I didn't wait for dawn.
The Council preferred the cover of darkness, but darkness cuts both ways. By the time Valenport's streets were drowning in sleep, I was already moving through the industrial quarter—boots silent, cloak tight around me, damp air heavy with oil and coal. My target wasn't random.
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Αντιγραφή κώδικα
[ Objective Updated: Eliminate Council Supply Node ]
The warehouse near the docks glowed crimson on my interface. On paper, it was just a grain store. In reality, it was a weapons cache, feeding every cutthroat, mercenary, and enforcer Dareth controlled. Destroy it, and he'd bleed.
I paused in the shadow of a leaning tower, eyes on the six guards outside. They were armed, professional, but too relaxed—mercenaries who followed orders without thinking, enough skill to intimidate but not enough to question. Perfect.
Ryn's voice whispered through the crystal at my collar. "Two more on the roof. Watching the main street."
"I'm not coming from the main street," I murmured.
The brick was slick, but Soul Resonance energy made the climb effortless. Each pull of my hands brought me closer to the parapet until I crouched behind its edge, eyes on the two lookouts. They weren't expecting anything from above.
The first died without a sound; my blade slipped through the narrow gap in his helmet. The second had time to turn, but not enough. My hand clamped over his mouth as the dagger cut clean. I lowered him gently; his blood had already cooled in the night air.
Below, the warehouse door creaked open. A patrol of three men stepped out, laughing. That was my moment. I dropped like a shadow made flesh, blade striking the first in the back before the others could react.
The second raised his spear—but too late. My boot snapped into his knee; as he fell, I slashed from collarbone to hip. The third turned to flee. He didn't make it three steps.
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Αντιγραφή κώδικα
[ +186 XP ]
[ +200 XP ]
[ +195 XP ]
Alerts flickered in my vision, but I didn't pause. I pushed the heavy door open and slipped inside.
The warehouse smelled of oil, steel, and the faint metallic tang of lingering enchantments. Crates were stacked in neat rows, each branded with a sigil of a merchant house that didn't exist. Two guards patrolled the central aisle, crossbows ready. I stayed low, moving between stacks until I was close enough to overhear them.
"…told us not to open the sealed crates," one said.
"Why? What's in them?"
"Don't know. Don't want to know. You open one and—"
The rest of his sentence never came. My blade cut his throat; his partner fell a heartbeat later, ribs cleanly opened.
[ +192 XP ]
[ +201 XP ]
Then the system pinged:
[ Hazard Detected: Mana Trap ]
A faint glow outlined the crate ahead. Runes etched into its surface—proximity wards keyed to anyone not authorized. Trigger it wrong, and the building would become a tomb.
"Ryn," I whispered. "Eyes on me."
Moments later, her spectral projection overlaid my vision, highlighting the rune array's weak points. Three minutes. Three careful minutes of sweat, focus, and precise movements. When the last glyph guttered out, I exhaled.
Inside the crate were blades—dozens, humming with blood magic. These weren't for street fights. These were weapons of war.
I poured a vial of alchemical fire over them. The blue liquid hissed, sinking into the steel. One spark later, the entire stack erupted in white-hot flames. Magic destabilized; crates exploded, smoke thick and sharp with ozone.
That's when reinforcements arrived.
Boots pounded the floor. A dozen men slammed through the door—swords, axes, shields raised. I met them in the inferno's light.
The first fell before his weapon cleared. The second's shield shattered under a mana-infused strike. I moved through them like water through reeds, each kill sharpening the cold fire in my chest.
A warhammer brute caught me with a glancing blow, knocking me across the floor. Ribs screamed, lungs burned. I rolled to my feet as he charged again. This time I stepped aside at the last moment; his momentum carried him into the burning crates. His scream was swallowed by the roar of flames.
The warehouse was collapsing. Smoke and fire clawed at the ceiling. I cut down the last two men standing between me and the side door.
Outside, cold night air hit me like a blessing. I didn't look back until I was halfway across the rooftops. The inferno painted the night in violent orange.
Somewhere in the city, Dareth would be getting the news.
And he would know—this was no longer about defense.
This was war.