Chapter 17 - Artifact

The guildmaster's main office was sealed off from everybody the moment Lazlow returned, coming to report to Reagan about his findings, sending word that it was most important to do so as soon as possible. The room was silent save for the rhythmic tapping of Reagan's fingers against the polished surface of his dark, wooden table. Each tap echoed faintly as if it were a metronome, marking the passage of time along with his thought process. He had been waiting for Lazlow's return since their last meeting, knowing that the man was the best tracker he had ever known, a gold-level adventurer and someone who could find anything. When the news arrived, he quickly excused himself from a meeting between the City Lord and a foreign group of merchants there to arbitrate between the two as an independent agent from the Adventurers' Guild. The fact that he was able to do this without resulting in any punishment and that the leader of a city and a wealthy organization allowed it showed the influence the Adventure Guild had over the continent.

He was just about to stand up, going to ask where he was if he was so adamant about calling him back yet not waiting in his office when the man in question finally entered the room. Looking at him, Lazlow was a man of quiet efficiency, his presence as unassuming, easily missable if you didn't know who you were looking for. His clothes were still dusted with the filth of travel; his boots were scuffed and worn from the road, traveling through unmarked lands, always finding shortcuts, no matter where he was. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, evidence of his haste to deliver his report, making Reagan raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"Sorry, Guildmaster. I had a feeling as if I was monitored, so while you returned, I... walked a little." This could only mean he tried to shake off whoever was tailing him. If Lazlow felt someone was following him, Reagan believed him without question.

"I see. Good work." Reagan nodded, "So...?"

Lazlow wasted no time in stepping forward and placing a stuffed folder on the table, pulling it out from the inner pocket of his long coat. The wax seal, stamped with the Guild's insignia, was unbroken, making sure that it showed that nobody had seen it yet, marked with Lazlow's own emblem of a padlock.

Still seated at his table, Reagan leaned forward slightly, his eyes flicking over Lazlow before gesturing for him to speak, deciding to look over the documents after he heard everything from him first. Reagan was a man of calculated actions, and every gesture was deliberate. In his mind, if he read the documents first, it could create a preconceived notion of what he was going to hear. It would have been best if he had let Lazlow retell his findings and then taken the documents as proof of it all.

"I traced everything, Guildmaster," Lazlow began, his voice calm, betraying no emotion, speaking with a measured pace. "Started at the caravan where Auriel was found. It was traveling through no ordinary trade route. The fact that they took multiple detours and chose the less charted routes coming here was way too obvious. 

"They were smuggling something valuable." Reagan agreed, watching Lazlow nod.

"An ancient elven artifact."

"What?!" The Guildmaster flinched, his voice suddenly rising. "What kind of artifact are we talking about?"

"From the description, a palm-sized disc. As for its effects, we don't know. It is made out of some kind of bone with elven inscriptions running in it in concentric circles."

"An elven artifact..." Reagan whispered, his eyes flashing once.

"I didn't know it at first. You will see it in my report." He nodded at the documents. "I traced them back to their origin, contacted the local Guild, and made sure to use them to track down everybody or everything connected to the caravan. In my search, I finally found a proper link. After capturing the man, a quick torture was enough to make him spill everything. The way the ambush played out was that the artifact was the true target. The rest of the cargo? Just a cover."

"What about him?" Reagan asked, but Lazlow simply tapped the table once, a clear indication between them that the person in question was no longer an issue. "Good. Did anyone else know about it?"

"I made sure to leave no stone unturned." Lazlow shook his head, "Only those who were in the caravan... but they are dead."

"Except the kid..."

"Yes." Lazlow nodded, his expression unchanging. "After piecing things together, I tracked down those who ambushed them and found the beast-folk's camp. Or what was left of it." He paused, knowing Reagan was about to speak.

"Auriel..."

"Your instincts are right. The camp was hit hard. It wasn't a raid by another faction; it bore the usual mark of the Crowfoot gang's retaliation signature. Cravik and his crew wiped them out. But I was able to reconstruct what happened."

"In your opinion, was the kid behind the initial ambush, too? Did he orchestrate it, but then the beast-folk betrayed him, too?" Reagan asked in the end, his voice solemn and low.

"Hard to tell. That possibility is not zero, though."

"I want your opinion." Reagan pressed on.

"I..." He considered, for the first time, he furrowed his brows, mulling over it. "I don't think so. Mostly because of his upbringing."

"Oh? Because?" Reagan asked in surprise.

"The boy himself is an orphan, but he was raised in Mithranil's school."

"He was taught by the old man?" The Guildmaster whistled, watching Lazlow nod his head, confirming it. "Yeah... If it is true, and he comes from his school, he wouldn't be the one who sold them out. Which complicates things..."

"Guildmaster?" Lazlow asked, now feeling a bit confused.

"So... they have the artifact now?" Reagan continued, ignoring his question, his voice sharp and urgent.

"Well..." Lazlow hesitated for only a fraction of a second. "That's the logical assumption. I can't prove it, though. If they hit the beast-folk camp, they must have taken everything of value, including the artifact."

"..." Reagan leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly through his nose. His fingers steepled in front of him, the tips pressing together as if in prayer, thinking, watching the still untouched documents. "And yet, we don't know for certain."

"Aye." Lazlow nodded. "But given their efficiency, it's highly unlikely they left it behind."

"We still have an opportunity to get it for ourselves," he said at last, his voice cutting through the forming stillness.

"The boy?" Lazlow asked.

"Yes. Auriel is already close to them."

"You want to use him?"

"Yes," Reagan answered, his tone measured, a smile hanging on his face. "Anyone coming from Mithranil's school has to live up to the old man's expectations. Meaning they have to be loyal and adhere to his ideals. The boy is a bronze-ranked adventurer, which means he swore an oath to us. He found himself in the gang because we limited his freedom, but now, we can reinstate him, even reward him! So his loyalty should drive him back to us. First, we appeal to his better nature. Make him believe that securing the artifact for us will reward him beyond his wildest expectations: wealth, security, and power. Whatever he wants. Raise him to be a gold-ranker. I don't care what it takes. If that doesn't work…" He let the words hang in the air, the implication clear. "We will switch up the tactics. That artifact must not leave the city, and it must not get into local authorities' hands! We must have it."

"Understood," Lazlow agreed with a knowing nod, his fingers idly traveling to the hilt of the dagger on his hip.

"Good," Reagan said. "But that is for a last effort. For now, we plan. We wait for the right moment. I will gather the trusted ones from the Guild and share your findings with the inner circle." He continued, grabbing the documents and finally opening them.

...

....

...

Across the city, in the warmth of her simple, humble-looking home, Risa sat at her desk, pouring over the documents Auriel had retrieved. Her husband and her daughter were already asleep, and Cravik and the boy had left an hour before. For now, she was alone in her private office in the basement. The room she had set up there was small but cozy, the walls lined with shelves filled with books, scrolls, and trinkets collected over the years since she turned her childhood thieving gang into an actual criminal syndicate. At that moment, a single candle burned on the desk she sat at, its flickering light casting just enough light for her to read the letters between her fingers.

Her keen eyes scanned the slightly smudged parchment before her, focusing on those parts where the ink was still dark and readable. Her fingers moved slowly, tracing the lines of text, piecing together the puzzle that lay before her because it wasn't written in the human language. That alone sparked great excitement because it wasn't beast-folk scribbles nor dwarven rune writing either. It was elvish. She was a woman of sharp intellect and even sharper instincts, her mind always working, constantly analyzing. Her parents always hoped she would become a scholar—an inventor. Someone important... yet she found that her ideas were the best when they were utilized to outplay the law. The law that protected those who were already wealthy...

"Maybe our young little flour-loving fledgling is the next evolutionary step for my family... I was always lucky to find new ways to move forward." She muttered, using a thick book to translate the contents of the letters. Proving that she was indeed lucky, it was simplified elven. Something the sharp-eared bastards used to communicate with the so-called lower-lifeforms. Aimed at the beat-folk in this case. After finishing the translations, the documents became a treasure trove of information, with each page revealing another layer of elven mystery.

She had already learned from them that the beast-folk had attacked Auriel's caravan for a reason. It wasn't random—it was deliberate. They had been after something specific, something valuable. And now, reading between the lines, Risa knew exactly what it was.

"An elven artifact," she murmured, her fingers tapping against the parchment. Her words were barely audible, but they carried the weight of revelation, and her body shook once or twice from excitement.

The documents hinted at more than just the attack. They provided traces of correspondence and coded exchanges that suggested the beast-folk had been hired to retrieve the artifact for the elves, using them just as kingdoms use the Adventurer Guild everywhere to fight a proxy war with them.

"The elves," she muttered, the realization settling in like a stone dropped into still water. The implications alone were staggering. If the elves were involved, it meant the artifact was more than just a trinket—it was a piece of their history, their power. Something they would stop at nothing to reclaim. Which also meant that this relic had great value. Power.

She continued reading, her brow furrowing in concentration. The papers revealed one more piece of crucial information. Maybe the most important one: the artifact hadn't been delivered. The beast-folk never handed it over. Instead, they had hidden it somewhere, securing it for themselves, wanting to haggle for more than what was promised to them. That meant it was still out there, waiting to be found.

Her mind raced with possibilities. She knew the Adventurer Guild would sniff it out. And if the Guild believed the Crowfoot had it, they would come for it soon. But the truth was, the artifact was elsewhere. A bit of a conundrum... Still, if she could find it first, then the gang—her gang—would hold all the power. She leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. This changed things. The game had just become much more interesting.

"We're going after it," she decided aloud, reaching for a fresh piece of parchment. Her hand moved quickly, the quill scratching against the paper as she began to outline her plan. "Whatever it is, it's ours now."