The person they had been waiting for still hadn't arrived, so Tom stood up slowly, his joints creaking slightly as he stretched. He reached for the kettle, intending to pour more water.
The water he drank was plain, with no tea leaves swirling in the cup. Just water, freshly boiled, the steam still rising from the spout. He was cautious, always. Tom didn't like tea. Tea leaves could hide impurities, things mixed in that he couldn't control. Cold water was no better; anything added to cold water might not dissolve properly, slipping into his system unnoticed. Hot water was the safest. It burned away doubts, much like it scalded his lips if he sipped too quickly.
As he reached to wipe the table, his hands shook, betraying the age he otherwise kept well-hidden. A cloth beside him soaked up the small spill, and he settled back into his chair, the cup now cradled in his hand. The heat radiated through the porcelain, grounding him as he waited for the inevitable. His men would bring Oliver to him, dead or alive. It didn't matter much to Tom; either outcome served his purposes.
His gaze shifted to the room behind him, the golden lights casting a warm glow over the pristine white walls. It was opulent, a subtle display of power. And suddenly, as if struck by a memory, his eyes narrowed. "I almost forgot," he muttered to himself.
---
Meanwhile, outside the building, Oliver stood at the threshold, hesitating for a brief moment. The man who had guided him this far gave a quick, almost dismissive bow. "It's right here," he said. "But I have urgent matters elsewhere." Without waiting for a reply, the man hurried off, leaving Oliver alone in the hallway, his mind racing.
The door in front of him wasn't locked. It wasn't even fully closed. He simply pushed it open and was met by an explosion of light. Squinting against the sudden brightness, Oliver stepped inside. The white walls, paired with the dazzling golden lights, were disorienting, a sharp contrast to the shadows he had just left behind.
His eyes scanned the room, a table stood in the center, a cup of water placed neatly on its surface. Unlike Tom's preference, this one held tea leaves, though the water had already cooled, the steam long gone. The chair behind the table was empty, a subtle unease creeping into the quiet room.
Silence pressed down on him. It was the kind of stillness that felt deliberate, as if the room itself held its breath, waiting for something to happen. Oliver considered his situation. Either the man had discovered his presence, or he had left temporarily, pulled away by urgent matters. But the more he thought, the more the first option seemed likely. Tom was meticulous; he would never leave a cup of water unattended without reason. Something was off.
Oliver's instincts screamed at him to leave, and fast. If this was a trap, it was closing in on him now. He turned quickly, heading back toward the door, and as he pushed it open, his suspicions were confirmed.
Outside, blades glinted in the light, held by a dozen men waiting for him. Their cold, calculated stances told him they had been expecting him all along.
"Tsk," Oliver muttered under his breath, his lips curling into a half-smile despite the danger. "This is going to be troublesome."
---
Across the city, an elf sat perched by a window, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. "Looks like someone's coming," he remarked casually, turning to the man beside him. "How many have you prepared?"
"More than half," came the reply, curt and businesslike.
The elf raised an eyebrow. "More than half? For just one man?"
The other man shrugged, his expression cold. "If the elves launch an attack and soldiers are still stationed here, they'll report back on the situation."
"That's not what I meant." The elf leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Is he really worth all this trouble?"
"I don't know if he's worth it, but he cannot leave here alive," the man replied, his gaze shifting toward the house below. "We won't get another chance."
The elf nodded, considering. "What made you so sure he'd come?"
"The list of traitors," the man said. "It's too valuable for him to ignore. That, and maybe something else. But the list… that's what sealed his fate."
---
Back at the house, Oliver was now fully exposed. His cover was blown, but he wasn't about to go down without a fight. He didn't hesitate. With practiced precision, he hurled a smoke bomb to the ground. The air thickened with the swirling fog, masking his movements as he slipped back into the house.
Quickly, he moved to the second floor, finding his way to the nearest window. With the agility of someone well-acquainted with danger, he climbed out onto the roof, staying low as he navigated the narrow ridges.
Below him, the guards shouted orders, their voices muffled by the smoke and the chaos it created. But Oliver was already moving, putting distance between himself and the house. The further he got, the quieter the noise became, until only the distant echoes of confusion followed him into the night.
The "trouble" from earlier was all because Oliver's location had been compromised. Before, he had the luxury of time and could search freely for what he wanted, but now that his cover was blown, he had to move quickly. The clock was ticking, and who knew how many others were now converging on his location? There were likely more people lying in wait for him, and he could no longer afford to linger.
---
From a distance, the elf watched as the shadows shifted and the dust settled. "He seems to have slipped away," the elf casually remarked, turning his sharp eyes to his boss.
His boss, however, didn't seem concerned. "Even if he's running, there are still others waiting for him." His voice was calm, steady, as he turned away from the elf. Behind him, the lights in the room flickered out one by one, leaving only the gleam of a white wall and the rising steam from the cup of water he still held.
The elf tilted his head, considering. "What if the others can't stop him?"
His boss took a slow sip of the water, letting the heat seep into his hands. "Then no one can help."
The elf shrugged, settling into a chair by the window. "You've got plenty of resources. Why not hire someone stronger?"
A quiet laugh escaped his boss, though there was no humor in it. "The ones who know enough to help… they won't come. And those who will come aren't strong enough."
---
Oliver crouched low on the roof, weighing his options. Should he risk staying to retrieve the list of traitors, or was it time to cut his losses and escape? The stakes were high. This might be his only chance to gather the information he needed, and if he left empty-handed, he might not get another opportunity.
Moving silently, he began navigating the rooftops, avoiding the adventurers who were frantically retreating. With a deliberate movement, Oliver pulled off his disguise, setting it aflame. The smoke billowed into the sky, sure to draw attention, but that was the point. It would buy him time, time he couldn't afford to waste.
He darted away from the rising smoke, keeping to the shadows as he continued his search. His mind raced through the details he needed to find, but before he could make any progress, two figures stepped into his path. One held a dagger, the other wielded a massive sword.
The man with the dagger smiled as if greeting an old friend. "We don't usually take advantage of situations like this," he began, his voice oozing false modesty. "But if I take your head, I won't have to work for a long time. I might even be able to leave this wretched place." He shrugged as if to apologize. "So, sorry about this, junior. By the way, I'm Zachary, and my friend here is Shawn."
With introductions out of the way, the two men lunged forward without hesitation.
Oliver sized them up quickly. He had no longbow with him, only a single dagger strapped to his waist, a hidden one for emergencies, and a bottle of untouched holy water. Worse still, he had no smoke bombs left; a glaring oversight that gnawed at him.
He quickly identified Zachary's tactic. The man had some kind of blessing that helped him mask his presence, perfect for sneaking up on others. Shawn, with his massive sword, probably had a strength-enhancing blessing or used magic to boost his power. Either way, Oliver knew the brute strength of that sword could cleave through him if he wasn't careful.
There wasn't time to hesitate. Oliver drew his dagger and hurled it at Shawn, hoping to get a read on his abilities, then sprinted toward Zachary. He needed to test their reactions, figure out their weak spots.
Zachary's reflexes were sharp. He swung his dagger in a wide arc, aiming for Oliver's face, trying to blind him. But Oliver was faster. With a sudden burst of speed, he accelerated, sidestepping the blade just before it could reach him. He closed the gap between them, grabbing Zachary's right wrist with his left hand.
Zachary retaliated swiftly, stabbing upward with his left hand, aiming for Oliver's chest. But Oliver anticipated the move, catching Zachary's wrist with his right hand. Using the momentum, he twisted his body, shoving Zachary's right arm downward, while pushing his left arm away from his body, disarming the man momentarily.
Zachary tried to recover, shifting his weight to drive his knee into Oliver's side, but Oliver was quicker. He clenched his right hand into a fist and delivered a powerful elbow strike to Zachary's head, sending him staggering backward. Zachary stumbled, struggling to keep his balance, but Oliver was relentless. He followed up with a series of rapid punches, striking Zachary squarely in the chest.
Three heavy blows, each one delivered with precision and force. Zachary gasped, his face contorting in pain as blood spurted from his mouth. His movements faltered, and it was clear he wouldn't be getting back up anytime soon.
But Oliver didn't stop to celebrate. He had one more opponent to deal with and he couldn't afford any more mistakes.