The backroom of the shop was larger than expected. It was wide, spacious, with a long wooden table in the center, covered in scattered maps, rolled-up parchments, and a few unlit candles. The walls were lined with shelves stacked with crates, ledgers, and some carefully placed weapons, some still sheathed, others exposed like silent threats. Dim lanterns swayed from the ceiling, casting flickering shadows that danced across the stone walls.

  Milo led the way inside, posture straight as a blade, expression sharp as ever. Kaiser, Erya, Iris, and Ivan followed, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind them. The air inside was thick with focus, as this was where plans were made, and where failure wasn’t an option.

  The city watch was already inside, all twenty of them, standing in formation, disciplined and waiting. Some rested hands on hilts, others crossed arms, all listening as Milo stepped toward the table and flattened his hands against the worn wood. His gaze swept the room before he spoke.

  "Listen up," Milo began, voice calm but edged with authority. "We’re splitting into three teams. The timing needs to be precise. When we strike, we strike together. No hesitation, no delays. If one group moves too soon, the others are compromised. If one group moves too late, we lose the advantage. So you all follow orders, or you don’t belong here. Clear?"

  The guards murmured their agreement, some nodding. There was no room for error. Milo tapped a marked location on the map. "Erya, you’ll be leading the first team. Seven guards will go with you."

  At that, seven of the city watch members straightened, as if hearing their name called at a knighting ceremony. They exchanged quick glances before shifting their focus to Erya, standing just off to the side. And that was when their expressions changed.

  A few of them smirked knowingly. A couple had the faintest hints of respect in their eyes. One even rolled his shoulders like he was about to step into the arena with an old champion.

  "Oh, this is gonna be good," one muttered under his breath.

  Erya smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction. "Well, well, looks like I have some fans." One of the guards, a tall, old man with a scar running across his chin, gave her a firm nod. "Ex-Captain Erya. Didn’t think I’d be taking orders from you again."

  "Neither did I," she mused, casually inspecting her nails. "But here we are. Try to keep up, yeah, for good times sake?" The man chuckled. The others nodded, clearly satisfied with their assignment. They knew who Erya was. And they had no problem following her lead.

  Milo barely gave them time to settle before moving on. "Iris, you’re taking the second team. Thirteen guards." The remaining guards visibly perked up. And this time, the reaction was different—less formal, more personal.

  A few of them grinned. Some exchanged glances, muttering things under their breath. One outright scoffed, shaking his head with an amused smirk.

  "Holy shit, we’re with Iris Avalon?"

  Iris tilted her head, lips curling into an all-too-satisfied grin. "That’s right. Try not to embarrass yourselves."

  One of the younger guards chuckled. "She’s just as cocky as the stories say."

  "Damn right I am, and trust me when I say this, it's earned!" Iris shot back, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

  Milo exhaled sharply, clearly not in the mood for their antics. "Enough." The room fell quiet again. He tapped another point on the map. "Now, listen up. Here’s how this works." His tone sharpened, and everyone straightened instinctively.

  "Erya, your target is the first storehouse. On paper, it’s a textile import facility selling high-end rugs and expensive fabrics. But that’s just the cover. Beneath the floorboards, there’s a hidden chamber where they store contraband. Enchanted goods, stolen artifacts, and most importantly, illegal weapons."

  Erya tilted her head slightly. "How many guards?"

  "Fifty. Maybe more, if they’re expecting trouble."

  She cracked her knuckles. "Fifty against eight? Sounds like a warm-up."

  Milo ignored the comment and continued. "Iris, your target is the second storehouse. Officially, it’s a luxury furniture supplier. Unofficially, it’s a holding station for human trafficking."

  A few of the guards tensed. The ones under Iris visibly stiffened, hands clenching into fists. Iris, however, stopped smiling. Her expression darkened, her gaze sharpening in a way that wasn’t playful anymore. "How many?" she asked flatly.

  "At least seventy inside. Possibly more outside, depending on tonight’s movement schedule."

  Iris rolled her shoulders. "Good. I was hoping for a proper fight."

  Milo’s expression hardened. "This isn’t a game, Iris."

  "I know," she muttered, looking at the map. "I’m gonna make sure every single one of those bastards regrets showing up to work today." Milo didn’t argue with that. He just moved on.

  "That leaves me and Kaiser." Kaiser, who had been listening silently with his arms crossed, finally looked up.

  "We’re taking the main auction house," Milo said. "That’s where the biggest threats will be." He tapped the last location on the map. "This is the heart of their operation. The Right Fist’s primary hub. This is where the wealthiest buyers gather. Where the real power players make their transactions. If they have anyone important in the building, they’ll have personal guards, mercenaries, maybe even contracted Liberators." Kaiser raised an eyebrow. "And we’re walking in with just the two of us?"

  Milo nodded. "We don’t need numbers. We need precision. If we slip in quietly, we can take out the valuables before they know what’s happening."

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  Kaiser exhaled through his nose. "Alright. I assume we will all be attacking at the same time, so what’s the signal?"

  The room fell into a moment of quiet after Kaiser’s question. The city watch had been preparing for this for weeks, but timing was everything. If one team struck too soon, the others would be compromised. If they hesitated, their enemies would have time to react. They needed a signal, but one that wouldn’t expose them before they even got started.

  One of the guards, a younger man with close-cropped hair and a confident stance, spoke up. "We could send a message through the Albus." Some of the other guards nodded in agreement, but Milo immediately dismissed the idea with a sharp shake of his head. "No. The Right Fist has the means to detect that."

  Kaiser’s brow furrowed slightly. ‘Albus?’ He had no idea what that was, but now wasn’t the time to ask. He simply kept his expression neutral, letting the conversation continue.

  Milo leaned forward, resting his knuckles on the table. "We’re not sending a signal. We’re making one." Kaiser raised an eyebrow. "And by that, you mean…?"

  Milo tapped the map again, this time pointing to a small structure near the auction house. "This building. It’s an abandoned mill, just a few streets from the main target. It’s old, unstable, and conveniently, it has a cellar full of leftover black powder from its last owners."

  The realization hit Kaiser instantly. "You’re blowing it up."

  A few of the guards tensed slightly at the blunt phrasing, but Milo didn’t flinch. "Yes. A controlled detonation, right as the clock strikes the hour. Loud enough that every slaver in Arkhold will be looking toward the fire instead of their own doors. That’s when we move."

  A beat of silence passed. Most of the guards simply accepted the plan without much reaction. A few nodded, clearly used to the idea that this was just another step in their operation. But Kaiser found himself glancing at Ivan, who, like him, seemed at the very least mildly surprised by the sheer boldness of the idea.

  Ivan exhaled. "That’s… one hell of a distraction."

  Kaiser let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "And here I thought this was going to be a quiet job." Milo crossed his arms. "Quiet won’t work. We’re dealing with the Right Fist. We need to hit them so hard, so fast, that by the time they understand what’s happening, it’s already too late."

  Kaiser tilted his head. "And you’re sure this explosion won’t bring too much attention? Say, from… I don’t know, the city guard on their payroll?"

  Milo’s expression didn’t change. "I have that covered."

  Kaiser let out a short breath. "Of course you do."

  The tension in the room lingered for a moment longer, but Milo didn’t let it settle. He stood straight again and gestured toward the guards. "You have your orders. You know the plan. Get moving."

  As soon as Milo finished his orders, the tension in the room finally gave way to something else… Anticipation. Boots shifted against the floor. Metal clinked softly as guards adjusted their armor. Even the flickering lanterns seemed to waver in time with the weight of what was about to unfold.

  But, of course, before anyone could make a dramatic exit, there was one final thing that needed to happen.

  Iris, already halfway toward the door, turned on her heel with an almost lazy movement, one hand resting on the pommel of her sword, the other drumming against the leather strap of her belt. Her lips curled into that signature smirk, the one that always meant trouble. "So, Erya," she drawled, voice oozing with casual arrogance, "you’ve got seven men under your command, yeah?"

  Erya, who had been adjusting the straps on her bracers, barely spared her a glance. "Looks like it."

  "And I’ve got thirteen," Iris continued, shifting her weight onto one foot, practically lounging against the air itself. "Which means that, numerically speaking, my squad is superior."

  Erya scoffed, rolling her shoulders like she was shaking off an annoying mosquito. "Or, it means you need nearly twice as many people just to keep up with me."

  That earned a few snickers from the guards nearby, some subtle, some not so much. One of Erya’s squadmates, the tall man with the scar on his chin, smirked knowingly at his teammates, as if silently saying, She’s got a point. Meanwhile, one of Iris’s younger recruits visibly perked up, leaning toward a fellow soldier. "She’s really like this in real life," he whispered, eyes alight with excitement, like a fan meeting a living legend.

  Iris, never one to back down from a challenge, straightened, flipping her long hair over her shoulder with an exaggerated motion. "Cute theory. But you’re hitting the first warehouse, and I’m hitting the second. And mine has seventy enemies, while yours has, what? Fifty?" She whistled low, shaking her head in mock pity. "Sounds to me like your job’s the warm-up, while mine is the real challenge."

  Erya exhaled sharply through her nose, finally looking at Iris properly. "Sounds to me like you’re making excuses for when my squad finishes our job first."

  Now, that got an even bigger reaction. A couple of Iris’s guards chuckled, but the rest weren’t laughing. One of the more eager ones, a broad-shouldered man with a nose that had clearly been broken more than once, slapped a fist against his chestplate with a loud clang. "Like hell they will!" he barked. "We’ll clear that place out before they even find their first knife-eared bastard hiding in a storage crate!"

  Erya’s men, never ones to back down from a challenge, immediately bristled at that. The scarred man cracked his knuckles with a slow, deliberate motion, a grin playing at the edges of his lips. "Oh, is that so?"

  "You wanna bet on it?" one of Iris’s men shot back, grinning. "Yeah," another chimed in, his voice laced with playful aggression. "Winner gets drinks on the loser’s squad."

  Erya finally let out a small, amused exhale. "Alright, fine," she said, stepping past Milo toward the exit, her voice as relaxed as ever. "You want a bet? Here’s one—first squad to finish their job, get out, and rendezvous back here gets free drinks. Losers pay for everything."

  The room erupted. It wasn’t loud, not quite, but the energy was palpable. Excited murmurs spread like wildfire. The guards, most of them, at least, looked like they were already halfway to swinging their weapons just for the hell of it. Some of them grinned, others muttered quiet affirmations to their teammates, but all of them were ready.

  Except, of course, for Milo, who stood there, staring at them like a father realizing his children were irreversibly stupid. "Are you two seriously turning this into a competition?" he asked, voice somewhere between exasperation and resignation.

  Iris gave him an exaggerated look of innocence. "We’re enhancing morale."

  Milo rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You’re gambling with human lives."

  Erya tilted her head, as if considering it for the first time. "... And?"

  "And," Milo snapped, exhaling sharply, "And I don’t care. Just go. Before I decide to sabotage both your missions just so I don’t have to listen to this anymore."

  The banter continued even as they moved.

  Erya’s squad was already slipping out of the back door, but not before the scarred man threw a final glance over his shoulder toward Iris’s group. "Hope you don’t trip over your own swords," he called, smirking.

  Iris smirked right back, waving dismissively. "Hope you don’t choke under the pressure. Would be real embarrassing, considering all that confidence."

  And then they were gone, disappearing into the night like wolves on the hunt. The room, once filled with chatter and energy, now held only silence. The distant echoes of boots against the streets outside had long since faded as Erya and Iris led their squads toward their respective objectives, leaving only the three of them; Milo, Kaiser, and Ivan, standing in the empty room.

  Milo was the first to break the silence. He let out a slow breath, reaching for a nearby lantern and dimming its flame before turning toward the back of the shop. “We need to move,” he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “The sewers will get us closer to the auction house without drawing attention—fewer patrols, fewer prying eyes.”

  Kaiser raised an eyebrow, slipping his hands into his pockets as he fell in step beside Milo, Ivan trailing close behind. “Sewers, huh?” He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Why is it never the scenic route?”