Year 348 of the Great Sundering Era, 2nd Month, 14th Day of the Mistveil Cycle.
How fast did news spread in Arlcliff City?
That really depended on what the news was about. In a city this size, a new shop opening would usually only reach the locals, maybe a little further if they did some promotions, or if people started talking. With no big newspapers or official bulletins, most people only heard about things when they affected them directly, or when someone important passed the word down. That's part of why information brokering became just as common a business as the guilds.
There were intelligence networks, sure, but those were usually private or invite-only.
That's actually why one of the original branches of Nightshade was called the Ravens. At first, the Ravens were nothing more than a rumor mill made up of people living on the edge—beggars trading tips on where kind folks might pass by, or scraps of news overheard from guards and merchants. Maybe a street kid heard from a merchant that there'd be a wave of tourists soon because of a new restaurant. Maybe someone caught wind of a city guard crackdown and passed it along so others could avoid trouble. The current leader of the Ravens, Shade, was the first to see just how much potential this network had.
He was the one who turned it into something more, handpicking a few people to stay alert for information that could be sold. Later, once they officially started calling themselves the Ravens, Zeth—the founder of Nightshade—noticed them. That was when they started working together. With Nightshade's support, the Ravens expanded, got funding, and after Nightshade turned into a full-blown syndicate, the Ravens became one of its main branches.
Not all the beggars in the Ravens had access to important information. The lowest level was just regular folks on the street—people whose loyalties could shift for the right price, a flash of a blade, or even just a hot meal if times were rough. But move up the ranks, and some Ravens knew almost everything going on in Nightshade, and even in the Upper City. They might not have known about vampires outright, but they'd heard of Heiman, his flock, their strange abilities, and what they did at Nocturne.
Heiman's mansion was always on their radar, too.
So, how long did it take for the Ravens to find out something had happened at Heiman's mansion—that it had been attacked and no one survived? Four days. That's how long it took for the lookouts to notice that the place had gone silent, with no one coming or going. It was later that same night that Shade gave the order to investigate. One of the Ravens, following his command, went to check the mansion. Normally, even the watchers wouldn't get that close, but with Shade's seal, they did.
Hooded and careful, they knocked on the door.
No one answered.
After waiting a while, they finally dared to peek inside. That's when they saw the damage, hidden well enough that you couldn't spot it from the street.
Naturally, they reported back to Shade right away. From there, the news spread like wildfire throughout all of Nightshade. One of their own top executives, Heiman Valethar d'Umbraxis, had vanished—along with every major figure in the Jackals. There weren't any bodies to prove it, but the state of the mansion, combined with the recent attack on Nocturne, made it clear enough.
Someone had taken them out.
The moment that news made the rounds, shockwaves rippled through all of Nightshade. Since the organization began, not a single executive had ever been killed or even arrested. They were always that careful. And Heiman? He was so strong that nobody ever imagined he could be caught, let alone killed. For this to happen was unheard of, and it sent a message: if even Heiman and the Jackals could fall, none of them were untouchable. Because of that, the other branches and higher-ups all slowed down or even stopped their operations, just like the Jackals had done after one of their own compounds was raided.
Along with the word that Heiman and his top people had vanished after the attack, there was one more detail passed along: who was most likely behind it.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" A glass slammed onto the table, splashing some of its drink onto the surface.
Zeth scowled, muttering a curse, and waved over one of his men sitting nearby. The guy quickly handed him a cloth, and Zeth wiped his hands, letting out a heavy sigh. He was in the same private nightclub as before, but this time it was far from empty. Zeth had bought the place a while back, keeping it for himself and his crew. Now and then, he'd use his branch's earnings to throw parties here, bring in some entertainers from the red light district, and let his people unwind for a night.
It was the best way to keep loyalty strong.
The folks around him tonight were mostly the main players in his branch—the branch who handled Nightshade's dirty work. Protection money, threats, the occasional 'accident'—that was all run by Zeth's crew. With work that risky, most didn't have any direct links to Nightshade or to Zeth himself. Instead, they got paid through layers of middlemen. In some ways, his whole branch was just hired muscle, and even other gangs that Nightshade had absorbed ended up with their people folded into his operation.
And just now, Zeth had learned about the Jackals and Heiman.
"How can one brat cause me so much trouble? He wasn't like this when I first ran into him." Zeth leaned back in his seat with a groan, rubbing his forehead. The men gathered around him fell silent, though the rest of the nightclub kept on celebrating.
After a few moments, Zeth opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, his face calm.
At this point, dealing with him is out of the question. If he managed to kill that freak Heiman and all those monsters he kept close, there's no point in even trying to fight him. Not unless the boss steps in. But if it comes to that, we're already finished.
He drummed his fingers against his leg, lost in thought, then finally spoke.
"This all started back at Jerel's. Ever since I met that blonde-headed disaster in his shop, it's just been one problem after another—costing me time, money, and men."
One of his guys nearby, overhearing him, asked, "Want us to grab Jerel, boss? He and the kid know each other—maybe we could use him as leverage."
Zeth glanced at the man, thinking it over, but then shook his head.
"No, we need Jerel at his shop. As much as he's a pain, especially lately, he's still our main supplier for the mercenary guild and their gear. But... that doesn't mean your idea is worthless." Zeth's tone shifted as he leaned forward, considering it.
"If I remember right, the only reason he raided that Jackals' branch was to rescue Jerel's sister, Celia. Hard to believe a whole family could cause this many headaches. But honestly, that means Heiman brought this mess on himself; good riddance. And now that everything's out in the open, there's no more reason to play nice. I remember hearing about a girl who's usually seen with the brat—that's probably her." As he spoke, Zeth stood up and started pacing around the table where his crew sat.
He stopped and looked back at them.
"Forget Magnus. Find Celia and bring her to me. If we do this right, we can buy ourselves some time."
"Buy time for what, boss?" One of the men asked.
Taking hostages wasn't new for them, but there was a difference between using someone as a threat and grabbing someone just to delay what was coming. One gave you the upper hand, the other just meant you were running out of options.
Zeth waved his hand and started to leave.
"Don't worry about it. Just get the girl. I'll take care of the rest."
With that, Zeth walked out of the room.
The men still at the table glanced at each other, a little confused, but ended up just shrugging it off.
"Well, you heard the boss. Spread the word."
As they started moving to carry out their orders, Zeth was already making his way down the hall outside the noisy party room. The sounds of music and chatter faded behind him, replaced by the creak of the old wooden floor under his boots. He walked until he reached another room, pulled a set of keys from his belt, unlocked the door, and slipped inside, closing it behind him. This room looked a lot like the one where the party was happening—empty bar, chairs stacked on tables, nothing fancy. Zeth hadn't changed a thing in here since he bought the place, and his men all knew this was his "thinking space."
Which meant they stayed out unless he called for them.
Not that that was the whole truth.
Crossing to one wall, Zeth moved a painting aside, revealing a hidden safe built right into the wall. He set the painting down and started working the combination. With a click, the safe popped open, and inside were all kinds of things—including a crystal ball.
He grabbed it and took a seat at a nearby table, holding the crystal ball in one hand and staring at it for a moment, lost in thought. Whatever decision he was wrestling with, it didn't take long. He set the crystal ball on the table and gave it a light push, letting it roll forward.
"Establish connection." As soon as the words left his mouth, the crystal ball stopped rolling, gave off a soft glow, and rose a little above the tabletop. It hovered there for a minute or two before the cloudy surface cleared, revealing a blurred, almost dreamlike image of a person.
"It's not time for your scheduled report, Zeth. I assume there's some emergency that's got you reaching out like this?" The voice coming from the crystal ball was calm, but there was a sharp undertone—clearly, this person didn't appreciate having their time wasted.
"Of course. I just thought you'd want to know—Heiman and his whole posse are dead." Zeth said it casually, and noticed the figure on the other end go silent for just a moment.
"That's not possible," the shadowy figure replied.
Zeth leaned back in his chair and shrugged.
"I thought the same thing, but it's true. He and the others were taken out by that same mage who put a hole in me. He's gotten stronger... a lot stronger, and it looks like he's set on tearing Nightshade apart. I probably don't need to spell it out, but if a mage that powerful wants to bring this place down, there's not much I can do."
The figure in the crystal ball went quiet for a moment, thinking it over.
"Heiman's death... that wasn't in our plans. He was supposed to be a buffer. If he really is gone, then we'll have to move up our timeline. How close are you to gathering everything we asked for?"
Zeth scratched his chin, thinking.
"I'd say we're about eighty percent done. But most of what we have so far is the easy stuff. The rare and expensive materials are going to take more time, or we'll need to open up trade routes we haven't touched yet." In other words, there was no way to rush the rest. They were already working as fast as they could without drawing attention from Takerth Academy.
"I see. We'll send you an updated list. We'll have to make some changes, but it should work. Focus on the noble families that can get what's on the new list. Everything else is less important now, understood?"
Hearing that, Zeth narrowed his eyes, voice cautious.
"You want us to forget about the other nobles? That might cause some trouble."
"You said it yourself. If someone strong enough to kill Heiman is set on destroying Nightshade, then the organization is as good as dead already. Take whatever you can from the corpse and leave before the wolves show up. You may have started this mess, but it was an unexpected variable, so we're not blaming you."
Zeth raised an eyebrow, half-grinning in surprise.
"Well, that's almost generous."
"Don't think you're off the hook, Zeth. You're still useful, that's why we're talking. Do your job, and whether Nightshade survives or not, you won't have to worry." With that, the crystal ball's glow faded and the image disappeared. It settled back onto the table, rolling a little as the room fell silent.
Zeth just stared at the crystal ball, replaying the whole conversation in his mind.
I won't have to worry, huh? Just what are those old bastards planning, if even Heiman getting wiped out doesn't change anything?
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Year 348 of the Great Sundering Era, 2nd Month, 14th Day of the Mistveil Cycle.
Ah, Magnus's bed is way too soft… Just lying on it makes me want to get a new one for myself.
Walking down the street toward her usual market, Celia let out a relaxed sigh. She wasn't running errands for herself today—she was out to pick up supplies to restock Magnus's kitchen, which was why she carried a basket hooked over her arm.
Since she'd started spending the night at Magnus's place, her maid outfit—still what she wore now—had basically become her outdoor clothes. As for when she was inside, Magnus had plenty of spare clothes, and he never minded sharing; if anything, he could just make more with [Restoration] whenever he wanted. When you could create almost anything out of thin air, most things stopped having much value, so Magnus really didn't care what he gave away.
Even so, with her and Magnus both staying there, that meant more mouths to feed, so more shopping trips were just part of her routine now.
Well, technically, Magnus doesn't even need to eat that often. He only does it because I make meals for him…
That thought made her sigh for real this time, her mood dipping a little. She didn't really know why she kept it up, but part of her just wanted Magnus to have some sense of normal life, especially after everything he'd been through. He'd already mostly gotten over the habit of breathing, and unless he was talking or something intense happened, his chest didn't even move anymore when he slept.
At least he can still taste food, so he's not completely uninterested. Maybe I should just buy a bit of everything and let him create our meals.
Not that she was hurting for money. Celia was still earning more than most maids—way more than even the ones working for nobles in the Upper City. On top of that, she got extra coin to act as Magnus's allowance, and the less he spent, the more she could save. Still, just because she had money didn't mean she liked to spend it. Once you got used to knowing someone who could make almost anything, the urge to shop kind of faded away, almost as much as it did for the person with the ability.
Ah, maybe I really am starting to think like him. Guess that's what happens when you spend too much time together. Honestly, I thought sharing a bed would be awkward, but it's actually weird how normal it feels now.
At that moment, Celia accidentally bumped into someone.
"Oh—sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going," she said, bowing slightly.
"Well, aren't you a polite little thing," came the reply, making Celia frown as she looked up to see just who she'd run into.
Celia's heart nearly stopped when she saw the man's outfit—dark clothes, hat, and mask, the signature look of someone working under Zeth's orders. She also caught a glimpse of a concealed dagger hidden in his coat.
Oh shit!
Without a second thought, Celia hurled her basket at the man and bolted, weaving through the busy street and ducking into a side street.
"Hey! Dammit, get back here!" The man yelled, brushing off groceries as he started after her.
Celia nearly tripped over her dress, grabbing it to lift the hem as she ran.
Ugh, worst possible outfit for this!
She was halfway down the alley when two more men, dressed just like the first, turned the corner ahead of her. Unlike the first, their weapons were out in the open.
Celia skidded to a stop, ready to double back, but a quick glance behind showed the first man closing in fast. She glanced left and right—nothing but closed shops and locked doors. The only way out was another alley, but she could already see it was a dead end.
No choice!
She darted down the alley, shoes tapping against the stone, the sound echoing off the walls. The three men reached the entrance and spotted the dead end, grinning as they closed in.
"Oh, not so smart now, huh?" The same one she had thrown the basket at taunted, chuckling as they started toward her.
With the alley blocked, Celia was trapped. She turned around to look at them, her expression slightly frantic.
At that moment, Magnus's words echoed in her mind: If you're ever in trouble, use this.
Barely hesitating, Celia reached into her clothes and pulled out something—a weirdly shaped metal object, not a knife or a weapon by any normal standard. The three men paused, expecting a blade, but all they saw was a chunk of metal, nothing sharp, nothing dangerous-looking.
"What the hell? You planning to smack us with that?" One man sneered.
"We need you alive, but if you try anything, maybe we'll break a few bones."
"Yeah, just drop it and come quietly," another added.
Celia didn't hear them. She was desperately trying to remember Magnus's instructions.
Okay, he said… bend my knees, both hands, both eyes open. Arms out… wait, where did my feet go again? Ugh, I can't remember!
From the outside, it probably looked like she was frozen in fear, and she was, just for more reasons than one.
As the men got closer, Celia shouted, "Stay back! I'm warning you!"
One of them just laughed and shook his head.
"Alright, guess we're doing this the hard way!" He lunged forward.
Instinct took over. Celia pulled the lever just as Magnus had shown her, squeezed her eyes shut, and braced herself.
A deafening bang exploded through the alley, echoing off the stone. The force nearly made her drop the object, her arms going numb from the kickback. Blinking her eyes open, Celia saw the man who'd charged her had frozen in place, staring down in disbelief at the wound in his stomach—blood already soaking through his clothes. He dropped to his knees, clutching the wound, a scream tearing from his throat.
"Aghhh!"