Raith sincerely and quite vehemently denied being a thief. Never mind that he was currently alighting on the roof of a mansion he intended to enter illegally. Nor the fact that one of his three classes was [Thief]. Pure semantics. He intended only to enter quietly while the household was out enjoying the festival, quickly read a book, then be on his way with no one the wiser.

  By definition, a thief stole things. As he had never stolen a single copper from anyone: not a thief.

  Looking intently into the windows of nearby buildings, he saw no nosy neighbors peering back to witness the harmless visit. With luck, [Lesser Stealth] would subtly divert any stray glances from the street level as he carefully lowered himself over the edge of the roof and onto a second story window sill.

  Toes gripping the narrow sill and one hand pressed firmly into the eaves above, he tried to raise the window and found it locked from the inside. Cursing, he activated [Distinguished Guest] and heard the window unlatch, the click muted through thick glass. He had been hoping to save the skill for anything that may need unlocking on the inside. With a one hour cooldown, he’d have to attempt any locks inside with his lockpicks or risk staying too long.

  He eased through the window and quietly closed it behind him to avoid the attention leaving it open might attract. Turning around, Raith simultaneously observed two things.

  First, that he found himself in an extravagantly decorated bedroom. A large, and rather lewd painting adorned one wall. Presumably depicting the owner of this residence and some…friends. A bar lined the wall near a sumptuous couch and chairs in the sitting area by the fireplace, and an enormous bed took up one side of the room. Despite Beckhaven’s famous sobriquet as the City of Threads, Raith was no expert on fabrics. But even he could tell these sheets were of some rare magical variety. Probably more comfortable than he could imagine. Looking back at the painting, he suspected they might also have other, less savory, qualities.

  The second thing he noticed was that an extraordinarily ugly man was standing beside the dresser. He was shoveling handfuls of shiny objects from an open jewelry box into his bag. His bald head sat directly on his shoulders, giving mind to a thumb. A light scar that healing salves couldn’t quite fix cut diagonally across the man’s face. He wore drab, unassuming clothes. The man matched Raith’s height at around six feet, but despite the pot belly, muscles bulked his frame considerably more than Raith’s lean athleticism. He also sounded irritated, but well short of angry as he spoke.

  “Oi, piss off. I cleared this job with the Guild. Find your own.” He rested the shoveling hand on a dagger at his hip, but didn’t draw it or set down the bag of loot.

  “What guild?”

  “The Thieves Guild, you nit. What else?”

  “I’m not a part of the Thieves Guild, sir.”

  “If you’re thieving in this city without leave from the Guild, we have encountered a second problem in the very brief time since our meeting. That does not bode well at all, my young friend.” He drew the dagger and placed his spoils carefully on the ground without taking his eyes off Raith.

  “Wait. Please.” Raith held out both hands to show they were empty and turned in a slow circle. “As you can see, I have no weapons. This is a simple misunderstanding. I’m not here to steal anything. There’s a book here I’d like to take a quick peek inside and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  The man frowned and ran a calloused hand over his very bald head.

  “You seem to be under the misapprehension that because I won’t be winning any beauty contests, I must be dull. Not a thief? I watched you break in here with me own two eyes. You think I don’t know a [Thief Skill] when I see one? Either that or you're a mage, and you don’t look like a mage to me. Are you a mage, lad?”

  The temptation to turn around run was growing stronger by the second. Given his age, the man in front of him was at least twice braided, since nearly everyone made it that far. Or, if he was very unlucky fourth, although few people were driven enough to make that far.

  Raith still hadn’t braided his classes, and that alone put him at a huge disadvantage if it came to a fight. If this guy had focused on a combat class along with the [Rogue] then Raith wouldn’t stand a chance.

  “No sir. I am not a mage, but I’m not a thief either. Please, I really don’t want trouble.”

  “I don’t imagine you do. As luck would have it, there’s a simple way for you to avoid one. See, I need to bring you back to the Guild so they can decide how you’ll pay for this little infraction. Don’t you worry, they’ll likely just have you work it off. With skills like yours, it shouldn’t take long.”

  Gesturing to a chair with the point of his dagger, he continued.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Have a nice sit down right there, and I’ll tie you up until I’m finished. You won’t be hurt so long as you do as I say.”

  For ten long months, Raith had been on a desperate hunt, maxed out on all three classes while he sought the perfect patterns to braid. The specific [Skill] he sought was so close he could taste it. If he failed now, he wouldn’t get another chance. When the homeowner found he’d been robbed there would be no returning after the inevitable security hike

  Gritting his teeth, Raith reached down to the clasp at his waist.

  This is stupid. I can’t do this.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, sir. I really need to get to that book.”

  “Have it your way. Since you’re such a polite lad, I will endeavor to do this without ending your life.”

  The man darted forward, closing the distance between them almost too quickly to react. The dagger lashed out in a blur, but Raith was able to fire off [Lesser Evasion] and spring backwards. His calves whacked into something in midair, and he found himself tumbling over the couch like a sack of potatoes.

  The rug did very little to cushion the blow of his head bouncing off the floor. He managed to roll back onto his feet, vigorously rubbing the back of his head. At least he now had the couch and a comfortable distance between him and the thief.

  The ugly man took a moment to chuckle at Raith’s inelegant display.

  The man had a much better speed skill than him. Probably [Greater Speed] to his [Lesser Speed]. But that dagger swipe showed that the thief definitely did not have a combat class. [Lesser Evasion] would not have so easily avoided an attack from a thrice-braided warrior.

  This may be hard, but not impossible.

  With a quick, practiced movement, he unclasped the rope dart at his waist. [Exigent Offense] lent uncanny speed to the draw. It uncoiled in one fluid motion, instantly gaining enough momentum to send the dart flashing towards his opponent.

  Having believed Raith unarmed, the thief didn’t even try to dodge as the dart speared right through the top of his foot into the floor. The man howled in pain as Raith retracted the dart, keeping it spinning close to his body and tension coiled behind his waist. A measure of relief came with knowing he had just removed his opponent’s speed advantage.

  Pretty sure foot blood just spun onto my face. Gross.

  “I knew you looked familiar,” the thief said with a trace of pain in voice. “I thought it was from the Guild, but no. You're that dirty cheating net who plays on the skirmisher team for the rich kids’ district.”

  Just my luck. Nobody watches bottom tier skirmisher matches. Half a million people in this city and I run into the one thief who's a skirmishers fan.

  “You’re thinking of the nobles and merchants in the First District. The Huecrafter’s District is just...well, normal I guess.”

  “You're all rich to me. And still a cheater, anyway.”

  The man shuffled sideways at a limp as he spoke, trying to maneuver so the couch was no longer between them.

  “The rules state a net may use up to forty feet of unenchanted rope. The configuration is not specified. Just because everyone shapes it into a net doesn't mean you're required to.”

  He spun the rope dart in a tight circle at his side, maintaining its deadly momentum as they danced around the couch.

  “No need to get defensive, lad. I've got no problem with cheaters. I dare say I've bent the rules myself a time or two.”

  The man grinned, and with his off-hand flung a small pouch at Raith’s head while rushing forwards.

  Without thinking, Raith cast his dart towards the bag. On impact, the missile exploded into a cloud of red powder that instantly got in his eyes and lungs, burning like crazy. He rapidly blinked, trying to work up enough moisture to wash away the burning powder with no success.

  [Life in Staccato]

  The world froze upon using the [Divine Skill] that had been both his blessing and his curse. The pain in his lungs and eyes vanished. A cloud of pepper powder sat motionless in the air. The ugly thief’s eyes were peeled comically wide in surprise as he entered the cloud that had exploded much closer than expected. The man’s dagger was held close to his side, prepared to thrust when he got into range.

  Only Raith’s mind remained unfettered. Although his body was just as suspended in time as the world around him, he had as long as he needed to observe the scene in front of his eyes and think. The world became a perfect painting that his mental self could examine in every detail at his leisure.

  That was stupid. I should have paused the instant he threw it, instead of reacting instinctively. At least it didn’t explode on my face. This is way scarier than sparring with dad or my brothers.

  Ok, maybe not scarier than Nyhm.

  His weapons instructors had taught him to carefully visualize exactly what the body will do before executing a plan whenever there was enough time. And he always had enough time.

  The plan. I need to sidestep immediately and pivot my swing to entangle his legs. If I’m lucky, he’ll fall face first into that stone fireplace and I won’t get stabbed.

  He hesitated another moment before releasing the skill. Returning to the pain of that damn burning powder was going to be unpleasant, but he steeled himself and set the world back into motion.

  The thief swore as he was momentarily blinded, belatedly throwing an arm over his eyes. Coughing uncontrollably, Raith quickly pivoted to the side while angling the spinning rope at the charging man’s legs. The strategy was successful. Mostly.

  As the thief sprawled forwards with tangled feet, Raith realized there wasn’t enough slack in the rope. Nor had he properly braced himself, and the momentum of the larger man yanked him along for the ride.

  The thief’s elbow caught the arm of a chair on the way down and he yelped in pain. The dagger clattering away was music to Raith’s ears. Both men tumbled to the ground, hacking and snotting all over each other.

  The thief was much more agile than his size would let on. He tried twisting around to grab Raith. Thankfully, the man was no grappler, and Raith had quite of bit of training at inside fighting from his brother. He maneuvered away from the grasping hands, snatching back his dart and quickly pressing into the thief’s neck.

  “I yield!” The ugly man managed between coughs.

  Checking to make sure he hadn’t sprung any holes that were masked by the battle rush, he breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

  Weaver’s tits, that was close.

  Embarrassed to find his hand shaking with fear and unspent adrenaline, Raith gestured at the chair behind the coughing thief.

  “Your turn. Have a seat right there. If you don’t give me a hard time, I’ll find us both some water after I tie you up.”