Sig’s gang had a reputation.

  Reliable. Trusted by the higher-ups in the organization. When important jobs came around, the kind where failure meant heads rolling—literally—it was usually Sig’s group that got the call.

  Their current assignment was no exception.

  After that mysterious incident—one of the vault branches hidden in one of the noble houses completely cleaned out in a single night—the organization had been on edge. No one knew how it had happened. No signs of forced entry. No casualties. Just… gone. Some whispered betrayal. Others claimed internal power struggles. But such things were rare these days. Too rare.

  Regardless, Sig and his crew had been busy ever since, rotating between sensitive locations like a mother guarding its child to different locations. Tonight, they were assigned to one of the more critical ones: the merchant vault.

  Of course, “merchant” was a polite term. Everyone in the organization knew exactly where the coins came from—illegal gambling dens, human trafficking rings, and the prized substance trade that even nobles couldn’t get enough of.

  Normally, this vault didn’t need extra security. One of the organization’s top-tier assets—a man rumored to be a four-skill holder and a former adventurer—usually guarded it alone. Some said his skills were defensive, built around traps and barrier magic. Others thought he was just so dangerous no one dared test him.

  But for now, he was gone. A confidential matter. One week of absence. That was all the explanation they got.

  So Sig stepped in.

  He wasn’t worried.

  His class, [Tamer], wasn’t flashy and well known—but it was damn effective. Anyone, be it a [Thief], [Rogue] or [Assassin] would have to deal with more than just locked doors.

  An owl and falcon patrolled the skies—owl for night, falcon for day. On the ground, a wolf prowled the perimeter, trained to sniff out mana and fear. A rat scurried through the cracks and corners, silent but watchful. And somewhere nearby, coiled and waiting, was his favorite—a small serpent, fast and venomous enough to down a grown man in seconds.

  Sig sipped his tea, calm as ever.

  He wasn’t much of a frontliner. A knife at his belt, sure, but he saw himself more as a tactician—someone who moved pieces, not swung them.

  That’s why he had his crew.

  Each of the four handpicked members had their own specialty. Each had bested opponents stronger than themselves using cunning, skill, or downright dirty tricks.

  They were currently sitting around a table, half-drunk and shouting over a game of cards, their own coins on the line. Typical.

  The vault was underground, well-protected and sealed tight. No one was getting in. If they do, they would pay the price before they even get in.

  ….

  They moved like whispers through the dark alleys, the moonlight brushing off wet cobblestones. But just as they neared the merchant vault’s perimeter, Suri froze mid-step.

  “Wait,” she whispered, one hand raised.

  Boris and Kana halted behind her.

  “One of them,” Suri murmured, eyes narrowing, “is using animals. Sharp senses. Trained for detection. Illusion won’t be enough—not against them. I doubt even bait would work.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Their original plan had been simple: slip in using Suri’s illusions, mimicking shadows, bending light. It worked on people. Not on beasts with senses honed beyond sight.

  “They’re not just stand-ins,” Boris muttered. “There’s a reason they were picked to cover for that guy.”

  Kana nodded. “Still better than facing the previous guard. Anyone qualified to get into the adventurer’s guild is already in a higher league. Too many unknowns.”

  Silence hung in the air for a moment.

  Then Kana’s voice, steady. “We go with Plan B.”

  Suri turned to her. “You sure?”

  “I’ll take care of the tamer,” Kana said. Her eyes gleamed red beneath the hood. “You two handle the rest.”

  Boris cracked his knuckles, exhaling. “Just give the signal.”

  …..

  Boris adjusted his cloak, water dripping he gripped the long spear in his hand—the one he used in real raids, not the dulled-down version meant for academy sparring. The rain had caught them mid-route, soaking them to the bone, but they couldn’t delay. Not tonight.

  Suri had already mapped the merchant’s estate. Every corridor. Every patrol guard routine.

  They entered from the rear, where the alley twisted into shadow and no one bothered to patrol. Kana moved quickly, kneeling by the door, tools already in hand. A quiet click came a minute later, and the door eased open with a soft groan.

  Inside, the air was dry—too dry, like the place hadn’t been touched in years. Dust stirred around their feet.

  Suri motioned to a small room tucked in the corner.

  It looked ordinary. Too ordinary. The door was small, nearly hidden by stacks of crates, but Boris could see the faint shimmer of steel behind the wooden panels. Reinforced. Hardened. No one was getting through that by force.

  Kana proved her lockpicking skills. When and how did she first learn that? They had no idea. It took her less than two minutes.

  Inside, shelves of books lined the walls. But Suri stepped forward, brushing aside a few volumes. Beneath the planks of the floor—barely visible—was a trapdoor. Old wood covered in dust, but the hinges were oiled.

  Kana crouched again. This time she didn’t even lean close.

  Another click. The trapdoor creaked open.

  A narrow stairwell waited beneath, steep. Boris leapt down first, boots hitting stone with a muffled thud. Suri landed beside him, not as loud as he sounded.

  Kana didn’t follow.

  She’d already vanished into the dark, moving into a different position as part of the plan.

  Four men were waiting for them.

  Boris saw it the moment he stepped off the final stair—four adults standing alert in the basement room, eyes already turned toward the noise. A low table behind them held the remains of a card game: scattered coins, a half-empty pitcher of ale, and a few wooden mugs. One of the men had flushed cheeks, probably from drinking. But his stance was steady. All of theirs were.

  They knew someone was coming. They knew they were coming.

  Boris felt his grip tighten on the shaft of his spear.

  His mind flicked back—unbidden—to the shadow man. That night still burned in him, not with fear, but something worse: helplessness. He’d been the target. He knew that now.

  If Kana hadn’t been there...

  He might’ve died without even knowing what had killed him.

  That haunted him. Not the thought of death—but the thought of being unable to do anything. Of being too slow. Of watching, powerless.

  Since then, he’d changed.

  Every morning, he trained with extra weights. He pushed himself harder in Physical Enhancement I, adding drills until his muscles burned. When Kana offered to help, she didn’t hold back. She threw punches while he practiced dodging, blocking, and reacting. His body was bruised. His pride dented. But every day, he healed. High HP had its perks.

  Kana once told him: his class wasn’t built for speed.

  He didn’t agree.

  He would make it fast.

  He remembered something else from that fight—the way Kana and the shadow man moved. Efficient. Controlled. They didn’t rely on flashy skills. They picked their moments. Calculated. They either waited for the right opening or created an opening before using their skills.

  Fin had reinforced that idea in class: There’s more to spear stroke than skills. You must trust the movements you’ve practiced a thousand times.

  So he would.

  Boris lowered his stance, spear angled forward.

  Four men. All watching. All ready for him.