Chapter 24: First Steps
There was an underlying current of unease rippling through the guard squadron.
These young lads were fearless. For their Lord, they wouldn’t hesitate even if they had to mount an open assault on the grand gates of Tanchapel.
They were the loyal guards of Redoak Vale, and they only ever moved at their Lord’s express command.
But now they were expected to accept the battlefield leadership of a notorious local assassin.
It was a bitter pill to swallow.
Even though they had only recently slipped into Tanchapel, the grim rumors surrounding that particular executioner had already reached their ears.
It was whispered that this lone shadow had single-handedly slaughtered an entire criminal enterprise.
Wasn’t that a terrifying thought?
"Miss Elyra..."
Andre looked awkwardly toward the half-elf retainer.
However, Elyra merely maintained a frosty demeanor and replied flatly,
"This is the Lord’s direct command."
Andre blinked, nodding blankly.
"Understood."
A rough, muffled voice cut through their hesitation.
"Done wasting time? Bribing the night watch to alter their patrol route wasn’t easy. We have a tight window tonight. Move out."
Before the words could fully register, the silhouette of the Masked Twin Blades melted seamlessly into the dark alleyway.
The twenty Redoak Vale guards immediately fell into step behind him, while Elyra stayed behind to secure their rear.
She had far more critical matters to attend to.
---
Xander moved through the maze-like alleys with absolute precision, his memory perfectly aligned with the local distributions of power.
In Tanchapel, the ruling Magistrate was the absolute apex predator—an unmatched combatant hovering on the precipice of becoming a legendary Grand Magus.
Beneath him, his most lethal asset was the Commander of the Arcane Vanguard.
Then came the regular city watch, whose standard patrols consisted entirely of second-rank vanguard fighters.
As long as the city watch was diverted, Xander had very little to fear.
Even though his uncle Miller had amassed an incredible amount of wealth, the defensive perimeter of his private estate consisted of only a small five- or six-man mercenary squad, backed by two second-rank class-holders.
According to Xander’s tactical assessment, Miller was already a dead man walking.
To ruthlessly poison his own blood brother...
I will never allow a monster like that to keep drawing breath.
Xander swore a silent vow in the dark.
---
Turning a sharp corner, the squad arrived at a desolate, abandoned plaza.
A wizened old goblin wearing a glinting pince-nez stood waiting in the shadows with a sharp, toothy grin.
His name was Bane, and while he maintained a legitimate front running a high-end pawn shop, he secretly acted as a primary black-market pipeline for the city’s underbelly.
As long as the coin was heavy enough, these underground brokers would sell you anything.
After establishing his foothold in Tanchapel, Xander’s very first action had been to redeem his mother’s pearl necklace.
Immediately following that transaction, he had assumed his identity as the Masked Twin Blades to broker a covert deal with the old goblin.
"Sir Masked Twin Blades, this way, if you please," Bane chuckled, guiding the armed detachment toward a secluded storehouse lining the wealthy district.
Taking advantage of the midnight shroud, the party slipped around the rear of the structure, where the old goblin produced a rusted key and threw open the heavy oak doors.
Inside lay a small warehouse densely packed with iron-bound crates.
"A total of twenty sets of hardened leather armor, along with standard-issue military training armaments. Everything is inside."
Bane smirked.
"As long as your pockets are deep enough, our Crimson Claw Syndicate can procure whatever your heart desires."
"Of course, I’d highly advise against using these to storm the Magistrate’s palace..."
"Not because I care about your morals, but because dead clients can’t settle future tabs."
It was a poorly timed jest.
Nobody in their right mind would use discarded surplus infantry gear to challenge the city’s governing fortress.
---
This was the undisputed era of magic.
A single mid-tier Arcanist utilizing a spell like [Greater Ice Ring] could instantly freeze half the vanguard solid, stripping away their combat effectiveness in a heartbeat.
Attempting to match raw steel against an elite spellcaster in this age was nothing short of suicidal.
The Great Shattering had not yet fractured the world.
The Arcane Reservoir remained completely intact.
The high pantheon had not yet reached their apocalyptic consensus.
But Xander knew with terrifying certainty that the countdown was ticking down rapidly.
---
"Get inside," Xander commanded the young recruits.
"Equip the leather armor."
"I am well aware you have only received basic militia drilling, but the men guarding that estate are professional sellswords."
"I gave a firm guarantee to your lord that I would bring every single one of you back alive tonight."
"Therefore, rookies, fasten your straps tightly and check your buckles."
Xander delivered the orders with the cold, unyielding authority of a veteran commander.
It left Andre feeling slightly indignant, yet entirely unable to find a voice to argue.
In his past life as a professional scout, Xander had participated in high-tier subterranean campaigns against the deep elves, undergoing tactical squad training far superior to anything these frontier militia boys had ever seen.
From his analytical perspective, pointing out the fatal flaws in their posture and discipline was child’s play.
Before the blade-work even began, he needed to establish absolute psychological dominance over these young men.
To survive a chaotic skirmish, they needed to obey his commands without a shred of hesitation.
The frontier lads were disciplined enough to move quickly, shifting into the leather gear in short order.
Physical protection was paramount in mortal combat.
The human vessel was exceptionally fragile.
Prior to achieving the breakthrough of a third-rank status, no physical class-holder could shrug off a lethal blade without proper armor.
Spellcasters, of course, were the grand exception to this rule.
Their defensive wards completely shattered the standard laws of combat.
Which was exactly why magic ruled the continent.
As the old scholars always said:
Even the Creator had favorites.
The prime deity had designed the mortal realm for all races, yet clearly showered the arcanists with divine favor.
But that balance of power was about to change very soon.
---
"I understand the evening watch has been heavily diverted toward the northern docks?"
The old goblin narrowed his eyes.
Xander answered with a freezing glare.
"A merchant should know when to close his mouth."
Bane raised his hands defensively.
"Naturally, naturally."
"However, the city watch might be the least of your concerns tonight."
The old goblin’s grin turned entirely transactional.
"Sir Masked Twin Blades, I am well aware of who your quarry is."
"Wealthy District, Estate 31—the prosperous merchant named Miller."
"It just so happens I stumbled upon a highly sensitive piece of intelligence regarding his household."
"A piece that is currently for sale."
Xander’s brow furrowed.
The greedy merchant was clearly capitalizing on the tension to inflate his profit margins.
Behind them, Andre and the fully armored detachment stood waiting.
Watching the hushed whisperings between the masked assassin and the goblin broker, the young guardsmen exchanged bewildered looks.
They were simple soldiers.
Their minds couldn’t keep pace with such underhanded dealings.
"Name your price," Xander muttered coldly.
"Five gold pieces."
Thief.
A silver streak cut through the dim candlelight as a curved dagger came to rest directly against the coarse skin of the goblin’s throat.
"Care to re-evaluate the cost?" Xander whispered.
The old goblin didn’t flinch.
"This is information that dictates whether you walk out of that estate alive or leave your souls behind."
Woosh.
With a swift flick of his wrist, Xander sheared the blade away and materialized five glittering gold coins directly from his [Void Conch], tossing them onto a nearby crate.
The rich metallic gleam caught the faint candle flame, momentarily mesmerizing Andre and the watching soldiers.
To the impoverished children of Redoak Vale, such wealth was staggering.
"Boss... do local contract killers really pull in that kind of coin?" one of the guardsmen whispered frantically.
"That’s equivalent to five thousand silver pieces!"
Andre could only offer a bitter, perplexed smile.
Even their noble household in its prime didn’t throw around liquid gold so casually.
Where on earth had their young master managed to recruit such an extraordinary powerhouse?
Andre’s nature was straightforward.
If an enigma was too dense to solve, he simply stopped thinking about it.
His duty was to execute the Lord’s parameters.
Nothing less.
---
The moment the gold coins disappeared into his robes, the old goblin’s playful demeanor vanished.
"I know you’ve been contracted to purge Miller’s entire lineage tonight."
"However, the faction backing that fat merchant runs significantly deeper than local politics."
"You can certainly slaughter them all by dawn, but the blowback will be catastrophic."
Xander’s voice remained utterly detached.
"I deal in blood."
"I don’t fear consequences."
Bane leaned closer.
"The Serpent-Tongue Cult."
"Have you ever crossed paths with that name?"
Behind his dark mask, Xander’s pupils instantly contracted.
The Serpent-Tongue Cult.
He didn’t just recognize the name.
He had painted his past life’s weapons with the blood of those fanatical zealots on dozens of occasions.
In fact, his very first character death in the early days of the game world had been triggered by a hidden kamikaze explosion from an unhinged cult fanatic.
It remained one of the greatest blemishes on his flawless gaming career.
How could he possibly forget them?
"Miller is a sworn brother of the Serpent-Tongue Cult?"
Xander’s posture instantly stiffened.
No wonder.
No wonder there wasn’t a single trace of that man’s whereabouts for nearly a decade, only for him to suddenly return to Tanchapel dripping with unexplainable wealth and influence.
If he aligned himself with the hidden treasury of the cult, every missing piece of the puzzle falls perfectly into place.
---
Then realization struck Xander like a thunderbolt.
The fanatical followers of the Serpent-Tongue had always operated exclusively from the deep subterranean dark.
They never dared reveal themselves on the surface because the legendary Grand Magus of the East Coast Council maintained an unceasing vigil over the lowlands with his specialized spell:
[Eyes of the Sovereign Sun].
That legendary arcanist’s own daughter had been assassinated in a historical cult plot.
As long as that old master still breathed, the cult remained buried.
Yet now, active members were openly operating within Tanchapel itself.
If Xander’s deduction was correct, only one possibility remained.
The legendary Grand Magus of the East Coast was already standing at death’s door.
His upcoming demise was not natural.
It was a coordinated assassination orchestrated by the followers of the patron deity of assassins.
This assassination would become the gods’ opening move.
The fracture of the Arcane Reservoir.
The beginning of the end.
The first step toward the Great Shattering.
I have to move faster.
An icy knot tightened in Xander’s chest.
The timeline is accelerating.
The Great Shattering is coming far sooner than anyone realizes.
