We burst from the relative quiet of the storeroom back into the dimly lit main warehouse corridor just as Foreman Borin, his slick composure completely gone, replaced by a mask of cold, murderous fury, and six heavily armed guards rounded the far end. Their swords were already drawn, reflecting the sparse lantern light, their faces grim masks of lethal intent. They moved with a coordination that spoke of training beyond simple guild duty.
Borin's eyes widened in shock for a split second, seeing us emerge directly from his secret sanctum, then narrowed with absolute lethal intent as he saw the unmistakable black leather spine of the Ironwood Ventures ledger clutched tightly in my hand. His lucrative side deal, his betrayal of both Ashworth and likely Thorne, was exposed. There was no turning back for him now. He had nothing left to lose, and everything to gain by silencing us permanently.
"Intruders! Ashworth spies!" he bellowed, his voice echoing in the cavernous warehouse, a desperate, self-serving attempt to frame us, signaling the attack. "They seek to sabotage the Guild! Kill them! Protect the Guildmaster's interests!" He cleverly twisted the narrative, playing the loyal foreman protecting his master's property, ensuring his men would fight without question.
The guards, motivated perhaps by guild loyalty, perhaps by Vane's coin funneled through Borin, or simply by the fear of their compromised foreman, charged down the passage without hesitation, their swords raised.
Rolan reacted instantly, a bastion of Ashworth discipline forged in countless drills and the real terror of the capital ambush. He planted his feet firmly on the stone floor, shield raised high, angling it expertly to deflect the initial, wild thrusts from the first two guards. The harsh clang of cheap steel blade biting into his sturdy Ashworth shield boss rang out sharply, a percussive beat against the sudden chaos. He held his ground like a rock, grunting with the effort, his own sword flashing out in short, economical, defensive jabs, creating a vital bottleneck in the narrow space, buying me precious seconds.
I moved past him, flowing into the heart of the fight, the confined space both a danger and an advantage. My father's command echoed clearly in my mind – No unnecessary displays unless necessary. Necessity had just arrived, armed and screaming for my blood. But his other command remained just as resonant, a counterweight to the dragon's rising fury: Not an executioner. Control. Precision.
"Scales!" I commanded inwardly, focusing my will even as I moved to intercept Borin and the guards attempting to flank Rolan. The familiar, burning-cold sensation erupted along my left arm, flowing like liquid shadow, hardening into a vambrace of black, iridescent draconic armor. It materialized with a speed and smoothness that spoke of my progress, solidifying just nanoseconds before blocking a vicious downward slash from Borin himself. He fought with surprising, desperate skill, his Adept-level Aura flaring erratically.
The impact jarred my arm, the force significant. I felt the low, guttural growl of the dragon stir deep within me, hot and eager, tasting the potential for violence, urging me to simply crush this impudent insect. I forced it down viciously, clamping down hard with the mental disciplines Leo had drilled into me, visualizing the fortress walls holding firm. Control. Efficiency. Not rage. I met Borin's panicked assault not with overwhelming force, but with calculated rhythm.
I flowed around his clumsy power, guided by the Two-Heart Cadence. He lunged, predictable in his anger, overcommitting. I pivoted smoothly, his blade slicing air, and delivered a single, precise Rhythmic Infusion tap with my scaled fist to his sword hand. PING. Resonance, focused. His sword clattered away, hand numb, eyes wide with shock. A swift kick sent him stumbling back into his men.
Two guards pressed forward, flanking. Scales flowed onto my right arm. Using both arms as armored shields, I deflected their clumsy slashes. Steel scraped harmlessly against dragon scale. Panicked, less skilled. End this quickly. Non-lethally.
A brief opening. Both off balance. I centered myself, anchoring in the human cadence, suppressing the dragon's impatient snarl. Just enough force. Control. Thump-THUMP. Two quick, open-palm strikes to their chests. Contained pulses, barely visible blue flashes. Resonant force hit like invisible hammers, knocking the wind from them, shattering Auras. They staggered back, gasping, stunned, out of the fight, collapsing against the corridor walls.
Rolan had expertly disarmed one opponent, pommel-striking him unconscious. He faced the last guard defensively.
Borin recovered, face contorted with hatred. He snarled and drew a dagger concealed in his boot – plain steel. He gathered himself to lunge, likely aiming for Rolan and the ledger.
Before he moved, a new voice, booming with unquestionable authority, cut through the fight. "Hold! In the name of Guildmaster Thorne and the Argent Accord!"
From the corridor's far end, near the main warehouse entrance, several figures appeared, bearing official Guild Watch lanterns. Leading them was a tall, broad-shouldered man in officer's livery, hand on a heavy mace. High Adept or Low Artisan. Thorne's Master-at-Arms, perhaps, alerted by the commotion.
Borin froze instantly, dagger raised, face paling. The last guard dropped his sword.
The Guild Officer's gaze swept the scene – downed guards, Borin with his dagger, Rolan with the ledger, my scaled forearms slowly receding. His eyes narrowed. "Meaning of this intrusion? And you," he looked at me, "who are you?"
Critical moment. Reveal myself? Trust Thorne's men? Maintain cover. Discreetly.
"I am Layn," I said, reverting to my cover, voice calm. "Auditor for Lord Elias Ashworth. I discovered Foreman Borin falsifying records and concealing evidence of sabotage against House Ashworth." I held up the Ironwood Ventures ledger. "This details payments from a House Vane front company to Borin, instructing him to disrupt Ashworth trade and acquire restricted equipment. Foreman Borin's loyalty lies not with Guildmaster Thorne, but with the capital vipers seeking to undermine both our houses."
The Guild Officer stared at the ledger, then at Borin's terrified, guilty face. Conflict in his eyes – suspicion of me versus the clear evidence of Vane's interference, a house known for its ruthlessness.
"Is this true, Borin?" the officer demanded, voice dangerously low.
Borin opened his mouth, then closed it, trapped.
"Seize him," the officer commanded his men curtly. "And these others involved. Take them to the Guildmaster under heavy guard. He will want this explanation personally. And secure that ledger." He looked at me, expression softening slightly. "Apologies, Auditor Layn. A serpent in our midst. Guildmaster Thorne values the Ashworth alliance. He will be… profoundly displeased."
He offered a respectful nod. "Accompany us to Brennus? The Guildmaster will wish to thank you. Lord Elias should be informed immediately."
I glanced at Rolan, who gave a subtle nod. Proof secured. Traitor neutralized by Thorne's men. Alliance likely preserved, perhaps even strengthened. "Lead the way, Captain," I said, falling back into the role of the humble scribe.
As we walked towards the entrance, leaving the chaos behind, grim satisfaction warred with cold suspicion. Control had won. Subtlety worked. Father's command obeyed. But it felt… too easy. Borin captured, Vane connection exposed, Thorne's man arriving so conveniently. Was Vane truly this clumsy? Or was this a pawn sacrifice? The thought that the true enemy might still be manipulating events refused to be silenced. The victory felt clean, but the war felt far from over.