There was no point in pretending any longer. Oliver didn't know how they had uncovered his secrets, but they had. The situation was already dire, and now, standing in the midst of countless adventurers, he had no choice but to face the truth.
"Well, are you going to answer me?" Tom's voice cut through the tension like a blade. His eyes scanned the gathered adventurers, all poised and ready. "Will you join us, or are you planning to fight your way out? From what I've heard, your stamina isn't exactly that impressive. Do you think you can escape this many opponents unscathed?"
Oliver chuckled coldly, his amusement a thin veil over the tension in his chest. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed the smoke bomb hidden in his sleeve. As it hit the ground, a thick cloud of dark smoke billowed out, obscuring his figure within seconds.
"Consider this my parting gift," he said, his voice almost mocking as the smoke spread rapidly. The adventurers scrambled to regain their bearings, but before they could react, Oliver already had his longbow drawn. He fired an arrow toward the spot where Tom had been standing, then turned on his heel and bolted into the smoke.
The dense smoke worked like magic, concealing him completely. But it didn't last long; within moments, the cloud began to thin, and the figures of the adventurers reappeared.
To everyone's surprise, it wasn't Tom who caught the arrow. It was Enola, who, with remarkable reflexes and a touch of day-enhanced power, snatched it from the air just before it could strike.
"Tom, are you alright?" someone called out, their voice filled with uncertainty.
Tom didn't answer immediately. Instead, a faint smile curled at the corners of his lips; an expression almost too subtle for the others to catch.
"Was that really Oliver's arrow?" Chris asked, his voice trembling slightly, betraying the fear he was trying to hide.
"Yes," Lesley responded, having seen the arrow up close. "It's definitely his."
The students in the hall exchanged uneasy glances. The tension was thick in the air, a sense of dread creeping over them. What if they became the next targets?
"Relax, everyone," Tom's calm voice broke through the silence. "This matter has nothing to do with you. It's just a personal grudge between Oliver and myself." His voice was soothing, but it held an undercurrent of authority. "So, let's not dwell on this. How about we go freshen up and enjoy the banquet?"
Silence hung heavy in the hall, the students too anxious to respond.
"I said, it's a personal matter," Tom repeated with a sigh, though his smile never wavered. "There's no need for concern. You are all students of the academy; future leaders in your fields. Even if my nephew wasn't here, I'd still be your host. It's not wise for a merchant like myself to make enemies, after all."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, leaving the hall in a hushed, uneasy calm. The man who had caught the arrow sighed, tossing it to the floor as though it was nothing more than a trivial inconvenience.
---
Meanwhile, Oliver darted across the rooftops, his body moving with fluid grace as he jumped from shadow to shadow. The aerial view of the streets below gave him a distinct advantage, allowing him to avoid the numerous adventurers who were now pouring out of buildings, searching for him.
Tom had been right: if he had to fight them all at once, he wouldn't stand a chance. His physical strength, though not as weak as they believed, wouldn't hold up against such overwhelming numbers. And as for his arrows? He didn't have enough.
With only sixty arrows in his quiver, including the iron-tipped ones, it would be impossible to take down all of them. Even if he managed to shoot one, retrieving the arrow would be a challenge. If it lodged itself in bone, there'd be no quick way to pull it free. And Oliver wasn't the type to go back for an arrow once it had been fired. That just wasn't his style.
He continued south, knowing he had to put distance between himself and the adventurers. He stopped only when he found a perfect vantage point; a rooftop close enough to the enemy for a clean shot. He nocked another arrow, pulled back his bow, and aimed at a watchtower where one of his pursuers stood guard.
But just as he released the arrow, something unexpected happened. The arrow, which had been flying true, was suddenly shredded in mid-air, falling harmlessly to the ground in pieces. His target had been alert, tearing the projectile apart before it could reach him. Worse, they had already begun alerting their comrades through some kind of device.
Oliver's heart sank slightly. The game had changed, and now, the hunt was on.
"Is that a wind element shield? A scroll?" Oliver muttered under his breath, eyeing the shimmering barrier ahead. "It's not exactly expensive... but Black Crow? He couldn't afford something like that." He rubbed his temple in frustration, thinking of his next move. "That means the only way out is through the gate." He glanced around warily. The adventurers were already hunting him down, scattered across the area. Running toward the exit would be a dead giveaway. Why would anyone head to the gate without a reason?
"There's got to be another way," he whispered, his mind racing for a solution. Then, something caught his eye; a basket of fruits sitting in a corner, the skins of a few split open from rough handling. Bright red juice oozed out, pooling beneath the damaged fruit.
His lips curled into a sly smile. "That'll do," he said softly. A plan began to form in his mind. He didn't need to fight his way out; he just needed to distract them long enough to slip away unnoticed.
---
"Is this the spot?" the leader of the adventurers growled, his dagger gleaming in the dim light.
"Yeah, it's right here." A man pointed to a nearby rooftop. It was the very spot where Oliver had aimed his arrow moments ago. "The arrow came from over there."
The leader nodded. "Good. Catch him, and I'll give you half the reward," he promised, the greed evident in his tone.
"Half?" The man's eyes lit up with a wicked grin, the thought of Tom's hefty bounty dancing in his mind. It was clear; someone was paying well to make sure Oliver didn't leave this place alive.
Suddenly, the door to a nearby building burst open, and a man drenched in bright red liquid came flying out, crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. He groaned in agony, desperately trying to push himself up, but his body gave out. He vomited a pool of red liquid and collapsed, lifeless, on the cold stone floor.
The leader reacted instantly. "The enemy's inside that room!" he barked, signaling to his crew. "Get ready! We're going in!" He knelt beside the man on the ground, his expression softening only slightly. "Hang in there, brother. Once we catch him, you'll get half the money for your medical treatment."
Though his words sounded reassuring, the cold glint in his eyes suggested otherwise.
"Be careful!" warned one of the adventurers, his voice trembling. "The intel was wrong. The target isn't just skilled with a bow; he's dangerous in close combat too!"
"Everyone, stay alert!" the leader called out, tension thick in his voice as they crept toward the half-open door.
None of them noticed that the man on the ground had his face covered, nor that the red liquid wasn't blood. Their focus was solely on what waited behind that door.
With a powerful kick, the leader flung the door wide open and charged in, his team following closely behind. But before half of them had even crossed the threshold, something strange happened. One by one, their legs gave out beneath them. A wave of fatigue crashed over them like a storm, and despite their desperate attempts to fight it, their bodies grew heavy, their minds foggy.
The last thing they saw was the fine powder floating in the air, mixing with the dust inside the room. It took only seconds for them to succumb, collapsing where they stood and falling into a deep sleep.
---
From behind the door, Oliver watched with satisfaction as his plan unfolded. His masked face concealed any emotion, but the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. He glanced over the fallen adventurers, all lying unconscious, and allowed himself a brief moment of pride.
"Almost all of them are down," he muttered. "More will come soon. Time to go."
He stood up, dusting himself off, and winced slightly as he flexed his arm. "Maybe I jumped too hard," he muttered, rolling his shoulder to ease the discomfort. The red liquid covering his body wasn't blood; it was fruit juice, smeared on to create the illusion of a serious injury. It had worked perfectly.
He bent down and picked up one of the adventurers' communication devices. Bringing it to his mouth, he let out a loud, agonized scream, hoping to deceive the rest of the team into thinking a fierce battle had broken out.
The chaos he'd created would give him the perfect cover. He could limp toward the gate, pretending to be wounded, and ask for help. By the time they realized the truth, he'd be long gone.
"Why not just cut myself for real?" he chuckled to himself. "What a stupid idea. I'm not a fan of pain."
He rubbed his arm one last time, grumbling about the soreness, before taking off toward the gate. He knew more adventurers were on their way, but if he timed it right, he could slip past them unnoticed. Now, it was a race against time.
With a determined look in his eyes, Oliver sprinted down the street, the wind whipping through his hair. "Let's see if I can get out of here in one piece," he thought, his mind already calculating his next move.