Chapter 14:The Fox’s Errand

The night air was crisp as Denzan led the group away from the teahouse, weaving through Ritou's quieter backstreets. The hum of the port lingered behind them—waves lapping at wooden piers, the occasional drunken laugh from sailors spilling out of taverns—but their path took them into the shadows, away from the warmth of lanterns.

Renshin shot Denzan a sidelong glance. "So, do we even know what we're stealing yet?"

Denzan scoffed. "Not stealing. Retrieving."

Paimon huffed. "That sounds like a fancy way of saying stealing."

The Traveler sighed. "Where are we going?"

Denzan pulled a slip of parchment from his sleeve, unfolding it. A few words, written in precise, elegant script.

*"Warehouse 6. Northern docks. Midnight."*

Tomoe hadn't given them much—just a location and the time to be there. No details on what they were looking for, or what kind of trouble they might run into.

Renshin eyed the note. "Seems vague."

Denzan smirked. "That's Tomoe for you. If he gave us everything, where's the fun in that?"

Renshin sighed but didn't argue.

—

The northern docks were quieter than the main harbor, but not deserted. A few ships rested at anchor, lanterns bobbing in the water's reflection. Warehouse 6 loomed ahead, a hulking wooden structure built into the rocky coastline. Unlike the other buildings, this one had no visible guards—but that only made it more suspicious.

Denzan crouched behind a stack of crates, scanning the area. "Alright. Quick and quiet. In, grab what we need, and out before anyone notices."

Paimon floated beside him. "That never happens."

The Traveler nodded. "Let's be careful."

They moved swiftly, sticking to the shadows. Denzan reached the warehouse door first, testing it—locked. He grinned, pulling a small tool from his belt. A few quick movements, and the latch clicked open.

Inside, the air smelled of salt, wood, and old parchment. Rows of crates and barrels lined the space, stacked high against the walls. A single lantern flickered near the back, illuminating a desk covered in scrolls and ledgers.

Denzan motioned to the others. "Spread out. Look for anything unusual."

They moved through the warehouse, checking crates and shelves. Most contained standard shipments—silks, dried fish, sake barrels—but near the back, the Traveler found a small wooden chest, its lid secured with an ornate lock.

Denzan knelt beside it, examining the lock. It wasn't standard—finely crafted, with intricate carvings resembling a fox's tail curling around the keyhole. Definitely Tomoe's style.

Renshin crossed his arms. "So, do we break it?"

Denzan shook his head. "No need." He reached into his coat, producing a small key Tomoe had conveniently slipped him before they left. With a quiet click, the lock came undone.

Inside the chest, nestled within layers of silk, was a single mask—smooth white porcelain, painted with delicate violet markings. A kitsune mask, but different from Tomoe's. It felt old, yet well-preserved.

Paimon tilted her head. "That's it?"

Denzan carefully lifted the mask. "Looks like it."

A sound outside made them all freeze.

Voices. Footsteps approaching.

Renshin tensed. "We've got company."

Denzan swore under his breath. "Guess we're doing this the fun way."

The Traveler nodded, drawing their weapon as the warehouse doors swung open.

Shogunate officers, dressed in dark navy with swords drawn. Their leader, a burly man with a scar across his jaw, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing at the group.

"Well, well," he said, voice like grinding stone. "Caught yourselves in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Denzan rolled his shoulders, slipping the mask into his coat. "Depends on how you look at it. We could say the same about you."

The Traveler tightened their grip on their weapon. Renshin exhaled sharply. Paimon, floating just behind them, whispered, "Paimon knew this would happen."

The officer's hand shifted on his sword hilt. "You're under arrest. Drop your weapons."

Denzan glanced at the others. "Yeah… not happening."

The fight broke out in an instant.

The Traveler was the first to move, blade clashing against the officer's as sparks flew. Renshin spun past another guard, delivering a sharp kick to his side before knocking him back with a well-aimed pommel strike. Denzan, grinning, flicked his pistol from his holster and fired—a warning shot that shattered a lantern, plunging half the warehouse into flickering darkness.

The Shogunate soldiers hesitated just long enough for Denzan to dash forward, katana drawn, crackling with Electro energy. His blade met steel, and the room filled with the sharp scent of ozone as he parried and countered with swift, decisive strikes.

One soldier lunged for the mask, but the Traveler intercepted him, their blade flashing. Denzan heard the clang of steel, the grunt of effort, and knew they had things covered.

Renshin blocked an incoming attack with his forearm guard, twisted his body, and slammed his elbow into the soldier's gut, sending him sprawling.

The officer growled. "You lot—"

The doors burst open again.

"Alright, alright! Let's all take a deep breath before we ruin someone's business, yeah?"

The voice was familiar—warm, exasperated, and carrying the weight of someone who really didn't want to be here.

Thoma.

Denzan didn't sheath his weapon, but he shifted his stance slightly as Thoma strode into the room, his green eyes sweeping over the situation. He took one look at the soldiers, another at Denzan and the Traveler, and then sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.

"Let me guess," he muttered. "Tomoe sent you on an errand, and you just so happened to get caught up in something messy?"

Denzan smirked. "Pretty much."

The officer scowled. "Thoma, this isn't your concern."

Thoma clapped his hands together. "See, that's where you're wrong. These folks here? They're guests of the Yashiro Commission." His voice was light, friendly, but edged with quiet authority. "And I'd really hate to have to explain to the Kamisato Clan why some of their 'friends' ended up in chains."

The officer hesitated.

Thoma smiled, easygoing but pointed. "You wouldn't want to make Lady Ayaka unhappy, would you?"

Silence. Then, grudgingly, the officer signaled to his men. "Tch. This isn't over."

The soldiers backed off, leaving the warehouse one by one. Denzan watched them go before finally tucking his pistol away.

Thoma exhaled. "You owe me for that."

Denzan chuckled. "Put it on my tab."

Thoma rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Because that's not getting long." His gaze flicked to the coat where Denzan had stashed the mask. "So… what exactly did Tomoe send you after?"

Denzan pulled the mask halfway out, letting Thoma see the delicate violet markings.

Thoma's breath hitched.

His entire demeanor shifted—not his usual, easygoing self, but something sharper. Something… concerned.

"Where did you find that?" His voice was quieter now.

Denzan frowned. "Warehouse 6, like Tomoe said. Why?"

Thoma's expression darkened. He glanced toward the door, as if making sure they were truly alone, then met Denzan's gaze.

"…Because that mask doesn't belong to Tomoe."