The impact from Justin's cane sent the leaping Netherhound sprawling, shadow-flesh rippling from the blow with a yelp.

Behind him, shouts and war cries sounded as the pirates reached the top of the stairs.

Tiffany's voice cut through the din. "Myrelle, Atlas—with me on the pirates! Everyone else, target those hounds!"

Atlas positioned itself between Tiffany and the attackers, its carapace still bearing scorch marks from yesterday's battle. Justin hoped he could hold up.

The pirate captain hung behind his minions, an orange cutlass igniting with flames. "Get them, ye scurvy dogs! There's gold in this for the survivors!"

His crew surged forward—a mix of humans and Varkiss wielding cudgels, blades, and javelins.

Tiffany's sword caught the first pirate's cudgel, twisted, and drove her pommel into his face. He crumpled. Her backswing took down a Varkiss in the throat, easily cutting through its green scales. The Varkiss shrieked and fell.

Myrelle was already moving. Her parasol deflected a spear thrust. Then she spun, using the momentum to bring it around in a wide arc, catching a pirate across the temple with a crack.

A Varkiss lobbed a javelin at her. She opened the parasol, and the platinum-tier weapon easily knocked the projectile back as if it had struck solid granite.

Damn, Justin thought. That looks useful.

Atlas lunged, drills screaming. One pierced a pirate's shoulder, the other his throat. The man's eyes went wide as his screams became a bloody gurgle. Atlas retracted the drills, and the body fell away.

"Left flank!" the captain called, flames on his beard intensifying. "Circle around!"

He shot a spout of flame from his sword. Tiffany and Myrelle both dodged in opposite directions.

Justin took this all in within seconds, but forced himself to look away. He had his own problems to deal with.

The three Netherhounds had regrouped, forming a semicircle. Behind them, the Flesh Reaver lumbered forward, cleaver arm raised. Three ethereal tethers—one from each hound—connected to the Reaver's chest, clearly tied to him in some way.

The three hounds lunged but danced back as Alistair performed a mighty swing to keep space.

"We need to tell them apart," Justin shouted. "So we can coordinate."

The leftmost hound was missing patches of shadow-flesh, with bone visible through the gaps. Its chain glowed green.

"Left is the Scarred One!" Justin said.

The middle hound was sleeker, with blue-white energy crackling along its chain.

"Middle is the Lean One!"

The rightmost hound was bulkier, its chain pulsing red.

"Right is the Big Boy!"

The Lean Hound charged in a blur.

Justin activated Gentleman's Sidestep. The hound's jaws snapped shut on empty air, its momentum carrying it past him.

[Elegance in Motion is active.]

Justin managed a few hard hits before it retreated to the Scarred One, who healed it.

The Big Boy lunged at Alistair. The Paladin brought his hammer around in a crushing blow, connecting with the hound's skull. The creature yelped and retreated, shadow-flesh rippling.

But it didn't fall. The Scarred Hound faced it, glowing green, and the Big Boy instantly began to heal as well.

"Healing Netherhounds," Alistair said in disgust. "It's an insult to all that is good."

Eldrin's arrow struck the Scarred Hound in the flank. The creature snarled and then cast another healing spell on itself, but it looked to be in slow motion.

"Slowing Poison," he explained. "Let me stack the debuffs!"

Before they could deal with the hounds, the Flesh Reaver reached them. Its cleaver arm swept in a wide arc, forcing Justin and Alistair back. The blade passed close enough that Justin felt wind on his face.

The Reaver's chain arm lashed out. Eldrin rolled under it and came up firing. His arrow struck the Reaver's shoulder, and darkness spread from the wound like ink in water. The undead creature's movements became sluggish and uncoordinated.

"Keep that poison up!" Justin said. "That might be the only chance we have."

The Lean Hound threw back its head and howled, the mournful sound echoing off the cliff face as the blue-white chain blazed bright.

The Flesh Reaver roared in response. Its movements sped up, and its cleaver and chain whipped through the air as it chased after Justin.

Justin swapped Affinities for Seraphis's Clarity. Combined with Elegance in Motion, the 10% evasion boost was essential.

"We need to kill the Scarred Hound first," he said. "Stop those heals!"

But the Scarred Hound was already moving, circling around. It lunged at Eldrin from behind.

Justin moved instinctively, intercepting the hound mid-leap with his cane crashing into its ribs. The creature twisted in midair, its jaws finding his forearm.

But what would have punctured ordinary clothing held as strong as steel. The platinum tier of the equipment was paying dividends.

Justin twisted and brought his cane down on the hound's spine. Once. Twice.

The creature released him and retreated, shadow-flesh torn and leaking darkness.

[1 Advantage gained.]

"Oh yeah," Justin said. "Kind of forgot about this one."

He activated Upper Hand.

[3 Advantages gained.]

He burned one immediately for the speed buff. Behind him, as the dogs regrouped, pirates screamed. Justin took a risk and glanced back.

The pirate captain had moved forward, flames wreathing his cutlass. He blurred, moving faster than should be possible, and appeared beside Myrelle.

"Myrelle, right side!" Justin shouted.

The captain's blade came down in an overhead strike.

Myrelle's parasol snapped up, catching the blow. The impact drove her to one knee. The captain smiled, flames spreading from his beard across his shoulders.

"Got you now, my pretty little—ARRRGH!"

Atlas thundered into position, both drills extended into the captain's lower back. His eyes went wide. He looked down at the metal drill bits protruding from his ribs in disbelief.

Atlas retracted his appendages. The captain staggered, one hand pressed to his stomach. His flames sputtered and died as his body hit the ground.

"Fall back!" one of the surviving pirates shouted. "Captain's dead! Fall back!"

The remaining pirates—maybe four of them—turned and fled down the stairs. Their footsteps echoed in the darkness.

"Good riddance," Myrelle said, getting to her feet.

"With me!" Tiffany called to her and Atlas. "Let's finish those hounds!"

Atlas repositioned, turning from the stairs to face the new threat. His drills retracted, then extended again, ready for round two. He seemed to be holding up well.

The Big Boy let out a deep howl. The red chain flared bright.

The Flesh Reaver's cleaver arm glowed red and came down. The ground thundered as cracks spider-webbed out from the impact point. Justin nearly stumbled but, by sheer luck, managed to keep his feet. Alistair and Eldrin both went down but scrambled back toward the party and safety.

"The Big Boy has a Strength buff," Justin said. "Scarred Hound has heals. Lean Hound has speed. What's the kill order?"

The Templar assessed the battlefield in an instant. "Lean Hound first! Then bulky! Scarred one last! If we burn them fast, the heals won't matter. We have the numbers now."

"You heard her!" Alistair shouted. "Focus fire on the Lean One!"

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The sleek Netherhound lived up to its name, blazing around the battlefield as if it had made a diet of pure crystal meth, hopping from one target to another. When Tiffany's sword caught it across the flank, it yelped and retreated—only for the Scarred One to be right there, green light pulsing as it healed the wound.

Meanwhile, the Flesh Reaver's cleaver came down hard, fairly easy to dodge on its own, but not with three hellhounds harassing. To make matters worse, the Big Boy lunged at anyone who got too close. Combined, they were two massive threats that couldn't be ignored.

After thirty seconds of chaos, Justin realized the truth: this wasn't working. They needed to neutralize the healing hound or, better yet, target the Summoner, who kept casting magic on his summons, likely prolonging their participation in the battle. Eliminating the Scarred One or the Summoner himself were the main paths to victory.

The only problem was that the other two dogs and the Reaver did an good job of blocking. The Lean One was too fast to pin down unless Eldrin managed to land a couple of shots. The Scarred One stayed in the back, healing, while the Big Boy and Reaver formed a wall of muscle that prevented them from reaching either the healer or the Summoner.

They needed to change the paradigm entirely.

Justin had an idea—a ridiculous one that would either work brilliantly or end with his throat torn out.

Dogs were pack hunters. They respected hierarchy. With his Charisma and a little help from Morvath, maybe they wouldn't see him as prey.

And with luck, they might even recognize a superior.

He switched to Morvath's Aspect. The scent of grave earth and decay settled over him.

This dogs slowed, looking at him curiously. That was enough of a sign for Justin.

To seal the deal, he needed more than just Death vibes; he needed the attitude of someone who owned it.

Someone who was both good with hounds and had Death Daddy energy.

He activated Dazzling Display, then used all his Advantages to reset his cooldowns.

The world sharpened around him. His subconscious rifled through personalities like a deck of cards. Cesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer? No, too compassionate. The Beastmaster? Too physical. These hounds from hell wouldn't respect a warrior.

They needed... a tyrant.

His mind landed on a memory. Simpsons reruns from after school had a host of characters to choose from, but only one fit the bill—the perfect mix of near-death, malevolence, who had a penchant for siccing his hounds on those who dared to enter his lawn.

Justin's posture collapsed.

His spine curled into a question mark. His shoulders hunched up by his ears. He brought his hands together before his sunken chest, fingertips tapping against one another in a steepled tent of bone.

"Keep the Reaver occupied," Justin said in a reedy, nasal rasp. "I shall... handle the hounds."

Alistair's eyes widened. "Handle the—Justin, what are you—"

Behind Justin, the Flesh Reaver's cleaver came down. Tiffany's barrier flared with a desperate crack, her knees buckling under the weight. The party was struggling.

Justin ignored them. He shuffled forward, using his cane to move along.

The Lean One broke first, charging like a blur of shadow and teeth.

Justin didn't flinch.

"Smithers," Justin croaked to Atlas, who was a few yards away, "there appears to be a stray mongrel on the lawn."

Atlas gave a confused chirp, as if wondering whether his master had truly lost his mind.

But the disdain hit the hound like a wall. The Lean One paused, confused by a prey animal now acting like a predator.

"Yesssss," Justin hissed. "Excellent. Come here. Let me see you. You have the look of... high-quality upholstery."

As the Lean One cocked its head, the Big Boy moved to challenge. Justin turned his gaze toward the brute before it could get any ideas about defiance.

"You," he wheezed, pointing a single, trembling finger. "Sit. Or I shall have you turned into a rug before the market closes."

The beast whined and sat.

"Eeexcellent."

The Scarred Hound watched. It was smarter than the others. It looked from Justin to the Dread Summoner.

Justin shuffled closer. "Ah. The leader of the pack. I see the problem. You are working under... subpar management. How about you work for me instead, hmm?"

"Obey!" the Dread Summoner screamed, his staff pulsing as he felt his control slipping. "Kill him! Rip him apart! I am your master!"

The hounds momentarily wavered, as if about to break, but Justin intensified his Charisma. With Morvath's Aspect amplifying his efforts, he had the hounds under his spell.

He gestured vaguely with a limp wrist toward the Dread Summoner. "Look at him. Sweating. Desperate. A mere... temp. Is that really who you're listening to? Does he truly pay the bills? In fact... does he not look.... positively delectable?"

The dogs turned to the Summoner. Indeed, he cut a pathetic picture. His magic was taking a toll, and his command of the beasts was slipping. Theoretically, if the hounds turned on him, he would have no chance.

"Heel!" the Summoner screamed. "Netherhounds, to me!"

Justin ignored the challenge and addressed his new court of admirers. "I offer a comprehensive benefits package." He leaned in, his smile stretching tight. "Dental. Vision. And all the raw meat you can eat."

The Scarred Hound took a step toward Justin, tail wagging slowly, tentatively. Justin reached out a hand, as if he were a king accepting supplication.

The Scarred Hound sniffed inquisitively. Then rolled over and panted.

"No!" the Summoner shrieked. "This is impossible! You are bound to me! TO ME!"

"I think you'll find," Justin said, his voice lowering dangerously, "that every dog has a price."

He turned to the Dread Summoner, raising a trembling hand. He felt the tension in the dogs like arrows held on a string.

"Release the hounds."

The three dogs shot forward, yipping in bloodlust.

"WHAT—NO! HEEL, YOU BASTARDS, HEEL!"

Justin cackled. "I hope you've got your running shoes on!"

The Summoner created a barrier to protect himself as the dogs attacked with reckless abandon. But it did little good, for within seconds, it shattered. The Lean One sank his teeth into his robes. The Big Boy pinned him to the ground.

The Summoner had no choice but to dismiss his hounds with a recall spell, causing them to fade into nothing.

"Exce...."

When Justin's Dazzling Display ended, he straightened his spine and took a deep breath to recalibrate.

"Gods," he muttered, rubbing his neck. "My back hurts."

[1 Advantage Gained.]

"Justin, some help!" Tiffany said.

He turned to see the party struggling with the Reaver. It was moving slower, no longer buffed, but even so represented a major threat.

But the wounded Summoner was hobbling back into the cave from which he had come. If Justin went to help the party, the Summoner would escape through the Waygate, perhaps to attack him another day even more prepared.

He burned the Advantage for extra speed, but on top of that, activated Mad Dash, his Jester's Roulette for the day.

Power flooded through his legs. The world seemed to slow, or maybe he was just moving faster. His speed doubled. Every step carried him twice as far.

He blurred forward. The Flesh Reaver's cleaver swept toward him, but he was past it before the blade completed its arc.

The Dread Summoner's eyes widened as he glanced over his shoulder. He tried to run faster, but such was the toll of his magic that he had no hope of escaping.

Justin closed thirty yards in under three seconds.

"Hey!" Justin activated Poison Barb mid-sprint. "This is what you get for messing with a hero!"

The Summoner stumbled but somehow cast a spell, a bolt of pure shadow.

Justin swapped his Syncretic cane to Gentleman's Rebuff, swatting it away.

[Gentleman's Rebuff has shielded this attack! You have inflicted Stun!]

There was nothing to stop Justin from finishing the job. He activated A Proper Send-off as he struck the Summoner's chest.

The man was so weakened that he simply caved in on himself as he rocketed backward, slamming into the cave wall.

The Summoner hit the ground. His body convulsed. Then his flesh began to wither, skin pulling tight over bone, eyes sinking into their sockets.

Within seconds, he was nothing but a desiccated corpse.

From the cave mouth, the Flesh Reaver faded from the battlefield, and silence reigned.

For only a moment. Justin turned at the sound of approaching footsteps to see Tiffany running toward him, her sharp blue eyes concerned. The last rays of sunlight colored her honey-blonde hair in hues of amber.

He had never seen such beauty, such perfection.

"Justin," she said, her voice perfect, melodic, angelic. "Are you all right?"

"Tiffany." His voice came out reverent. He took a step toward her, gesturing with his cane like a suitor presenting flowers. "Has anyone ever told you that you fight like... like poetry in motion? Because you do."

Tiffany's sword lowered slightly. "What?"

"No, seriously." Justin moved closer, ignoring the corpse just behind him. "Your shield technique... the way you parry... it's beautiful. I mean... you're beautiful. Everything about you is... beautiful."

By now, the others had joined him, along with the fisherman and his two boys, who hung back a short distance. Atlas chirped anxiously, nudging Justin's leg with one drill as if trying to snap him out of it.

Alistair approached. "Justin, did you hit your head? This is Tiffany of Eryndor, an Anointed Paladin of Arion. Remember your place."

Justin ignored him, focusing on the beautiful Templar. "The way your hair catches the light... watching your smile is like watching a sunrise. A very violent, very competent sunrise. I should write poetry about it. Do you like poetry? You make me want to write poetry."

"Justin." Tiffany's voice was careful. "Are you feeling well?"

Myrelle was trying hard not to laugh. Eldrin's eyebrows had climbed toward his hairline.

[Charm effect has ended. Thank you for using Mad Dash!]

Justin stopped mid-sentence. Blinked. Looked around at everyone staring at him.

His face burned. "I... did I just...?"

"You compared my combat technique to the sunrise," Tiffany said flatly.

"A violent, competent sunrise," Eldrin clarified.

"I think he did hit his head," Myrelle said.

Justin cleared his throat, adjusting his coat with as much dignity as he could muster. "Right. So. I have this cane, called Jester's Gamble. It has... side effects, let's say."

"And that side effect was for you to become smitten by Tiffany?" Alistair asked in confusion.

"Charmed," Justin clarified. "The cane gave me a random mental status effect for using that speed skill." He still couldn't meet Tiffany's gaze. "For the record, I don't normally—I mean, you're very competent, obviously, but I wasn't—the enchantment—"

"It's fine, Talemaker." Tiffany sheathed her sword. "I've been affected by Charm effects before. Though I admit, that was a particularly... enthusiastic iteration."

"The poetry offer was a nice touch," Myrelle added. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"Let's never speak of this again," Justin said.

Eldrin's slight smile suggested the story would be told later. As long as he didn't get a Legendary Title from it.

A notification appeared in Justin's vision:

[Experience gained for defeating Level 20 Rogue Pirate Captain and his crew: 5,000]

[Experience gained for defeating Flesh Reaver: 8,000]

[Experience gained for defeating 3 Netherhounds: 8,000]

[Experience gained for defeating Level 29 Dread Summoner: 12,000]

[Total Experience Gained: 33,000]

[Current Experience: 266,110/48,000. Level-up available!]

The fisherman Will stepped forward. "Hero of Belmora. My boys and I... we'll never forget this."

The younger son nodded vigorously. "I'm going to tell everyone! The way you froze all those pirates! And when you saved me from that bolt! And took control of those dogs by acting like a creepy old man—"

Justin cleared his throat. "Err... you might want to drop that last part."

"What about the violent, competent sunrise?" his older brother added, grinning.

"We're not talking about that either," Justin said firmly.

Will was already clasping Justin's hand, shaking it firmly. "Thank you. Truly. All of you saved our lives. Though I'm afraid some of those pirate scum might still be in the cove."

"We'll walk you as far as your boat," Justin offered.

"Dangerous sailing these waters at night," Tiffany said. "You'll have to make camp and return in the morning, assuming those pirates are truly gone."

"We have a spot when we do these passages for the Order," Will said, "but I'd greatly appreciate making sure the cove is safe first, if it isn't too much trouble."

"No, it isn't. If those pirates are smart, they're already well underway, but we'll check to be sure. It's the least we can do, though time is pressing." Her blue eyes noted the Summoner's staff and a couple of rings gleaming on his fingers. Without the slightest bit of squeamishness, she liberated both accessories, which disappeared into her pack.

"All loot will return to the Mont," she said. "Testing for curses, since those can persist between owners."

She did the same for the pirate captain on their way back, managing to get his enchanted cutlass and a few potions.

As Tiffany made her way back to investigate, Justin adjusted his hat and followed. Beside him, Atlas chirped—a sound that might have been satisfaction or a complaint about the damage to his carapace.

Either way, they'd won.

And Justin would likely have a new story spreading through Gulfway, whether he liked all the details or not.

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