Chapter 37: The Night Before the Battle
The mutated aardwolves formed the absolute apex of the pack’s martial hierarchy. Even the hardened fighters of the Bramble Syndicate didn’t dare lower their threat assessment metrics when calculating a deployment against them.
As the common room settled, the two squad commanders shifted their coordinates closer to the central layout, their core subordinates forming a dense perimeter behind them. The three independent solo operators also approached, their postures analytical.
"According to our tactical data, the pack has anchored a primary sentry post at this exact intersection," Elyra explained, utilizing a charcoal node to trace the topography. "Tomorrow evening, our column will execute a coordinated surprise assault on the position. It is mechanically imperative that we prevent any single aardwolf or grunt from escaping to trigger the settlement’s wider alarm sub-routines."
"The outpost contains two standard melee grunts and two ranged skirmishers. Their individual liquidation routines are trivial. However, the six mutated aardwolves present a severe tactical crisis."
Elyra adjusted an old-fashioned parchment map, recording the precise enemy counts along the corner margins. Her notations were impeccably structured, compressing complex environmental data into a few highly legible directives.
The display left both veteran captains inwardly impressed. This half-elf administrator possessed exceptional logistics and command talent.
"The dense timberline on either side of the approach provides excellent natural cover, but we must factor in the aardwolves’ exceptional Agility metrics. Do you have any field-tested proposals to counter their mobility?" Elyra asked, shifting her gaze between the two commanders.
Xander remained silently anchored to the background. He had already drafted a definitive, three-step tactical blueprint before the march began, but he deliberately permitted Elyra to interrogate the mercenaries first. He wanted to evaluate whether this specific assembly contained any high-value tactical minds capable of independent problem-solving.
Cat kept his mouth tightly shut. His primary rogue asset had just been utterly dismantled in under three frames by the Masked Twin Blades, completely cratering his faction’s psychological leverage.
Under the current constraints, attempting to actively sabotage the campaign’s timeline would be exceptionally risky; any overt compliance failure would be instantly met with a lethal counter-routine from the masked executioner.
He could only pray the column committed a catastrophic tactical error during the engagement, forcing a chaotic retreat. That outcome would allow his unit to collect their baseline advance, preserve their professional guild reputation, and exit the operational zone cleanly.
Unfortunately for his hidden handler, the rival captain’s algorithm was optimized for a completely different outcome.
As the commander of the Brambles, Gru possessed decades of raw field experience. He rubbed his stubbled chin, his gravelly voice dropping into a low murmur. "Directly confronting a pack of six mutated beasts on open terrain is an invitation to a total line collapse. We should utilize localized engineering structures. If we can manipulate their pathing, we can draw them into an environmental trap."
"The common grunts scale to Level 2 on average, but the aardwolves operate at a significantly higher tier. This indicates the grunt sentries lack the psychic attributes required to directly dictate the beasts’ actions. They are likely using baseline tethering. We can exploit that control gap."
A subtle smile emerged on Elyra’s face. The Bramble leadership was proving remarkably reliable.
"Master Gru’s deduction aligns perfectly with our sovereign blueprint," she confirmed. "Our primary phase involves luring the six mutated beasts into a pre-constructed dead-zone at the forest edge, where we will deploy a specialized elimination protocol devised personally by our Lord."
"We will review the exact chemical components of that trap momentarily. Master Verne," Elyra turned, her smile shifting into a sharp, dominant expression as she locked eyes with the albino Ranger. "Since the estate’s standing garrison and the Brambles are absorbing the entire aardwolf threat, your unit will assume exclusive responsibility for liquidating the four grunt sentries. Does that distribution conflict with your capabilities?"
Cat felt an immediate weight settle on his chest.
Faced with such a mathematically logical distribution of labor, any refusal would instantly signal a breach of contract. His highly rated unit couldn’t exactly claim they were physically incapable of suppressing four low-level grunts without permanently ruining their reputation across River Shore City.
"The assignment is within our parameters," Cat forced out, his tone flat.
As for the three independent solo operators, their deployment parameters for this opening skirmish were completely blank. They were instructed to hold position as a high-tier reserve force, monitoring the perimeter for unexpected variables.
"The hour is late. Master Verne, you and your subordinates are formally dismissed to your quarters to prepare your kits," Elyra stated, her tone shifting into a firm, polite command that left zero room for negotiation.
Her intent was transparent to every professional in the room: the garrison and the Brambles were about to review the proprietary tactical sub-routines required to eliminate the mutated beasts, and she had absolutely no intention of letting a compromised faction log those specific metrics.
Cat’s face flushed with a sickly greenish hue, but before he could voice a complaint, the Masked Twin Blades smoothly detached himself from the counter and vanished up the timber staircase toward the second floor.
The three solo operators quietly followed suit, retreating to their respective rooms. Left with no structural leverage, the humiliated rebel squad could only gather their gear and exit the common room.
Only Elyra and Gru remained beneath the dim lanterns to map out the final mechanics of the midnight ambush.
The second-floor washroom was in a state of absolute neglect. The old, disabled farmer hadn’t maintained the sanitation scripts in months due to the total absence of commercial traffic along the highway.
One of the rebel scouts ducked into his assigned bedroom, leaving a deeply depressed Cat to navigate the dim corridor toward the washroom alone.
"Damnit! That noble handler promised this would be a trivial asset-blocking assignment," the Ranger hissed under his breath, stepping into the damp, shadowed room. "There’s absolutely nothing trivial about this deployment."
He stepped over the threshold, his mind consumed by logistics.
An instant later, a cold, blackened steel edge was pressed soundlessly against his windpipe.
The movement was completely silent. A figure had perfectly melded into the deep shadows behind the broken door, completely invisible to the Ranger’s passive perception metrics.
The Masked Twin Blades.
"You... what is the meaning of this protocol?" Cat gasped, his posture instantly freezing.
As an experienced Ranger himself, he prided himself on his internal camouflage and detection algorithms. Yet, this masked executioner had systematically predicted his pathing and established a flawless ambush inside a common washroom.
Is this bastard truly planning to liquidate me right here? Cold sweat began to cascade down his spine.
"Cease your manual tracking routines," Xander commanded, his voice a gravelly, terrifying whisper.
Cat’s hand froze. The subtle, micro-movement he had initiated to draw a concealed dagger from his boot had been instantly logged and countered by the masked man’s tracking.
"The geopolitical friction occurring between the sovereign authorities of River Shore City is a high-tier conflict that a low-grade mercenary cannot survive," Xander stated, his tone completely flat, devoid of any human emotion. "I am fully aware of the specific administrative actor directing your squad’s actions from the shadows. He operates under the delusion that Baron Marvin is merely an isolated, vulnerable young noble. But let me ask your analytical faculties a single question: does this deployment look simple to you?"
"I am extending this single behavioral correction purely out of professional courtesy. Do not compromise my operational timeline. If your pathetic attempts to delay the column result in a tactical failure at Redoak Vale, it will directly interfere with my primary mission protocol. And if my protocol fails... you will not live long enough to collect the silver your city handler promised you."
"Verify this reality: to an entity of my caliber, clearing your life bar requires fewer calculations than drawing a breath."
Bang!
Xander violently shoved the albino Ranger against the damp timber wall, smoothly sheathing his dagger into his belt before slipping out into the corridor like a ghost.
Cat stood pinned against the wood, his entire frame trembling as his mind desperately replayed Xander’s words in a continuous loop.
He was a naturally paranoid, hyper-analytical individual. The data points the Masked Twin Blades had just dropped were completely reshaping his understanding of the assignment.
Baron Marvin was supposed to be a destitute, exiled orphan with zero remaining assets. How could an impoverished child possibly retain the exclusive services of an elite underworld executioner capable of vaporizing a Tier 2 syndicate?
The only logical deduction was that the young master was merely a front for a massive, hidden faction.
A sudden wave of absolute terror washed over him. The internal power struggles of the high-tier nobility were notorious for consuming low-level mercenaries like kindling. If he wasn’t exceptionally careful, his entire squad would be utilized as simple disposable collateral.
The executioner specifically referred to his ’primary mission protocol’... that implies he’s operating under a binding contract from an external sovereign power. An authority far greater than a common young boy.
To possess an asset of this caliber... an asset who can openly slaughter wealthy elites in the upper district and completely evade the municipal watch logs...
Could it be...?!
A sudden, catastrophic realization struck Cat’s mind, nearly stopping his heart.
[The Wizard Regiment]!
Following the total liquidation of the Miller estate, the ostensibly omnipotent spellcasters of the city’s ruling elite had released a formal decree stating they were completely incapable of tracking any residual mana or physical signatures left by the killer. At the time, the tavern regulars had accepted the log. But thinking about it now, the outcome was mathematically absurd.
In this era of absolute arcane dominance, the High Wizards possessed tracking algorithms that could trace a single drop of blood across leagues. Failing to locate an urban killer inside their own municipal borders was statistically impossible.
Unless... the Masked Twin Blades was an elite black-ops asset operating directly under the personal authority of the Chief of the Wizard Regiment! That single variable perfectly resolved every logical contradiction in the database!
Cat’s hyper-active imagination had constructed a flawless, terrifying narrative in a matter of minutes.
By the ancestors... the Masked Twin Blades is a direct sovereign instrument of the City Lord’s inner sanctum! The city hall bureaucrats who hired me are merely lower-tier dogs sitting beneath the Wizard’s throne! I almost committed absolute suicide by trying to sabotage the City Lord’s private regional adjustments!
The albino Ranger stood entirely paralyzed in the doorway of the washroom for ten full minutes, his breathing ragged as his cognitive functions slowly recovered from the panic.
At that moment, Gru ascended the stairs from the common room. Seeing the Ranger staring blankly into space, the veteran Fighter gave him a bizarre, deeply skeptical look.
Verne snapped back to reality, realizing his behavioral metrics were entirely compromised. Without uttering a single word, he hurried past the captain and locked himself inside his bedroom, his mind completely consumed by the need to enforce absolute compliance with the estate’s march tomorrow.
Meanwhile, Gru arrived at the door of his assigned quarters. The moment his palm touched the timber, his combat tracking instantly triggered an alert. He narrowed his eyes, his right hand instantly dropping to grip the massive hilt of the greatsword secured to his back.
Something within the room’s spatial volume was fundamentally incorrect.
Someone was waiting for him inside the dark space.
"Lower your combat readiness," a calm voice instructed. A small match flared, illuminating a candle on the rough desk. Xander was sitting quietly on a wooden stool, his masked face tilted toward the doorway. "I have entered your quarters exclusively to review a specific private ledger."
Gru didn’t loosen his grip on the heavy steel. No sane professional lowered their defensive modifiers when trapped in an enclosed space with an urban executioner. His knuckles remained white against the hilt, his frame coiled to execute an immediate defensive roll at the slightest twitch.
"What could an entity like you possibly need to discuss with a common sword-for-hire?" Gru demanded, his voice low and defensive. "Our paths share zero historical data."
"Let us analyze the specific medical condition of your biological daughter," Xander stated, his tone shifting into a deeply serious register. "I require a complete breakdown of her active symptoms."
The veteran Fighter froze, his mind completely blanking out as the words hit him.
