Trick

Salomon's method was simple and crude, with little cleverness involved. Their enemies were nowhere near as difficult to deal with as the guardians of the British Museum.

Of course, that was only on the magical level.

Even so, this time's opponents were no easy characters. The descendants of the Puritans who had taken part in the Salem Witch Trials—those Puritan civil official families who had hanged innocent women—still controlled Salem's politics and economy generation after generation. This was capitalism's hereditary system.

Ricky White was a descendant of one of those civil official families. He was a senator from Salem.

Salomon and Master Wong found a café across from City Hall. They sat there, waiting for the politician to appear.

"Ugh, it tastes like scalding mud." Salomon held a cup of coffee overloaded with milk and sugar. He had always hated coffee. No matter how much milk or sugar he added, it always left a sour taste in his mouth.

He glanced sideways at Master Wong, who sat across from him at the little white round table. "Senior Brother Wong, how many tuna sandwiches have you eaten already? We're here to keep watch, not stuff our faces."

"My allowance only came yesterday. My dad hasn't had time to confiscate it yet." Master Wong patted his chubby belly and spoke without a care. "Of course I have to seize the chance to eat something good. Do you like Kamar-Taj's cafeteria food? Who among us doesn't go mooch meals at the Hong Kong Sanctum?"

Salomon rolled his eyes. Master Wong remained optimistic about his figure. He firmly believed that only by eating more and fattening himself up would he have the strength to survive Kamar-Taj's grueling training. At least when someone punched him in the stomach, he would have a little cushioning.

Being broad-minded and well-fed was a good thing, but at Kamar-Taj headquarters, where ascetic practice was prized, it made him an oddity. Everyone there was either lean or muscular. You were the only fat guy, with a single unified ab muscle. If they didn't hit you, who would they hit?

"How long are we supposed to wait here?" Master Wong burped contentedly. Today had been the most satisfying day of eating he had ever had. Free from Master Hamir's supervision, he had devoured food like a wild dog off its leash. Naturally, being full and satisfied, he felt no impatience. He only asked because he wanted to know whether he still had time for a few more sandwiches.

"I don't know." Salomon shook his head.

But Salomon was patient—politicians would not stay here forever. He had to go socializing, seek entertainment, and attend to his business. That was the product of capitalism with distinctive authoritarian characteristics. Sooner or later, they would catch him.

"If you send me to Washington, I guarantee that I will bring reform. I stake my life on the fact that my original intentions will never change." On the café's static-filled television screen, Ricky White was making an impassioned speech. From the background, it was clear that he stood in front of Salem City Hall.

"I will always be Ricky White, son of Salem, and I will forever fight for everything we have, until my last ounce of strength..."

Perhaps because the café's television had fallen into disrepair, not only was the image constantly covered in static, but the sound was distorted as well.

Ricky White's campaign speech gradually became indistinct. Salomon leaned back in the soft chair with its cushion and plush backrest, watching dead yellow leaves roll along the street outside the window.

He half-closed his eyes. Slowly, the noise disappeared, as did the sounds of passing cars. He could hear water dripping from the faucet in the café kitchen, the resonance of droplets striking the stainless-steel sink, and the electrical buzz of a poorly connected fluorescent tube.

Even farther away, he could hear the click-click of a radio dial turning, the wet sound of lips and tongues separating between lovers, and birdsong from an immense distance.

"Hey, Salomon, wake up!" A frantic shaking interrupted Salomon's meditation. "They're coming out!"

Salomon opened his eyes and yawned.

This was the power of a saint that the Venerable One had mentioned. He would gradually gain physical abilities beyond those of ordinary people, such as sharper hearing and sight. These abilities would slowly emerge as he grew older. But he was not Superman from the comics. According to the Venerable One, his body had merely been strengthened by magic. No matter what, he would not leave the bounds of humanity, though even this was already extraordinary by ordinary standards.

During his brief rest, he had only meditated. He had not used the Astral Body projection he had always disdained—this spell had been developed by the Venerable One based on Tibetan esoteric Buddhist texts, and Kamar-Taj mages generally used it to study through the night.

Salomon scoffed at that. If you were going to sleep, then sleep properly. Why make things so troublesome?

Of course, Kamar-Taj's collections on this subject contained more than Astral Body projection. Mages interested in such matters could continue studying the Yang Spirit Emergence Method of Zhang Boduan, the Perfected Man of Purple Yang, collected by the Venerable One.

But no one studied it. The method of cultivating both life and destiny sounded impressive, but it took far too long and had always run contrary to Kamar-Taj's principles.

Following Master Wong's gaze, Salomon looked outside. Just beyond the glass window, Ricky White, with his short golden hair, emerged from City Hall arm in arm with his secretary Golia. They were preparing to enter a black sedan.

"Stop! Don't interrupt my spellcasting." Salomon withdrew his hand and began chanting quietly.

Salem was not a large town, and its streets were correspondingly narrow. Most of the buildings had dark gray walls that gave the place a cold, detached feel. It seemed that the residents preferred a peaceful life and had little interest in turning the place into a major city.

Thus, the café where Salomon sat was not far from Ricky White, and the spell he cast could easily reach the target.

Master Wong saw Salomon point a finger, and Ricky White, along with his secretary Golia in her red fur-trimmed coat, fell to the ground. When Master Wong looked more closely, he was stunned.

"Y-you took off his pants?!" His eyes widened as he stared at Salomon in disbelief. "What kind of magic is that?"

"Pants," Salomon answered.

This spell was a prank trick used among many mage apprentices on Golarion, but many renowned mages still kept it as one of their commonly used spells. Other than warriors wearing plate armor, whether someone used a belt or suspenders, nothing could stop their pants from falling to their ankles. Unless they wanted to fight bare-assed, even legendary warriors could not escape this spell.

Who could avoid tripping over their fallen pants?

Ricky White scrambled to his feet, while his bodyguards in black suits promptly blocked everyone else's view—after all, a senator taking off his pants in the street was not good news.

"Alright, we can move now." Salomon stood and walked toward the target while continuing to chant.

The once imposing bodyguards in black all bent over in unison, because their pants also fell to the ground one after another. This drew the attention of tourists, and Salomon swiftly squeezed through the crowd with Master Wong.

The bodyguards in black hurriedly pulled up their pants while trying to block the reporters. They attempted to stop the paparazzi from taking pictures, but with little success, because clever reporters had already stepped on their pant legs, leaving them unable to take a single step.

Salomon pushed through the crowd, chanting continuously. Under the effects of his magic, the movements and reactions of those around him slowed. He raised one hand above his head, and golden dust spread over everyone's heads.

"Close your eyes," he whispered to Master Wong. Then a blinding flash as intense as a Flashbang Grenade erupted. The onlookers instinctively shut their eyes, and some even teared up from the harsh stimulation.

"Hurry! It's the ring with the pink gemstone!"

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Pants

School: Transmutation; Level: Bard 0, Sorcerer/Wizard 0

Casting Time: 1 standard action

Components: Verbal, somatic

Range: Close (25 ft. + 5 ft./level)

Target: One creature wearing pants

Duration: Instantaneous

Saving Throw: Will negates; Spell Resistance: Yes

You cause the target's pants to slip down to his ankles. Belts and suspenders cannot protect the target, but armor that completely encloses the legs, such as full plate, can prevent this spell's negative effects.

After the pants fall, the target can put them back on with a move action. If the target does not pull up his pants, his movement speed is reduced by half. If he attempts to move more than 5 feet in a round, he must make a Reflex save (DC equal to the spell's DC) or fall prone.

Pause

School: Enchantment (Compulsion); Level: Bard 0, Sorcerer/Wizard 0

Casting Time: 1 immediate action

Components: Verbal, somatic

Range: Close (25 ft. + 5 ft./2 levels)

Target: One living creature

Duration: Instantaneous

Saving Throw: Will negates; Spell Resistance: Yes

This spell slows the target's reaction time. He takes a -4 circumstance penalty to initiative checks (minimum initiative result 0). If he has already acted this round, the spell does not grant him an additional action, so his new initiative does not take effect until the following round.