It wasn't going well, not at all. They were trapped, the side room's doorway was blocked by foes.

Nail swept his axe down, with a crunch, its dulled edge crushed rather than cleaved the skull of the man-alike soldier. It fell like a sack of squid guts, its brain spilled just as bad and stank plenty more.

He sucked in a breath. The moment he took to rest allowed another of the monsters to spear him in his chest. Luckily, his armour, hardened by his magic, was only scratched by the iron tip. The man-alikes' weapons had looked crude, but were tough and sharp in the hands of the soldiers.

Nail bellowed and pushed forward, punching with his shield. It connected with a thump and a crack, forcing the soldier to stumble back. His shoulder clicked from the jarring impact, it was followed by a sharp pain. He ignored it and the ache in both his arms.

Nail had been swinging his axe and holding his shield steady for nearly six minutes straight. Simple weariness had come and gone, now he was exhausted, lightheaded and slow. His limbs trembled.

But Nail wouldn't give up. Never roll over and die. If he were that weak, he would have been dead and drowned long before he got to Climb.

Nail yelled again. "Die! Die! Drown! You pricks!"

He pulled on the last of his strength, pushed on all his Might and Activated Split. With a sideways sweep, he cut four soldiers across their torsos. Their chain shirts parted as easily as rotted wood, and blood sprayed him and the stone bricks.

"Only two left," Bucket called out. "Get 'em Nail! Get 'em Barge!"

Backing away from the door, heaving for breath, Nail tried to turn and glare at the scrawny rat-bastard. He tripped on his own heavy feet, and the room spun. And the last thing he saw before his blurry vision went black was Barge impaling one of the soldiers on his sword.

---

Barge's blade was stuck. It had caught between bones and wouldn't come out of the man-alike's chest. He pulled, but when it didn't budge, he abandoned it. With a shout, he leapt back from a spear aimed at his face, then slipped in the mess of blood that was now beneath his boots. He cursed Nail, the mess was of that thug's making, and now he had to suffer it.

He struck the floor, landing and rolling just as he'd been made to learn by their fool 'Captain'. The drills he was forced to do didn't seem so foolish now, he might have died without the advice. A spear had struck where he'd been only a moment before, casting up sparks where it had ground against stone.

Only then had that prick, Bucket, done anything useful, cutting the last man-alike's throat from behind. Of course, the dredge had waited for the very last moment, when the soldier's back was turned, to do something.

"Saved ya," Bucket grinned crookedly.

Barge stumbled to his feet. "Yeah, and what do you want, an Award?"

"Nothin' so grand as that mate. Just a mug of ale on the outside and maybe a thank you," Bucket said.

"You'll get none of that from me," Barge replied. He didn't like the thief, not one bit. Bucket talked like a big man, but when push came to shove, he was the first to cut and run. Not only that but, he was always lurking in the corner of your eye and looking for when the tides would turn.

"What's got you so sour?" Bucket asked. "Beginnin' to regret joining us? Want to run back to the pretty shade and his bootlickers."

Barge didn't, and he said so, loudly. The recollection of his brother's choice to stay still made him furious. Trudge was a soft-hearted, soft-headed idiot at the best of times, but this had been a new low. He had been a downright cretin and as stubborn as a skulg's suckers.

"Alright, fine, I get it," Bucket whined. "Stop yellin'. You'll bring more man-alikes down on us."

"Piss off, Bucket," Barge growled.

If he had his sword in his hands, he would have swept it at the arsehole. Just to give him a fright, mind. But if he was cut, then it wouldn't be any skin off his nose. Bucket had yet to take even a scratch.

The thief scowled, then eyed Nail. He was still passed out.

"Don't you hurt him. Remember the Spite," Barge said, not at all liking the way he stared.

"Go get your sword," Bucket responded acidly.

Barge did, and it was stuck so fast that he needed to set a boot on the monster's chest to pry it free.

"Another notch," he grumbled.

---

Nail groaned, then slowly struggled with the buckle of a belt bag. Bucket knelt by his side, then a hand snapped out, seizing his iron-wrapped wrist.

"What you lookin' for? Let me grab it for you," Bucket said.

Nail glared, wanting to strangle the thief. But he was in no state to fend him off, not as drained as he was. His whole body ached and would not move as he wished. With his head pounding and arms trembling, he was at the grinning fool's mercy.

If anything was stolen, he'd get his own back, triply so. Then he'd get it again, for this humiliation.

"A yellow tonic," he grumbled.

"A stamina potion, is it?" Bucket said, pawing through Nail's bag. "Lucky man, that's just what you need." Within a few moments, the vial was produced, held between two fingers and held mockingly out of reach. "Found it."

Nail simply growled wordlessly, reaching a feeble, wobbling hand for the potion. Bucket pulled it back. Nail couldn't shout, but he tried. He'd spent good gold for it in preparation for the Climb, and to have it, and himself, being toyed with was filling his guts with fire.

"Alright, don't hurt yourself. Was just a joke," Bucket said. "Here." He handed the potion to Nail, who struggled to open it.

"Need some help?" Barge asked.

"Piss off," Nail barked, holding the precious vial to his chest, lest it be taken again.

Soon, the stopper yielded, and he drank down the bubbling yellow potion. It prickled his tongue and lips, and stung his throat as it went down. There was a momentary rush of weightlessness, then a surge in his strength.

Nail groaned.

"Better?" Bucket asked, all smiles.

Nail swore silently that if he ever found that sneak-thief alone in an alley, he would drown him.

"Better," he agreed, getting to his feet. "Any loot from the man-alikes?"

"It's all rubbish," Bucket said, his smile falling away.

"I think that if there's anything good, it will be held by the knights the Spire told us about," Barge said.

Nail nodded. "Right. So let's go find one of these knights and kill it."

"A fight should be a last resort," Bucket said. "I have a better plan."

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"What is it?"

"We report the trespassers. Tell the knights they're holed up in that storeroom," Bucket explained.

"What if they're gone?" Nail asked.

"Then we lure the knight into a trap instead," Bucket stated all too smugly.

"If it will follow us," Nail said.

"What about my brother?" Barge asked.

"What about him? He made his choice," Nail spat, his headache, while better than before, becoming more painful the longer they spoke.

"Right," Bucket agreed. "He chose. And chose wrong."

Barge frowned but spoke no further.

Nail, stood then trudged over to his pack and dug through it. He brought out a potent remedy and drank down the bitter tonic. Warmth flooded him and his skin tingled. In moments, his pain was gone and his headache cleared. He basked in the feeling for a while, then counted how many vials he still had. Another twelve. He sighed, relieved.

Plenty left for a week of Climbing, and some left for after.

"What's that?" Bucket asked.

"None of your business. Keep your nose out, or I'll break it," Nail warned.

Bucket backed off, hands raised in surrender.

"Alright. Let's find us a knight."

---

The knight flailed with what was left of its shield and halberd. Both had been hacked into little more than a stick and a splintery wedge. Its armour was dented and deep furrows covered the iron surface. One furrow, that had been Nail's handiwork, leaked foul blood.

It had turned out that finding the huge man-alikes wasn't a simple thing. They were as quiet as rats and were ever moving. When he and his crew had finally stumbled across one, it wasn't a matter of skill, but of luck.

Nail, still blissfully numbed, had strode right up to the creature and returned its nod with one of his own. Then he had pointed the way toward the storeroom. It had inclined its helmeted head.

"That way! Trespassers in the storeroom," he had reported.

The thing had waited, then Nail turned and led the way. It followed. Silently.

It was easy from there, with the knight in their wake, the soldiers ignored them, only stopping to bow to the knight as they passed.

When they had found that the Shade and the others had moved, they resorted to the second of Bucket's plans. In the narrow confines of the storeroom stairs, they turned suddenly and ambushed the knight. It couldn't hope to swing its halberd well in those close quarters, and soon they were raining blow after blow on the creature.

It was like stomping a squid out of water. Until it roared.

Ice grew all over the knight, and frost sped up the walls and stairs. A chill, so strong that it burned, washed over Nail, then Barge as they moved back from the obvious danger.

Bucket screamed from behind the man-alike. He had taken the monster's sudden stillness as an opportunity and had stabbed at a gap in its armour. Right between the neck and shoulder. A thin layer of white ice crept up the thief's shortsword and over his hand and forearm.

Nail couldn't help but laugh. His voice was cut off as his foot slid on the suddenly slippery stairs.

He tumbled. In a dizzying roll, he activated his barrier ring, kicked out with a heavy boot and swung clumsily with his axe, wielding his Split Ability reflexively. It likely saved him the intense pain Bucket was in.

His Ability cleaved through the knight's left thigh, and his boot struck its right calf, which caused it to topple, too. It clattered and shattered as it slammed on every step down, and when it finally struck the bottom of the stairs it broke into pieces.

Nail soon joined it, as did Barge, unable to get a grip on any of the stone. They shivered in the freezing rubble of the knight.

"Bastard!" Bucket screamed, cradling his arm. He spat, not caring if he hit Nail.

"Watch it!" Nail barked, standing slowly.

"Piss on you!" Bucket shouted. "My bloody arm is frozen!"

"At least we got the seal," Barge said, standing and lifting up a wax circle and the parchment from where it lay amongst the knight's remains.

"Give it here," Nail ordered.

Barge hesitated. Nail punched him in the face. It was a clean blow that knocked the thug out, and caused him to fall into the storeroom, his head bouncing on the stone.

Nail grimaced, hoping he hadn't accidentally killed the man. He didn't want to suffer the Spite for such a careless mistake. Even if the dumb prick had deserved it.

Luckily, Barge was only unconscious. Nail pried the seal from his hands and tucked it under his own armour. Keeping it close was the right thing to do, it made sure that he would have a way out, even if things went bad.

"He's not dead, is he. You better not have Spited us," Bucket accused.

"He's alive," Nail said. "Just sleepin'."

Bucket whined some more and kicked the chunks of knight. Nail ignored him.

"One down."

---

It took some searching and some sly skulking, but eventually Fritz found what he'd been searching for. A small metal pot, just big enough for his purposes. Then he returned to the side room, where he had left the crew.

They were whispering, and while it didn't sound conspiratorial, Fritz took a moment to listen. The conversation was stilted, halting, and largely revolved around what they thought would be in the chest and if it was even real.

"Fear not. I am no liar," Fritz lied. "And you will see the truth of that sooner than you suspect. Toby, did you find any wood?"

"Not much, just these spears and shields," he replied.

"Where did you find those. An armoury?" Fritz asked eagerly.

"Remnants of a battle. Likely Nail and his crew walked into a soldier patrol," Toby explained. "It's not much, but I think it'll burn for at least an hour. Maybe more."

"Good man," Fritz said. "Now, let's see if this works."

"You don't know?" Reed asked.

"I only have a hunch," Fritz admitted.

"We're losing time hunting the six knights because you have a hunch?" Mel asked drowsily, her eyes half-lidded.

"Don't disregard a Guide's guesses," Clover said.

"I am not a Guide. Don't ever say that again," Fritz said harshly.

Her eyes watered.

"My apologies," Fritz said, softening his tone. "There is more than a sea of bad blood between me and the Guides Guild."

"Alright. I'm sorry," she sniffled.

Fritz felt some shame for his response. Though he had tighter control of himself than he used to, he was still prone to these small, if searing, outbursts. He wondered if he'd ever be rid of them. Could his soul truly be healed?

Shaking off his self-recriminations, Fritz set to enact his scheme. He laid out the blocks of coloured wax and the worn pages of parchment he had gathered from all over the Floor, then took out the ink that had been gifted to him by Jess. He had the crew pull a stone brick from the wall, then another, just in case he wasted the first.

Next, he pulled out his rune engraving tools from his pack. While he didn't know if they would be useful in a Spire, he found couldn't leave them behind. He was glad he had brought them. Precise tools would make what he was attempting far easier.

Fritz took out the knight's seal and inspected it closely. It was a circle of dark red wax depicting a Spire in the centre. The edges bore nonsensical runes and a border of intricate design. He tried to memorise every line and flourish. Then he began to carve out the brick, replicating the seal's relief.

The first was simply for practice, or that's what he told himself when he saw his own shoddy work. The second attempt was better, but not nearly good enough. The third, while close, lacked something, Fritz couldn't name. A sort of depth that one felt rather than saw.

He was satisfied, finally, with the fourth carving. He eyed it intently, and seeing no major inaccuracies, he set it down and sighed.

"Fritz," Toby said, startling him.

"What?" Fritz asked, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Eat something, then get some sleep," Toby suggested.

"Huh?" Fritz said, his eloquence having fled him.

"It's been hours, maybe half a day," Toby said.

Fritz looked around the small room and discovered that everyone else was sleeping on their bedrolls. The lantern set into the wall had gone out. Small clouds of breath bloomed in the night's chill. The women had huddled together for warmth while the men had bundled themselves up in all the clothes and blankets they had brought.

Fritz frowned, then shivered. Had it really been that long?

In all truth, the third and then the last carving had passed him by in something of a blur, one of total focus rather than a wearied stupor. It was hard to recollect, but he distinctly recalled drawing on his Awareness and Grace, and letting them guide his every stroke with the engraving rod.

Even now, both Advanced Attributes felt raw from overuse, his hands trembled, and there was a terrible ache creeping up his spine and soaking into his brain. He set down the brick clumsily.

"I think I will heed your advice," Fritz allowed, attempting at haughtiness.

"Here, eat this," Toby said, handing him a piece of charred hound meat. "And get some sleep, I'll keep watch."

"Thanks, Toby," Fritz said sincerely.

He ate, but it wasn't pleasant. The meat was gamy, and the char was bitter; there was also a slight, filmy, soapy aftertaste. He missed Cal in that moment; he wouldn't have cooked the monster meat so poorly.

Fritz slept like a stone, a cold one. If any nightmares came to him, he couldn't remember. When he woke, it was with a groan. Though he had mostly recovered, he still felt a lingering pain in his head and his finger joints stung when he bent them.

Still, he didn't let that sour his spirits. He was up in a minute, then drank down a minor remedy and chewed on some herbs Naomi had suggested he eat.

Then he made to inspect the results of his efforts again. He still saw no flaws in the design, nor any faults in the lines he had carved. It was perfect, or as perfect as one could expect without making a mould of the seal. Alas, he didn't have the materials or tools for that.

Fritz started a fire using one of the methods Therima had taught him. The crew gathered around, warming their cold hands.

"Finally," Reed groused. "Thought you were going to let us freeze to death."

"I would never leave my crew to such a fate," Fritz said. "Unfortunately, we had to suffer so as not to waste the little wood we have. It's needed for the next part of my plan."

"And that is?" Mel asked, sweating even though it was cold. Motes of pain and anger sped in and around her head and her shoulder.

Fritz frowned and threw her another pain-dulling remedy. It bounced off her blanket-bundled form and clinked on the ground. Clover scrambled to pick it up for her. Thankfully, the vial wasn't broken. Mel drank it down greedily.

"The next part of my plan," Fritz continued. "Is to forge some seals."

"Will that work?" Reed asked. "Aren't they meant to be magic?"

"We'll just have to see," Fritz said, setting the metal pot on the fire. He dropped a bar of dark red wax into it and waited for it to melt.

When all was ready, he poured hot liquid into his engraved brick and waited for it to cool. It didn't take long, and soon he had a wax circle that was nearly identical to the original.

"Now it's just the parchment," Fritz said, mostly to himself.

Thankfully, the scribbling and scrawling of the strange, senseless glyphs was a far less demanding task than the engraving. He had one strip copied in less than six minutes. Then he heated the back of the false seal and set it to the top of the parchment.

Fritz laid the two seals down, side by side. Then compared them.

They were the same.

He allowed himself some pride that he had succeeded in creating a nigh perfect replica. On the surface, at least.

For some reason, the right, false seal felt wrong, like it lacked a certain weight or energy. It wasn't magic, he could tell that much, but another, more ethereal, power. One that dwelled deeper than even that great mystery.

He wondered what to do for some minutes, then began to pace.

Fritz considered his options, then returned to the seals, a thought having struck him. He held them together, wax on wax, then reached out with his Control. There, he could feel something resist him, but only for a second before it yielded to his invisible touch like clay. He pulled at that ineffable energy and dragged it from the true seal into the false. It was just a trickle of the oddly heavy power, but soon his replica bore the same weight as the original.

Fritz sighed, sure now that they were as identical as he could make them, then he grinned.

"Seven more and we're all set."

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