6 Special Ability

The angelic-faced boy was a bit taller than Tycon. He wore adventurer leathers and a metal breastplate. On his side was a longsword, longer and heavier what Tycon used.

But what had impressed Tycon the most, was that Wroe was very adept at wielding the bucket and mop.

He swept his fair blue hair aside and worked the blooded stone floor with a smile.

Though Tycon did not consider himself a particularly good judge of attractiveness, he held the suspicion that this boy was, in fact, prettier than he was.

The System saw fit to display the boy's name, transparent, above his head. Wroe. Its color was green, denoting he was an ally. And from the fact that Wroe also called him Boss, Tycon felt comfortable ordering him around...

Even if, at his command, dozens of ghostly spectral hands would emerge from a ceiling to crunch on human flesh.

Tycon somehow doubted that that was the strangest thing he'd ever seen.

"Mister Wroe, have you found any new information?" Tycon asked. He prayed that this party member would be more informative than Dragan or the horse.

"Yes, I have, Boss. The local power around town is a Baron of House Tavor. He lives in a manor at the town's outskirts."

"Common knowledge, thus far. I pray you have more."

Tycon didn't actually know that information, but it didn't seem impressive in the least.

The angel laughed at Tycon's annoyance, still mopping systematically, "Lots of bad stuff. Extortion. Blackmail. Child abduction."

"Lots of guards?"

"Yep."

"Is he wealthy?"

"Yep."

"Would it be... Hm, how do I phrase this... Do you think the group would be, uh... averse? To killing the Baron and say... Everyone inside the manor?"

"Hmmmm…" Wroe rested on the mop handle, "I'd rather not kill *everyone.* But I doubt that anyone else in Guild Invictus would have a problem with it."

Tycon nodded in thought. It seemed that he led a group of psychopaths.

...He would just do as he liked, without thinking too much on it. He looked away from Wroe, at Barza's snoring and unconscious form.

Wroe followed Tycon's gaze and gasped with a realization, "What are we going to do about that Barza guy, Boss? Can we trust him?"

Tycon shrugged as he took a damp cloth to his bloodied boots, "I'm sure he's fine. I have a trick-- a special ability, if you will... If I stare at someone for long enough, I'll eventually get the answer I want."

…

Near a half-bell had passed before Barza woke up, smelling of vomit and a stable.

"Where… Where am I?"

"Ah, so you've awoken, Mister Barza."

Tycon passed Barza a flask of water and indicated that he sit up and drink.

"Sir Tycondrius. I… Apologize."

Barza's lip quivered, seeing Tycon merely smile in response. The taller man with the blue hair, Wroe, stood nearby, looking amused.

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Barza desperately wished he could dismiss the entire evening as a nightmare. Blood was no longer splattered on the walls. Strange ghost-hands were no longer dangling from the ceiling. But... he still reeked of urine. The taste of vomit was still fresh in his mouth. He could tell that blood was mopped up from the hard floor and a bit of straw had been scattered where he remembered his companions had been piled up.

But the worst evidence he could not deny was the neatly collected pile of swords, daggers, and other effects from Denman, Kevand, and his other former companions.

Barza bowed deeply in front of Tycon, "I... I vow never to let tonight's events leave my lips."

As a response, Tycon only smiled once more. The pressure from the silence was oppressive enough to buckle Barza's knees and send ice-cold chills down his back. The cold evening chill had transformed into an impossibly frozen wasteland of regret.

Barza fell to his knees with a painful bang and pressed his head to the freshly-mopped, pine-scented stone. He gulped in fear as he fumbled to find the words, "I... Barza Keith... Would serve my lord, if he would... have me."

Barza looked up fearfully, to see the noble's reaction. Tycon was smiling lightly, causing Barza's emotions to jump and his heart to pound. This was his chance to never be poor again! "I don't even have to be paid much, my lord, I can just--"

Tycon's eyes narrowed, turning into a threatening glare. Barza's heart fell into the deepest depths of his stomach and he could feel heat stinging the corners of his eyes. He was going to cry in front of his new employer.

"I'll even work without pay, my lord! I don't need it!"

A cunning smile had returned to Tycon's face, "Very well. Welcome to Guild Invictus, Mister Barza."

Wroe turned away, trying to suppress his laughter.