As the group made their way back to Willam’s home, they stumbled upon an unsettling scene. In a narrow alleyway, two of the mayor’s elite guards—level 20, by Midas’s quick estimate—were interrogating a man.

  The man, a middle-aged merchant, was on his knees, his face bruised and bloodied.

  “I told you,” He gasped, “I don’t have it! Please, I just need more time!”

  One of the elites sneered, drawing a dagger. “You’ve had enough time.”

  Midas moved before the others could react. In an instant, he was between the merchant and the guards, his presence radiating authority.

  The elite with the dagger hesitated, his eyes narrowing. “Who the hell are you?”

  Midas didn’t answer. He simply raised a hand, his Star Wrought Fist flaring to life. The air around him shimmered with cosmic energy, and the temperature seemed to drop.

  The second elite shifted uneasily. “Wait... this guy isn’t normal.”

  “You’re right,” Midas said coldly. “I’m not. And if you value your lives, you’ll walk away.”

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  For a moment, the alley was silent, the tension so thick it was suffocating. Then, the elites exchanged a glance and backed away, muttering curses under their breath.

  Once they were gone, Midas turned to the merchant, helping him to his feet. “Go home,” he said quietly. “Stay out of sight for a while.”

  The man nodded shakily, offering a mumbled thanks before hurrying away.

  Boreas stepped forward, his expression a mix of approval and concern. “You’re making waves, Midas. People are going to notice.”

  “Good,” Midas replied. “Let them.”

  Back at Willam’s home, the group gathered around the map once more. The outpost was marked clearly, its position in the foothills making it an ideal location for smuggling.

  “This is our target,” Midas said, his finger tapping the map. “We cut off their supply line, and we send a message.”

  “Getting in won’t be easy,” Neres pointed out. “The caravans are heavily guarded, and the outpost will be even worse.”

  “That’s why we hit them fast,” Boreas said. “No drawn-out fights. We get in, destroy what we can, and get out.”

  Mori nodded. “And if we run into resistance?”

  Midas’s eyes gleamed. “Then we remind them who they’re dealing with.”

  The group fell silent, their resolve solidifying.

  “We move at dusk,” Midas said. “Get some rest. It’s going to be a long night. Neres and Mori, you follow the caravans again and take stock of the outpost’s defenses. Boreas and I will ask around the town.”

  As the sun began to set over Dawncrest, the group prepared for their first strike against the mayor’s operation. The battle for the town’s future had truly begun.