You don't need to be polite to something you doubt exist

A middle-aged man dragged a ladder over and reached for a book on a high shelf. He pulled it down, wiped the dust from its cover, and something like real pleasure crossed his face.

“His ability’s been confirmed, sir.” General Hennesy stood a respectful distance away.

“Marauder’s kept him well hidden.” The old man turned the book over in his hands. “Here. This is yours.”

“Shall we move now?” Hennesy asked.

“Yes.” The old man’s eyes didn’t leave the book. “I need to burn off the leaves that have started to wilt.”

“Piccaron. Bring Siege this time — he’s a capable enough mage.” Marauder didn’t waste words. “Your target this time is a weapon rumored to be a fae inheritance.”

Piccaron and Siege entered the capital of the Kingdom of Stella together. The city was lively — a fountain at its center, children’s laughter drifting across the square. Peaceful. That, at least, settled something in Piccaron’s chest. Before long, two men approached them, moving with the careful stiffness of people trying not to look like they were in disguise. Spies out of Strand.

Odd, Piccaron thought. He’d expected Mercato to be the one contracting them for this. Today, his guard stayed up a little higher than usual.

They settled into a tavern to trade information.

“That sword — if it’s really anything close to a fae blade, it’d be worth a fortune.” The one called Zaid leaned in. “I’ve heard the real thing can cut clean through armor forged for ancient kings.”

“Which is why we either take it, or burn the whole operation to the ground.” Zayn picked up the thread without missing a beat.

“Heh.” Piccaron let out a short laugh.

“Nonsense.” He said it lightly, almost gently.

“You’re showing disrespect toward something ancient.” Zayn’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t your parents teach you better?”

Siege glanced at Piccaron, half-expecting offense. Instead Piccaron answered without a trace of heat.

“You don’t need to be polite to something you doubt exists.”

The conversation curdled into an awkward silence after that.

They spent the next few days watching the city’s blacksmiths, hunting for whoever might be forging this thing. Eventually one caught their attention — they snatched him and put him through interrogation.

“Where’s the fae sword?” Zaid demanded.

“The fae sword? You actually believe that old myth? Come on—“ the blacksmith answered, half-laughing.

Piccaron allowed himself a thin, private smile. Maybe the rumor really was just a rumor. Maybe Fred’s betrayal had come purely from Prince Joseph’s pressure, and the fae sword had never existed at all. They kept at the man anyway, torture dragging on with nothing to show for it. Eventually they let him go.

The search continued. Intelligence on this weapon was thin enough to explain why it had stayed hidden so long. They split up. Piccaron wandered the city at an easy pace, seemingly unbothered by the whole affair — chatting amiably with a few blacksmiths here and there, never pressing too hard on the subject.

Then one smith’s eyes caught on the worn sword at Piccaron’s hip.

“That blade — worn as it is, there’s something unusual about it. Would you let me see it up close?”

“Sorry.” Piccaron’s tone stayed warm. “Showing you that would be like handing over my own life.”

“Ah — the sword’s own philosophy speaks for itself. Wise man.” The smith nodded, satisfied.

“Sir.” Piccaron leaned in, casual. “Do you know Ukku steel?”

“One of the finest there is. Vanishingly rare these days, though.”

“I caught a passing mention of it in some old text once. Is it really as legendary as they say?”

“Said to forge blades that can cut clean through armor. That’s the tale, anyway.”

“Tell me, sir — is the description of that steel in the old texts accurate, as far as you know?”

“If you mean the one in J. Luis’s Thread of Blades — my family’s kept that knowledge for generations. Yes. That book has it right.”

“Much appreciated.” Piccaron’s smile was easy. “Perhaps one day I’ll be able to show you this blade properly, in peace.”

“I’ll be waiting for that day.”

Piccaron returned to the group and laid out what he’d found.

“The smith’s shop on the corner of the district. I think that’s the one. Worth another look?”

“You actually found something.” Siege — normally the quiet one among them — let a flicker of real excitement show.

They watched the shop again. This time, what they saw wasn’t wasted effort. Officials and nobles moved in and out of the place, despite it being otherwise empty. The shop was large, clearly successful under ordinary circumstances — but today’s foot traffic told a different story. They slipped in close enough to catch fragments of conversation.

“Something’s still missing. What is it? Damn Fred! If he hadn’t run—“ one of the nobles snapped.

These people weren’t after a single blade. They were trying to mass-produce something, and whatever they’d managed so far hadn’t hit the mark.

Once the officials and nobles cleared out, Piccaron and the others slipped inside to examine the supposed fae-forged blades themselves.

“This?” Zayn turned one over in his hands. “What’s even special about this.”

“They’ve spread a scrap of Ukku steel thin across a batch of blades.” Piccaron’s voice was flat. “Do that, and you end up with something no better than an ordinary sword. What do you think, Siege?”

“Raw, unfinished work. Better to just level the whole facility — taking samples would be a waste of time.” Siege was already moving.

They agreed. Siege and Zaid began preparing their elemental magic to bring the place down.

Then, badly timed, several of the nobles came back and spotted them. With Siege and Zaid locked into their spellwork, it fell to Zayn and Piccaron to hold the line against the returning nobles and their guards.

“Damn it. Let’s see what this blade’s actually worth.” Piccaron grabbed one of the swords off the rack.

The moment it left the rack, it flared — a dim, golden light pulsing from the blade in his hand. Siege caught it instantly and, without a word, fed the sword a thread of his own mana, dressing the glow up as an ordinary fire enchantment before anyone else could notice.

“Thanks, Siege.”

Piccaron and Zayn held the guards and nobles back through the worst of it, careful — killing a noble here carried consequences neither of them wanted to face. After holding the line long enough, Siege and Zaid’s spell finally went off, the explosion tearing through the facility. Luckily for the nobles, their own guards carried strong enough protective wards to shield them. By the time the smoke cleared, Piccaron and his team were already gone.

One of the nobles stood there afterward, replaying what he’d seen.

That golden light — that wasn’t the mage’s doing. That young man… His thoughts trailed, unfinished. Could he be—

Piccaron and Siege made it back to Baum Goldenir and found something waiting for them that neither had braced for. Their eyes went red. They broke into a dead run.

An intensity of rage in Piccaron that had never once shown itself before, unchecked and total. Screaming rose ahead of them, long and unbroken.

Baum Goldenir was under attack.