Late night. Stone Town District.
Silence covered the marble streets of the wealthy district. Only the faint sound of guard patrols could be heard in the distance. The light of the full moon made the shadows between the pillars of the grand buildings even deeper and blacker.
In a dark alley between two luxury villas, Fyar and Zaefal stood pressed against a wall. Both wore practical black clothing. Fyar’s new black hair made him blend in with the darkness. Their brief meeting at the ruins a few hours ago felt like a long time ago. Xavier had provided a few artifacts and the last information they had on Vorlag. He would also prepare an interrogation room so they could not be disturbed later.
Zaefal checked the artifacts in his hand: Hexa-Stones and thin scrolls.
"Based on Agent Xavier’s information, there has been unusual activity at Vorlag’s residence in the last hour," Zaefal whispered. His voice was barely audible. "The guard has been doubled, concentrated around his study on the second floor. The lights are still on. My guess is, he’s panicking."
Fyar nodded. "Who is inside with him?"
"No one knows for sure," Zaefal replied. "The scouts can only see from outside. Could be additional guards, could be... anyone. This is a sudden mission. Xavier only gave us these artefact and the coordinates for the interrogation room. The rest is up to us." He looked at Fyar. "Let’s do our best."
We just met the Guardian two hours ago and discussed the plan an hour ago. what a day... Fyar nodded. "Our route?" he asked, his voice still flat.
"The rear garden wall. Since arriving here, I’ve started investigating all the nobles close to Martis, including this Vorlag," Zaefal answered. "I know the basic layout. Guard patrols pass every five minutes. Our window is narrow."
They waited in the tense silence. The sound of a City Guard patrol’s rhythmic footsteps approached on the main street. Closer... then moving away.
"Now," Zaefal hissed.
Both of them ran across the moonlit street, heading for the high wall of Vorlag’s estate. A small, open square was between them and the wall. This area was heavily watched from the main gate.
"Hexa-Stone," Fyar whispered.
Zaefal gripped the crystal in his hand. Instantly, both their bodies became transparent, their outlines blurring. They ran across the square. Two guards at the main gate stared straight ahead.
"I feel like something passed by," one of the guards there said.
"Maybe you’re just tired? Who would be crazy enough to come here at two in the morning," said the guard beside him.
The guard sighed. "Maybe you’re right."
The guards then continued their patrol.
After twenty seconds, Fyar and Zaefal reached the shadow of the back wall. The artifact’s effect faded instantly, their bodies becoming solid again.
The wall was five meters high, its top lined with sharp, broken glass that glittered under the moon.
"I’ll go first, Fyar," Zaefal said. He leaped, caught a crack in the stone, and climbed quickly and silently.
Fyar watched from below. On top of the wall, a small, protective magic rune glowed a faint blue.
"Zaefal, stop!" Fyar whispered. "What is that?"
Zaefal froze, his hand centimeters from the rune. "It’s... a magic alarm."
A magic alarm. Of course there would be one. I’ll try to disable it. "Wait," Fyar said. He closed his eyes, concentrating. He pointed his hand at the rune.
"Neutralize," he muttered.
The rune flickered erratically, then went dark.
"Now."
"Impressive," Zaefal muttered.
He vaulted over the top of the wall and landed in the garden. Fyar followed him.
Vorlag’s private garden. The scent of roses and freshly cut grass was clear in the air. The grand villa stood before them, its lights dark except for one window on the second floor. Vorlag’s study light was still on.
Zaefal took out one of the scrolls, pressing it carefully against the stone wall near the garden gate. "Exit route." He looked at Fyar. "Ready?"
Fyar nodded. "Of course." He held his own scroll.
They moved quickly across the garden, hiding between marble statues. Two of Martis’s elite guards stood at the terrace door.
They seem low-level. Is Martis an idiot? Fyar wondered.
Suddenly, from the opposite direction, the sound of another patrol’s footsteps approached.
Fyar and Zaefal froze behind a cold marble statue in Vorlag’s garden. The sound of the first patrol’s footsteps approached from the villa. A second set of footsteps was heard from the opposite garden path, getting closer. They were pinned.
Zaefal pointed at the patrol from the villa. Two men. He then pointed to himself, making a quick stab motion. Fyar nodded. Zaefal signaled a three-count with his fingers. Three. Two. One.
Just as the two guards appeared from behind a bend in the rose bushes, Zaefal shot forward from the statue’s shadow. His hand muffled the first guard’s mouth, his left arm stabbing him in the neck from behind.
At the same time, Fyar moved on the second guard. The guard was just beginning to turn. Fyar struck the nape of his neck with the heel of his palm. He then stabbed the guard in the neck. Both bodies fell without a sound.
Zaefal and Fyar dragged them quickly into the thick, thorny rose bushes. A few seconds later, the second patrol, consisting of three men, walked past on the main garden path. Their torches swept the area briefly, then they continued on, unsuspecting. Fyar held his breath until the sound of their steps faded.
"Clear," Zaefal whispered. He pointed toward the villa’s glass terrace door, which was guarded by two of Martis’s elite guards. Warm light from inside the villa spilled slightly onto the stone terrace.
They moved low, crossing the damp grass, stopping behind a large stone pillar a few meters from the terrace. The two guards stood stiffly, hands on their swords, their eyes warily scanning the darkness of the garden.
How do we get past? Fyar thought.
Zaefal picked up a small pebble from the ground. He gestured toward the far corner of the garden. Fyar nodded. Zaefal threw the pebble. A soft clack sound was heard as the pebble hit a stone wall in the distance.
The two guards on the terrace flinched. They turned in unison toward the sound, their swords slightly drawn.
"Now!" Zaefal hissed.
They ran quickly across the short distance to the terrace door. Zaefal took out a thin metal tool, inserting it into the lock. Click. The door opened silently. They slipped inside just as the two guards were still staring into the dark corner of the garden. The door closed softly behind them.
They were inside. The air was warm but stuffy. The marble floor was cold beneath their boots. A wide entryway stretched out before them, lit by a dim crystal lamp. A thick, wine-red carpet covered most of the floor. There was a faint smell of expensive perfume and dust in the air. It was silent, except for the ticking of a large clock on the far wall.
Zaefal pointed toward a carved wooden staircase on the right side of the hall. They moved forward, their steps muffled by the carpet. As they passed a half-open door, Fyar heard the soft clinking of dishes from inside. He guessed it was the kitchen or the servants’ dining area. He then quickened his pace slightly.
They reached the foot of the stairs. Zaefal signaled a stop. He listened. Only the sound of the clock. He began to climb the stairs slowly, one step at a time, his body pressed against the wall. Fyar followed right behind him.
The second floor was dimmer. A long corridor stretched out ahead, lit by a few wall torches. At the end of the corridor, Fyar saw it: a large oak door reinforced with black iron. And in front of it, two imposing figures stood guard. Elite guards. Their black leather armor looked thicker. Their faces were hard, expressionless.
Fyar moved a little closer, focusing. He could feel a stronger magical energy pulsing around that door. Far denser than the rune on the outer wall. This will be difficult to neutralize, he thought.
He and Zaefal hid behind a large wooden cabinet at the bend in the corridor, a dozen meters from the door. Zaefal peered around the side of the cabinet, observing the two guards. He looked back at Fyar, signaling. He would take the left. Fyar, the right. Fyar nodded, his hand already prepared to channel [Neutralize] at the door as soon as the guards fell.
Zaefal gave a countdown with his fingers. Three. Two. One.
Krieeet...
The sound of the large oak door’s hinges creaked softly as it opened from within.
Fyar and Zaefal froze.
Damn it. The most troublesome person is here. Fyar thought.
That’s... Zaefal bit his lip.
Wilas stepped out into the corridor. His white clothes looked slightly rumpled. His face looked tired. He had just closed the door behind him.
As he turned to face the corridor, his eyes immediately locked onto the two black-cloaked figures half-hidden behind the cabinet, just a few meters away from him.
Total silence fell over the corridor for a split second. Wilas’s eyes widened in shock. Then his expression changed to a cold, deadly fury. His hand flew to the hilt of the sword at his waist.
"INTRUDERS!"