Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor-Chapter 24. Operation Bring Down the Bat

How does one take down a criminal organization?

Well, the smartest approach would probably be to not mess with them in the first place. Walk away. Move to another city. Change your name. Buy a cottage somewhere remote and take up gardening.

But since that option was thoroughly out the window—thanks to a tracking spell and two attempts on his life—Adom had to consider alternatives.

He could go to the authorities, except, according to Cisco, the Children of the Moon had their tendrils deep in local law enforcement. He could try to bankrupt them, but that would take years he didn't have. He could challenge their leader to single combat... Actually, nevermind. That was stupid. That'd definitely get him killed.

Adom's approach was simpler: identify the weak points and press until something broke. It wasn't elegant, but then again, neither was he. What he did have was a frighteningly practical mind, a talent for magic that surprised even himself sometimes, and the kind of cunning that came from spending too much time thinking about how things could go wrong.

It turned out those were exactly the right qualities for bringing down a criminal empire. Who knew?

"You've caused quite the mess in the Undertow," Cisco said, his tiny paw now adjusting the silver-headed cane. "The Children haven't had time to properly hunt you - too busy fighting a war on six fronts."

"Me?"

"Hmm." His whiskers twitched. "Bad blood runs deep in the Undertow. The Silver Circle never forgot how the Children muscled into their shipping routes five years ago. The River Kings still remember the warehouse massacre. Even the Shadow Market holds a grudge over a business with some artifact smuggling." The mouse's dark eyes glinted. "All it needed was a spark. A spark that you caused."

"And now?"

"Now?" Cisco's tail curved with satisfaction. "The Children are losing territory by the day. Their allies - the few they had - are suddenly developing selective memory when it comes to old agreements. No one wants to back a losing side." He gestured at his ledger. "My profits are up thirty percent - turns out a lot of people were waiting for an excuse to move against them."

"They made enemies of everyone who mattered in the Undertow," Adom noted.

"Arrogance." Cisco shrugged. "They thought fear would keep everyone in line. But fear only works until something scarier comes along." He paused. "Or until someone shows that the monster can bleed."

"In that case," Adom said, "I don't suppose I could get a discount?"

Cisco's deep laugh filled the office. "No."

"That–"

"Now, about the Children of the Moon." Cisco's voice cut through Adom's budding protest. "They're vulnerable. Their attention is split, resources stretched thin. Perfect time to strike."

He tapped his cane against the desk. "First, we identify their income streams. Protection money, smuggling routes, gambling dens. Interrupt those, their soldiers don't get paid. Unpaid soldiers get... creative with their loyalties. Then we target their information network. Bad intel leads to poor decisions. Poor decisions..." He gestured with one tiny paw. "Well."

"And you know all their weak points."

"Naturally. Complete intelligence package: locations, contacts, schedules. Everything you need to dismantle their operation." He paused. "For a price."

"Which would be?"

"Eighty thousand."

"That's—" Adom stopped. "Hold on. This benefits you too. You said they have been a thorn in your side for years."

"True."

"And I've already helped increase your profits."

"Also true."

"So really, you should give me a discount."

Cisco's tail curved thoughtfully. "Fifty percent."

"Ninety-five. Plus you still owe me that twenty-seven point five percent reduction on the assassin, as Marco calculated that day."

Marco adjusted his glasses.

"Ninety percent. And fifteen off the assassin."

"You know," Cisco said, each word measured like drops of poison, "most people who sit in that chair understand the delicate nature of our relationship. The careful balance between..." His tail coiled. "...favor and necessity."

"I understand perfectly. I'm still not paying full price for something that benefits me so little."

"So little?" Dark eyes fixed on Adom. "Tell me, what do you think happens to the territory once the Children fall? The wealth? The connections?" His deep voice grew softer, more dangerous. "Have you considered that perhaps I already have plans for all of it?"

"Keep it," Adom said flatly. "I don't want their territory, their money, or their people. I want them gone."

Cisco went very still. "No profit?" A pause. "Just destruction?"

"Just destruction."

The mouse's expression shifted - something between appreciation and curiosity. "Five percent of operational costs. You cover your own expenses."

"Deal."

Marco adjusted his glasses again, probably calculating how many headaches this partnership would cause him.

Cisco lifted his absurdly tiny coffee cup. "We start today. The Children have a shipment coming in at midnight - weapons, mostly. Would be a shame if someone tipped off the city guard about illegal cargo at dock thirteen."

"And you're just now mentioning this?"

"Information has a shelf life." He took a delicate sip. "I'll keep you updated on similar opportunities. And I'll be expecting that five percent soon." His dark eyes shifted. "Marco, what's the exact figure?"

"Forty thousand gold pieces, accounting for operational costs, minus the previously discussed reductions, factoring in current market variables and anticipated resource allocation," Marco said without looking up from his ledger, "comes to thirty-nine thousand, seven hundred and twenty-two gold pieces and four silvers."

Adom looked at Marco. "I still say you're making these numbers up."

Marco adjusted his glasses.

"He always does that," Cisco said, setting down his cup. "It's either extremely impressive or extremely annoying. I haven't decided which."

*****

After all the morning's discussion, things wrapped up pretty quickly. Cisco laid out his plan for what he called "Operation Bring Down the Bat": which would kick off that very night.

He'd start by disrupting their weapons shipment and keep hitting them where it hurt, creating the kind of chaos that made criminal organizations implode. All Adom had to do was pay his 5% and watch it all unfold from a safe distance.

Speaking of money well spent, he'd decided to call his armored construct "Golem Knight." Simple, effective, and it did exactly what it said on the tin. Though he made a mental note to commission a new set of armor soon: might as well make an already intimidating magical construct even more formidable. Another thing for the to-do list.

Oh, and about to-do lists... Adom checked his pocket watch and felt his stomach drop. 11:34 AM. Oh no. Alchemy class was in twenty minutes.

Adom slipped into the alchemy classroom just as Professor Mirwen was setting up for today's demonstration. The scent of herbs and mineral solutions filled the air, mingling with the perpetual undertone of scorched wood that seemed embedded in the very stones of the classroom.

"Today, we'll be studying the Aureolin Healing Draught," Professor Mirwen announced. "Can anyone tell me why this particular potion is considered one of the most challenging healing solutions to brew?"

As usual, only Mia Storm's hand shot up, while the rest of the class suddenly found their notebooks fascinating.

"Yes, Miss Storm?"

"The Aureolin Draught requires perfect temperature control throughout its brewing process. A variation of even half a degree can render it useless: or worse, toxic."

"Excellent, Miss Storm," Professor Mirwen said, making a note in her ever-present grade book. "That's another perfect answer for your participation record."

Adom watched as Professor Mirwen began the demonstration. The potion started as a clear liquid, slowly taking on a golden hue as she added precisely measured ingredients. When she introduced powdered sunstone, the mixture began to emit a soft, pulsing glow.

"What makes this potion particularly valuable?" she asked again.

Mia's hand was already up. "Unlike standard healing potions, the Aureolin Draught can heal internal injuries without side effects, and it works instantaneously."

Lisa Chen, still sporting faint purple spots from last class's mishap, whispered something to her friend about Mia being a know-it-all. Sam, next to Adom, was sketching what appeared to be a detailed diagram of the brewing process, his tongue stuck out in concentration.

The demonstration continued, with Professor Mirwen explaining each step in detail. When she added three drops of artificial phoenix tears (which made half the class gasp: those were rare and expensive), the potion shimmered like liquid sunlight.

"And finally," she said, "why must this potion be brewed during daylight hours?"

This time, even Mia hesitated, but raised her hand anyway.

"The potion draws power from natural light," she said, though less confidently than before. "Artificial light would..."

"Close, Miss Storm, but not quite," Professor Mirwen smiled. "Can anyone else...?" She looked around the silent classroom. "Mr. Sylla?"

Adom, who'd been lost in thought about possible improvements to the formula, startled slightly. "The potion doesn't actually draw power from light at all," he said. "It's the ambient life energy that peaks during daylight hours. Brewing at night would result in a potion that draws vitality from the patient instead of supporting their natural healing process."

A few students turned to stare at him.

As the class ended and students filed out, Sam packed up his things. "Market later? We cannot go empty handed." he asked.

"I'll join you there," Adom replied, gathering his materials. "Need to speak with Professor Mirwen first."

Sam nodded and headed out, nearly colliding with a first-year who was trying to peek through the doorway at him.

As Adom waited for the last students to file out, he pulled the carefully wrapped vial from his bag. Before he could approach Professor Mirwen's desk, Sam suddenly turned back.

"Oh, wait. Almost forgot." Sam rummaged through his bag, pulling out something wrapped in soft cloth. "Found these while cleaning my drawer last night. Thought you might want them back."

Adom unwrapped the cloth, and his eyes widened. In his hands were his old glasses from first year: the ones that had been broken during that awful day when Damus and his friends had cornered him behind the library. The frame had been carefully repaired, though you could still see the places where it had snapped. The lenses had been replaced, and despite the frame's worn appearance, they were clean and functional.

"You... kept these?" Adom's voice was barely above a whisper.

Sam shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. "Just in case, you know? You've been squinting a lot lately, and well... figured they might help until we can get you new ones."

Adom's hands trembled slightly as he unfolded the arms of the glasses. He slipped them on, and the world snapped into focus. They weren't perfect: there was a slight scratch on the left lens: but they felt familiar. Right.

"How do I look?" he asked, adjusting them self-consciously.

Sam grinned. "Finally like yourself again."

Adom couldn't help but laugh, though it came out a bit shaky. "We definitely need to get new ones soon."

"Obviously. But these'll do for now." Sam headed for the door again. "See you at the market!"

Adom started walking.

The delayed shipment of ingredients left him uneasy. He wanted to believe everything would work out, that he was just being paranoid and the delivery would arrive right on schedule. But a nagging voice in the back of his mind wouldn't let him rest easy. Experience had taught him the value of contingency plans. Even if the alternative was far more complicated, the peace of mind it offered was worth the extra effort.

Better to have a backup plan and not need it, than need it and not have it.

He'd spent hours analyzing the Elixir of Rebirth, combining his knowledge with Riddler's Bane, but had made frustratingly little progress.

Not surprising, really: while he was no slouch in alchemy, his expertise lay in magical theory and runicology. Completely different beasts.

No, what he needed was the insight of a true master of the craft. And they didn't come much more qualified than Professor Alissa Mirwen.

Her thesis on catalytic transmutation had revolutionized modern alchemy, earning her the Paracelsus Medal three times over. The shelves in her office practically groaned under the weight of awards and recognitions from every major alchemical institution in the known world.

Her work on stabilizing volatile compounds had saved countless lives, and her contributions to medical alchemy were required reading at every prestigious academy.

A bitter thought crossed his mind. In his original timeline, after Arkhos fell: and Xerkes with it: he'd never managed to learn what happened to her, or to so many others. The lists of the missing had been endless, and most were presumed dead in the chaos that followed.

But here she was, very much alive, preparing for her next class with the same methodical precision he remembered. If he could get her to appoint one of her student assistants as his tutor... well, that would be ideal.

Professor Mirwen was known for taking promising alchemists under her wing, training them personally in advanced techniques. Her assistants were among the most knowledgeable students in the academy when it came to practical alchemy.

Adom approached Professor Mirwen's desk, the cat padding silently behind him.

"Mr. Sylla," Professor Mirwen looked up from her notes, eyebrows raised slightly. "How unusual to see you lingering after class. Usually it's Miss Storm who..." She glanced past him. No one was there.

"I've been doing some thinking about my future path," Adom began. He'd rehearsed this conversation in his head. "And I believe I'd like to pursue alchemy."

"Oh?" Professor Mirwen set down her quill, giving him her full attention. "That's quite a departure from your current focus on magical theory and runic studies."

"Not necessarily," Adom said, warming to his role. "I've come to realize that alchemy represents a perfect synthesis of theoretical knowledge and practical application. The way different elements interact, the precise calculations required..." He was surprised to find some truth mixing with his performance. "It's fascinating, really."

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Professor Mirwen's lips twitched slightly. "And this sudden fascination wouldn't have anything to do with your recent... extracurricular activities?"

Adom nearly missed a beat. Careful now. "I'm not sure what you mean, Professor."

"Mr. Sylla," she said, leaning back in her chair, "in the past weeks, you've shown up to class without your glasses, been into a fight, joined a club..." Her lips curved into a slight smile. "For which, I must say, I commend you."

"Uuh... Thank you?"

"And I've heard interesting rumors about you running through the forest at odd hours." She paused. "Not to mention that rather remarkable familiar that's suddenly appeared."

The black cat, as if on cue, wrapped itself around Adom's ankles, its blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on Professor Mirwen.

"You know, Mr. Sylla," she continued, her voice taking on a gentler tone, "it's quite common for students your age to go through... periods of change. Seeking to affirm themselves, making bold decisions, sometimes rash ones." She adjusted a small brass scale on her desk. "It's a natural part of finding one's path."

Ah, Adom thought, she thinks this is some sort of teenage rebellion phase. The irony almost made him smile.

"In my experience," she continued, "students going through such changes tend to cause quite a bit of trouble." Her eyes met his, sharp and knowing. "Are you going to cause trouble, Mr. Sylla?"

"No, Professor," Adom said, trying to look as sincere as possible. "I just want to learn."

"Hmm." She drummed her fingers on the desk thoughtfully. "And I suppose this sudden interest in advanced alchemy is completely unrelated to all these changes?"

"I..." Adom started, then switched tactics. "Would you believe me if I said it's all related to my newfound interest in alchemy?"

"Not for a moment," she said cheerfully. "However, your actual motivations are your own business. What interests me is that you're here, asking for additional training in my field." She drummed her fingers on the desk. "Though I suspect you were about to suggest something specific?"

Adom nodded. "I was hoping you might be able to assign a senior student to help me with some advanced studies. Someone who could guide me through the basics I might have... missed."

"A senior student," Professor Mirwen repeated thoughtfully. "Someone to help you understand certain specific aspects of alchemy, perhaps? Particular formulations or... effects?"

Well played, Professor, Adom thought. Well played indeed.

"Something like that," he admitted.

"Well then," Professor Mirwen said, standing up, "I believe I have a better solution." She began gathering her materials with precise movements. "Instead of assigning you a student tutor, I'll handle your additional training myself."

Adom blinked. He'd been prepared for several possible outcomes, but this wasn't one of them. "Professor, I couldn't possibly—"

"Oh, but I insist," she said, and there was a glint in her eye that reminded him why she was considered one of the most brilliant minds in modern alchemy. "As it happens, I already conduct special sessions with Miss Storm on Thursday evenings. Advanced theoretical work, transmutation, experimental procedures, practical applications..." She smiled. "The sort of things that might interest someone with your... newfound passion for the field."

Adom felt a genuine smile tugging at his lips. This was better than he could have planned. Not only would he have direct access to Professor Mirwen's expertise, but the regular sessions would provide perfect cover for his increasing interest in advanced alchemical processes.

"That would be perfect," he said aloud. "Thank you, Professor."

"Excellent. Thursdays at seven, then." She paused at the door. "And Mr. Sylla? Whatever game you're playing, whatever answers you're seeking... do be careful. Alchemy can be rather... volatile when approached with hidden agendas."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you professor."

As Adom turned to leave, the black cat let out a questioning meow, its blue eyes fixed on him.

"I need to make a quick stop somewhere with Sam," he told the cat, adjusting his bag. "Care to join us?"

The cat's only response was to pad silently after him as he left the classroom, its tail held high like a banner.

*****

The strider's long legs ate up the dirt road with an easy gait, the cart swaying gently behind it. The black cat perched regally on the front bench between them, watching the passing landscape while the light breeze carried the mingled scents from their market haul - fresh bread, ripe peaches, and what the vendor had sworn were the best butter cookies this side of the isles.

Law's Farm.

The thought had been needling at Adom ever since the events of the labyrinth. A living piece of history, still running after all these centuries, and he'd never bothered to visit. Then again, until recently, ancient farms hadn't exactly been high on his priority list.

But Ben had invited him, hadn't he? The old groundskeeper's warm voice and easy manner still fresh in his memory, along with the promise of hospitality...

"You know," Sam's voice cut through his thoughts, "we've been at Xerkes what, two years now? And I've never actually been up there." He gestured toward the clifftop where enchanted windmills spun lazily against the morning sky. "Pretty sad when you think about it. I mean, it's literally the Farmer Mage's farm. The Farmer Mage." He shifted in his seat, glancing sideways at Adom. "You sure it's okay for me to tag along? I mean, the old man invited you, not me."

"Yeah," Adom replied, adjusting a peach that threatened to escape its wrapping. "I don't like going to new places alone anyway."

The cart wound its way up the mountain path, each turn revealing more of the sparkling ocean below until the whole southern coast of Arkhos stretched out like a painting.

The sunlight caught the enchanted windmills, their crystalline blades throwing rainbow light across fields of gently swaying wheat that definitely wasn't in season anywhere else on the island.

Stone fences lined with wildflowers marked the boundaries between pastures where fat sheep grazed alongside creatures that looked like someone had tried to cross a cow with a cloud - their wool-like fur shifting colors in the breeze.

A border collie spotted them first, barking excitedly as it raced alongside their cart, herding them up the final stretch of road.

The cat merely glanced at the energetic dog with royal disdain, turning its head away as if the very concept of acknowledging such common behavior was beneath its dignity. Adom and Sam exchanged looks and burst out laughing.

The farmhouse itself was a sprawling two-story building of weathered stone and dark wood, with a wrap-around porch that seemed designed for long evenings watching the sunset over the ocean.

Herb gardens surrounded it in concentric circles, each ring holding plants that shouldn't have been able to grow together - winter mint beside summer sage, frost berries next to desert bloom.

The air itself felt different here - cleaner, easier to breathe, carrying the mingled scents of ocean spray and fresh-baked bread. Even the cat seemed affected, ears perked forward with unusual interest as it surveyed this new domain from its perch.

A booming laugh rolled across the farmyard as Ben emerged from behind a stack of freshly cut timber, his face creasing into a map of cheerful wrinkles. "Well, if it isn't my jogging friend!"

He dusted off his hands on his work pants, that same twinkle in his eye Adom remembered from their first meeting. "And you've brought company! Including..." he paused, studying the black cat who had jumped down from the cart with unusual grace, "...quite an interesting cat."

"Thank you for the ride," Adom turned to the strider driver, reaching for his coin pouch. "Would you be able to return in about two hours?"

"Nonsense!" Ben interjected, waving his hand dismissively. "I'll take you back myself later. No need to arrange another ride."

After Adom paid the driver, he lifted a covered basket from the cart. "We brought some things from the market - just a small thank you for having us."

"Oh, you shouldn't have!" Ben's face lit up as he peeked under the cloth. "Fresh peaches! And are those butter cookies I smell?"

"The vendor claimed they're the best in the duchy," Sam chimed in with a grin. "Though personally, I think the honey cakes might give them a run for their money."

"Sorry for dropping by unannounced," Adom added. "This is Sam, by the way - my friend from Xerkes."

"A pleasure, sir," Sam said, offering a polite bow.

"Another mage in training, are you?" Ben's eyes crinkled with interest.

"Yes, sir. Second year, like Adom." Sam gestured at the windmills. "I've read so much about this place - those enchanted windmills are famous even in the northern provinces."

"Ah!" Ben's face lit up. "My daughter's a mage too - graduated Xerkes few years back. Works with weather patterns now, down in the southern isles. Always nice to meet fellow practitioners. Though," he chuckled, "I'm just a simple farmer myself. The land does most of the magic around here - I just tend to it."

"Does she work with the merchant ships?" Sam asked, genuinely curious.

"The southern isles are quite far," Adom mused. "Must be quite different from working the farmland here."

"That's my Maya - never could resist a challenge," Ben beamed proudly. "Though she started right here, helping me predict the rains for planting season."

The old groundskeeper's eyes lingered on the cat for a moment longer than strictly necessary, but his warm smile never wavered. "Perfect timing too - just finished splitting the morning's wood. Though," he added with a knowing grin, "I suspect you didn't come all this way just to watch an old man stack lumber."

"Actually," Adom began, but Ben raised a weathered hand.

He wiped his brow with a worn handkerchief, gesturing toward the main house. "Come on then, let's get you two settled. Nothing like morning tea after a long ride, that's what my grandmother used to say. Course, she also said never to trust a rooster that could do arithmetic, but that's a story for another time..."

Following Ben's lead, they made their way through the farmyard. Sam's head kept turning left and right, taking in everything with wide eyes.

"The air here..." Sam whispered to Adom, "it's incredible."

Adom nodded. Even for a mage-tended farm, the concentration of mana was unusual.

It permeated the air like morning dew, fresh and pure, making them feel oddly light, almost buoyant. Each breath seemed to fill them with vitality.

Past the windmills and orchards, a grand manor house rose in the distance, its stone walls gleaming in the morning sun.

"That's the duke's residence," Ben explained, following their gaze. "Though it's been quiet these past months. His Grace was summoned to the capital by the Emperor himself - took most of the household with him. Just us caretakers watching over things until they return."

A loud meow interrupted them as the black cat suddenly darted ahead, making straight for an ancient apple tree. Despite the season, its branches were bare of fruit.

"Oh! Adom, look!" Sam's voice rose with excitement. "Is that-?"

Ben's hearty laugh rolled across the grounds. "I see you know your history, young man! Yes, that's Master Law's tree - or so the stories say. Been here longer than any of us, that's for certain. Three thousand years, give or take a century." He sighed fondly. "Used to bear the sweetest apples you'd ever taste, golden as sunrise. Haven't seen a single fruit in years now, though. Still, just having it here..." He patted the gnarled trunk as they passed. "Well, it's a piece of history, isn't it?"

Despite Sam's excitement, Adom felt nothing particular from the ancient tree.

He'd hoped for... something, anything - a residual trace, a whisper of magic that might give him a clue about Law or the book. But the tree, however old, seemed to hold its secrets close.

Ben led them to a wooden table under a sprawling oak, its weathered surface worn smooth by countless meals. As he busied himself with an old iron kettle over a small cooking fire, Sam kept sneaking glances at the apple tree, practically bouncing in his seat with barely contained enthusiasm.

The smell of herb tea and honey mingled with woodsmoke. Ben had also brought out fresh bread, still warm, and a pot of thick stew that had been simmering since morning. It was simple fare, but somehow perfectly suited to the setting.

"Nothing better than a hot meal in the open air," Ben said, ladling out generous portions. "Though Maya always says I add too much pepper."

Adom found his eyes drawn back to the apple tree. The black cat remained there, sitting perfectly still, staring up into the bare branches as if seeing something they couldn't. Even Ben's old sheepdog, which had wandered over hoping for scraps, couldn't distract it from whatever had caught its attention.

He was about to get up and investigate when Ben placed a steaming mug in front of him. "Here you go, boys. My special blend - good for clearing the mind."

The tea was fragrant and soothing, and soon they were all listening to Ben's stories about Maya's early days of magic study - how she'd accidentally created a miniature raincloud that followed her around for a week, how she'd made the windmills spin backwards trying to improve their efficiency.

It was only when Ben started clearing the dishes that the cat finally sauntered over, looking perfectly satisfied with itself, and settled near Adom's feet as if it had never been anywhere else.

"...and that's when Maya realized you can't actually herd butterflies with wind magic," Ben chuckled, gathering the last of the cups. "Though I must say, it made for a spectacular garden party."

*****

Several hours later, nightime, somewhere in the docks of Arkhos...

"Pass me the blunt, Lars."

Lars handed it to Johan without looking away from the water. The moon caught the ripples just right, making the harbor look almost pretty, if you ignored the smell. "Getting cold out here. Winter's coming."

"That's what your sister said last night," Frank drawled from his perch on a crate.

Hans snorted his drink. Lars flipped Frank off without turning around. "Go fuck yourself."

"Can't. Too busy with your—"

"Both of you shut it," Johan cut in, though his shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Guard patrol in ten."

Frank stretched, joints popping. "They're late anyway. Cisco sure this is the right dock?"

"When's he ever wrong?" Hans asked, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"Fair point." Frank pulled his coat tighter. "Still. Sitting here with my ass freezing to these crates wasn't how I planned to spend my night."

"Could be worse," Lars said. "Remember that job in the sewers?"

A collective groan rose from the group.

"We agreed never to talk about that again," Johan muttered, passing the blunt back.

"Heard that mage kid's been stirring up trouble," Hans said, breaking the comfortable silence. "The one who got the Children all riled up."

"You mean the one who got them and the Circle at each other's throats?" Johan took another drag. "Smart play."

Lars checked his pocket watch. "Midnight."

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"You don't think..." Frank shifted uneasily. "You don't think Helios shows up tonight, right?"

"Relax," Hans said. "Marco said he's busy elsewhere. Something about a meeting with—"

A scuff of boots against wood.

The blunt hit the ground, stomped out in one fluid motion. Steel whispered against leather as weapons appeared in practiced hands. Lars pressed himself against a stack of crates, counting footsteps. One set. Light. Trying to be quiet and failing.

A shadow moved past their hiding spot.

Lars lunged, one hand clamping over the stranger's mouth before they could scream. The knife at their throat caught moonlight.

"Wait," Johan hissed, moving closer. The tension bled out of his shoulders. "Lars, let him go. It's our guy."

Lars released his grip.

The guard's eyes flicked from Johan's curved blade to Frank's brass knuckles, then lingered on the worn grip of Hans' crossbow. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing.

"Those, uh..." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tried again. "Those weren't part of the arrangement."

"Insurance," Johan said simply.

The guard's gaze settled on Lars' knife. A small dark stain marked his collar where he'd started sweating. "Right. Insurance. Of course." He let out a weak laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Totally reasonable. Totally normal. I'm just here to unlock the gate and look the other way. Like we agreed."

"Then do it," Lars said quietly.

The guard led them down the dock, past rows of legitimate cargo until they reached a section marked with a subtle chalk symbol - a crescent moon inside a triangle.

"Just came in," he whispered, gesturing to a stack of unmarked crates. "Arrived through the ghost port."

"Ghost port?" Frank asked.

The guard glanced around before explaining. "They use hedge mages to create a pocket space - like a bubble between realities. Ships sail in through normal waters, then slip sideways into the bubble. Makes them invisible to harbor patrol. When they're ready to unload, they phase back in, but only part way. Cargo exists in both spaces at once until it's marked and pulled through completely."

Lars ran his fingers over the chalk symbol. "Smart."

"That's why you need someone like me to mark it," the guard said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. "Without the right sigils, you'd reach for a crate and your hand would pass right through. Or worse - get stuck between spaces."

"Fascinating," Johan drawled. "Now open it."

The guard pulled out another key, this one marked with similar symbols to the chalk marks. "Right. Yes. Of course."

The lock clicked and the crate's lid creaked open. Rows of weapons packed in straw.

"Would you look at that," Hans whistled low. "Quality stuff."

Frank lifted a crossbow, testing its weight. "Children aren't going to like missing these beauties."

Lars grinned, running his finger along a sword's edge. "Shame, that."

They shared a laugh, the kind that comes easy after a job well done.

"Keep it down," the guard hissed, though he was smiling too. "My payment?"

"Alright, alright." Johan chuckled, reaching into his pocket. Then—

"Huh."

It was such a small sound. Confused. Almost thoughtful. Lars turned just in time to see Johan's eyes go wide, his mouth forming a perfect 'O' of surprise. A dark stain spread across his chest.

The moment stretched like molasses. Lars saw everything with crystal clarity - the way Johan's hand fell from his pocket, coins scattering across the dock. The guard's empty smile. The metallic gleam between Johan's ribs.

Then time snapped back like a bowstring.

"AMBUSH!" Lars screamed, but Hans was already falling, a crossbow bolt through his throat. Frank's brass knuckles caught moonlight as he spun—

Hot blood sprayed across Lars' face.

Frank's head took a lazy spin through the air, a look of surprise forever frozen on his features before it splashed into the dark water. The body stood for a moment, a fountain of red, before crumpling.

"FRANK! JOHAN!"

"Good evening, gentlemen."

The voice was smooth as silk, almost cheerful. Lars turned slowly, blood dripping from his chin.

A tall figure stood at the edge of the lamplight, sword resting casually on his shoulder. Moonlight caught his unkempt blonde hair, and stubble shadowed his jaw like he hadn't bothered to shave for a few days. His eyes glowed an unnatural green, shifting and swirling. The same energy dripped from his blade, as if it was on fire. Green fire.

A Fluid user.

The guard broke first, scrambling backwards. "Please, sir, I was just—"

"Leaving?" The figure's smile widened. "How rude." He made a lazy flicking motion with his sword. A crescent of green fluid sliced through the air.

A signature move every person in the Empire knew to fear and admire.

The guard's scream cut off abruptly as his upper half slid away from his legs. Both pieces hit the dock with a wet thud, the cut so clean it took several seconds for blood to well up.

"Star Knight," Lars whispered, the words tasting like ash. Every story, every warning about these enhanced killers crashed through his mind. The fluid in their veins that made them more than human. The impossible speed. The casual violence.

"Oh, you recognize me? I'm flattered." The knight stretched, joints popping like he was preparing for a light workout rather than standing in a growing pool of blood. "Though I have to say, this wasn't much of a challenge. I was hoping for some entertainment tonight."

Hans raised his crossbow with shaking hands.

"Now that's the spirit!" The knight's laugh echoed across the water. "But really, you might as well throw rocks. It would be just as effective and far less embarrassing."

Lars never thought he'd count the seconds to his own death. Funny how the mind works.

One.

The knight moved like he wasn't bound by the same rules as everyone else.

Hans got off his shot. The knight caught the bolt with his teeth, spat it out, and crushed Hans' skull under his boot in one fluid motion. "Oops," he chuckled, wiping gore from his boot on Hans' jacket. "Been meaning to cut down on the sweets."

Two.

The last two members of Lars' crew died in the space of a blink. One bisected vertically, the other's spine pulled out through his chest. The knight was humming a tavern song.

Three.

Lars stood alone, watching his own breath fog in the cold air. The knight hadn't even broken a sweat. If anything, he looked bored.

"Would've been faster," the knight mused, flicking blood from his blade, "but I do enjoy our little chats. Makes the job less monotonous, you know?"

Lars realized he was still counting. There wouldn't be a four.

"What's your name?"

Lars' tongue felt like lead. Was this some sick game?

"Come now." The knight patted his shoulder, making Lars flinch so hard he nearly fell. "Easy there, friend. I'm not that frightening, am I?" He paused, considering. "Well, perhaps a little."

"Silver Circle or another group?"

"A-another group," Lars managed, surprised he could form words at all.

The knight sighed dramatically. "Shame. Was hoping to catch some Silver Circle rats. Oh well."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Not important. Listen carefully now - I need you to deliver a message. Since your people knew about this shipment, you clearly have decent information networks. So maybe you can help spread the word about 'him' ."

"Him?" Lars asked before he could stop himself.

"Oh, you can talk properly! Wonderful." The knight's cheerful tone made Lars' knees weak. "You know - that troublesome mage. The one causing all this fuss. The Children are paying quite handsomely for his head, so tell him to do us all a favor and come quietly." His green eyes flickered. "Before I have to find him myself."

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," Lars whispered.

"Excellent!" The knight made a shooing motion with his hands. "Off you go then."

Lars stood frozen, certain this was a trap. The fourth second had come to pass. The moment he turned, that blade would—

"Oh, for heaven's sake." The knight rolled his eyes. "Go. Scram. Vamoose. Whatever word you prefer. I don't have all night, and you're getting blood on my nice clean dock."

Lars ran. He ran until his lungs burned and his legs gave out, the knight's laughter echoing in his ears. He ran until the dock and its horrors were far behind him, though he knew with terrible certainty that no distance would ever be far enough if that man decided to chase.