The little gray cat blinked up at Emily, its tail twitching as the old woman scooped it into her arms.
"Oh, Whiskerfoot! You naughty thing!" the woman scolded, pressing her wrinkled cheek to the cat's fur. "Thank you, dears. I don't know what I'd do without her."
Emily forced a smile. "Just glad we could help."
Noah gave a half-bow that somehow came off both polite and sarcastic. "Always a pleasure to rescue felines and restore domestic peace."
They stepped back into the lamplit street, the evening air cool and scented faintly of bread from a nearby bakery. Lyrthorne had begun to quiet; the daytime merchants were closing up, and the night crowd—shadier, slower-moving—was drifting in.
Noah broke the silence first. "Alright. Cat's safe. Now we go steal a chunk of shiny rock worth more than this entire town."
Emily raised an eyebrow. "You mean mithril. Not just a shiny rock. Precious, rare, potentially life-saving mithril."
"And also we're trying to get it from a Black Market auction house." Noah said, grinning. "But yeah, that."
Her system chimed.
[Reminder: You are conspiring to commit theft. HELL YEAH! Well, putting my behaviour aside, it's dangerous. Proceed?]
Emily ignored it. "So, how are we doing this? Just stroll in and ask politely?"
"Exactly," Noah deadpanned. "We'll knock on the door of the black-market auction house, say, 'Excuse me, could we borrow your priceless magic metal? Promise to bring it back.'"
Emily crossed her arms. "You've been sarcastic all day."
"I'm nervous," he admitted. "And sarcasm is cheaper than therapy."
They ducked into an alley where the shadows pooled thick between brick walls. Noah crouched, flicking his system's metallic radar to life. A faint blue grid shimmered in his vision, pings lighting up faintly to the east.
"There," he said, pointing. "About 300 meters that way. Basement-level storage. Probably locked behind reinforced doors."
Emily leaned closer. "And that's the mithril?"
"Only thing with that density reading down there. But there's also… huh." He frowned. "Other metals. Weapons-grade."
Emily tilted her head. "So we're walking into an armory and a black-market auction house?"
"Basically," Noah said.
Her grin was sharp. "Perfect. What could go wrong?"
[Statistically: everything.] her system answered in a sing-song voice.
They moved under the cover of night, weaving through narrow lanes, sticking close to shadows. Their pace slowed when the auction house came into view—a squat, stone building with boarded windows and a double set of iron-bound doors. Two guards in leather stood outside, chatting in low voices.
Emily whispered, "We need a distraction."
Noah rummaged through his pack, pulling out one of the empty pizza boxes. "Think fast."
"…You're not about to—"
He flung it around the corner. The box skittered across the cobblestones, landing squarely at the guards' feet.
They looked at each other. One bent down, flipped it open—
"Pizza?" one asked.
Noah was already slipping past the opposite side of the building. "No one can resist free food," he whispered.
Emily rolled her eyes but followed. They found a side window pried slightly open, likely for ventilation. Noah boosted her up, she slid inside silently, and he followed.
The interior smelled of dust, ink, and candle wax. Crates were stacked in neat rows, each marked with strange sigils. From somewhere deeper in the building, voices murmured—low, urgent, and accompanied by the faint clink of coins.
Emily crouched behind a stack of barrels. "Auction's still going on."
"Good," Noah said. "Means the mithril's still here."
They moved deeper, weaving between storage racks until Noah's radar pinged stronger than ever. A locked steel door loomed at the end of the hall.
Emily placed her palm against it, closing her eyes. "I can shape beryllium into a thin cutting edge. Should be able to slice the hinges quietly."
Before she could start, footsteps echoed from the hall behind them.
Noah cursed under his breath.
Three men in dark cloaks rounded the corner, crossbows raised.
"Looks like we've got ourselves some uninvited bidders," one said, smirking.
Emily's system chimed.
[Combat initiated.]
Noah grabbed a nearby crate, shoving it into the path of the first bolt. Wood splintered. Emily flicked her wrist, conjuring a flash of magnesium light that blinded them for an instant.
They charged.
The first man swung a short sword—Noah blocked with a length of iron pipe pulled from the wall. The second fired again, but Emily ducked, rolling forward and kicking his legs out.
The third attacker was faster, already closing in on Emily from the side.
She turned—too slow.
The man lunged.
The man's blade flashed toward Emily's ribs—
A clang rang out as Noah intercepted, his iron pipe locking against the steel in a screech of metal.
"Hey," Noah grunted, forcing the weapon away, "attack someone your level."
Emily didn't waste the opening. She kicked the man square in the knee, heard the satisfying crack of joint against stone, and swept his legs out. He crashed down, cursing.
The first attacker recovered from his blindness, swinging wildly at Noah. Sparks flared with every impact, the pipe vibrating in his hands.
Emily's system chimed again:
[Caution: Sustained melee in confined space risks structural damage. Reminder—support beams are not replaceable mid-fight.]
She rolled her eyes. "Thanks, genius."
A crossbow twanged—
She dropped flat as a bolt hissed past, embedding in the wall with a deep thunk.
Noah spotted the shooter reloading near the corner. "Cover me!" he barked.
Emily didn't question it—she reached out, drawing thin filaments of copper from a nearby crate. They snaked along the floor like living vines, curling around the shooter's ankles. With a sharp pull, he stumbled, giving Noah the chance to rush in and slam him into the wall.
From deeper in the building came a sudden roar of voices—chairs scraping, boots pounding on wood.
Emily's stomach dropped. "They heard us."
Noah glanced at the locked steel door they'd been aiming for. "We've got maybe thirty seconds before this place turns into a hornet's nest."
Emily flexed her fingers, already pulling beryllium from her satchel. "Then we cut fast."
A new voice cut through the chaos—smooth, amused, and far too close.
"Well, well. Two rats in my cellar."
They both turned.
A tall man in a tailored black coat stood at the far end of the hall, a silver-headed cane in one hand. Behind him, more guards fanned out—half a dozen, maybe more. And in the man's other hand, gleaming faintly in the dim light… a small ingot of mithril.
Emily's breath caught.
Noah's knuckles tightened on the pipe.
The man smiled faintly. "You want it? Then win it."
He snapped his fingers.
Every guard surged forward at once—
[To Be Continued....]