The Capture of Count Vayne

The day was calm, but Vergil's mind was anything but. The soft clatter of the horse-drawn carriage echoed as it rolled down the forest path. Inside, Vergil sat with his arms crossed, his gaze cold and calculating. Beside him, Freya sat silently, her golden eyes focused on the path ahead. Her wolf-like ears twitched at every sound, her instincts on high alert.

"The operation begins now," Vergil muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "No mistakes."

"Understood, Doctor," Freya replied. Her voice was calm, but her sharp gaze revealed her readiness for what lay ahead.

Vergil's mind replayed Captain Brentrand's final message before he left:

"Count Vayne is staying at an inn in Châteauclair. He's overseeing its operations himself. If your plan fails, he'll vanish before you get a second chance."

That information had shifted the strategy slightly, but Vergil adapted quickly. Plans were like threads in a web. If one strand was cut, another would catch the prey.

The orphanage stood at the edge of Avalorne, a worn-down building with cracks running through its brick walls. The yard was overgrown with weeds, and the faint sound of birds chirping did little to brighten the gloomy atmosphere.

Vergil and Freya stepped out of the carriage. As soon as their feet touched the ground, the heavy wooden doors of the orphanage creaked open.

A man emerged — plump, balding, and with a face that could only be described as untrustworthy. He wore a smile so wide it seemed to stretch unnaturally across his face. His beady eyes darted between Vergil and Freya, as if calculating the weight of their coin purses.

"Welcome, welcome! You must be the esteemed Lord Vergil, yes? I am Audlik, humble caretaker of this fine orphanage." His voice was as greasy as his hair. He bowed, his chubby fingers clasped together in mock humility.

Vergil's eyes were sharp, cold, and devoid of warmth. His lips remained a thin, unyielding line. "Spare me the formalities, Audlik. I'm here to see the children."

Audlik's grin twitched slightly, but he quickly nodded. "Of course, my lord, of course. This way, please. Our finest girls are ready for inspection."

Freya's tail bristled for a moment, but she remained composed. Her eyes met Vergil's briefly, and he gave her a subtle nod.

The interior was worse than the outside. The faint stench of unwashed floors and mold lingered in the air. The walls were stained with grime, and the flickering glow of old lanterns barely illuminated the dim hallways.

Vergil's eyes scanned everything — not just the layout, but the signs of neglect, the hidden scuff marks near doors, and the faint scratch marks on the walls that looked like the desperate clawing of small fingers. His assassin instincts absorbed every detail.

Audlik led them into a larger room where the children were gathered. Five girls sat on an old wooden bench, their heads lowered, eyes hollow with exhaustion. Their ages ranged from 12 to 17, and despite their youth, their expressions were worn beyond their years. One of the girls had a scar running down her cheek, a cruel reminder of past abuse.

But it wasn't these girls that caught Vergil's attention.

"Them," Vergil muttered, his eyes fixed on a pair of younger children seated near the back.

Two girls. They had striking hair, one with golden blonde hair and the other with sky-blue locks. Their eyes shimmered faintly, and an invisible aura of magical power radiated from them. It wasn't something an ordinary person would notice, but Vergil's trained senses picked it up instantly.

"They have potential," Vergil thought to himself, his mind already working through future possibilities.

Audlik noticed Vergil's gaze. His grin widened like a predator sensing an opportunity. "Ah, yes. Those two are special cases. Strong-willed, stubborn, but... malleable." His eyes glinted with greed. "For them, I must ask for a higher fee. Twenty-five gold coins for both."

Vergil's gaze flicked to Freya. Without a word, she stepped forward and opened a small chest she had carried with her. The soft clinking of gold echoed in the room as she revealed the neatly stacked coins.

Audlik's eyes practically sparkled. "Oh, you're well-prepared, I see!" He reached forward, but Freya's hand snapped shut over the chest. Her eyes narrowed, and a low growl escaped her throat.

"Not. Yet." Her sharp fangs peeked through her lips as she bared her teeth just enough to make Audlik flinch.

Vergil stepped forward, his presence commanding the room. "Prepare the necessary documents. We will return in three days to collect them. Fail to have them ready, and I will collect something else." His voice was as cold as a winter storm.

Audlik's grin faltered for the first time. "O-Of course, Lord Vergil! Everything will be ready. No delays, I promise you."

Vergil turned without another word, walking toward the exit with Freya close behind. The air grew heavier with each step, as if Vergil's very presence crushed the space around him.

"Three days, Audlik," Vergil repeated as he reached the door. "Don't make me come early."

The door slammed shut, leaving only the sound of Audlik's nervous laughter behind.

The carriage rolled down the dirt path, away from the orphanage. For a while, the forest was silent except for the crunch of wheels over dirt and the distant chirping of birds.

Suddenly, Vergil raised a hand. "Stop the carriage."

The driver pulled on the reins, and the horses whinnied as they slowed. Freya glanced at him. "Here?"

"Here," Vergil said as he stood and reached for his bag. He opened it, revealing his black assassin armor. The cloak folded neatly on top, hiding the various blades, potions, and gadgets beneath.

Without hesitation, Vergil pulled off his coat and began donning the armor. Every piece fit perfectly, every strap pulled tight with expert precision. His movements were practiced, like a soldier readying for war.

Freya watched with a smirk. "Everything is ready, huh?"

"They'll move tonight," Vergil replied, securing his vambraces. "They always do when they think they have a clean escape."

He pulled his black cloak over his shoulders, the fabric draping over him like a veil of shadows. His hood rose, concealing his white hair, and his eyes became faint blue pinpricks of light beneath the hood.

"You'll go alone?" Freya asked, leaning forward.

"I'll move faster alone," Vergil replied. His voice was calm, but there was a weight to it. "You'll ride ahead and signal Captain Brentrand. Tell him the prey is about to run and made him and his man ready."

Freya nodded, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Understood, Doctor. Try not to detected before we ready."

"That a promises," Vergil said as he stepped off the carriage. His feet landed with the silence of a phantom, his cloak already blending into the shadows of the forest.

Freya watched as he disappeared into the foliage, her ears twitching as she listened to his footsteps fade.

"Be safe, Doctor," she muttered before signaling the driver to continue.

Night fell swiftly, the forest cloaked in darkness. Only the soft glow of the orphanage lanterns pierced the night, and even they flickered like dying fireflies.

High above, perched on a sturdy branch, Vergil watched from the treetops. His blue eyes glowed faintly under his hood like a predator's gaze in the night.

He saw them — three figures creeping out of the orphanage, escorting someone toward a waiting carriage. One on the man become carriage driver, he glance to girl with Audlik and one of the man. The horses snorted, their breath visible in the cool night air.

"Right on time," Vergil whispered as his hand slowly reached for his pocket.

He jumped.

The orphanage loomed under the pale glow of the moon. The light flickered, barely illuminating the old, decrepit building. Shadows danced along the cracked walls, but among them, one shadow moved with purpose — silent, methodical, and unseen.

Vergil crouched low as he approached the orphanage from the treeline. His eyes, glowing faintly like twin shards of sky-blue light, locked onto his target. He knew the layout well. Every creaking floorboard, every rusted hinge, every loose brick — he had memorized it all from his previous infiltration.

This time, there would be no hesitation.

Vergil's fingers brushed over his lockpicking tools, but he didn't need them. With a soft tap of his fingers, a wisp of magical energy flowed into the lock, and with a faint click, it opened. He slipped inside, the door closing behind him with only the softest whisper of sound.

He moved like a ghost, his cloak flowing with each step. His breathing was shallow, his movements silent. Even the creaks of the old wood beneath his feet made no sound under his weight. He could hear faint snoring coming from the sleeping quarters, and from a distance, the quiet ticking of an old clock filled the hall.

Vergil's eyes narrowed. "They're unaware," he muttered to himself, his tone devoid of emotion.

His target was clear — the office of Audlik, the man who dared exploit innocent children. Vergil's gaze hardened as he approached the office door. His hand reached for the handle, and with a soft push, the door opened.

The familiar smell of old paper, ink, and faint traces of alcohol greeted him. The dim moonlight seeping through the window revealed a desk cluttered with quills, parchment, and ledgers.

Vergil's eyes scanned the room. "Journal… ledger… financial records…" He moved swiftly, fingers flipping through documents. "Illegal purchases. Payments. All here."

His heart remained cold, his mind clear. One by one, he collected the evidence:

Invoices of payment from Count VayneRecords of illegal shipments disguised as "orphanage supplies"

The journal of Audlik himself, filled with notes about the girls he "sold" and his plans for future abductions

Vergil's eyes narrowed as he skimmed through a few entries.

"The girl are too strong-willed, but a few nights without food should break them."

He clenched his teeth. "This filth will pay," he muttered coldly.

His hand reached for the journal, and he slid it into his satchel. He checked the room one final time, ensuring no trace of his presence remained. The door's lock was restored, the papers left disorganized as if Audlik himself had carelessly arranged them. There would be no suspicion.

Vergil slipped out the way he came, vanishing into the night like a phantom.

His hand reached for the journal, and he slid it into his satchel. He checked the room one final time, ensuring no trace of his presence remained. The door's lock was restored, the papers left disorganized as if Audlik himself had carelessly arranged them. There would be no suspicion.

Vergil slipped out the way he came, vanishing into the night like a phantom.

The moon hung high in the sky, its silver glow peeking through the thick canopy of trees. The sound of hooves echoed softly along the dirt path, the wheels of the carriage creaking with every turn. Inside the carriage, Audlik sat comfortably, his smug grin illuminated by the dim glow of a lantern. His two lackeys sat across from him, their eyes sharp as they watched the passing forest.

"Not a single problem," Audlik muttered, rubbing his hands together. "That Count Vayne is impatient, but his gold is always heavy." He chuckled, glancing at his two subordinates. "Once these brats are delivered, we'll feast like kings."

The two men gave small grins but stayed on edge. They'd been in this line of work long enough to know that silence didn't always mean safety. One of them, a bald man with a scar down his cheek, leaned forward.

"Boss, something's off," he whispered, his eyes darting toward the woods. "Too quiet."

Audlik waved him off, his grin unfazed. "That's just your nerves talking. No one would dare interfere with the Count's business."

Just as he finished speaking, a bright glow flickered ahead. Torches.

The horses neighed in surprise, pulling back as the driver yanked the reins. "Whoa! Whoa there!" the driver barked, slowing the carriage.

The light of torches revealed a line of armored soldiers blocking the path. Captain Brentrand stood at the center, his spear resting on his shoulder, his eyes fixed firmly on the carriage. The Imperial Guard, all clad in silver and blue, stood like an immovable wall.

"Halt!" Brentrand commanded, his voice booming. "You will submit to an inspection, by order of Her Majesty."

Audlik's grin vanished, his eyes narrowing. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, leaning halfway out of the carriage. "I'm a caretaker of Avalorn's orphanage, and this is an official delivery!"

Brentrand stepped forward, his eyes sharp like a hawk's. "An official delivery at midnight? Strange timing for charity, wouldn't you say?"

Audlik forced a smile, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "Children don't wait for daylight, Captain. We're on a schedule."

Brentrand raised his hand, signaling his soldiers. "Check the cargo."

"Wait, wait, wait! You can't just—" Audlik started, but Brentrand's sharp glare stopped him cold.

"I can and I will," Brentrand said flatly. "Open it."

The soldiers moved quickly, pulling away the coverings from the back of the carriage. Their torches revealed stacks of crates, burlap sacks, and a faint, sour smell of sweat and mildew. The soldiers rummaged through the bags, revealing bolts of fine fabric, bottles of wine, and crates filled with high-quality spices — far too luxurious for an orphanage.

"Odd supplies for an orphanage," one soldier remarked as he pulled out a bottle of wine. "Donations, you said?"

Audlik gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain calm. "Y-Yes. Donations from patrons. The wealthy care deeply for orphans, you know."

Captain Brentrand's eyes didn't move from Audlik. "Yes… the 'wealthy' care deeply. Let's see if they care as deeply for forged records and stolen goods."

Suddenly, the sound of a soft thud echoed from behind them.

All eyes turned as a figure emerged from the darkness. Cloaked in black, wearing light armor that blended with the shadows, Vergil stepped out from the treeline, his glowing blue eyes as sharp as daggers. In his hands, he held a leather satchel.

"Apologies for the delay," Vergil said, his voice low and cold. He tossed the satchel to Brentrand, who caught it with one hand. "Here's everything you need. The evidence, the journals, and a complete list of the missing children."

Brentrand opened the satchel, his eyes scanning its contents. His face remained stoic, but there was a faint glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Well done, Doctor."

Audlik's eyes went wide with panic. "What?! What is that?! Where did you get that?!" he shouted, his gaze darting wildly.

Brentrand reached into the satchel and pulled out a familiar leather-bound journal. "Recognize this?" he asked, holding it up. "Your journal, Audlik. Full of… interesting entries. Names, dates, deals." He flipped through the pages. "Count Vayne's payments are all listed here too. How thoughtful of you to keep such detailed records."

Audlik's face twisted with rage. His eyes darted toward his two lackeys. "Get them! Now!"

"Move, and you die," Vergil's voice came from behind them.

The two lackeys froze. They turned their heads slowly to see Vergil, his hand already on the hilt of his dagger. His glowing blue eyes locked onto them like a predator to prey. His killing intent poured over them like a crushing weight, and in that moment, they knew. This man would not hesitate to kill.

One of the lackeys dropped his weapon and raised his hands. "I-I surrender!"

The second man glanced at Audlik, but seeing the hopelessness on his boss's face, he dropped his weapon too. "D-Don't kill me!"

"Smart choice," Brentrand said, gesturing for his men. "Cuff them." The soldiers moved in swiftly, binding the two men with enchanted shackles.

But Audlik had no intention of being caught.

"Fools!" he snarled. He shoved past his lackeys and dashed toward the woods. His footsteps pounded against the dirt as he sprinted as fast as he could.

"Stop him!" one of the soldiers shouted, but Brentrand raised his hand.

"No need," Brentrand muttered, his eyes already on Vergil. "He won't get far."

Vergil's eyes narrowed. Without a word, he vanished into the shadows, moving with unnatural speed. His cloak fluttered for a brief moment, and then he was gone.

Audlik gasped for breath as he ran through the forest. Branches whipped his face, leaves crunched underfoot, and the chill of the night air stung his lungs. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest.

"Can't… can't let them catch me," he muttered, his eyes wild with fear. "I'll start fresh… somewhere else… Count Vayne will… will protect me…"

But suddenly, he stopped. His ears caught a faint noise behind him. A soft crunch — barely audible.

His breathing grew frantic. His eyes darted around the forest. "Who's there?!" he hissed. He spun in place, searching the darkness.

Then, he heard it. A voice. Cold. Sharp. Closer than it should be.

"Running makes you look guilty, Audlik."

Audlik's heart stopped. "No… no, no, no!" He turned to run, but the instant he did, a figure dropped from the branches above.

Audlik hit the ground hard, the weight of Vergil pressing down on his back. Before he could scream, Vergil's hand clamped over his mouth.

"Don't move," Vergil whispered in his ear. "One sound, and I cut your tendons."

Audlik froze, terror flooding his body. His breath came in short, shallow gasps.

"Please… please…" he whimpered through Vergil's grip. "I'll tell you everything! I'll testify! I'll—"

"You'll do nothing," Vergil said coldly. His fingers twitched, and shadowy tendrils wrapped around Audlik's wrists and ankles, binding him in place. "Brentrand wants you alive, but I'd be just as happy to bring you in pieces."

The dim glow of the torches flickered against the bark of the surrounding trees, casting long, jagged shadows on the forest floor. Captain Brentrand stood with his arms crossed, his eyes cold and sharp as steel. His soldiers had the two of Audlik's lackeys on their knees, wrists bound behind their backs with iron shackles. Their faces were bruised, one of them sporting a swollen eye.

Not far away, Audlik lay face-down on the dirt, wheezing and coughing after being tossed like a bag of refuse. His body was bruised, his shirt torn, and his hands were tied with enchanted shadow-binds that shimmered faintly like coiling smoke. Standing over him was Vergil, his black cloak draped over his shoulders like a mantle of shadows. His face was unreadable, but his cold blue eyes glowed faintly with an unnatural intensity, fixated on Audlik as if he were nothing more than prey.

"Get him up," Brentrand barked. Two soldiers yanked Audlik to his knees, his face dirt-streaked and drenched in sweat. The man coughed and spat, his eyes darting between Brentrand, Vergil, and the soldiers around him. Fear radiated from him like a stench.

"You had your chance, Audlik," Brentrand said, his tone like iron scraping stone. He pulled a worn leather-bound journal from his satchel and held it up so Audlik could see. "Recognize this? We know everything now. Every deal. Every coin Count Vayne paid you. Every girl you sold." He flipped the journal open, his eyes scanning the entries. "One girl… two… six… eight... eleven. You've been at this for over a year."

Audlik's eyes widened with panic. He shook his head violently, his voice rising in desperation. "No! No, no, no! It's not what you think! I… I had no choice! I was just following orders!" His breath came in rapid gasps. "It was Count Vayne! He's the one pulling the strings! I was just a middleman, I swear it!"

Brentrand sneered, his eyes narrowing. "Middleman, huh? So you admit it, then."

Realizing his mistake, Audlik's eyes darted around as if searching for a way out. "I-I mean… No! I didn't mean it like that! I didn't mean—"

"You meant every word," Vergil interrupted, his tone as cold as winter frost. He crouched in front of Audlik, his glowing eyes like a predator gazing at trapped prey. "You don't get to lie anymore, Audlik. We've got your journal. We've got your lackeys. And we've got you." He leaned in closer, his voice a sharp whisper. "So tell me… how much was your honor worth? How much did Vayne pay you for every girl you sold?"

Audlik's eyes darted to the side. He clenched his teeth, struggling to resist, but the pressure was too much. His lips trembled before he finally croaked out, "Twenty-five gold per girl… fifty if they were 'pure.'" His face twisted with shame and desperation. "It wasn't supposed to go this far! It was supposed to be just one deal!"

Vergil's eyes darkened, his face hardening into a mask of fury. "But it wasn't just one deal, was it, Audlik?" He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Seven times. No, eleven times, according to this journal. Eleven girls. Eleven lives you destroyed. And for what?" His voice was laced with disgust. "For fifty coins?"

Audlik shook his head, his voice frantic. "No! No! You don't understand! Count Vayne—he made me do it! He said if I didn't, he'd burn the whole orphanage to the ground!" He thrashed against his binds, panic overwhelming him. "I did it to protect the others! I swear it!"

Vergil's eyes didn't move. He didn't blink. He didn't speak for a long, agonizing moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and grabbed Audlik's face, his fingers like a vice on the man's jaw. He tilted Audlik's head, forcing him to stare directly into his eyes.

"Protect them?" Vergil's voice was a razor-sharp whisper. "You think you're a protector? A man who sells children isn't a protector, Audlik." He leaned in closer, his breath chillingly calm. "You're a coward. A parasite. And you will answer for every life you sold."

Audlik's face went pale, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "Please! I-I can still be useful! I can help you catch Vayne! I know where he's staying! He's at the Châteauclair Inn! He keeps records too, I swear it! Just let me go and I'll tell you everything!"

Brentrand crouched in front of him, his gaze unflinching. "You're going to tell us everything anyway, Audlik. The difference is, if you lie again, I'll have Vergil here convince you to be more... honest."

Audlik flinched, his eyes darting toward Vergil, who was calmly cleaning his gloves with a small cloth. The image of calm precision was somehow more terrifying than any threat of violence.

"Start talking," Brentrand ordered. "Or the next conversation you have will be with him."

Audlik swallowed hard, sweat pouring down his face. "Okay! Okay! I'll tell you everything!" he whimpered. "Vayne ordered me to capture 'clean' girls—girls who hadn't worked the streets. He said it was 'for refinement.' He paid more for the young ones, and he'd always demand that I send them quietly."

Brentrand's eyes darkened. "Did he ever come himself, or did he send someone to collect them?"

"Sometimes he came himself," Audlik admitted, his voice trembling. "But most times, he sent his steward. A man named Halric. He's always in black, always smells like perfume. You can't miss him."

Vergil's eyes narrowed, and his mind locked in on the name. "Halric, huh? Useful."

Brentrand nodded, then stood, wiping his hands as if he'd touched something filthy. "That's enough for now." He motioned for the soldiers. "Gag him. Take him back to the capital. We'll get more out of him later."

As the soldiers dragged Audlik away, his voice rose in desperation. "Wait! You promised! I told you everything! You said you'd let me go!"

"We never said that," Brentrand replied coldly, not even glancing back.

The soldiers shoved Audlik face-first into the dirt, tying his legs and gagging him with a rough cloth. His muffled cries echoed through the forest as he was hauled away like cargo.

Vergil watched them leave, his eyes unblinking. His mind was already on the next step. He turned to Brentrand. "Phase Three is next. Freya will need to prepare."

"She's ready," Brentrand replied, glancing at the distant lights of Châteauclair. "We have men stationed near the inn. We'll isolate Vayne from his guards and have Freya act as bait." He glanced at Vergil. "You sure she's ready for this?"

"Freya's more ready than anyone I've ever trained," Vergil replied without hesitation. "Besides, I'll be watching."

Brentrand nodded. "Good. We'll move at midnight. Vayne will never see it coming."

Vergil's eyes sharpened, his face hidden beneath the shadow of his hood. His mind ran through every possible outcome, every possible contingency.

"No," he muttered, his gaze locked on the distant lights of Châteauclair. "He'll see it, but only after it's too late."

The night breeze swept through the trees, carrying the distant howl of wolves. But tonight, there was something far more dangerous in the woods than wolves.

Vergil turned to Brentrand, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Prepare the soldier. It's time arrest Count Vayne."

Brentrand smirked. "For the girls?"

Vergil's face remained a mask of cold resolve. "For all of them."

The moon hung low in the night sky, its silver glow filtering through the misty streets of Châteauclair. The inn was quiet, its guests either asleep or lost in their cups. But on the second floor, behind a particular wooden door, a storm was brewing.

Freya stood at the entrance, her elegant dress a deep shade of midnight blue. It hugged her figure perfectly, her wolf-like ears twitching slightly beneath her neatly styled hair. Her calm golden eyes scanned the hall briefly before locking onto Vergil and Captain Brentrand at the far end of the corridor.

With a subtle nod, Freya signaled them. "I'm moving," her eyes seemed to say.

Vergil tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in acknowledgment. He stood in the shadows, his black cloak blending into the dim hallway, his presence like a shadow given form. Captain Brentrand adjusted the grip on his sword, his soldiers fanning out into formation, positioning themselves on either side of the door. The trap was set.

Freya approached the door with slow, deliberate steps, her face the picture of innocence and poise. She knocked twice.

The door swung open, revealing Count Vayne, a pudgy, balding man with a face that oozed self-satisfaction and greed. His lecherous grin widened when he saw Freya, his eyes scanning her from head to toe with the gaze of a predator sizing up his prey.

"Ah, they sent me a fine one tonight," Vayne chuckled, his voice as slimy as his appearance. "Come in, girl. No need to be shy."

Before Freya could step in, Vayne's fat hands shot out, gripping her wrist and pulling her inside with unexpected strength. The door slammed shut behind them.

"Perfect," Vergil muttered under his breath. "He's sealed his fate."

Brentrand nodded at his men, his face grim with purpose. He motioned for them to get into position, surrounding the door like hunters preparing to corner a beast.

Freya's sharp eyes darted around the lavishly decorated room. Velvet drapes lined the windows, and a golden chandelier hung from the ceiling. Her gaze shifted to Count Vayne, who was already undoing his belt with disgusting eagerness.

"Let's get a good look at you, little wolf," Vayne sneered as he took a step toward her. "No need to play coy. No one's coming to save you."

Freya's eyes remained calm, her breathing steady. She took one small step back, her golden eyes locked on Vayne like a predator watching prey.

Vayne laughed, his grin widening as he kicked off his boots. "Don't be afraid, little wolf. You'll learn to love it soon enough."

As he reached for her, Freya tilted her head back and let out a piercing, sharp scream.

The sound echoed like a dagger through the halls of the inn.

The moment Freya screamed, Captain Brentrand raised his hand.

"Move! Breach the door!"

Two soldiers stepped forward with a heavy battering ram, slamming it into the door with a thunderous CRACK! The lock splintered, and the door flew inward, the force shaking the frame.

Vayne stumbled back, his pants half undone, his face a mix of shock and rage. "What is this?!" he roared, his eyes darting around like a cornered rat. "How dare you barge in here! I am a Count! I'll have you all executed!"

"Shut your mouth, filth," Brentrand barked as he stormed in, his soldiers flooding into the room with weapons drawn. "Count Vayne, by the authority of Her Majesty the Empress, you are under arrest for crimes of human trafficking, abuse, and exploitation of minors. You will face trial, but I doubt you'll live to see your sentence."

"What?! Lies! All lies!" Vayne's voice cracked with panic. His eyes darted to his bedpost, where a concealed dagger hung. He lunged for it, but Vergil was faster.

Out of the shadows, Vergil's hand shot forward, gripping Vayne's wrist with crushing force. The Count cried out in pain, his fingers going numb as the dagger clattered to the floor.

"Don't bother," Vergil whispered, his voice chilling and calm. His eyes, glowing faintly like blue embers, locked onto Vayne's terrified gaze. "You lost the moment you opened that door."

Vayne whimpered, his knees buckling beneath him as Vergil twisted his arm behind his back and forced him to the ground. "No, please! You can't do this! I'm a noble! I have rights!"

Brentrand crouched next to him, his eyes filled with disgust. "You lost your rights the moment you laid your hands on innocent girls. We have your journal, your records, and your accomplices. You're finished, Vayne."

The Count thrashed on the ground, his eyes wild. "The Empress won't allow this! I have allies! I have—"

"Not anymore," Brentrand cut him off, standing up and motioning for his men. "Chain him up. Make sure he feels every cold link of that iron."

Two soldiers dragged Count Vayne up from the floor, forcing his arms behind him and shackling him with cold, heavy chains. He winced as the metal bit into his wrists. His face contorted with rage and fear.

"You'll regret this! All of you!" Vayne spat as the soldiers dragged him toward the hallway. "Do you hear me?! I'M A COUNT! I'LL HAVE YOUR HEADS!"

"You won't even have your tongue soon," Vergil muttered quietly, his eyes cold as ever.

Freya, still in her elegant gown, had been sitting by the balcony as the soldiers stormed in. She glanced at Vergil, giving him a knowing nod. In one smooth motion, she climbed over the edge of the balcony.

With a fluid grace only a Wulfern could possess, she leapt from the second floor. Her body twisted in mid-air, her dress flowing around her like a midnight flower blooming in the night. She landed silently on her feet, her legs absorbing the impact like a spring. Without a glance back, she slipped into the shadows.

Vergil approached the balcony and looked down, his eyes following her retreating figure. He allowed himself a small smirk.

Brentrand approached him. "You trained her well."

"I didn't train her to be good," Vergil replied, pulling his hood over his head. "I trained her to be the best."

He stepped back into the shadows, his form dissolving like mist into the darkness. No one saw him leave.

Down in the streets, Freya waited for Vergil in a narrow alley lit only by the pale glow of the moon. Her arms were crossed, her golden eyes sharp and alert. She adjusted the hidden daggers on her thighs, concealed under the folds of her dress.

Moments later, a shadow peeled away from the wall, and Vergil stepped out. His gaze met hers, and no words were necessary.

"Phase Four is complete," she said, her voice as steady as stone.

"No mistakes," Vergil replied, his voice low. "Vayne is done, but this will send shockwaves through his allies. They'll know someone's hunting them now."

Freya grinned, her sharp teeth showing slightly. "Let them know. Fear makes them desperate, and desperate people make mistakes."

Vergil nodded. "Our next move will be quiet. Subtle. But just as deadly."

Freya's eyes gleamed with excitement. "What's the plan, Doctor?"

He glanced toward the distant glow of the capital's lights. "let Vayne's arrest spread like wildfire. All evil noble will on fear and panic. They'll will try more careful but they never know we already there."

He turned back to her, his eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. "We'll be waiting."

The cold night air swept through the alley, carrying the distant clang of iron chains and the fading screams of Count Vayne. The Brotherhood of Shadows had claimed its next victory, and there would be many more to come.