Infiltrate.

Two guards stood at the edge of a secluded alleyway, speaking in hushed tones. The dim glow of a lantern flickered between them, casting restless shadows against the stone walls.

"Keep your voice down," one of them hissed, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. "You want someone to hear?"

The other guard shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his grip on his halberd. "I'm just saying—it doesn't sit right with me. We're keeping something locked up, and no one really knows what it is. Just that it's... important."

"That's not for us to question," the first guard muttered. "Orders are orders."

"Still…" The second guard lowered his voice further. "Did you hear what happened last night? Some outsider was poking around. The master's getting paranoid. Says we're to report anything unusual immediately."

The first guard scoffed. "Paranoid is an understatement. You saw how jumpy he was at the last council meeting? Whatever that thing is, he knows something we don't."

A heavy silence settled between them.

A few steps away, Rael listened.

He exhaled softly, stepping back into the shadows.

Two days in Zarfar, and this was the closest he had gotten to anything solid. The Gurdle family was being careful—too careful. If the fragment was just a meaningless relic, they wouldn't be this secretive.

The family was guarding something. That much was obvious. But from everything he had heard, they didn't actually know what it was. If they did, they wouldn't have let it sit untouched for so long. Instead, they had turned it into some kind of false relic, keeping it locked away behind security measures even they didn't fully understand.

And then there was the real problem.

Someone had stolen the key.

It had happened just a few days before he arrived in Zarfar. A trusted servant—one who had worked in the estate for years—had suddenly vanished. No warning, no trace. Just gone. And with him, an important key to one of the family's hidden vaults.

The guards weren't sure if he had run away or if something had happened to him. Some whispered that he had been caught and "silenced" before he could use it. Others believed he was still alive, hiding somewhere in the city.

If that key led to the fragment, then Rael had two options: Find the key first, or break into the vault himself.

Either way, he needed more than just rumors. He needed certainty.

Rael had learned plenty about the Gurdle family over the past two days. But knowing who they were wasn't enough. He needed something tangible—blueprints of the manor, patrol schedules, entry points, blind spots.

So he did what he did best. He watched. He listened. He planned.

The Gurdle estate wasn't just a lavish mansion—it was practically a fortified compound. High stone walls, reinforced gates, and heavily armed guards patrolling every entrance and corridor. The Gurdles were merchants, but their security rivaled that of a noble house. That alone was enough to make Rael suspicious. What were they hiding?

But no defense was perfect.

Guards, no matter how elite, were still human. They had habits, weaknesses, blind spots. And Rael found his way in.

His best lead came from a veteran guard—a grizzled man who had been working at the estate for years. A regular at the local tavern, he was a creature of habit. After each shift, he would drown himself in cheap ale, grumbling about work, venting frustrations to anyone willing to listen.

Rael played along.

At first, he was just another friendly face at the bar, nodding sympathetically as the man ranted about his long shifts, unreasonable superiors, and the 'pain in the ass' patrol rotations.

"Bah, they got us walking around like we're some royal knights. Overkill, I tell ya. It's just a merchant's house!"

"Hah, tell me about it. How many shifts do you pull?"

"Two rotations. Morning's the worst. Full perimeter sweep. By night, it's just hallway rounds. But lemme tell ya, ain't no one getting in past the east gate. Always got at least four men there."

The more he drank, the looser his tongue got.

Rael learned about the shift changes, which guards were more alert, and which ones slacked off near the end of their patrols. Most importantly, he confirmed that the study of Reyas Gurdle—the family head—was not just a private space but the place of interest. Guards never entered without permission, and it was one of the few rooms in the mansion with its own locked vault.

But knowing this wasn't enough. Rael needed to get inside.

Another two nights passed. Like before, he took the guard out drinking, nodding along to his usual complaints. But this time, the ale was laced with a sleeping agent. It wasn't anything extreme—just enough to knock him out. Level 50 or not, alcohol and sleep didn't respect levels. By the time the man slumped forward in his seat, Rael had already mapped out the next step.

He carried the unconscious guard to a secluded alley, making sure no one was around. Then, he stripped him of his uniform, donned it himself, and walked straight toward the manor.

Nobody questioned him.

One of the other guards glanced his way when he entered through the servant's gate, raising an eyebrow. "Your shift ended, didn't it?"

Rael pulled out a folded letter, stamped with the Gurdle insignia. A forgery, but a damn good one.

"Mr. Reyas requested me personally," he said, keeping his tone even. "Needed something retrieved. Urgent."

The guard hesitated, but the seal was enough. He grunted, waving him through. "Fine, just don't take too long."

Rael entered without a word, glancing around as he walked. The interior was as pristine as expected—polished stone floors, rich tapestries lining the walls, and golden candle sconces casting flickering light along the corridors. He took a few steps in before subtly activating his system interface, pulling up the blueprint he had memorized.

From here, there was a direct route—one of the less-used hallways—leading to a narrow stairwell that went straight up to the third floor. If he took it, he could avoid at least three guards stationed near the main staircases. Efficient.

But just as he entered the hall leading to the stairwell, he froze.

A cleaning lady stood there, holding a mop, staring at him.

Her gaze immediately turned sharp. "This entrance is for family only," she said, her voice carrying the edge of someone ready to call for a guard.

Rael sighed. "Sorry, lady."

Before she could shout, he moved. A quick step forward, hand tapping the side of her neck, applying just enough force to knock her out. She slumped against the wall. He caught her before she hit the floor, lowering her down gently.

He didn't like doing that, but it was better than a full-scale alarm.

Straightening, he wasted no time and took the stairs, making his way directly to the third floor.

Up here, security was tighter. No blind spots, fewer gaps in movement. The Gurdles were definitely hiding something.

Rael knew that walking into Reyas Gurdle's study with just the letter wouldn't cut it. The two guards stationed at the door wouldn't let him through just because of a piece of paper, no matter how good the forgery was.

Which is why he had a backup plan.

Slipping a hand into his inventory space, he pulled out a small device—a ridiculous but surprisingly effective tool Elias had picked up: a Sound Quacker.

It was an alarm. But instead of a regular alert sound, it mimicked an extremely realistic duck quack.

Rael crouched near the base of a statue down the hall, set the timer on the device, then casually walked toward the study.

The two guards flanking the door noticed him immediately.

One of them frowned. "Keiran? Why are you here? You're stationed on the second floor, and it's not even your shift."

Rael barely had time to respond before, in the distance—

QUACK. QUACK. QUACK.

The loud, echoing sound of a duck filled the hallway.

Both guards stiffened, confused. One immediately turned. "What the hell was that?"

"Probably some servant messing around," the other muttered.

The first guard glanced at his partner. "I'll check it out." He turned and walked off toward the noise, leaving only one guard at the door.

Rael seized the opportunity.

He held up the letter again, keeping his tone even. "Look, I'll be back in two minutes. Mr. Reyas ordered something checked urgently. You know how he gets when things aren't done fast."

The remaining guard hesitated, but the combination of the forged insignia and the unexpected distraction worked in Rael's favor.

"Fine. Just don't take too long," the guard grumbled, stepping aside.

Rael nodded once and pushed open the door to Reyas Gurdle's study.

Reyas Gurdle's study was as extravagant as expected. A grand, luxurious room with dark oak paneling, golden inlays, and an air of meticulous wealth. Portraits of past Gurdle family heads lined the walls, their painted eyes staring down in silent judgment. A massive desk sat in the center, its surface pristine, save for an ornate inkstand and a few scattered documents.

Rael barely spared the details a glance. He didn't have time for admiration—only action.

The second duck alarm would go off in two minutes, and he needed to find the vault fast.

Think, Rael, think.

In stories, safes were always behind paintings or under rugs. But Reyas Gurdle wasn't a conventional man—everything about him screamed extra. He enjoyed grandeur, theatrics. That meant whatever security he had in place wouldn't be ordinary.

A minute had already passed.

Rael didn't even bother checking the rug or paintings. Instead, he went straight for the bookshelves, pulling out books rapidly, checking for hidden compartments. Nothing. Another thirty seconds.

He switched to the furniture, running his hands over the couches, feeling for false panels, anything out of place.

The duck alarm blared in the hallway.

The guards outside cursed. "What the hell again?! That stupid bird! Keiran, what are you—?"

Rael's mind raced.

Then his gaze lifted.

A chandelier. A massive, elegant thing with cascading crystal ornaments. But something was off—the reinforced core, the thick wires for stability. It was excessive, even for a rich man like Reyas.

His eyes narrowed. No way.

Without hesitation, he climbed onto the nearest bookshelf, steadied himself, then leaped. His fingers caught the chandelier, and it swayed slightly under his weight. He hooked his legs around the metal frame and reached into the intricate mess of crystals and gold.

His fingers brushed against cold steel.

A vault.

Tucked right at the center, cleverly disguised by the chandelier's structure. But Rael's stomach sank when he saw what was in front of it.

The vault door was already open.

"Fuck."

The alarm rang out. Not the duck alarm. The real one.

Rael cursed under his breath. He had seconds before the guards burst in.

He lunged for the balcony, throwing himself over the railing. His boots hit the stone ledge of another section of the manor, barely catching himself as he slipped. He steadied his footing, then took off, sprinting along the ledge.

Shouts behind him.

Arrows whistling past.

He twisted mid-run, pulling a small smoke potion bomb from his belt and hurling it behind him. The instant it shattered, thick white smoke exploded into the air, masking his escape.

Ducking low, Rael leaped from the ledge onto a lower rooftop, rolled on impact, and scrambled towards the nearest shed in the courtyard. He pushed inside, catching his breath, letting the shadows cover him.

He waited.

Footsteps.

Guards passed by, scanning the area, their torches flickering against the shed's walls. Rael exhaled slowly, counting the seconds before making his next move—

A hand grabbed his collar and yanked him further into the darkness.

Rael barely had time to react before the shed door cracked open slightly. Through the gap, a guard stood right outside, glancing around.

Silence.

Then, after a few moments, the guard turned away. His footsteps faded into the distance.

Rael stiffened, turning to the person who had just dragged him in.

A man stood in the dim light of the shed. His clothing was simple, unremarkable—a low priestly robe draped over his frame, slightly worn at the edges. His hair was a mess of blonde curls, half-shadowed by the dim lantern light filtering through the cracks of the shed. A name tag.

[Victor]

Rael's eyes flicked to the name tag on his interface, but he didn't acknowledge it immediately. Always better to tread carefully with mysterious NPCs.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The man leaned back against the wooden frame of the shed.

"Victor," he answered simply.

Rael gave a short nod. "Noctus."

A faint smile tugged at Victor's lips, as if amused. "And here I thought I was the only one sneaking around tonight. Let me guess—you were here for the vault's contents too?"

Rael didn't respond.

Victor studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine. Not my business. Either way, it's empty. I came to check myself."

That part caught Rael's attention. If Victor had also come for the vault, did he know what was supposed to be inside?

Before he could ask, Victor continued, "If you want to get out of here safely, follow me. I've been serving the Gurdle family for around 12 years. I know a few secret passages."

Rael hesitated. He didn't trust this guy yet, but the alarms were still blaring outside. If he stayed too long, more guards would be on him soon. He had no other option.

"Lead the way."

Victor nodded and moved swiftly, guiding Rael through the manor's lesser-known corridors. They passed through a narrow hallway behind a wine rack, descending a concealed staircase that led them under the estate. After weaving through damp stone tunnels, they emerged in a quiet alley far from the chaos.

* * *

The tavern was dimly lit, filled with the usual crowd of merchants, travelers, and off-duty guards. The two of them sat in a corner booth, away from prying eyes.

Victor leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "So, mind telling me what you were after? Gold?" His tone was casual, assuming Rael was just another thief.

Rael tapped his fingers against the wooden table, considering his response. He could spin a lie or keep things vague, but something about Victor's presence made him decide otherwise.

Without a word, he pulled the vase from his inventory and set it on the table.

Victor's expression changed instantly. His lighthearted demeanor vanished, replaced by pure shock. His eyes widened as he grabbed the vase and immediately hid it beneath his robes.

His voice was sharp. "Where did you get this?"

Rael watched him carefully. "A girl. She told me to bring it to you."

For a moment, Victor didn't move. Then, his hands tightened around the hidden vase. His next words came slower, heavier.

"What happened to her?"

There was something in his voice—a mix of anger and something else. Anxiety.

Rael leaned back slightly. "She was being chased. I helped her escape, but she ran off before I could stop her."

Victor exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. Then, after a long pause, he said, "Thanks."

Victor didn't linger in the tavern after that. He glanced around once before standing up. "This place isn't safe. Come with me."

Rael didn't argue. He could tell Victor was being careful, and considering the situation, it made sense. The Gurdles were powerful, and if Victor was involved with them in any way, he likely had enemies.

Victor led him through the darkened streets, taking winding paths that avoided the main roads. Eventually, they reached what looked like an abandoned shopfront. Victor pushed open the wooden door, leading Rael inside. It was dusty, empty—until Victor moved aside a worn-out rug and pulled up a hidden trapdoor.

"Down here," he said.

Rael followed him into the underground hideout. The air was cool, the walls lined with shelves filled with books, old artifacts, and supplies. A single lantern cast a flickering glow, making shadows dance on the stone walls.

Victor finally relaxed. "Now we can talk properly."

He pulled up a chair, gesturing for Rael to do the same. Sitting down, he let out a quiet breath.

"The girl who gave you this is Freya—my little sister."

"Freya and I… we weren't born into the Gurdle family. We were adopted. Madam Lilia Gurdle took us in when we were just kids—she was kind, treated us well. I was seven, Freya was three. We may have been servants, but we were never mistreated."

Rael listened silently.

"But then Madam Lilia died. Of illness. And everything changed."

Victor's fingers tightened slightly. "Sir Reyas… he was devastated. He was a strong man, proud, but losing her broke him. And then, someone came along—someone who fed him a lie."

"A false artifact," Rael said, catching on.

Victor nodded. "They told him there was an artifact that could bring her back. He poured nearly the entire Gurdle fortune into obtaining it. And in the end? All it could do was let him speak to her specter."

Rael narrowed his eyes. "So the vault was supposed to hold that artifact?"

"It was," Victor said. "But it's gone. That means Sir Reyas must have moved it."

Rael glanced at the vase Victor had hidden. "And this? What does this have to do with it?"

Victor sighed, leaning back. "The artifact wasn't something you could just pick up and use. It existed in a way that made it… unreachable, intangible. The vase was necessary to interact with it."

"Then why did Freya steal it?"

"Because she knew," Victor said quietly. "She knew that Madam's specter wasn't really her. And that Sir Reyas was slowly dying each time he used the artifact."

Rael sat back, absorbing Victor's words.

A thought lingered in his mind. Who was the one who gave Reyas the false artifact?