Mo looked at his watch again before returning it to his pocket.

  Jack exhaled. With his [True Aim] skill and a stationary target, his odds were good. He has to die! A sick churn twisted his stomach at the prospect of killing a man in cold blood. This was different from his other kills. The rogue and the swordsman had been in self-defence. Those kills were justified; kill or be killed. But this was an execution. If he killed the mage, it was an active choice, one he could’ve avoided.

  “They should’ve left me alone.” Anger flared at being forced into the choice. I didn’t want this… I don’t want this. Sweat rolled past his temple under the mask. A rat skittered from one rubble pile to another. He didn’t move. He kept the arrow nocked but not yet drawn.

  At the sound of the rodent, the mage reached for his wand again before relaxing.

  There was a gentle breeze, and the mage was out in the open, with no obstructions. He was checking the time again; it had only been a minute since he last checked. Perfect conditions for an arrow strike from the shadows.

  I have to. For family. Drawing a steadying breath, Jack raised the bow and…

  Two men appeared on the other side of the road, striding towards the mage.

  “You’re ten minutes fucking late!” Mo snapped. He’d reached for his wand again.

  Jack froze mid-draw and held his breath. Fuck! That was close.

  One of the men stopped about fifteen feet short of the mage. The other grunted. “We had to detour to avoid the guards. Get over it.” The bald, broad-shouldered figure with a sword hanging at his side kept walking towards Mo.

  Keeping the arrow nocked, Jack eased his draw and took several steadying breaths.

  The mage scowled but didn’t reply. He opened the case resting on the broken wall. “Twenty kilos of Sylvan’s Courage. High-quality; none of the cheap shit you get from the gnomes.”

  Jack’s stomach tightened. Fucking drug dealers. He placed a second [Assassin’s Mark] on the bald-headed swordsman. Healthy, relaxed, minor armour, no protections. At level 0, [Assassin’s Mark] could be used on two people at a time and would last for one hour.

  The Kingdom of Merciar had a deep, festering rot of drugs, and Sylvan’s Courage was one of its blackest poisons. Originally crafted by elven mages, Sylvan’s Courage amplified magical potency and sharpened their understanding of spells. The cost? It nibbled away at their lifespan.

  For elves—who could afford to sacrifice a few years off their long lifespans—taken in rare, measured doses spread over centuries, the drug’s bite was subtle, almost negligible. But for other races, especially humans, the price was ruinous. It sank its claws in fast. Human mages burned through their reserves like paper to flame, addicted before they even realised they were hooked, needing ever-growing doses just to keep hold of their magic.

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  Impatient Novice Mages craved it most. Hungry for shortcuts, desperate for the prestige and power they hadn’t earned. Sylvan’s Courage could indeed deliver power in the short term… but it carved decades from a human’s life. It hollowed them out from the inside.

  Among humans, the drug had earned a far more fitting name, Wraith’s Hunger; a curse describing how its users wasted away, hollow-eyed and twitching, until they resembled the aether-starved wraiths they so feared.

  “Is he a user?” Jack whispered. If Mo was hooked on Wraith’s Hunger, it would explain how the bastard had clawed his way to Apprentice Mage in his early twenties. Most human mages didn’t reach level 25 until their mid-twenties at the earliest.

  Jack shook his head at the realisation. Only one kind of fool burned that fast. The kind who was already dying inside; this explained why he wasn’t healthy.

  The bald man grinned, tossing the mage a coin pouch without a word. The mage counted the coins, nodded once, and handed over the case. The two men turned and hurried back down the street.

  Mo secured his purse, leaned against the crumbling wall, and pulled out a thumb-sized messenger drone.

  As the mage prepared a message, Jack’s grip tightened on the bow. He glanced towards where the two drug dealers had rushed. They should be far enough away now. [Assassin’s Mark] couldn’t tell him distances, but it would indicate if the bald guy was circling back to ambush the mage. He drew back an arrow while activating [True Aim].

  One… two…

  The mage tapped a few runes on the messenger drone.

  Three… four…

  “Delivery made, heading back now,” Mo sent the message.

  Five… six…

  Jack loosed his enhanced arrow. The messenger drone sped off while the arrow slammed into the mage’s chest, piercing his right lung.

  “Ufff!” the mage gasped, staggering against the broken wall, clutching at the arrow, blood bubbling at his lips.

  Jack was already nocking another arrow. Stay calm. You’ve got him. This time, no time for a skill boost. His hands trembled from the stress as he drew back the arrow.

  The mage groaned, both hands still pressed to the arrow lodged in his chest.

  Jack took a few seconds to aim and loosed the second arrow.

  It flew and… missed by inches, cracking into the wall behind, knocking loose a small chunk of sandstone.

  Damn it. Jack’s heart hammered. He grabbed a third arrow.

  Coughing up blood, the mage’s gaze swept across the street in search of his attacker. His eyes settled on the shadows where Jack hid.

  With his heart thudding in his ears, Jack remained hidden deep in the shadows in part due to [Shadow Veil]. Despite the mage looking towards the shadows where the arrow had come from, [Assassin’s Intuition] didn’t trigger.

  Mo grimaced, fumbling for his hip to retrieve a wand. He coughed up more blood, then leaned against the wall for support and aimed into the shadows.

  With a flash of orange light, he fired… The mage’s [Fireball] shot straight into the shadows, exploding against the far wall in a burst of flame and light. The dark corner Jack had occupied lit up like daylight. A rat squeaked in panic and scurried away. Half a dozen pigeons flew from the rafters above.

  But Jack had already changed position. Three… four… And had already nocked and drawn back a third arrow, activating [True Aim].

  The mage was panicking; he charged and hurled a second [Fireball] into the dark, missing again.

  Five… six…

  Chapter 101 Nice Leather Armour