Ronnie and I waded through the streets of Meraki-Do. The huts and houses lined up along the mountain slope had their awnings covering us. Lanterns hung outside some of them while triangle-papers were laid out on strings on their roofs.

  I looked around with an intrigued gaze, but walked with a lot of precision. It was equally important to find the weaponizer as it was to find a way to make her come along with us. She was here probably for a reason, and I wanted to find it.

  One thing was clear, it couldn’t really be much of an attachment to her homeplace. Meraki-Do had become an amalgamation of culture merging into the culture of our country, it was difficult to pin it to a single Eastern country.

  “Do you like a place like this?” Ronnie asked, holding our bags in one hand as he walked next to me. “It is prettier than I imagined, I want to see the waterfall and the woods behind the town tomorrow.”

  “I think its nice too,” I said. “I quite like how this place looks. Where are we staying?”

  “There’s a room there.” Ronnie pointed at the top of the mountain where a lavish house stood, it glowed with a yellow hue from the lights around it and there was a clear stream flowing through the mountains and into the building.

  “The Celestial Springs Ryokan. Ashen Gryphon spared no expense.”

  “Of course they didn’t.”

  We hiked up the stone steps. The higher we went, the thinner the air got, but the view became spectacular. By the time we checked in, the sun had fully dipped below the jagged horizon, painting the sky in deep purples and bruised blues.

  The interior was all polished wood and sliding paper doors. It smelled of sulfur and expensive incense.

  “Here is your key, Vice-Leader,” Ronnie said, handing me a wooden tag. “I am in the room down the hall. We start the search at 0800 hours tomorrow.”

  I took the key and slid open the door to my room.

  “Whoa.”

  It wasn't a room. It was an apartment. There were tatami mats covering the floor, a futon that looked softer than a cloud, and a balcony that opened right up to the starry sky. And there, steaming in the cool mountain air, was a private hot spring carved out of natural rock.

  I dropped my bag. I wanted to jump in immediately. My ribs, though healed, still ached with a phantom pain every now and then. A soak would be divine.

  But then my stomach growled.

  It was a loud, unladylike sound that echoed off the paper walls.

  “Food first. Bath later.”

  I changed out of my travel clothes into a simple hoodie and jeans. I grabbed my wallet and slipped out. I didn't bother knocking on Ronnie’s door. He was probably already color-coding his itinerary for tomorrow.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  I walked back down the stone steps into the town.

  At night, Meraki-Do changed. The quaint, touristy vibe evaporated with the daylight. The red lanterns cast long, flickering shadows that danced like ghosts on the cobblestones. The streets were emptier, and the few people walking around had their heads ducked low.

  I wanted something authentic. Not the fancy kaiseki meal the hotel would serve. I wanted grease. I wanted salt.

  I found a place near the edge of the district. A wooden shack with peeling paint and a noren curtain that looked like it had been used to wipe up oil spills.

  Perfect.

  I pushed through the curtains.

  The air inside was thick with smoke and the smell of roasting meat. It was crowded, but not with tourists. Men with rough hands and scars sat hunched over bowls, drinking clear liquor from small cups.

  Every head turned when I walked in.

  I ignored them and took a seat at the counter.

  “One bowl of spicy pork noodles,” I said to the girl behind the counter.

  She looked young. Too young to be working in a place like this. Her eyes were wide and darting around nervously, like a rabbit in a den of foxes. She looked at me, then at a group of men sitting at a table in the corner, then back at me.

  “Miss…” she whispered. “Takeout?”

  “No. Here.”

  She bit her lip but nodded, scurrying off to the kitchen.

  I felt eyes on my back. Sticky, heavy gazes that crawled over my skin. I didn't turn around. I just tapped my finger on the wooden counter and waited.

  The noodles came. They were delicious. I ate quickly, slurping the broth and ignoring the whispers behind me.

  “Is that a tourist?”

  “Looks like a city girl.”

  “Think she’s got cash?”

  I sighed into my bowl. I just wanted dinner. Why did every RPG town have to have the obligatory thug encounter?

  I finished the last drop of soup, slapped some cash on the counter, and stood up.

  The girl looked at me with terrified eyes. She mouthed something that looked like ‘run’.

  I gave her a small smile and walked out.

  The night air was crisp. I turned left, heading back toward the main road that led up the mountain.

  Footsteps echoed behind me.

  Heavy boots on stone. Not even trying to be subtle.

  I turned into an alleyway. It was a shortcut I had spotted on the way down. It was narrow, dark, and completely empty. A tactical disadvantage for most people. A funnel for me.

  I stopped in the middle of the alley and turned around.

  Three men stood at the entrance. They were big, blocking out the light from the street. One of them, a guy with a nose that had been broken at least twice, grinned. His teeth were yellow in the gloom.

  “Hey there, little lady,” he said. “You seem lost. This isn’t the way to the hotel.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m taking the scenic route. You boys should go home.”

  “Ooh, she’s got an attitude,” the second one laughed. He stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “We just want to… help you with your bags. Or your wallet.”

  “Or whatever else you got,” the third one sneered.

  I sighed.

  “Look, I’m tired. I have a hot spring waiting for me. I really don’t want to break your legs right now.”

  “Break our legs?” The leader laughed. It was an ugly, wet sound. “You think you’re tough because you’re a hunter? We deal with hunters all the time here. You city types break easy.”

  He pulled a knife from his belt. The blade caught the moonlight.

  I shifted my stance. My mana circulated. It was low, always low, but enough for this. I didn't need a spear. A simple [Ice Sheet] would send them tumbling into the dumpsters.

  The leader charged.

  “Get her!”

  I raised my hand, mana gathering at my fingertips.

  Then I heard it.

  Thwip.

  It was a soft sound. Like a card being flicked through the air.

  The leader, mid-stride, suddenly jerked.

  “ARGH!”

  He collapsed face-first onto the cobblestones, screaming and clutching his ankle.

  The other two froze.

  “Boss!?”

  I looked down.

  Sticking out of the man’s Achilles tendon, buried deep enough to draw blood, was a small, white object.

  It wasn't a knife. It wasn't a shuriken.

  It was a piece of paper. Folded neatly into a triangle.

  My eyes widened.

  Paper.

  There was only one person in the world who could turn a piece of origami into a weapon capable of piercing bone.

  I looked up, scanning the rooftops lining the alley.

  The Weaponizer was here.