They reached the fishing village of Gulfway within the hour, entering the main thoroughfare of a community built in Belmora's architectural style—stucco walls with red-tiled roofs on a modest scale. Aside from the church with its spire rising above the rooflines, no building exceeded two stories.

The village followed the curve of the shoreline toward the northeast, where wooden docks extended into calm waters. About a dozen skiffs bobbed at anchor, their sails furled. Despite the early afternoon hour, Justin could see fishermen returning with the day's catch, their boats riding low in the water with laden nets.

Tiffany led them to one of these vessels. A sun-bronzed man with powerful forearms and a weathered face straightened at their approach. Two younger versions of the man—his sons—rose with him, both curious about the armored Templar and her party.

"Welcome, Madam Paladin," the fisherman said. "The usual?"

Tiffany nodded. "With all speed."

The man's face creased with consideration. "If we set out now, we'll make it before evening. Weather's fair, and if Ole Will can't read these waters after forty years as a sailor, he doesn't deserve the name." He glanced at his sons. "Get the sail ready, lads. We've passengers paying good coin."

A few silver coins changed hands—more than Justin expected for a ferry. Tiffany counted them out without hesitation.

Justin boarded the skiff, which bore the name Will's Fortune on its hull in blue runes. He headed for the bow, careful not to disturb the coiled ropes and fishing nets stacked there. The boat creaked beneath his boots, and the smell of fish, salt, and wood filled his nostrils.

Myrelle joined him at the rail, standing close enough that her shoulder nearly touched his. The fisherman's sons cast glances her way, clearly noting her dress and features—so out of place on a fishing boat that they seemed unable to look away. But surprisingly, their gazes hung on Justin, too, and they whispered to each other as if recognizing him.

A sharp word from their father sent them scrambling to unfurl the sail and prepare the lines.

Myrelle's nose wrinkled slightly as a pungent breeze wafted from the hold.

"Not the usual environment you find yourself in?" Justin asked.

"It is not my usual sojourn, that's for sure," she admitted, though her tone held amusement rather than complaint. "But it's what I signed up for, isn't it?"

"This is where Immaculate Presentation comes in handy," Justin said. "No matter how much fish stink gets on you, you'll step off this boat looking fresh."

"Worth the boon slot for certain," she agreed.

They fell into silence as the boat sped away from the shore, its sail billowing with the spring breeze. The late morning sky held no trace of clouds.

Morning drifted into afternoon, and afternoon into evening. They'd been on the water for nearly seven hours—plenty of time for Justin to check his Living Ledger, for Myrelle to doze against the rail, and for even Alistair to seem almost relaxed. The rocking of the boat, combined with the splash of waves against the hull, created a meditative atmosphere.

Justin could make out a rough shoreline in the distance, gradually revealing a stretch of rocky land. He assumed this to be the Aether Hills, which jutted southward to separate the Golden Gulf from the Middle Ocean beyond. It extended as far as the eye could see toward the south.

True to Will's word, they were drawing into a narrow inlet as the shadows deepened and the sun touched the horizon behind them. The fisherman's posture changed—he became more alert, his eyes scanning the water ahead. Justin noticed why: unpredictable currents swirled around jagged stands of rock rising from the waves like teeth waiting to catch unwary hulls.

Justin glanced at Eldrin, his barometer for danger. The Field Synthesist had also grown more alert, one hand resting on his bow, body coiled and ready to move.

"What is it?" Justin asked quietly.

"I'm not sure." Eldrin's voice was troubled. "Something feels wrong. Not immediate danger, but..." He shook his head. "Like we're being watched."

Alistair's hand moved to his war hammer. "My Paladin Sense detects no evil nearby."

"Nor mine," Tiffany said.

"Hmm," Eldrin murmured, never breaking his gaze.

As they rounded a cliff face, the inlet opened into a straightaway that ended at a strip of beach. Stone stairs had been carved into the cliff, zigzagging upward and disappearing over the edge.

But what caught Justin's attention was the vessel anchored perhaps thirty yards from shore.

A carrack rode the swells; it would be impossible to reach the shore without passing within fifty yards of it on either side. Lamplight glowed from portholes below deck, and Justin could see the silhouettes of men and Varkiss moving about with purpose. A flag bearing a White Rose on a field of blue snapped in the evening breeze.

"Pirates," Tiffany said, joining Justin and Myrelle at the bow. Her hand moved to rest on her sword hilt. "Flying the colors of Tanitz."

"Pirates?" Justin studied the carrack's position with a frown. "How do you know?"

"No flagged vessel, even from Tanitz, would be anchored in this cove," Tiffany continued, her eyes never leaving the carrack. "It's isolated and perfect for ambushing travelers. The banner is certainly stolen or counterfeit."

For now, there was no sign they had been spotted—a blessing of the low light, shadows, and rocky outcrops.

She turned to Will, who had gone pale despite his tan. "Can you get us to the side without drawing their attention? We'll have to find another way."

The fisherman's jaw worked. "Maybe. If they're not watching closely."

Will changed course slightly, using the rocks as cover. His sons worked in silence, adjusting the sail without a word. The skiff glided forward, hugging the cliff wall where the shadows were deepest. He started to angle back for the open sea.

"So far, so good," Will muttered under his breath, his hands clasping the tiller. "If we can just make it past that last outcrop..."

They were perhaps fifty yards from the weave of the inlet when Justin saw it—a lone figure on the carrack's deck, standing still at the rail, staring directly at them.

The figure moved. Turned. Shouted something lost to the wind and waves.

More shapes materialized at the rail.

A horn blasted—low, ominous, carrying clearly over the water despite the distance.

The deck erupted with movement. Figures swarmed like disturbed ants, the organized chaos of a crew preparing for action.

"We'll never outrun her," Tiffany said. "Will, skirt the side and head to shore. We'll make our stand there."

"Madam Paladin..."

"Let's do it! We have time to go ashore before they lower a boat. We'll repay you for your trouble."

Will's boys' eyes went wide with fear, but for their sake, Will put on a brave face. "You're right, Madam Paladin. Adjusting course." He turned to his boys. "Come on, lads. To shore."

The skill had already been wheeled around. His sons worked, trimming the sail to catch the wind at the right angle. A launch boat hit the water with a splash, oars biting into the surf. Six figures manned it—four pulling at the oars while two stood ready with weapons. They were pulling hard, angling to cut off the skiff's approach to the beach. But Will's skiff was faster.

On the carrack's deck, several pirates wheeled a ballista around, the weapon's frame creaking as they cranked it.

"Incoming!" Justin shouted.

The ballista fired with a vicious twang. The bolt whistled through the air.

Will yanked the tiller. The skiff lurched sideways, the bolt missing by feet and sending up a geyser of spray where it struck the water.

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"Good man!" Alistair called out.

Will didn't answer, correcting course and driving for the narrow strip of beach. His face was set with determination.

"We'll reach shore first," Eldrin said, his voice tight as he tracked the pursuing launch boat. "But barely."

Justin's hand moved to his cane, his other checking that his pack was secure. Around him, his companions prepared for the inevitable fight—Alistair's war hammer gleaming in his grip, Tiffany's sword sliding free with a whisper, Myrelle's parasol snapping open with a crack.

The skiff's hull ground against sand and stone with a scrape.

"Out! Move!" Tiffany commanded, vaulting over the gunwale and splashing into the shallows. She turned back to Will and his sons, her voice brooking no argument. "You're coming with us."

Will could hardly argue. It was either his boat or the life of him and his boys.

Justin waded through the surf toward the fishermen, water soaking into his boots. "Listen. You're in good hands with us."

He felt it then—the moment crystallizing around him. This was it. Witnesses present. Overwhelming odds. The chance to create something legendary.

He invoked Legendary Moment.

Power flooded through him, subtle but undeniable. He stood straighter. His new cane caught the dying light, gleaming like a beacon. He puffed out his chest and twirled the Syncretic Cane with flourish.

"Talemaker!" one of Will's sons gasped, recognition dawning on his face. "It's the Hero of Belmora! Hal, look! I told you it was him!"

Justin didn't answer, merely smoothing his coat in acknowledgment. The boy would remember this moment. Would tell others. Would spread the tale.

If they survived.

The party formed up on the beach, weapons ready. The pirates' rowboat was closing fast—close enough for Justin to make out details. Three Varkiss crouched in the bow, their scaled arms cocking back to hurl javelins. Three humans sat behind them, gripping spears and scimitars.

Another ballista bolt shrieked through the air. This one was aimed directly at Justin.

He activated Gentleman's Sidestep. Time seemed to slow. The bolt was massive—easily the length of his arm. It passed so close he felt the wind of its passage ruffle his coat, but it might as well have been miles away.

[Elegance in Motion is active.]

The pirates' boat scraped onto the beach, perhaps twenty yards away. The Varkiss were rising, javelins raised.

Justin activated Poison Barb: "Hey, how about you scaly bastards go back to whatever swamp birthed you, huh? Save yourselves the embarrassment!"

The lead Varkiss froze mid-throw, his reptilian features contorting with rage.

Justin immediately followed with Drake's Breath.

A blast of frost magic erupted from his cane, striking the lead Varkiss square in the chest. The enhanced enchantment proved its worth—the frost didn't stop. It instantly chained to the pirate beside him with a crackling snap, then leaped to the human behind. Ice crystals bloomed across scales and skin, frost racing along weapons and oars.

Within seconds, all six pirates were locked in place, frozen mid-motion. A javelin clattered to the deck from nerveless fingers. Their expressions—shock, rage, fear—were preserved like insects trapped in amber. Frost rimed their weapons, their hair, even their eyelashes.

"Now that," Justin said, "is an upgrade."

Alistair seized the opportunity. The Paladin surged forward, his war hammer crashing through frozen bodies.

The bodies collapsed like broken statues, limbs separating from torsos in clouds of ice crystals and steam.

"Come on!" Tiffany commanded, turning toward the cliff stairs. "Up! Now!"

They pushed the fishermen ahead, abandoning the skiff on the beach. Will cast one last look at his vessel before his sons pulled him forward toward the steps carved into the cliff.

Behind them, more boats launched from the carrack. Justin counted at least two hitting the water, oars churning foam.

Another ballista bolt whistled past, striking stone with a crack. Chips of rock sprayed across the stairs.

"Keep moving!" Eldrin called from the rear.

As they climbed, Justin attuned his cane to the Cane of Valoria's enchantment. The Syncretic Cane shimmered, its surface taking on a violet sheen.

Another bolt shrieked toward them, this one aimed at Will's youngest son, the boy who had recognized Justin.

Without thinking, Justin moved. Three strides put him between the boy and the incoming projectile. He raised his cane.

The massive projectile was swatted aside, clattering down the stairs.

[Gentleman's Rebuff has shielded this attack!]

"Thank you, Talemaker," the boy whispered. "I knew you'd save me."

Justin placed a hand on his shoulder, urging him forward. "Keep moving. Stay close."

They climbed higher. By the time they were halfway up, the two boats had beached. Justin risked a glance down.

About twenty pirates swarmed the shore, and more were coming. Most were common thugs—spears, cudgels, rusty weapons—but one figure stood out.

He stood at the front, not rushing with the others. Tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a coat that might once have been fine but was now weathered and salt-stained. A cutlass was clutched in his hand, glowing orange. The man wore an eyepatch over his left eye, and his beard...

His beard was literally on fire. Small flames danced through the braided hair. They moved with him as he gestured, sending his crew forward. The fire never consumed the hair, never spread, never even seemed to burn him. Perhaps he had a Fire Affinity?

But even so, the party's lead was substantial. The pirates would need at least five minutes to reach the top of the switchbacks, and that should be more than enough time to reach the Waygate.

On the way up, one of Will's sons stumbled, his legs giving out.

Justin didn't hesitate. He scooped the boy up, slinging him across his shoulders in a fireman's carry. The weight was barely noticeable.

"I can walk," the boy protested.

"Save your strength," Justin said, taking the stairs two at a time. "Can't have you dying before you spread the tale to every kid in your village."

Despite his terror, the boy laughed—high and nervous, but a laugh nonetheless.

The top of the cliff finally came into view. A cave entrance yawned in the rock face, dark and uninviting.

"In there!" Tiffany pointed.

They ran forward, Will and his other son gasping for breath but maintaining their pace.

Fifty yards from the cave entrance, Tiffany suddenly went rigid. "Death-worshipper nearby!"

Justin pulled up. Valdrik was here? No way. Her Paladin Sense shouldn't detect Death-worshippers unless she out-leveled them, and she was only Level 29.

Emerging from the cave was a man who clearly wasn't Valdrik, being shorter and leaner, dressed in robes of deep purple nearly black. His face was obscured beneath a dark, wide-brimmed hat. Bone talismans hung from his belt and neck, clicking together with each movement like a wind chime.

But what drew Justin's attention was the staff the man carried—topped with a human skull whose sockets glowed red, as if coals smoldered in the eye holes.

Justin's monocle activated automatically.

[Level 28 Dread Summoner]

"Stand aside," Tiffany commanded. "Under usual circumstances, I would smite you down where you stand in the name of the Six. But we will let you walk free if you allow us passage to the Waygate."

The Dread Summoner inclined his head mockingly, his voice rattling. "I'm afraid you're somewhat... outmatched today, Templar."

Behind them, the pirates' shouts grew closer. The scrape of boots on stone echoed up the switchbacks.

"Trapped between my hired thugs below and myself above." The Summoner's smile widened. "A regrettable situation for you. But now you see the price of revealing that which should not be uttered. I will let you free if you turn over Justin Talemaker, this so-called Hero of Belmora. I must have those cores. Such a chance may not come for one like me again, if others have the same idea."

Justin felt a chill. Would this be his life now, high-level beings trying to gain his power? This was why he had kept things hidden for so long.

But he had chosen to step into the open, and this is what that meant: becoming a target.

"Come and take them," Justin said, readying his cane.

The Dread Summoner's laugh was dry as brittle leaves. "Oh, I don't fight my own battles, Hero."

He slammed his staff against the ground as he began an incantation.

"Attack!" Tiffany shouted. "He's summoning!"

Immediately, Eldrin loosed arrows while Alistair charged, but it was already too late. A dark aura surrounded the Dread Summoner, and Eldrin's arrows deflected.

Tiffany motioned to Myrelle, who twirled her parasol in response. Apparently, they planned to face the pirates.

This left Justin to deal with the summoner alongside Eldrin and Alistair.

The aura had formed a dark portal, out of which shapes began to materialize from the darkness.

First came the hounds, trailing streams of shadow.

The three massive beasts, each the size of a pony, padded forward on silent paws. Their bodies were composed of shadow and bone—rib cages visible through translucent flesh that writhed like smoke. Their eyes burned with green fire, while their jaws hung open to reveal far too many teeth. The stench of rot rolled off them in waves.

[Netherhound x3 - Level 20 Undead Beasts]

But they weren't alone.

Behind the hounds, something else emerged.

It had been human once. Perhaps a knight or warrior, judging from its size and the remnants of armor still clinging to its frame. But death and dark magic had transformed it into something else entirely.

Its flesh was mottled gray-green, stretched tight over bulging muscles that shouldn't exist on a corpse. One arm ended in a massive cleaver, the blade fused directly to the bone where a hand should have been. The other arm was a tangled mass of chains that writhed like serpents.

Its face was a horror show—jaw distended, and like the hounds, far too many teeth.

Worse, strapped to its chest was a rusted breastplate that bore a familiar emblem: the Rooster of Aranthia. Justin had no doubt that this thing had been a knight or warrior. Once.

[Flesh Reaver - Level 25 Elite Undead]

Justin's hand moved to his summoning ring. Atlas was still recuperating from the drake battle, his carapace scored by molten rock.

But three Netherhounds plus this Flesh Reaver? He had no choice.

Justin activated the ring. Atlas materialized in a shimmer of light, optical sensors swiveling to assess the threat. The construct's carapace still bore scorch marks from Valdrik's attack, but his legs were steady, his drills ready.

"Sorry, buddy," Justin murmured. "I know you need rest. But I need you more."

Atlas chirped—a sound that might have been acknowledgment or complaint; Justin couldn't tell.

Either way, the spider-construct positioned himself beside his master, drills beginning their familiar whir.

"Kill them," the Dread Summoner said. "But bring me Talemaker. His cores must be extracted... carefully."

The Netherhounds howled, creating a mournful chord that seemed to empower the Flesh Reaver. The monster raised its cleaver arm and chains.

Behind Justin, the first pirates crested the top of the stairs. Cutlasses gleamed in the light—at least a dozen of them, with more coming.

The fishermen and his son cowered low, escaping toward the sidelines. No one seemed to bother with them.

"Formation," Alistair said. "The hounds seem to be empowering the Flesh Reaver. Take them out one by one, and the Flesh Reaver should weaken."

Justin nodded, adjusting his top hat.

With a final howl, the Netherhounds charged as one, while behind the party, Tiffany and Myrelle were already facing off with the pirates.

"Help them for now, Atlas," Justin said.

The construct chirped and bounded toward Myrelle.

Meanwhile, the Flesh Reaver lumbered forward, chains whipping through the air.

And behind them all, the Dread Summoner smiled, his staff still pulsing with power, likely adding more buffs or directing his minions.

The first Netherhound leaped, jaws gaping wide enough to swallow a man's head.

Justin met its burning green eyes.

"Here we go," he muttered, and raised his cane.

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