With the "where" of the final confrontation now a cold, hard certainty, the "what with" became Zero's singular obsession. He spent the next day not in physical preparation, but in a state of intense, focused intellectual design. He sat at his small, rickety desk, the stolen grimoire open to the chapter on "Phase-State Aberrations," a fresh sheet of parchment beside it. He was not just planning a fight; he was composing a symphony of slaughter, and every item on his list was a carefully chosen note.
His handwriting was a model of cold, precise clarity, a stark contrast to the messy, desperate scrawls in the grimoire. He was translating the chaotic, hard-won wisdom of past hunters into a clean, logical, and ruthlessly efficient operational plan.
Item 1: Iron, Pure-Grade. Minimum three lengths, heavy-gauge ship's anchor chain. The grimoire had been explicit. While common steel was an irritant, pure, unalloyed iron acted as a "quantum destabilizer" to chaotic creatures. Contact with it did not just wound them; it disrupted their ability to phase, forcing their unstable forms into a temporary, and vulnerable, state of physical solidity. The chains were not for binding. They were for pinning the beast to reality.
Item 2: Iron Filings, Pure-Grade. Minimum five pounds, finely milled. A secondary application of the same principle. Not a weapon, but an environmental contaminant. The grimoire's annotations described it as creating an "anti-phase field." Sprinkled across a threshold, it would act like a razor wire fence to a normal man, shredding the creature's cohesion as it passed through.
Item 3: Oil, High-Quality Lamp. Minimum one dozen flasks. This was a cruder, but more direct, tool. The beast was not a creature of flame, but its physical form, when made solid, was still composed of organic, combustible matter. Fire was a universal solvent for problems that refused to be reasoned with.
Item 4: Sonic Resonator Components. One resonant crystal (quartz, attuned), copper wiring, one alchemical power cell (low-grade). This was the most complex and esoteric item on his list. The grimoire spoke of how Glimmer-Beasts were vulnerable to high-frequency sonics. The sound waves did not harm them directly but interfered with the internal frequency that allowed them to phase, causing them disorientation and intense pain. He didn't need a powerful, weaponized device. He just needed a distraction. A single, piercing, high-frequency note that would disrupt the beast's senses at a critical moment.
He stared at his finished list. It was a strange, almost insane collection of items. An anchor chain, a bag of metal dust, lamp oil, and the parts for a magical tuning fork. To any normal adventurer, it would be nonsensical. To Zero, it was the perfect, interlocking set of tools for the surgical deconstruction of a reality-warping monster.
Now, he had to acquire them. And for that, he needed Kael.
Their next meeting was not in the smoky anonymity of The Leaky Mug. Zero chose a new location: a high, windswept bridge spanning the chasm between the undercity and the old industrial sector, a place of constant noise from the forges below and shrouded in a perpetual mist of steam and smoke. It was a place of transience, where no one lingered, and a whispered conversation would be swallowed by the roar of the city.
Kael was already there, a small, wiry silhouette in the mist, leaning against the cold, iron railing. The cheerful, chirping demeanor was gone. The Rat-kin who met Zero now was all business, his black eyes sharp and wary. He had seen the chaos at the Crimson Altar. He had heard the rumors of the dead Watchmen. He knew his strange, ghost-like client was playing a game that was far more dangerous than simple information brokering.
"Boss," Kael said, his voice a low, flat whisper that barely carried over the wind. "You're making a lot of noise for a ghost. The Watch is turning the undercity inside out looking for you. Tarsus is on the warpath."
"Let him look," Zero replied, his own voice a calm, detached murmur from the depths of his hood. "He's looking for the wrong thing. I need a new list of items."
He passed the parchment to Kael. The Rat-kin unrolled it, his sharp eyes scanning the list. His whiskers twitched, and his brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and dawning apprehension.
"Chains? Iron filings? This isn't a shopping list, boss. This is an arsenal for fighting a demon," he hissed, his gaze flicking up to Zero's shadowed face. "What in the Abyssal hells are you hunting?"
"A problem," Zero said simply. "One that needs a permanent solution."
Kael was silent for a long moment, the parchment trembling slightly in his hand. He was a creature of information, of secrets that could be bought and sold. This felt different. This felt like being asked to supply the weapons for a war he didn't understand. He was a broker, not a quartermaster for a ghost's private crusade.
"This is… difficult," Kael said, his voice tight. "Pure-grade iron isn't common. The chains will have to be 'acquired' from the naval shipyard. The resonator crystal will need to be sourced from a mage's guild supplier. This is high-risk. Expensive. Far more expensive than our usual arrangement."
"I know," Zero said. "And I have your payment."
He didn't produce a pouch of gold. He produced a second, smaller, and far more valuable piece of parchment. "Your last payment was for a business opportunity," Zero said, his voice cold and precise. "This one is for your survival."
He handed the new scroll to Kael. It contained a single, detailed paragraph. It was a step-by-step, almost clairvoyant prediction of a coming political scandal involving a minor noble, Lord Valerius—a distant cousin to the academy's own Headmaster—and his illegal dealings with the Crimson Hand slavers. The scroll detailed the exact time and place of Valerius's next secret meeting, the name of his Crimson Hand contact, and, most importantly, the name of the rival noble who was already planning to use this information to ruin him.
But it was the final line that made Kael's blood run cold. It detailed how Lord Valerius, in his desperation, would try to silence everyone who knew of his dealings, starting with a certain, well-connected Rat-kin information broker who had been asking too many questions about the Crimson Hand. It listed the names of the two assassins Valerius would hire.
Kael stared at the parchment, his sharp, intelligent face pale in the misty gloom. This was not a business tip. It was a death warrant, with his own name on it. And this strange, terrifying boy had just handed him the key to avoiding it.
"How?" Kael whispered, his voice a dry, rasping sound. "How could you possibly know this?"
"I collect information," Zero said, the lie smooth and practiced. "Just like you. I simply have better sources."
The balance of power in their relationship had just irrevocably shifted. Kael was no longer just a hired informant. He was a client. A dependant. This cloaked, quiet boy had just saved his life, and in doing so, had shackled the Rat-kin to him with a chain far stronger than any gold. A chain of debt and fear.
"The items," Kael said, his voice now a low, subdued murmur of pure, professional focus. He had seen the ghost's power, and he had made his choice. It was better to be the agent of the storm than to be the tree that stood in its path. "It will be done. I will need three days. The materials will be delivered to a drop point of your choosing."
"The old Alchemist's Guildhall," Zero said. "The sealed sub-basement. There's a collapsed ventilation shaft on the east side. Use that."
Kael's eyes widened for a fraction of a second. The Alchemist's Maw. A place of legend, a place of fear. The ghost wasn't just hunting a monster. He was choosing to do it in one of the most haunted and dangerous places in the entire city.
"You're mad," Kael breathed.
"I'm thorough," Zero corrected him.
He turned and walked away, melting back into the steam and the mist, leaving the Rat-kin alone on the bridge. Kael stood there for a long time, the two pieces of parchment in his hand. One was a shopping list for a monster hunter. The other was a prophecy that had just saved his life. He looked into the swirling mist where the boy had vanished, a new, profound, and deeply unsettling understanding dawning in his sharp, black eyes. He wasn't just working for a ghost anymore. He was working for something that could see the future. And that was a thought far more terrifying than any monster that lurked in the dark.