The air in the warehouse was eerily still, as if even the mice in the corners had stopped breathing.
In the shadows cast by stacked barrels and crates, three figures crept silently.
The drunken man in black robes remained motionless, his breathing heavy, clutching an empty bottle of Dawn Dew as if it were some priceless treasure.
Kyle was the first to break the silence. He let out a quiet chuckle, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes.
“Looks like a good opportunity. Why not just take this guy with us?”
Julius frowned, his black eyes reflecting a hint of surprise in the dim light: “Are you insane? He’s an Abyss Cultist, not some street thug. If we’re exposed, we’ll be branded as criminals.”
“I never said we’d fight him head-on.”
Kyle spread his hands in feigned nonchalance, though his gaze held a trace of cunning. “He’s this drunk—leaving him here is a risk in itself.”
“And if we take him, we might squeeze even more out of him. As for his companions…”
He paused, lips curving into a sly smile, “all we need is a bit of setup to make them think he sneaked off to drink on his own and deserted his post. That should do the trick, right?”
Selina’s gray eyes swept over the drunk, a faint crease appearing between her brows: “…If we can capture an Abyss Cultist alive, it’s certainly more valuable than a corpse.”
Julius was silent for a long while before finally letting out a breath and nodding in agreement:
“Then we have to be thorough—no traces left behind.”
Under Kyle’s direction, the three sprang into action.
Kyle moved first, quick and nimble, clamping the black-robed man’s wrist tight and swiftly pulling out the short blade and poisoned dagger hidden at his waist, hooking them onto his own belt.
“Tsk, what a dangerous fellow.”
Kyle clicked his tongue softly.
Selina’s slender fingertips traced a dark red rune in the air. A tiny bat-shaped familiar landed silently on the drunk’s shoulder, sending out a clear pulse of energy.
After confirming, she nodded coolly: “This guy is so drunk he’s lost all ability to resist.”
Julius was last to act. Stretching out his arms, he yanked the man’s collar and dragged him into the shadows.
His movements were swift, steady, and precise.
In no time, the drunken man in black robes was tightly bound, a rag stuffed in his mouth, and thrown into a burlap sack.
Kyle bent over to look at their “cargo,” grinning with a mischievous air: “All packed up. Now comes the disguise part.”
Selina said nothing, quietly scanning the room before crouching to place the scattered bottles back in place. She deliberately tossed a few empty ones into the corners, creating the impression of a hasty exit.
Julius picked up a bottle of Dawn Dew from beside the black-robed man, uncorked it, and poured most of it out onto the floor.
The pungent scent of alcohol instantly filled the room.
“Leave some more traces,” he murmured.
Kyle dragged a barrel across the floor, leaving several crooked scrape marks as if someone had stumbled by drunkenly.
“Perfect.”
He stepped back, clapped his hands, a mischievous delight on his face. “When his friends get back, they’ll just think he’s a useless drunk who snuck off for a drink.”
Selina’s eyes flickered, reminding him: “Don’t forget the footprints—use his shoes, and erase ours while you’re at it.”
Once everything was in place, Kyle hoisted the sack onto his shoulder and shot a glance at his companions.
Julius and Selina immediately caught on, hurrying back along the path they came.
Just before leaving, Selina tucked her little familiar into an inconspicuous corner of the warehouse.
The wooden door closed again, its creak swallowed by the night.
They slipped away through the secret passage, vanishing into the darkness.
All the way, Selina’s familiar circled high above, ensuring no one tailed them.
Kyle carried the sack on his shoulder, his steps steady and sure.
The black-robed man inside shifted occasionally, but remained deeply unconscious.
Julius brought up the rear, glancing back from time to time to make sure their deception had drawn no pursuers.
“At last, we’ve caught a big fish.”
He kept his voice low, excitement flashing in his eyes.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Kyle replied without turning. “Catching him alive is only the first step. The real challenge starts now.”
Selina nodded, keeping pace as she suggested: “For the interrogation, the most suitable place is the Duke’s private dungeon.”
They quickly skirted the main street, slipping through quiet alleys back to the upper city.
Thanks to a secret order from Eleanor, they entered the Duke’s estate by the back door, barely alerting a single guard.
As the heavy iron door swung shut, the air of the dungeon swept over them—cold, damp, tainted with rust and mildew.
Magical lamps glimmered weakly on stone walls, illuminating a row of iron bars.
“This cell,” Julius said, shoving open the door and tossing the sack inside.
The black-robed man tumbled to the ground with a dull thud.
Kyle stepped forward and kicked open the sack, revealing a face slick with sweat and reeking of alcohol.
He whistled, clearly enjoying the spectacle:
“This guy’s really out of luck. When he wakes up, he won’t even know where he is.”
Selina ignored his joke, gazing down at the drunken captive: “Lock him up first. We’ll interrogate him once he wakes.”
Her voice echoed coldly against the stone walls.
With a click, the iron lock snapped shut, completely isolating the drunken Abyss Cultist from the outside world.
***
The next morning, firelight still flickered in the dim warehouse.
Several black-robed figures gathered around the empty spot on the floor, heavy crates stacked neatly, but the post that should have been manned was empty.
“…He’s missing again?”
Someone cursed softly, voice thick with disgust.
“As expected, the same old habit.”
Another black-robed man snorted contemptuously, “Looks like he snuck out to fool around again.”
The murmurs rose and fell until the leading black-robed man lifted his head, silencing them all.
In the firelight, his pale arm slid from his sleeve, a Scarred Hand winding across the back in shocking detail.
He slowly scanned the room, his gaze finally settling on a shadowy corner.
There, a faint wisp of shadow flickered and vanished.
The black-robed man stared for a long time, lips curling into a cryptic smile.
He said nothing, only raised his hand in a silent signal for his companions to disperse.
Shadows reclaimed the warehouse, and only that Scarred Hand writhed subtly in the firelight, like a living thing that made one’s skin crawl.
After a long silence, he finally turned away, footsteps thudding on the wooden planks as he receded into the distance.
Just before he left, a low, chilling murmur drifted through the air like a cold wind: “Hmph, let’s see…just which little thief dared sneak in here.”