The Plan

Silence stretched in the chamber. The air was thick, the tension almost tangible.

Gruxgar studied Cailen, watching the way his hands trembled slightly despite his composed expression. He was young—probably no older than twenty—but his eyes carried the weight of someone who had seen death up close.

Juno broke the silence with a chuckle. "Ooooh, patricide and vengeance? This just got interesting."

Cailen shot her a glare. "It's not a game."

Juno grinned, unfazed. "No, but it is fun."

Gruxgar ignored her. "You're asking us to kill a noble. That's not just a job—that's a war."

Cailen shook his head. "I don't need an army. I need killers. You've already proven you can handle trained assassins." He exhaled. "I'm not some weak-willed noble brat. I know what I'm asking."

Silkfang leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Who is he?"

Cailen's jaw tightened. "Lord Ulric Voss. My uncle."

Varka let out a low whistle. "Killing family. That's messy business."

Cailen's grip tightened on the goblet until his knuckles turned white. "He made it messy first."

Gruxgar wasn't one to pry, but if they were going to take this job, they needed to know what they were stepping into. "Tell us everything."

Cailen hesitated, then took a long breath. "My father, Lord Gavrin Voss, was the rightful head of the family. He wasn't perfect, but he was fair. He ruled with strength and honour. Our family wasn't the wealthiest, but we had power."

His voice darkened. "Ulric wanted more. More wealth, more land, more control. And he saw my father as an obstacle."

Cailen looked away. "A year ago, my father fell ill. Poison. Slow-acting, but lethal. By the time we realised, it was too late. Ulric took over, claiming my father's death was natural." He scoffed. "As if anyone believes that."

Eilwyn nodded. "But no one's moved against him?"

Cailen's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Because Ulric is smart. He didn't just kill my father—he secured his power before anyone could challenge him. He bribed the city's officials, strengthened his ties with the merchant guilds, and even hired a private army. He's untouchable by legal means."

Gruxgar scratched his beard. "And you? How did you survive?"

Cailen exhaled. "He couldn't kill me without causing suspicion. So he 'allowed' me to live in the estate, under his watchful eye. But I knew better than to stay. I fled before he could tighten the noose."

Silkfang narrowed her eyes. "If he wanted you dead, why hasn't he sent more assassins?"

Cailen smirked. "Because I haven't been stupid. I've been gathering support in the shadows—loyalists, contacts, mercenaries. But I'm running out of time. Ulric is planning something. If I don't move soon, he'll secure his position forever."

Gruxgar crossed his arms. "So you want us to go in and cut his throat?"

Cailen's eyes burned with intensity. "I want you to burn his house to the ground. I don't just want him dead—I want his name erased."

Juno whistled. "Damn, kid. That's cold."

Cailen met her gaze. "He took everything from me. I want to return the favor."

Gruxgar considered. It was a dangerous job. They weren't just dealing with one man—they'd be fighting an entrenched noble with money, power, and an army. The Ironfang Sect was strong, but this wasn't an open battlefield. This was politics, assassination, and city warfare.

But war was what Gruxgar did best.

He glanced at his people. Silkfang was unreadable as always, but she hadn't rejected the job. Varka looked eager—he enjoyed the thrill of battle. Juno was already grinning like a devil. Grim simply watched, silent as ever.

Finally, Gruxgar turned back to Cailen. "You've got coin?"

Cailen nodded. "More than enough."

Gruxgar cracked his knuckles. "Then you've got killers."

Cailen let out a breath he had been holding. "Good." He set his goblet aside and leaned forward. "Then let's talk about how we're going to do this."

The air in the room thickened as the weight of the plan settled over them. The Ironfang Sect didn't just accept any contract—they needed to know the details, the risks, and the rewards. Cailen had already made his desire for blood clear, but now it was time to strategise.

Gruxgar leaned forward, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowing. "Let's hear it, then. How do you want this done?"

Cailen's lips curled into a grim smile. "There's a gala at Ulric's estate in two days. A high-profile event to celebrate his 'new leadership' of House Voss."

Juno snorted. "Yeah, more like to celebrate a murder and a grab for power."

Cailen's gaze hardened. "Exactly. And that's the perfect time for us to strike."

Gruxgar raised an eyebrow. "A party? You want us to sneak in like thieves in the night?"

"No." Cailen's voice was sharp. "I want you to walk right through the front door."

The room went silent. Even Juno stopped smirking.

"You heard me right," Cailen said, leaning back in his chair. "Ulric's going to have most of his allies there—politicians, merchants, his personal guard. It's a night to solidify his rule. If we go in during the gala, we can make a statement. We'll take Ulric's life in front of everyone and leave with nothing but a bloody message."

Varka grinned like a wolf. "I like the sound of that."

Gruxgar rubbed his chin. "Bold, but risky. We'll have to be in and out fast."

Cailen nodded. "I've been gathering a list of guests, allies, and enemies. We'll use that to our advantage. You'll strike fast, kill Ulric, and leave the estate in disarray."

"Sounds like chaos," Silkfang said, her voice quiet but intense. "What's the backup plan if things go wrong?"

Cailen's expression darkened. "There is no backup plan. If this fails, we die. There's no turning back once we're inside the gates."

Grim stepped forward, his presence silent but heavy. "And if we succeed?"

Cailen's eyes burned with intensity. "Then we take everything he owns. Every ally, every coin, and every inch of his power. Ulric is the key to everything—the merchant guilds, the city's defenses, the political alliances. With him gone, I will take control of House Voss and the city."

Gruxgar nodded slowly, sizing up the man before him. "You want the city."

"I want everything," Cailen spat, his eyes wild. "This is the chance I've been waiting for. Kill Ulric, and everything else will fall into place."

The plan was set. Two days until the gala, and every moment counted. Gruxgar called for a war council, gathering the key members of the Ironfang Sect to go over their roles.

"I'll need the best of the best," Gruxgar said. "No mistakes. This isn't just about killing Ulric—it's about making sure no one stands in our way after we're done."

Juno stretched, her daggers glinting in the firelight. "Count me in for distractions. I'll make sure people are looking the wrong way when it counts."

Varka cracked his knuckles. "I'm good for breaking down doors and smashing skulls."

Grim didn't speak, but his sword was already in his hands, the blade gleaming ominously.

Silkfang looked out the window, lost in thought. "I'll make sure the exits are covered. If anyone tries to run, I'll make sure they don't."

Gruxgar nodded. "Eilwyn, you'll be our eyes. You'll take out anyone who tries to interfere from the rooftops."

Eilwyn, who had been silent up until now, nodded sharply. "Understood."

Gruxgar then turned to Cailen. "And you'll be with us the whole time?"

Cailen nodded. "I'll lead you to Ulric's personal chambers. Once you're inside, you'll be on your own. I'll make sure the guards are distracted."

The plan was simple but dangerous. A direct assault on Ulric's estate. No subtlety. No second chances. If they were going to kill a man of power and steal his legacy, they had to do it with precision and speed.

As the meeting ended, Gruxgar stepped outside to look over the city once more. The streets were alive with the buzz of everyday life, oblivious to the storm that was about to hit.

This would be their greatest challenge yet, but Gruxgar had a feeling it was only the beginning. The Ironfang Sect was about to make its mark on Whitefang City.

And when it did, there would be no going back.

After the council had dispersed, the finer details of their compensation and supplies were hammered out with the same precision as their battle plans. Lord Cailen had agreed to a bounty that would make even the most hardened mercenary's eyes widen—a total of 700 gold pieces for each member of the Ironfang Sect upon the successful completion of their mission. In these lands, that wasn't merely a paycheck; it was a fortune. To put it in perspective, a single gold piece could buy you a well-trained warhorse, and a suit of masterwork armour could run you upwards of 50 gold pieces. For the Ironfang, 700 gold pieces signified not only wealth but a powerful foothold in a world where coin was as coveted as honour.

Their logistical preparations were as meticulous as their plans for carnage. Over the past days, the sect had scoured the corners of the Broken Tooth Market and the forgotten storerooms of the Fallen Keep to amass a cache of supplies that would carry them through the coming storm. They had stocked up on rations, water skins, and medicinal herbs sufficient for a fortnight-long siege. In a secret corner of the keep, a modest armoury now boasted newly forged blades, reinforced arrows, and even an assortment of smoke bombs and grappling hooks—tools designed to turn the tide in any desperate moment.

Amid these preparations, a subtle concern had crept into the discussions: Darian's whereabouts. The keen-eyed warrior had been conspicuously silent during the planning, and his role had been unclear. However, as the final details were laid, Darian reemerged from the shadowed fringes of the estate with a knowing smirk and a bundle of extra supplies in tow.

"I've been busy," Darian explained, his voice low and edged with the thrill of reconnaissance. "While you lot were planning our assault, I slipped into the city's underbelly. I secured an extra cache of black powder, smoke bombs, and even a few speciality tools from a corrupt merchant in the lower district. More importantly, I scouted Ulric's estate. The rear is far less guarded than the front—and I've marked a few vulnerable points we can exploit if the situation goes south."

His timely return earned approving nods from the group. Gruxgar's eyes gleamed as he clasped Darian's shoulder. "Good work. With our coffers lined and our supplies secured, we're more than ready to turn Ulric's gala into our stage for vengeance."

The payment, the supplies, and Darian's invaluable intel now painted a clear picture: the Ironfang Sect was not only well-equipped but also driven by the lure of riches and retribution. Every coin promised was a step toward transforming their ragtag band of killers into a force that could reshape the power dynamics of Whitefang City.

With the promise of 700 gold pieces each—and the priceless advantage of solid planning—the sect dispersed to ready themselves for the night of reckoning. In a world where gold bought both survival and dominance, their destiny was about to be forged in chaos and blood.