Three days of staring at arcane glyphs, and Swift still hadn’t cracked the blessing book.

  The pages stared back at him with cryptic diagrams and twisted symbols spreading across the parchment like vines. He studied, sketched, traced line after line—but the deeper he went, the more alien it felt. These weren’t just instructions. They were equations wrapped in philosophy and laced with divine logic. He felt like a goldfish trying to read Mandarin.

  He needed help. And today, fate might've dropped a name into his lap.

  Morrow.

  It was another summoning day in Crescent City which meant one thing:

  Every available gunfighter was posted to the west wall.

  The city itself, shaped like a crescent moon bent away from the land east, opened its western mouth toward Trail Forest. The forest stretched across the horizon like a great, looming tide, thick with rot and the groans of the undead. It was the only route through which the newly summoned arrived.

  And it was also where they died.

  Swift climbed the inner stairs and arrived at his assigned section of the west wall, his boots settling into familiar grooves in the stone rampart. He wore the standard city-issued gear—not his custom set. Drawing attention with his spider-silk armor wasn't part of the plan just yet.

  He’d barely leaned on the railing when a familiar voice floated to him.

  “Well look who didn’t get eaten alive.”

  Swift turned.

  Leaning casually against the battlement was Inara, her posture as lazy as the grin on her face. The MK-32-style semi-automatic grenade launcher hung from a thick leather sling across her shoulder, its multiple chambers of polished bronze. She barely looked like she was on duty.

  “You sound disappointed,” Swift replied.

  She smirked. “I mean, you told me you were going after spiders the size of dogs. What was I supposed to think?”

  “They weren’t that big,” Swift said, adjusting his stance. “More like… big cats. Still not fun, though.”

  “Huh,” she said, arching a brow. “Guess the rumors were blown out of proportion.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “A little,” he muttered. “Doesn’t mean they weren’t terrifying.”

  She grinned, clearly enjoying the mental image.

  “So, where’s this fabled gear of yours?” she asked, scanning him quickly. “I expected you to be glowing and armored like some spider knight.”

  “Didn’t bring it. No need to flaunt it. And it’s not complete yet.”

  She leaned in slightly, voice curious. “What’s missing?”

  Swift hesitated, then said, “The blessing. I need a few of them to…”

  Inara’s expression froze.

  She straightened slightly, eyes sweeping left and right.

  “Not here,” she said, her tone suddenly sharp but quiet. “Don’t say that word on the wall.”

  Swift raised a brow, surprised by her sudden shift.

  “You know about it?”

  “Yeah,” she said simply. “I’m a three-dot Sharpshooter… we hear things. But it’s not common knowledge. Not for civilians. And definitely not for anyone with loose lips.”

  They stood in silence for a beat, the wind sweeping along the wall.

  “I’ll explain later,” she said, glancing down toward the trees. “Not out here.”

  The two of them settled into their watch, scanning the distant forest line for movement. As the silence stretched, Swift found his mind wandering again.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Why five weeks between summons? And why twelve people every time?”

  Inara shrugged. “The five weeks? No clue. The twelve… the church has a theory. They say twelve times five is sixty, and since sixty percent of the continent is still covered in Corrosion, the god rations the number of souls sent until more land is reclaimed.”

  Swift had not considered a limit. “What.”

  “Seems like a neat way to explain something they don’t understand huh,” she said.

  Swift didn’t reply, but his thoughts lingered on something else: five weeks, twelve people… five statues in the Armory Tower.

  Before he could ask more, movement rippled through the tree line.

  Figures emerged.

  Running.

  “Morrow,” Swift muttered, spotting the familiar guide first.

  Behind him were recruits—newly summoned, freshly clothed, and clearly panicked. But this time, they weren’t being led peacefully.

  They were being chased.

  Corroded undead burst from the forest, snarling and twisted, fast on their heels.

  “Showtime,” Inara said, flipping her launcher around with casual precision.

  Thoomp-thoomp-thoomp.

  Three grenades launched from the MK-32 in quick succession, slamming into the forest with a series of rolling explosions kicking up dirt and flame. The shockwave sent one of the trailing recruits stumbling, but they scrambled back to their feet and kept running.

  Swift counted automatically.

  Only eight recruits.

  Twelve enter… four didn’t make it.

  His jaw tightened.

  From across the wall, a furious voice barked out.

  “INARA!”

  “What have I told you?!”

  “You don’t fire unless absolutely necessary!”

  Inara ignored it, casually checking her launcher’s cylinder. Then she leaned toward Swift and whispered:

  “Meet me at the Gray Barrel. Peak rush. Second floor.”

  Then, like smoke, she was gone—dropping down the stairs before the approaching military officer and priest could lay eyes on her.

  “Inara, get back here!” the soldier yelled.

  The priest looked equally red-faced, robes swishing as he stormed off the rampart.

  Swift stayed silent, still watching the forest as the recruits stumbled through the gates behind Morrow. The portcullis slammed shut just as another undead reached the edge of the clearing, only to be dropped by a shot from a tower sharpshooter.

  The moment the all-clear sounded, Swift turned and descended the wall.

  He had a meeting to get to.