Divine Smite!

P.S. Watching the match, watching the match, restoring EDG to glory... could you win one game first? I'm begging you!

At half past four in the afternoon, the sun had already begun to set, leaving the alleys of Suzail's Upper City dim.

An elite Rogue lurked in the shadows of an alley, weapons ready beneath his cloak.

A poisoned dagger, three poisoned darts, three throwing knives, and a sharp little axe made specifically to pierce armor. The Rogue was prepared.

He checked his target once more. No mistake: it was Viscount Aaron Salian of Cormyr, the man his employer had named.

His employer had told him there was no chance of mistaking the target. The Rogue had thought it was a joke, but once he saw the man, he understood why.

Sorry, pal. It's not that I want to kill you. Someone paid for your life!

At the thought of that chest of gold—three hundred Cormyrian Golden Lions stamped on the back with the profile of former king Azoun IV—along with the fast boat waiting by the harbor and a new identity, the Rogue felt this job was worth taking.

He needed money. Badly. Rogues lived in the shadows, making their way through the gray areas of city life. From thieves, pickpockets, robbers, assassins, and con artists to private investigators, enforcers, and commercial spies, Rogues were always hunting for wealth and treasure.

With that money, he could start a new life in Zambia to the east or Tumis to the south. He could go to the Sword Coast, or Amn. All he had to do was change his name and face.

He watched the viscount walk into the middle of the alley. The man glanced back, puzzled, and the Rogue's heart jumped.

Fortunately, the viscount had not spotted him. Quite the opposite: seeing no one behind him, the man slipped deeper into the alley, turned his back, and appeared to undo his belt. He tipped his head back as a stream poured from below his waist.

Hmph! What lousy manners. And he calls himself a noble! How is he any different from a slum thug?

If that's the kind of trash you are, don't blame me!

With nimble steps and practiced stealth, the Rogue closed in behind Aaron almost effortlessly. He drew his dagger, and a cold glint flashed through the dim alley.

Die!

Just as the Rogue came within a step of Aaron's back, a tongue of flame suddenly sprang from the ground.

Tzeentch's Pink Fire!

The flames caught the Rogue's trouser legs and surged up beneath him. Twisted creatures appeared within the fire, shrieking as they seized the assassin's legs with both hands.

Damn it, he spotted me! The Rogue was stunned.

Only then did Aaron turn around.

The viscount had not been urinating in the alley at all!

He had simply been holding a small waterskin.

"Who sent you?" Aaron asked coldly. "Tell me, and I might spare your life."

The Rogue gave no answer. His chance at a surprise attack was gone. He flipped his dagger and cut the Fire Horrors in two, then endured the pain and burns on his legs as he hurled a smoke bomb to the ground and retreated at speed.

Two sharp whistles sliced through the air. Two daggers flew out of the smoke, forcing Aaron to abandon the chase. The viscount threw dignity aside and rolled across the ground.

Clang! Clang! The daggers struck the stones and scattered sparks.

By the time Aaron rose, the Rogue had vanished.

Aaron narrowed his eyes. He drew the standard-issue longsword at his waist and readied a spell with his other hand, watching his surroundings carefully. His face remained blank as his mind raced.

An assassination?

Who? The Dark Sun Prince, Cyric? Sharp from earlier? Or surviving followers of Baal, the Lord of Murder?

Aaron ruled out Sharp first.

Sharp had been taken by the Queen's Blade only a few hours ago. There was no way he could have hired an assassin so quickly while under their watch.

The Dark Sun Prince, Cyric?

That did not seem right either. Aaron could tell this assassin had come to kill him, whereas the Warlock from before had clearly had a chance to do so but had demanded his capture instead.

By the same reasoning, Baal's followers were unlikely.

For the moment, Aaron could not even guess who wanted him dead badly enough to hire an assassin.

A soft thud came from somewhere in the alley. Aaron stayed alert, set the question aside, and focused on the cramped space around him.

The Rogue had dealt with the Tzeentch Horrors, but the injuries to his legs had slowed him.

Aaron recalled his father's lessons.

"When facing a Rogue, find open ground if you can. If you can't, hold your position as firmly as possible."

"A Rogue has the advantage when you fight on the move. If you stand and fight, though, a Rogue will never beat a warrior."

"Use your skill and strength to drag the Rogue into a prolonged fight. Remember this, my son: if a Rogue fails to cripple his target with the first strike, he has already lost half the battle."

Yes, contrary to what many people imagined, Rogues were not built for straight fights.

They excelled at adventure, not combat.

And that spell you've never seen before must have surprised you, too.

Aaron did not dare relax. He had already cast two first-circle spells today, and little magic remained!

Crack! After a brief silence, a roof tile fell behind Aaron and shattered on the ground.

Aaron did not turn to look. He surged forward, swinging his longsword. Sure enough, a gray shape dropped from above. In a flash, sword and dagger collided, throwing sparks. The Rogue's sharp blade sliced down Aaron's back to his waist, leaving a long tear in his coat, but the tip of Aaron's sword tasted blood for the first time that day.

It was not over. As they passed each other, the Rogue twisted in midair and threw two knives. One grazed Aaron's cheek. The other struck his shoulder.

The viscount grunted through the pain. A dark red stain soon spread across the clothes on his chest.

The Rogue clutched his own waist, where Aaron's sword had struck him. Blood kept flowing between his fingers.

"I'll ask you one last time. Who sent you? Tell me, and I swear on the Salian name that I might spare your life," Aaron said sharply.

"...Can't you feel it, my lord viscount? That wound must be going numb by now." The Rogue pressed a hand to his waist, his face contorted. "Don't blame me. Blame yourself for crossing someone you shouldn't have. Now go to hell!"

Aaron's expression darkened.

The dagger was poisoned!

His movements had grown noticeably sluggish. The Rogue wasted no more time. He reached inside his cloak and flung out three cold glints.

Darts! Aaron hurriedly rolled aside, but to the Rogue, he looked much slower than before.

Seizing the chance, the Rogue threw himself forward with the last of his strength. His cloak whipped through the narrow alley as he covered the distance in a few steps. Holding his dagger in a reverse grip, he drove its cold, poisoned edge into the side of Aaron's neck, expertly twisted it, slashed across his throat, then pulled it free and tucked it into his belt.

Thud!

Aaron fell. Blood spread across the cobblestones.

The Rogue stood panting. "What a troublesome..." he muttered. "Urgh!"

A sharp longsword pierced his chest from behind!

"You... you're not dead?" Aaron, whose throat he should have cut, stood behind him, gripping his sword in both hands. His arms were strong and steady. He looked nothing like a dead man.

"I'm afraid your pride blinded you," Aaron said with a savage grin. "It was an illusion."

First-circle magic: Slaanesh's Reverie.

It was also the last spell Aaron could cast before resting.

The Rogue had fallen under its influence while they were talking.

As for the poison? Unfortunately for the Rogue, Aaron was not afraid of poison. At least, not this poison.

The Nurgle's Power within him remained tightly sealed, but it was still there. He could not use it, yet that did not mean it would yield to such a feeble toxin.

Blood gushed along the sword. With a sudden roar, the Rogue kicked Aaron's knee, wrenched his body off the blade, and fled toward the alley's exit with one hand clamped over his chest.

Damn it! The sword missed his heart!

Aaron instinctively raised a hand to cast a spell, but the hollow feeling within him reminded him that Slaanesh's Reverie had been his last spell for the day.

In that case... Aaron's gaze shifted to the ring on his right index finger.

"Ugh!" The ring activated, its ruby glowing bloodred. Aaron groaned as fresh magic flowed from his finger into his body. Without hesitating, he aimed his hand at the Rogue.

Chaos Bolt!

Three multicolored bolts whistled through the air. There was no suspense. The Rogue fell dead, blood pooling beneath his body and soaking the ground.

Holding the wound in his shoulder, Aaron slowly made his way to the Rogue's side and searched him.

He found almost nothing: one smoke bomb, twelve Golden Lions, two Silver Falcons, a small handful of copper coins, a crowbar, a basic set of lockpicks, and a sharp little axe designed to pierce armor.

Beyond that, nothing. Aaron could not even find anything that identified the man.

Who had hired this Rogue to assassinate him?

Aaron had no answer.

Then again, anyone hiring a killer to come after him would hardly leave behind something that exposed them.

So who was it?

Aaron held his shoulder. The dagger was still lodged there, with blood seeping around it.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!

The pain made the viscount bare his teeth. Then a dark idea surfaced in his mind.

Whoever you are, if you're so eager to make a scene in Cormyr's capital—right here in the Upper City—I'll help you!

Come on, then. Let's hurt each other!

I'll make you famous!

Aaron reached out and activated Red Conrad's Ring again. His face grew paler still.

He dipped a finger in the blood on his shoulder. While the corpse was still warm, Aaron began drawing a Holy Symbol on the Rogue's body...

Five minutes later.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The residents of Suzail's Upper City felt the ground shake. Heavy blows struck buildings, and wooden structures splintered.

What was happening?

Everyone in the Upper City was wealthy: merchants, bureaucrats, master craftsmen, nobles, officials, and high-ranking temple priests. In the Realms, such people tended to have higher professional levels and greater fighting ability. Monsters lurked in every corner of the world. Even now, some followers of the Cult of the Dragon firmly believed several Dragon Tombs lay beneath Suzail, holding immeasurable wealth.

By decree of the Princess Regent, only sword-bearing nobles could carry weapons through Cormyr's cities. People began calling for guards, while the few who were armed put their hands on their sword hilts.

Within seconds, they traced the noise to an alley.

A handsome young man in a viscount's attire stumbled out. He clutched his shoulder with one hand and held a longsword in the other. His expression was terrified, and his clothes were torn in several places. "Guards! Guards! There's a monster!"

The people on the street could tell at once that he was a local Cormyrian noble, and their suspicion of him faded. Then the monster that burst from the alley overturned everything they thought they knew.

What kind of twisted thing was this? It stood over eight feet tall, its body like a huge ball of flesh wrapped in rags. A distorted human face was barely visible at its center. Thick tentacles protruded from gaps between overlapping folds of flesh, thrashing against nearby buildings and kicking up clouds of dust.

What is that thing?

The Upper City had its share of seasoned adventurers, but this giant ball of flesh surpassed anything they had imagined.

"Guards!" the Cormyrian viscount kept calling. He turned and slashed a wound across the creature's surface, narrowly rolled beneath a sweeping tentacle, and continued shouting for help.

Now everyone understood: the nobleman was under attack.

A squad of guards arrived.

This was the Upper City, home to the powerful and influential. Its guards were more numerous and better trained than the patrols in the Lower City, and they responded far faster. At the sight of the monster, they formed ranks. Crossbowmen pulled their triggers, and several sharp bolts sank into its flesh. Blood ran from the wounds.

The guard captain relaxed a little and nodded. It doesn't look too hard to handle. He gave two hand signals, ordering the spearmen forward and the sword-and-shield soldiers to flank the creature while others hurried to rescue the nobleman.

At the same time, a chill settled in the captain's heart.

What in the world happened? How did this thing appear in my district?

This was Cormyr. This was Suzail's Upper City!

His days as guard captain were probably over. The Princess Regent never went easy on those who neglected their duties.

All he could hope now was to save the nobleman and persuade him to say a few good words on his behalf. Perhaps his punishment would be lighter.

"Rrrgh!" Another volley of bolts struck the great ball of flesh. It roared without a shred of reason, lurching and crawling forward with more than a dozen bleeding wounds. Each step shook the ground.

Reinforcements had arrived. Several guards with swords and shields protected Aaron as they withdrew, but the Chaos Spawn had no intention of letting them go. It lashed a long tentacle across the street and sent three soldiers flying.

Then everything changed. A fully armored Knight—helmetless, but otherwise ready for battle—charged out of the crowd!

"Move!"

Wearing a Purple Dragon surcoat, the Knight gripped a hand-and-a-half sword in both hands. Before everyone's eyes, platinum light gathered around the blade, and sacred fire took shape in the air.

"FOR THE LOYAL FURY! FOR TORM!"

The blade flashed. Wreathed in light, the hand-and-a-half sword swept across the Chaos Spawn's chest. Holy power exploded within its layered flesh, killing it on the spot!

Lying on the ground, Aaron could not contain his astonishment.

A Paladin!

That was Divine Smite!