing to dedicate yourself to either. At least, that was the initial pitch. It might be a bit better or a bit worse now, considering…” he trailed off, waving at the cauldron.

  Miles raised a brow, following his gaze. “… that I’d attract too much attention.”

  Laird pursed his lips. “Yeah. That.”

  Miles threw Hazel a look, and found her giving him the “I told you so” face, which was here looking up at him from right below her brow, and he rolled his eyes at her. Yet another offer was on his table, clamoring for his time and attention while he only wanted to plant some trees, harvest some fruits, and sell some pastries. She’d told him he wouldn’t have his peace and he hadn’t denied it, but he hadn’t expected this much attention so fast.

  This was why he wanted to keep a low profile. Because as a solo-delver, there was no escaping the factions’ attention and the more he got involved with them, the clearer his abilities would and the more he’d get embroiled in their politics. That was why he was considering using the Registry as a shield and doing some odd and end jobs for them so they’d leave him alone.

  So long as I’m solo…

  Miles hummed, tilting his chair back as he eyed the duo in front of him for a moment before he shook his head. Anya was back to her neutral self, but he could see Laird watching him, his smile a little less prominent. The man was wary, and Miles recalled what the spearman had said before he’d made his second pitch.

  Laird suspected Miles had revealed his secrets because he intended on killing them once he learned what he wanted, which, while not technically wrong as it will be as if this conversation had never happened, would not help Miles get answers. He wanted them to be aware of what they were dealing with, but he didn’t need them to be desperate. He didn’t need them to close up.

  “I’m not going to harm you, Laird. I’m willing to come in and talk with your people, wherever that would be. Genuinely. I gave you that information to save us all the hassle and if we’re to work together, this isn’t anything that you wouldn’t eventually find out anyway. I’m willing to swear on it, if you’ve got an oath stone,” Miles said, which finally managed to squeeze some hope out of the spearman. “But now’s your turn. I’ve waited long enough,” Miles stated and this time, he did put some steel in his voice. “Three questions: the ambush prep, what you know about me, and what was the plan with the surface,” Miles listed. That was what he needed to learn and as parting words, he’d check on the fourth individual. But right as he finished speaking, the barest hint of a cringe marred Laird’s feature, which made Miles pause, especially when he noted Anya glanced toward her partner who now looked as if he was sitting on a particularly hard chair.

  “One of those he’s not that excited about,” chimed in Hazel, putting into words what Miles was seeing, which made Laird’s eyes twitch.

  Miles just waited quietly. The seconds dragged on, filling the air with the heavy silence until Laird finally spoke. “I will explain everything. But before I begin, I want this to be clear, we’re not the only unit who’s been sent to contact you. The higher-ups, just like the Registry, are insistent on talking. And I don’t believe things would have reached this point, but another team was supposed to ensure that your allies—those you and the Inquisitor have shown interest in—were watched and observed.”

  The next few quiet seconds were even heavier than those which had come before.

  “So… leverage,” Miles summarized, his smile gone and to that, Laird pressed his lips, then nodded. Miles stared at him for a few more moments, fingers tapping the edge of the table. “Alright. Start talking. Leave nothing out.”

  Recognizing that the balance was off, the Exchange’s agent could do nothing but try and restore the scale. So he started talking, and Miles finally learned the extent of the Registry’s knowledge about him and by extension, the Exchange.

  Suffice it to say, there were a lot more eyes on the surface than he had expected.