Upper City of Igwynt, Knights Street.
Night had fallen, shrouding the upscale residential neighborhood in shadow. Streetlights cast a warm, orange glow on the surroundings, illuminating the quiet streets. A gentle night breeze swept through the empty Streets, rustling the treetops and flower beds with a soft whisper.
"Uwaaaahhh..."
Inside the house opposite No. 26, Gregor let out a big yawn as he lounged on the sofa. He glanced at the house across the street, which had long since gone dark, its occupants already asleep. He sighed deeply.
"Sigh... Nothing again tonight. Maybe Mr. James is just being overly cautious..." Gregor muttered to himself. He glanced now and then at a large grandfather clock ticking away in the corner, calculating how much longer until dawn—until he could end his shift and go home.
Just then, his eyes suddenly narrowed. His gaze fixed on something outside the window—at the far end of the dark and silent street, where a group of shadows stirred.
"Heh... Looks like something’s finally happening."
…
At the far end of Knights Street, in the shadow of a building beyond the reach of streetlights, a group of about a dozen figures had gathered.
They were all men, dressed in a mishmash of clothing, stained with dirt and grime. Each wore a grim expression, some bearing scars on their faces or hands.Every one of them carried a weapon—makeshift and crude. Some held clubs, others wielded machetes, metal rods, or hammers. Only a few had firearms—just two or three—and even those were crude, homemade pipe guns.
These were local gang members from Igwynt. Tonight, they had gathered here for a job—one that promised a hefty reward.
"Listen up, our plan is simple," a man in a tattered suit, wielding a homemade pipe gun, barked at the group. His face was marred by a prominent scar.
"In a moment, we’ll storm the front of House 26, break down the doors and windows, and slaughter everyone inside—floor by floor, from bottom to top. Leave no one alive. Especially the ten-year-old girl—she’s the key target. Only when she’s dead will our job be complete.”
"After that, we’ll all head straight to the Flooded Dockyard. Our employer will be there with our payment, and from there, we take a boat down the Ironclay River and leave Igwynt for good. Got it?"
A chorus of responses erupted from the gang members.
"Got it! Let’s get started already!"
"Yeah, hurry up! I can’t stand being in this damn city any longer!"
The scar-faced man nodded in satisfaction as he saw the group’s eagerness. He then gave one final instruction.
"Alright, let’s move. There might be a few bodyguards inside, maybe a bit skilled, but don’t be afraid. We have the numbers and weapons—just overwhelm them!”
"Remember—make it quick. Don’t wait for the cops. Move out!"
With a wave of his hand, the leader signaled the group forward. They emerged from the shadows, stepping onto the street.
They quickly made their way to the front door of No. 26. Seeing the firmly shut entrance, the leader called out.
"Barry, do it!"
He was calling for the strongest member of their group, the one carrying the heavy hammer, to break down the door. But after a few seconds of silence, no one stepped forward.
Irritated, the leader snapped, "Barry! Stop messing around and break it down!"
"B-Boss... b-behind us..."
A weak, trembling voice answered instead. Annoyed, the leader turned his head.
"Behind us? Behind us, what could possibly—"
His words froze mid-sentence.
A mere four or five meters behind them stood a line of five figures dressed in jet-black uniforms. Each one held a rifle, aiming directly at the gang. Their faces were concealed by iron masks, but their cold, unfeeling eyes glowed from within.
"W-What the hell? Guns?! Five rifles?! Are these the house’s bodyguards? The employer never mentioned anything about firepower like this...!"
The leader’s mind reeled as he processed the scene. Then, as if things couldn’t get worse, the door to No. 26 creaked open.
More black-clad figures emerged from inside, also armed, surrounding the gang from both sides.
Seeing this, the gangsters immediately shrank back.
They still outnumbered the black-clad figures—ten against seven or eight—but their weapons were no match. The gang had crude, makeshift arms, while their opponents were equipped with real, military-grade rifles.
Facing the pitch-black barrels pointed at them, the gangsters—more used to street brawls than gunfights—instinctively hesitated.
"Damn it! Even the cops don’t have gear this good! We’ve kicked a steel wall! Weren’t there supposed to be just a few low-level guards?!"
The leader cursed inwardly. If the employer had been standing in front of him now, he would have driven a blade straight through his gut.
"Drop your weapons, hands up, and kneel. Confess everything. If you resist, you will be executed."
The black-clad enforcers spoke in cold, emotionless tones. Faced with this command—and the gun barrels inches away—the gangsters’ fighting spirit drained from their eyes.
…
Meanwhile, on the fourth floor of a building overlooking Knights Street, a figure watched the standoff unfold below.
Seeing the gangsters hesitate, the figure spoke softly.
"Now is not the time for you to falter... Pawns, allow me to grant you some courage."
Murmuring to himself, Goffrey raised an intricately carved hollow bone instrument and began to tap it rhythmically.
One by one, invisible spirits emerged from the instrument, drifting into view before him.
There were five in total—men and women, young and old. Their eyes were vacant, their forms thin and ragged, their clothes tattered, their transparent bodies exuding a faint chill.
Holding the instrument, Goffrey gestured downward toward the street below. The spirits obeyed, gliding silently toward the gangsters before vanishing into thin air.
…
Back at the standoff, the gang leader finally cracked under the pressure.
"L-Look, brothers, there’s been a misunderstanding. We don’t want trouble. We’ll put down our weapons, alright?"
Forcing a smile, he slowly knelt and moved to set his gun on the ground. His men followed suit. Seeing this, the enforcers slightly relaxed.
Just then, an almost imperceptible chill swept through the air.
The five invisible spirits rushed in, merging into the gang leader’s body.
His pupils shrank to pinpricks.
A horrifying sensation gripped him—his body was no longer his to command.
"W-What is this...?"
Shock twisted his features as his hand—now possessed—tightened around the grip of his gun.
Then, against his will, he suddenly sprang up and fired.
A gunshot rang out.
One of the enforcers staggered back, clutching his stomach as he collapsed.
"Open fire!"
The enforcers immediately raised their weapons. But before they could shoot, the remaining spirits darted into their bodies.
A strange numbness spread through the enforcers. Their hands trembled. Their vision blurred. Their aim faltered.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunshots rang out—but most of them missed. Only two gangsters were hit.
The rest, now enraged by the unexpected attack, roared in defiance.
"They’re not letting us live! Brothers, kill them all!"
Fueled by desperation and anger, the gangsters seized their weapons and charged at the enforcers.