Amir leaned against the crumbling stone wall of the alley, his eyes scanning the distant horizon where the city's silhouette was jagged and tense, like a beast about to snap. The night air was thick with the smell of burning wood and spilled blood—a perfect blend of chaos and opportunity. It had been a long day of pushing the Saint Hood Gang into a frenzy, and now, standing amidst the firelight of a city on the edge, Amir could reflect on the method behind his madness.
"Every battle needs a spark," he muttered to himself, the sound of his voice mingling with the distant clash of steel in the streets. He had set the scene just as he'd planned, luring the guards and the gang into a full-blown clash. It had been a risky move—too risky for most. But for Amir, it was a calculated gamble, one that might just give him the upper hand he needed.
He'd always been good at reading people. The way they moved, the way they spoke, the things they didn't say. And one thing he had learned, both from watching the guards and the Saint Hood gang, was that the city's underworld was not a place for weaklings. He wasn't strong enough to take on the gang alone—not yet, anyway—but if he could stir the pot, if he could drag the strongest of the gang into the open, that would be the first step toward his goal.
Amir ran a hand through his dark hair, reflecting on the gamble he had taken. **E-rank.** A title that made him the lowest of the low, barely more than an amateur, in a world where people carved their names in blood and steel. To think that someone like him would willingly provoke a criminal organization as large and ruthless as the Saint Hood Gang—it was insane.
"Absolutely bonkers," he chuckled to himself, remembering the incredulous looks he'd received when he first set his plan into motion. The thought alone should have been enough to send him running for cover, but Amir was never one for self-preservation. He wasn't trying to survive. He was trying to prove something.
The Saint Hood Gang had their claws in every corner of Divitas, their tentacles of influence slithering through the streets like a pack of snakes. And snakes, as Amir knew all too well, were often the most dangerous when they thought they were untouchable. The worst thing he could have done was let them keep their peace. **Let them think they're invincible.** That would've been his death sentence.
But now? Now the gang was angry. Frustrated. Desperate. And that desperation would bring them into the light, just as he wanted. They weren't the only ones watching the chaos unfold. Someone else was, too. Someone who could make the gang tremble with the flick of a wrist.
The city's turmoil was the perfect cover.
His thoughts were interrupted by the distinct sound of boots pounding on cobblestone. He turned to face the approaching figure—a dark silhouette against the glow of the flames licking at the city's outer walls.
"Someone's in a hurry," Amir muttered, tilting his head as the figure drew closer. It was a guard, a high-ranking officer, his blue uniform stained with ash and blood. He approached with purpose, his eyes sharp, glancing around before locking onto Amir's figure.
"What are you doing here?" the guard asked, his voice rough, but with a trace of suspicion. "I don't recognize you from the usual patrols."
Amir flashed a grin. "Just taking a walk. Looks like you're doing a bit of running yourself."
The guard gave him a hard look, but then his gaze softened. It was probably just a random guard.
"With all this chaos? Thought you were smarter than to be out here alone." he said
Amir shrugged nonchalantly. "Guess I'm just too bored to hide."
The guard snorted, but his eyes were still scanning the shadows. He seemed to be thinking of something, then gave Amir a nod.
"Whatever. You might want to get inside somewhere safe. The Saint Hood Gang is running rampant through the city. The Baron's troops are out there, but that doesn't mean it's safe."
The name surprised Amir. Baron Krasner A man whose reputation for ruthlessness was well known in both the city and beyond. He wasn't someone Amir wanted to cross, even in his current position of no one knowing that he was the saint hunter. His presence here, alongside Count Farrell, meant that things were escalating.
He had met the Baron and he only looked like a fat middle aged man. It reminded him pf the meeting he had with the nobles just a few days ago.
'I wonder how strong he and the other noble is.' Amir thought
This was a opportunity to understand the strength of 2 of the nobles of the city and how they handle the gang. Amir was getting a little excited at the thought of seeing stronger people fight.
"Thanks for the advice," Amir said, pushing himself off the wall and stepping toward the guard. Amir an appraising glance before muttering something under his breath and continuing his patrol.
Amir turned back to the chaos unfolding around him. He could hear the distant clatter of weapons and the shouts of panicked civilians. **This was it.** The beginning of the a exciting fight, if he played his cards right.
***
Inside the grand stone walls of Count Farrell's manor, the air was thick with tension. Count Farrell sat at the head of an expansive wooden table, his long fingers steepled in front of his face as he surveyed the chaos unfolding on the streets. His eyes had dark circles, his posture remained stiff and unyielding. His presence in the room demanded respect, though that respect was slowly beginning to wane, at least from one particular individual.
Baron Krasner, his short, stocky figure draped in a crimson-red cloak, paced back and forth in front of the Count. He was fuming, his face red with anger as he spewed venom at anyone within earshot.
"Damn it, Farrell! What the hell is going on? How could you let the city fall into such ruin?" Krasner barked, his voice a sharp, cutting edge that seemed to slice through the air. He paused, glaring at the Count, clearly waiting for a response.
Count Farrell remained silent, his gaze never leaving the window, where the city's lights flickered like dying embers in the distance. It was clear that the Baron's words were falling on deaf ears.
Krasner huffed in frustration and threw up his hands.
"We're sitting here, defending the damned city, while it burns around us. The city's very foundations are crumbling, and you're here doing nothing but staring at the ruins."
Farrell's lips twitched at the corners but remained controlled. He turned his gaze towards the Baron, his voice as cold and smooth as polished marble.
"You've never been one for patience, Krasner."
The Baron scoffed, clearly unimpressed.
"Patience? You call this patience? We're being overrun by gangs, and you're still here making idle threats and pulling strings in the shadows. We need action, not pretty words."
Krasner crossed his arms, glaring at the Count. "Those damned snake bastards are finally showing themselves," he growled, his teeth clenched.
"The Saint Hood Gang, running rampant. Damn them. we should have dealt with them before now."
Count Farrell leaned back in his chair, his gaze narrowing slightly.
"Its not like we had much choice in the matter. They some how have access to a spatial dimension outside our control. Finding it has been impossible as it stands and only their lowest members ever show themselves."
"They've been more active since the Beast Horde's movements, I admit. But it's no coincidence. With the absence of the Marquis and his forces, they've been emboldened." Count Farrell said
Krasner's nostrils flared, but he nodded. "The city's defenses are stretched thin. But I'm here now. I brought my two sons with me. We'll wipe those snakes out ourselves with the forces I've brought. They won't know what hit them."
Farrell said nothing but allowed his fingers to tap rhythmically on the table in front of him. His mind was working, calculating, even as Krasner ranted.
As Krasner continued, Farrell's thoughts wandered to the true nature of this conflict. Whoever was behind this entire mess—whoever was stirring up the Saint Hood Gang—had an ulterior motive.
They were not just causing chaos. They were testing the waters. The question that lingered in Farrell's mind was simple: why would anyone want to provoke a gang this powerful? The obvious answer was to draw out the strongest of their ranks, but the deeper question gnawed at him.
'What did they want to achieve and why would they need to rouse the nobles and the city against the Saint hood Gang to achieve it.' Farrell thought
A knock at the door interrupted his musings. The steward entered, his face grim. "My lord, there is a report. The city guards are stretched thin, the Saint Hood Gang has hit all the guard outposts. The captains and their right hands have started to show themselves."
Count Farrell stood, his expression steely. "I'll handle it. Krasner, your sons will assist in reinforcing the guards."
Krasner nodded, his face annoyed, as the gravity of the situation weighed on him. But Farrell didn't let him linger for long.
"Go. The sooner you leave, the sooner the city has a chance to regain control." Count Farrell said
"These damn snakes will get what's coming to them." Krasner muttered
As the Baron exited, Farrell turned back to the window, his fingers curling into fists. The game had begun. And Amir—whether he knew it or not—was playing for much higher stakes than he realized.