“Magnetic bolts?” Karl said.

  “Oh, that,” Titus replied with a chuckle, handing the children off to Livia before having Felix retrieve something from his forge. “I figured you’d want some use out of those ingots you keep acquiring.”

  When Felix returned, prompt as always, he handed Karl and Sporus a set of impressive new arrows.

  Item: Resonant Pullhead Arrows (Dei) — Damage: 17 per arrow. On hit, triggers forcibly pulls the target up to 5 feet toward the user and inflicts −25% Accuracy for 3 seconds. Ignores 25% of natural and light mechanical armor (fur, hide, scales, chitin, plating). Resonant effects bypass Charm, Fear, and Mind-Control immunities, and forced movement from this effect is reduced by only half against resistant targets.

  “Thank you,” Karl said, inspecting the magnetic arrows. He could already see their value in the arena and beyond, especially against non-organic targets.

  “These are for you,” Titus said, handing Björn a pair of knuckle spikes forged from Bastion Shellsteel Ingots.

  “Thank you,” Björn said, flexing his fingers around them.

  “They’ll help you punch through anything mechanical or metal,” Titus added.

  “And this is for you, Sporus,” Titus said, producing a gilded shadow cloak. It was woven from Sobek-Gilded Ingots and Siren Resonant Ingots, bronze-gold scales stitched into dark fabric that hummed faintly as he fastened it across Sporus’s back. “It should increase your damage while invisible and dampen any sound you make.”

  “Much appreciated, old friend,” Sporus said, clasping Titus’s thick hand.

  As Karl and his friends gathered at the doorstep beneath the pale moon, the System prompted them with a new quest to uncover what was truly happening to the missing children.

  New Quest: Rome’s Future Young Workforce

  “Productivity quotas don’t fill themselves, and someone has to oil the gears beneath the empire (allegedly, no one knows what’s happening to the kiddos). Congratulations. You’ve volunteered to audit the process!”

  Primary Objective:

  Find out what’s causing all the child disappearances 0/1

  Rewards:

  Item: Child Factory Worker Onesie (Epic) — Though covered in coal and burn marks, it’s indestructible and expands in size so your child can always be working.

  Honor +250

  The Trickster hopped onto Karl’s shoulder after he accepted it, looking more determined than the rest. “Let’s go kill some child kidnappers!”

  Karl’s face scrunched together in concern for the strange child’s rewards, but at least the System was being generous with the baby gifts.

  Hopefully, this quest would be just as generous, though Karl had a creeping suspicion that it wouldn’t.

  Karl and his friends Elf Leaped across the terracotta rooftops as moonlight shone above them. No one spoke as they whisked through the very alive city. The Emperor’s festival appeared to be a success, as streets normally quiet at night, lit by alchemical lamps glowing amber, were packed with thousands of citizens, rich and poor alike, growing drunk on the endless supply of wine. A few times in their travels, the Trickster grappled with his claws to snatch some of the food, much to Karl’s annoyance.

  “Got a nice crunch to it,” Ratatoskr said, his metal jaws slicing through half of it while on Karl’s shoulder. Satisfied, he tossed Karl the other half as Karl scoped for the next building to Elf Leap to.

  “Uh, thanks,” Karl said, holding the strange bread before him.

  Item: Moratus Bread (Legendary) — Gain 20 Health and Stamina. Receive an insatiable desire to kill whoever stops you from having this holy bread. Effect for 48 hours.

  Strange bread, Kara thought to him, seeing his thoughts.

  Probably best not to eat it, Karl thought back, tossing it down to the streets.

  At Sporus’s suggestion, they made their way to the top of a rectangular factory that billowed a constant stream of smoke from the many pipes jutting from its roof. The map they had recovered from Verres’s factory showed that one of the mysterious tunnels led directly to this building from the Colosseum. They knelt silently along the rooftop’s edge.

  With their Lunar Sight, Karl and Kara could see through the roof. Hundreds of conveyor belts hummed and rattled as countless adults and many children worked like zombies below.

  The depressing sight of factory slaves stood in stark contrast to the festivities in the streets, where free bread was handed out by imperial clerks, and wine flowed endlessly from enchanted barrels at every corner. Street performers crowded nearly every road, swallowing swords and juggling flaming batons. Gladiators sparred openly in the streets for public entertainment, perhaps trying to shake off the nerves creeping in before the coming trials.

  Yet none of the Romans seemed the least concerned about the slaves grinding their lives away next door to make the pleasurable reality exist.

  Sporus was right: Rome really did run on slaves.

  “See anything interesting?” Björn asked as he and Mýra sat with their legs dangling over the edge of the factory roof.

  “Just the usual kids working till midnight,” Karl replied, squinting as he scanned the factory floor. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. But the quest pressing them to uncover what was happening to the children meant there had to be something more.

  “Maybe we should go somewhere quieter,” Mýra chimed in. “That’s how I usually hunted men in my first life,” she added unashamedly.

  Sporus gave her a concerned look but agreed with her reasoning. They pulled the map out again and moved toward the outskirts of the city, where the festival noise faded. There they found another factory, just as active, and crept along the rooftops to avoid the golden eagles looping lazily above the streets.

  Thankfully, they weren’t seen, or at least not that they knew. They crouched near a massive smokestack belching endless ash into the sky and waited. After several minutes, Karl began to worry they were missing something.

  Then a whistle sounded from within the factory, signaling a shift change.

  Adults and children shuffled out with slumped shoulders, dragging their feet past weary newcomers arriving to replace them.

  The thought that these workers were beginning another full shift so late at night made Karl’s stomach turn. It reminded him faintly of night nurses from his old life, but this was far worse. Children should have been sleeping, not laboring through the night, let alone being slaves.

  Sporus nodded to Karl and Kara, and together they quietly followed along the roof’s edge.

  The adults split off, but four children stayed together. The youngest looked barely four, two appeared around nine or ten, and the eldest, a thirteen-year-old girl, clearly led them. They headed into the Subura, where streets narrowed and were caked with ash and metal filings, as Sporus whispered.

  Each child wore a short, crudely stitched tunic stained gray-brown. The girl was barefoot, her feet black with grime, while two boys wore cracked leather sandals, and the smallest struggled to keep up. Even from afar, their hands were visibly calloused, burn marks covered their forearms, and exhaustion hollowed their eyes.

  Everyone tensed at the sight, especially the youngest boy, whose raw thumb stayed in his mouth as he reached for the older girl’s tunic. She looked too tired to notice. Though Rome’s sewers kept the streets cleaner, rats still darted between refuse piles, steam hissing from vent pipes along the road.

  Karl and the others followed easily, as the children moved slowly with their heads down, whispering. Karl caught part of their conversation.

  “Do you think there will be any bread left at the festival?” one of the younger boys asked.

  “Probably,” the older girl said. “But we have to be quick if you want any.”

  Karl’s heart hammered as they moved rooftop to rooftop instead of Elf Leaping, the buildings packed close together. His ears, and Kara’s, perked up before the others as a group of women entered the lamplit street ahead, coming from a wealthier district.

  Karl immediately recognized them as courtesans, dressed in festival silks, gold-threaded stolas, and glittering jewelry. The three women laughed together, their voices warm and inviting. The children slowed, shoulders easing as they stared.

  “Oh my,” one courtesan said, pointing gently at the children. The other two gasped. “You look so tired, little ones.”

  She knelt before the four-year-old boy and wiped dirt from his face. The others tended to the two middle boys, brushing them off and handing each a small pastry. The boys lit up at the sight of food, thanking the women, but the older girl crossed her arms, unconvinced.

  “Come,” the lead courtesan said, her olive skin glowing softly. “Let us show you where you can rest.”

  “We’re going home,” the factory girl replied, trying to pull the smaller boy away.

  All three courtesans snapped their heads at once, their smiles turning strange. In perfect unison, they said, “The melt will keep you strong.”

  “The melt will keep us strong,” the children echoed.

  “They have the Blessings of Venus,” Sporus whispered, crouched low beside Karl. “Eternal youth and beauty. Their charisma is unmatched.”

  “Apparently so,” Björn said, speaking for the others as they watched the courtesans lead the children back toward the festival and the richer districts beyond.

  “Let’s not lose them,” Karl said, rising to his feet and Elf Leaping everyone forward to pursue quietly.

  33

  PERFORMANCE ENHANCERS

  It was hard to tell if the women were sinister. They continued pampering the children and treating them well, steering them away from loitering vagabonds instead of dragging them into alleys or darker places. They led the group into one of the cleaner districts of Rome.

  The road reminded Karl of a familiar main street, with old bakeries and clothiers tucked neatly along a narrow stone lane. It seemed like a transitional district between the Subura and the wealthier commercial wards, with shops lining most of the street.

  Karl noticed a handful of men drinking festival wine nearby. Something about their posture, the way they watched the courtesans, and the fact that the women showed no concern unsettled him. The men were muscular, with glinting swords at their hips.

  “Those are the Emperor’s men,” Sporus said, raising a hand for silence as they lingered on the rooftop across the street.

  They watched as the courtesans guided the children into what appeared to be an alchemy shop. The sign—a glowing golden mortar and pestle—hung above a reinforced bronze door that swung open without a sound. The thick, dark glass window beside it was impossible to see through, though Karl caught faint silhouettes inside.

  When the door closed, a whiff of burnt metal and coffee drifted upward. Kara wrinkled her nose as she caught the scent.

  “I feel like those men will jump us the moment we get down there,” Karl said as they planned their next move.

  “Maybe we distract them,” Sporus said, drawing one of his Resonant Pullhead Arrows.

  Karl grinned. As he and Sporus Elf Leaped to the far end of the street, Kara, Björn, Mýra, and the Trickster slid down a shadowed steel pipe along the wall, staying just outside the lamplight. Mýra activated her Hel’s Mantle just in case.

  “Ready?” Karl whispered as he and Sporus took position.

  “Always,” Sporus replied with a slight grin.

  Their goal wasn’t to kill, only distract. Together, they fired magnetic arrows into the feet of the two closest guards. The moment the arrows flew, Karl loosed another shot toward the far end of the street near the alchemy shop door.

  Karl and Sporus Elf Leaped just as the guards were yanked backward several feet to where the first arrows had landed. The men shouted in confusion as Mýra and the others reached the door, only to find it locked.

  “Can you try that thing again?” Karl asked.

  Mýra obliged at once. As the guards scrambled and looked the wrong way, she reached into the air, grasped invisible copper-colored threads, and twisted. Something clicked inside the door as the lock shifted open.

  Sporus didn’t hesitate. As the guards began to turn, he shoved the group forward, and they stumbled loudly into the shop.

  Karl and Kara sprang upright. Karl drew another arrow as Kara raised her Sólbrandr, ready to strike.

  The door shut behind them.

  The front of the shop was dark, lined with tall shelves packed tight with glowing bottles and humming vials, each labeled with precise dosages. At the center stood a workstation with an unused cauldron beside a brass-and-glass distillation tower, feeder tubes, rotating pressure valves, and a clutter of alchemical tools.

  Yet despite all of it, the courtesans and the children were gone. They had vanished only seconds after entering.

  The Trickster was about to speak, but the moment Karl felt the metal squirrel stir, he clapped a hand over the construct’s face and shook his head. The Trickster glared and rolled his eyes. They needed to be careful, as they had no idea what they were facing.

  The group spread out, each searching for clues as to what had happened. Karl and Kara had the most success, their noses picking up the sweet scent of the courtesans. The trail ran in a straight line toward the back of the shop, stopping at a row of shelves packed with hundreds of bottles.

  It’s like they just disappeared, Kara thought to Karl. That couldn’t be right.

  Karl took a deep breath and caught a strong scent of coffee. There wasn’t much of it in the shop, which meant it had to be coming from somewhere else. He looked down with his Lunar Sight but saw nothing beneath him.

  When Karl lifted his gaze to the shelves again, he noticed what lay behind them. A cylindrical stone passage descended straight into the earth.

  “Mýra, I might need your help again,” Karl whispered, nodding toward the shelves.

  The group gathered as Karl explained what he saw. Mýra reached out, searching for magical threads to grasp. After several moments, she shook her head.

  “I don’t see anything,” she said, frustration creeping into her voice.

  The Trickster hopped off Karl’s shoulder and landed on a narrow glass shelf. “Maybe you should try one of these good luck potions,” he said, reaching out with his claws.

  Several bottles tipped and fell. Only Karl’s and Sporus’s speed saved them from shattering across the floor. Karl was about to snap at the Trickster when they noticed one bottle hanging forward, tilted but not falling.

  The Trickster nudged it farther. Something clicked.

  Without warning, the entire bookshelf rotated, carrying Karl and the others in a slow arc into a hidden chamber beyond. A spiraling staircase was revealed.

  “You could say thank you,” the Trickster muttered, feigning offense.

  Karl ignored him as he and Sporus took the lead down the stairs. Amber electric bulbs lined the walls, casting steady light as Karl kept his Tentacle Bow raised with a Venomcore Fanghead Arrow nocked.

  The deeper they descended, the stronger the smell of coffee became. Soon it was nearly overwhelming, and Karl could feel the caffeine coursing through his veins. A quick look at the others, whose eyes were stinging from the concentration of the coffee, confirmed its potency.

  “The Emperor really likes his drug,” Ratatoskr said, his voice hardly a whisper.

  Karl raised his free hand to silence the squirrel, fearing even that was too much, as the sounds of machines buzzed louder with every step.

  And voices.

  Just as the corner of the stairwell started to round, Karl stopped, now that he could see the large underground warehouse through the stone. The large rectangular room reminded him of an indoor gymnasium with how tall it was; it was very similar to Verres’s factory, but this one was not as cramped or dirty.

  Instead, everything was immaculately ordered. The floors were smooth stone and recently washed, completely clean, as if this were a laboratory. Maybe it was, as the first things that dominated the room were massive vertical cylinders, tall enough to dwarf a man, made of alchemical glass reinforced with golden bands.

  Inside these brewing vats was presumably coffee, given the smell. There were about twelve of them spread across the chamber, with a worker assigned to each vat, constantly testing whatever they were adding into the mixture, which did not look like coffee beans. At the same time, they tended nearby grinding wheels that crushed beans, bitter herbs, and other alchemical ingredients, obscuring exactly what went into the brew.

  The workers moved in measured, mechanical patterns. Beyond them stood six guards: two stationed at the entrance a meter away from Karl and his friends, two patrolling the perimeter walkways, and two flanking a man at the center. Karl could only assume this man was Valerius.

  Karl took a chance and peeked around the corner. Valerius stood on a raised platform, watching four children approach him under escort by the courtesans. He was tall and wiry, with short-cropped dark hair streaked with gray, and he wore black robes dotted with white arcane symbols that glowed faintly.

  More disturbing than his appearance was the giant needle in his hand. The way he looked at the children left little doubt that it was meant for something sinister.

  “Can you take a few more workers for the melt?” the lead courtesan asked playfully, guiding the children up the platform.

  Valerius did not look at the women. His eyes darted between the children as if assessing the quality of slaves.

  “That should do,” he said, raising the needle to examine it and tapping its cylinder before stepping forward and grabbing the older girl’s arm.

  “What is this?” she asked, tensing and pulling back into the courtesan, as if seeking protection.

  “Don’t worry, child,” the woman said, stroking her hair and soothing her with her charismatic powers. “It’ll just help you not be so tired.”

  “Shouldn’t be fatal,” Valerius said, injecting her arm with a dark brown substance Karl could only assume was some form of coffee alchemy.