"Okay, so you don't have a plan yet. Good. Let's do this properly—meaning I'll be the one doing the planning."
Freya's tone carried the smug weight of someone convinced she was the only adult in the room.
Charles leaned back in his chair, arms folded. Great. Another self-appointed genius.
At her declaration, everyone pulled the same face—like they'd just bitten into something sour.
"Well," Farren said, "for a plan, we do need your information first, right?"
"Tsch. Doesn't matter. My plan will still be better. So listen." Freya leaned forward, her voice fast and sharp, words tumbling out like bullets. "As you know, the nice and proper things in this city are run by the guilds. Then you've got the big companies—based elsewhere, but with enough clout here to matter. They keep the ones who run the bad things from going too far—the syndicates. Right?"
Before she could continue, Gerart interjected.
"Yeah, which is why we were confused by your little syndicate suddenly poking its nose into the food trade."
Freya shot him a look that screamed you're all idiots.
"That's why I said 'as you know,' dummy. What you don't know is that our Hollow Coin is under the Black Sigil—one of the Great Ten, by the way—and they've made a deal with the Merchant Guild. The merchants turn a blind eye, and we sell them farm produce at a twenty percent discount."
Charles tapped his fingers against his leg. That was bad. Really bad. The kind of bad that ended with people like him dangling from a rope in the plaza.
Farren frowned. "Okay, so… that's bad, right? You've got big backing?"
Freya shook her head, almost confused by the question.
"No, not at all. If they could go public with it, why would they need us? They can't do much under everyone's watch. Which means"—her smile sharpened like a blade—"we've got a clear path to deal with those traitorous bastards."
Syrrien made a lazy, bored gesture.
"So why do we need to know all this?"
"Oh," Freya said sweetly, "I thought you'd like to be informed before potentially poking a tiger with a stick…"
Syrrien blinked, expression unreadable. Damn elf—does he care only about trees and coins?
"Anyway, does anyone have a map of the city?"
---
"The syndicate's got five bases spread around the city," Freya said, counting on her fingers. "Used to be six—until yesterday."
She ticked them off: "Three are big, public, crawling with guards. Forget those. One is the boss's house—well, the new boss's house—locked down tight."
"That leaves us with one target." She let the pause hang, letting the implication sink in. "A brothel in the slums. Not your usual place—this one caters to a… special clientele. The kind who like to play rough with unwilling toys. One of the syndicate's most profitable ventures. And their softest spot. Because it's for the rich and powerful, they can't exactly turn it into a fortress without scaring off the customers."
Charles exhaled heavily, doubt creeping in. "Okay, but… wouldn't that just be a stumble for them? They could rebuild."
"Yeah, if it was just girls and cash," Freya's tone sharpened. "But there's something far more valuable—a book of records. Get that, and we've got leverage."
Gerart grunted. "I suppose the bigwigs would be furious if anyone found out what they were doing there."
"Exactly," Freya said, teeth flashing in a grin. "And once we've shaken them there, we get out of the city and hit their farms. Take everything. Kill the lackeys posted there. Hit them on the road when they're swapping shifts or hauling food. Divide and conquer."
She scanned their faces. "So… what do you say?"
---
The plan was set. Now they needed time—time to prepare, and for Freya to recover enough to move without collapsing.
Horses had to be bought. Supplies stocked. Weapons sharpened or replaced. They'd be traveling heavier than before—two extra burdens in the form of Oswin and Freya.
Charles sat cross-legged in his room, eyes closed, running through one of the mana comprehension techniques he'd learned. Two hours passed. Nothing.
He opened his eyes slowly, staring at the two snake eggs from his last hunt. Sigh… maybe my talent really is that bad. He brushed his fingers over the shells. "Just wait. I won't let you die."
For four days, he tried—morning, noon, and night—while the others busied themselves with preparations. The most he managed was a faint, strange sensation flickering somewhere deep inside him. Not enough. Not yet.
"Tschh… just wait," he muttered under his breath. "I'll be the best magician you've ever seen."
But quiet training was over. Preparations were complete. Soon, they'd be on the move.
---
The sun sank behind the horizon, staining the sky in rust and gold. Two hours from the city, they sat in a makeshift camp, checking weapons, tightening straps, and going over the plan one last time.
Freya stood, brushing dirt from her hands. "Alright, I think it's time. Let's move. Oh, and Syrrien—" she turned to the elf, voice light but cutting, "I know you don't like the kid. If he misbehaves or tries to follow us, just knock him out. Alright?"
Syrrien gave a bored shrug. The boy cursed under his breath, but neither protest nor glare slowed them as they left the pair behind and started toward the city.
By the time they reached the gates, they'd be shut tight. Fortunately, Freya knew another way in—a smuggler's path once used by small-time thugs. Which, by her smirk, meant her and a few friends.
The narrow passage spat them out into the slums. The air was thick with rot and smoke, each breath sour and heavy. Misery clung to the streets; the very walls seemed to whisper threats from the shadows. Rats scuttled through broken gutters, and the smell of stale refuse cut like a knife.
"How do they even get the fat moneybags to come here?" Charles muttered. "Any man with coin would rather die than set foot in this place."
"They have carriages, of course," Freya replied. "And wait until you see the brothel."
Deeper in, the maze of shacks and hovels abruptly gave way to a large, open clearing. Where houses should have been, a high wall rose—solid, imposing, and out of place among the decay.
"Our target's behind there," Freya said quietly. "Keep your mouths shut, eyes open, and be ready to fight at a moment's notice."
A sudden clang rang out from behind the wall. A muffled scream followed.
Charles' grip on his sword tightened.
"Guess someone didn't wait for us to knock."