A drop of foul water fell from the cracked stone ceiling and splashed against a polished silver boot.
Trent stood in the deepest shadows of a grimy pavilion located in the illicit market sector of the City of Gods. The protective tutorial barrier would dissolve in less than twelve hours. His master ledger sat at a stagnant zero. He lacked the funds to buy morning rations for his massive vanguard and his surviving citizens were currently fleeing through the northern mountain passes. He needed a devastating weapon to cripple Ashguard before the sun rose over the valley.
The narrow alleyway smelled of sulfur and rotting fish. Standard deities avoided this hidden ward because systemic enforcers patrolled the main thoroughfares with heavy executioner swords. Trent pressed his back against a d
