Chapter 38: A Dangerous Alliance

Aedric watched as Garron leaned back against his throne, fingers tapping rhythmically against the wooden armrest. The dim light of the hideout cast deep shadows across his scarred face, making his expression difficult to read. Around them, members of the Black Hands observed the conversation in silence, their presence a constant reminder that they were in hostile territory.

"You're asking me to risk my people against the most powerful warlock in Velmire," Garron said, his voice calm but laced with warning. "That's not a favor I grant lightly, Seris."

Seris met his gaze, her stance unwavering. "You've always said that power belongs to those strong enough to take it. Gorran is trying to steal his. You can sit back and watch, or you can strike first."

Garron smirked. "You still have a sharp tongue." His gaze flickered to Aedric and the others. "And who are these strays you've picked up?"

Aedric stepped forward. "We're here for the same reason she is. To stop Gorran."

Garron studied him for a moment, then turned to Varen. "And you?"

Varen smirked. "We're the ones who broke her out of the palace dungeons. Figured that earned us an introduction."

The crime lord chuckled. "Brave. Or foolish."

Tessa crossed her arms. "Both."

Lirian, ever cautious, finally spoke. "If we don't act now, Gorran's forces will tighten their hold on the city. Whatever he's planning, he wouldn't have gone through this much trouble just for Seris's blood. This is bigger than we think."

Garron was silent for a long moment.

Then, he stood. "Fine. I'll help you. But we do this my way."

Seris didn't hesitate. "Agreed."

Aedric felt the weight of the moment settle in. This was the first step toward war.

---

Later that night, Aedric and his companions gathered in a secluded chamber deep within the Black Hands' hideout. A flickering lantern cast dim light over the crude wooden table where a rough map of Velmire had been spread out.

Garron leaned over it, tracing a scarred finger along the marked locations. "Gorran has strongholds across the city, but his main base is within the Grand Spire. No one gets in or out without his approval."

Varen frowned. "Then how do we reach him?"

Garron smirked. "We don't. Not yet."

Seris folded her arms. "Then what do you suggest?"

"We cut off his support," Garron said simply. "His influence comes from his warlocks, his mercenaries, and his informants in the palace. We start by eliminating his network, isolating him piece by piece. Once he's weak enough, then we strike."

It was a smart plan, but also a dangerous one.

Aedric exchanged a glance with Lirian. "How do we start?"

Garron pulled a dagger from his belt and stabbed it into the map. "With the Blood Syndicate."

Tessa exhaled sharply. "They work for Gorran?"

Garron nodded. "They're his main enforcers. If we take them out, we cripple his ability to move freely in the city."

Seris didn't hesitate. "Then we do it."

Garron chuckled. "I like your fire. Let's see if you can back it up."

---

The night was thick with fog as Aedric and his companions moved through the backstreets of Velmire, following Garron's lead. The Black Hands had given them dark cloaks to blend into the shadows, but Aedric still felt exposed.

Their target was an underground tavern known as The Red Serpent, the Syndicate's main gathering point. If they could take out the leaders there, the rest of the group would collapse in chaos.

As they approached the entrance, Garron raised a hand, signaling them to stop. "Stay quiet. Let me handle the introductions."

He pushed open the door, stepping inside with the confidence of a man who belonged. Aedric followed, his fingers resting lightly on the hilt of his dagger.

The tavern was dimly lit, filled with the scent of spilled ale and burning tobacco. Around the room, men and women sat in groups, their conversations hushed, their eyes sharp. These weren't ordinary thugs—they were killers.

At the far end of the room, a man with a thick beard and cruel eyes sat at a table, surrounded by bodyguards. Garron approached without hesitation.

"Orik," he greeted, his voice smooth. "It's been a while."

The bearded man—Orik—looked up, eyes narrowing. "Garron. Didn't expect to see you here."

Garron smiled. "I come with an offer."

Orik snorted. "And what would that be?"

Garron leaned in slightly. "A chance to live."

For a moment, silence filled the room. Then, Orik laughed—a low, rough sound. "You think you can walk in here and threaten me?"

Garron sighed. "I was hoping you'd be smarter than this."

Aedric saw the shift in Garron's posture—the subtle movement of his hand. A warning.

Then, everything happened at once.

Garron lunged, his dagger flashing in the dim light. The blade found Orik's throat before the man could even react. Blood sprayed across the table.

Aedric drew his own dagger as the room exploded into chaos.

Tessa kicked over a chair, using it as cover as she fired a crossbow bolt into an approaching thug. Lirian struck down another with a swift slash of his sword.

Seris moved with lethal precision, her blade cutting through their enemies with almost unnatural speed.

Aedric ducked a wild swing, driving his dagger into an attacker's side. The man gasped before collapsing.

The fight was over in minutes.

The Blood Syndicate was leaderless.

Garron wiped his blade clean. "That's one piece off the board."