chapter 17.2

The long and cautious journey had finally brought Alcard to the towering gates of Lord Tanivar's fortress. For five days, he had navigated the treacherous roads, taking hidden paths and staying clear of unnecessary attention, ensuring that his arrival would go unnoticed by those who might wish to interfere. And now, standing before him, loomed a massive fortress, an imposing testament to Tanivar's wealth and influence. Its towering walls, lined with reinforced battlements and patrolled by elite soldiers, were not merely for defense—they were a symbol of dominance, a declaration of the power Tanivar wielded over this region of Middle Earth.

Unlike many noble strongholds that were built primarily for aesthetic grandeur, Tanivar's fortress was a military stronghold first and a residence second. It was a place of power where politics, wealth, and force converged into a single, formidable entity. To infiltrate such a place was no simple feat, and Alcard knew that even a slight misstep could turn this mission into his last.

The main gate was guarded by heavily armed soldiers, their expressions cold and disciplined. These were not ordinary men—they were trained, seasoned warriors, and their presence alone was enough to dissuade most who thought to approach uninvited. Alcard advanced toward them at a steady pace, exuding the kind of confidence that came from experience and purpose. He knew that appearing unsure or hesitant would only invite suspicion, so he maintained the unshaken composure of a seasoned mercenary.

"From Oldman," he said flatly, offering a forged document with an air of nonchalance. The letter, meticulously prepared, bore the seal of the central headquarter and contained orders stating that Alcard had been sent to assist Lord Tanivar with certain security matters. Every stroke of ink on the parchment was placed with precision, ensuring that it appeared as authentic as any official directive.

One of the guards accepted the document, scrutinizing it with narrowed eyes. His gaze flickered between the parchment and Alcard, measuring the man standing before him. The tension in the air was palpable, stretching for several agonizing seconds as the soldier read through the orders. Alcard remained motionless, his face devoid of any nervousness or impatience. He had played this game before.

After what felt like an eternity, the guards exchanged glances, seeming to reach an unspoken agreement. "You may enter," one of them finally said, though his voice carried an undertone of warning. "But don't cause any trouble, outcast."

Alcard gave a curt nod, stepping through the massive iron gates without a word. As he passed beneath the archway, his eyes subtly scanned his surroundings, absorbing every detail. The courtyard of the fortress was bustling with activity—servants hurrying with trays of lavish meals, blacksmiths tending to weaponry, and soldiers engaging in rigorous combat drills. Everything about this place screamed efficiency and control, a tightly woven system that functioned with absolute discipline.

A fortress this well-maintained did not belong to an idle lord. Tanivar was preparing for something.

Alcard moved with calculated indifference, acting the part of a mercenary whose presence was neither unusual nor significant. It was common for outcasts to be hired for various tasks—whether as spies, assassins, or personal enforcers—so long as they proved useful. No one questioned his presence outright, but he could feel the occasional scrutinizing glances from the soldiers, as though they were trying to gauge his worth.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the fortress, the energy within the walls began to shift. The training drills slowed, and the bustling movement of servants gave way to a more subdued atmosphere. Guards transitioned into their night patrol formations, their routines shifting into something predictable, something exploitable.

Now was the time to move.

Donning a dark cloak, Alcard slipped into the less patrolled corridors of the fortress, staying within the shadows, moving like a phantom among the towering stone walls. His first objective was to locate Tanivar's private chambers or archives, where information on his dealings would most likely be kept. A man like Tanivar—paranoid, ruthless, and ambitious—would undoubtedly keep records of his operations. And Alcard intended to find them.

Navigating the labyrinthine structure took patience and precision. He relied on silent observation, tracking the movements of guards, the layout of corridors, and the shifts in security patrols. After what felt like an hour of carefully maneuvering through the fortress, he found what he was looking for—a secluded room, guarded by a single soldier, its heavy wooden door suggesting that whatever lay beyond was of great importance.

Alcard crouched behind a stone column, analyzing the situation. A direct confrontation would be risky—even if he won, an altercation would draw unwanted attention. Instead, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a small vial filled with a potent sleeping agent. A single application was enough to knock out a full-grown warrior in minutes.

Stepping into the dimly lit corridor with measured steps, he approached the guard from behind. In a swift, fluid motion, he pressed a cloth soaked in the substance against the soldier's mouth, muffling his startled grunt before the drug took effect. Within moments, the man slumped against the wall, unconscious.

With the path now clear, Alcard quickly worked on the lock, slipping into the room just as the final rays of daylight faded completely.

The room was filled with shelves of meticulously organized scrolls, ledgers, and maps, an archive of Tanivar's personal dealings. Wasting no time, he began scanning through the documents, searching for anything that could expose the lord's hidden agenda.

It didn't take long before he struck gold.

A series of financial records detailed massive transactions—funds being funneled into unnamed accounts, weapons being acquired in bulk, and payments made to unknown mercenaries. Another document outlined a list of names, many of which were crossed out—likely individuals who had been eliminated after outliving their usefulness. But what caught his attention most was a sealed letter bearing the sigil of an unknown noble house, its contents hinting at a secret alliance with an external force beyond Middle Earth.

Alcard's eyes darkened as he pieced the information together. This wasn't just about Tanivar's personal ambition—this was bigger than he had anticipated.

Just as he was about to take more documents, the faint sound of approaching footsteps echoed from outside the corridor. His instincts flared—someone was coming.

In a practiced motion, he stashed the most damning documents into the hidden compartments of his cloak, then quickly maneuvered behind one of the tall bookshelves, pressing his back against the cool stone wall. He held his breath as the door creaked open.

A servant entered, scanning the room as if making a routine check. Alcard remained motionless, waiting, calculating. The man hesitated for a moment, looking around suspiciously before finally stepping back out and shutting the door.

Alcard exhaled silently. Time to leave.

Retracing his steps, he navigated back through the fortress, avoiding detection as he returned to the quarters where he was assigned. He had what he needed. The evidence was now in his hands, proof that Tanivar was not merely a corrupt lord—but a man playing with forces that could endanger all of Middle Earth.

As he sat in the dim light of his chamber, he pulled out the stolen documents, scanning them once more. This was only the beginning. Tanivar had overplayed his hand, and now, his empire of deceit was about to collapse.

With a quiet smirk, Alcard leaned back, staring at the flickering candlelight. "You've been playing this game for too long, Tanivar. Now, it's my turn."

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