Valarys' streets were darkening as night fell, and the once-bustling market squares became eerily quiet. The low hum of murmured conversations drifted from the taverns and shadowed alleyways. The stars above barely pierced through the smoky haze that lingered over the city, a faint reminder of the forge fires still burning in the lower districts. But here, on the edge of the Merchant's Guild quarter, the atmosphere was different—thicker, more dangerous.
Ubuntu and Jon moved quietly through the narrow streets, sticking to the shadows. They had followed the trail Amara had laid out, leading them to a large, nondescript building where the Guild was rumored to hold its meetings. There were no banners, no signs—nothing that marked it as anything more than another wealthy merchant's home. But the extra guards, the lack of commoners in the area, and the overall tension in the air told them this was the place.
"Here we are," Jon whispered, peering around the corner. "The Guild's meeting place."
Ubuntu looked up at the mansion-like building, its stone walls tall and impenetrable. "Subtle, aren't they?" he muttered. "What's the plan, Jon? You want to write a polite letter asking for their secret plots?"
Jon scratched his head, clearly not following the sarcasm. "Well, we could try sneaking in through one of the side entrances, or maybe wait until someone leaves—"
"Or," Ubuntu cut in, his grin widening, "we could just walk in, crash their little meeting, and get the information we need the fun way."
Jon's eyes widened in alarm. "You mean... without a plan?"
Ubuntu laughed quietly, giving him a pat on the back. "A plan's for people who want to die of boredom, Jon. Besides, I've got a pretty simple strategy—make a mess, take what we need, and walk out like we own the place."
Jon swallowed nervously, but he nodded. "Right... improvisation."
"Exactly," Ubuntu said, leading the way toward the building's side entrance. "Let's see what these Guild rats are hiding."
Inside, the meeting was already underway. The Merchant's Guild leaders were gathered around a long, opulent table in the center of a lavish room, deep in discussion. Their fine robes and jewelry glittered in the light of the chandeliers above, but their expressions were hard, calculating. There was no small talk, no idle chatter—only the quiet exchange of plans and strategies, their voices cold and businesslike.
At the head of the table sat Marlov, the head of the Guild. His sharp features and gaunt face made him look more like a predator than a businessman, and his voice carried a weight of authority that silenced the rest of the room whenever he spoke.
"We've doubled the tariffs on all exports to the outer districts," Marlov was saying, his fingers tapping against the polished wood of the table. "The farmers and merchants there are already struggling to keep up. It won't be long before they either fall into line or... disappear."
The other Guild members nodded approvingly, some of them exchanging smirks as they sipped from their gilded goblets.
"And the Sovereign's latest orders?" one of the Guild leaders asked. "Has he given us the green light to move forward with the... extraction?"
Marlov leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "The Sovereign has made it clear that he wants the mines under our full control. Once we secure the workforce, we'll begin siphoning the magic ore directly to his forces. The sooner we complete the transfer, the sooner the Sovereign rewards us."
Another Guild member, a woman with silver hair and cruel eyes, frowned slightly. "But what about the resistance? The lower districts are getting restless. There's talk of rebellion."
Marlov's lips curled into a thin smile. "Rebellions are nothing more than desperate whispers in the dark. Once we control the economy, we'll control the city. Let them whisper—they'll fall in line when we make them."
Before the conversation could continue, the door to the room creaked open. Every head turned as Ubuntu and Jon walked in, the former striding confidently into the center of the room, hands resting on the hilts of his sabres.
"Evening, gents. Hope we're not interrupting anything important."
The entire room froze. For a moment, no one moved—Guild members glanced at each other, confusion and irritation mixing in their expressions. Marlov's eyes narrowed dangerously, his hand instinctively drifting toward the jeweled dagger at his waist.
"And who are you supposed to be?" Marlov asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Ubuntu grinned, ignoring the growing tension in the room. "Me? Oh, I'm just the guy who's here to ruin your little evil mastermind meeting. You know, the one where you talk about exploiting the poor, wrecking economies, and maybe kidnapping a few kids for good measure?"
A ripple of outrage spread through the Guild members, and several of them rose to their feet, drawing hidden weapons from beneath their robes. Jon, who had been nervously standing just inside the doorway, took a step back, his face pale.
"Uh, Ubuntu..." Jon whispered. "Maybe we should—"
"Relax, Jon," Ubuntu said, casually drawing one of his sabres and pointing it at Marlov. "This won't take long."
Marlov's eyes darkened. "You have no idea who you're dealing with, boy."
Ubuntu shrugged. "I get that a lot."
Marlov slammed his fist on the table, and at once, the Guild's personal guards stormed into the room, weapons drawn and faces grim. These weren't regular mercenaries—they were elite soldiers, trained to protect the wealth and interests of the Guild.
"Kill them," Marlov hissed, his voice cold and sharp.
The guards charged, but Ubuntu was already moving. With a fluid motion, he ducked under the first sword strike and slashed upward with his sabre, disarming the guard in front of him before spinning and kicking him into the table. Another guard lunged at him, but Ubuntu sidestepped, sweeping the man's legs out from under him and driving his elbow into his back.
Jon, meanwhile, was fumbling with a knife he had pulled from his belt, clearly unsure of how to proceed. "I'm... I'm helping!" he shouted awkwardly as he awkwardly swatted at a guard, only to trip over his own feet and fall to the floor.
Ubuntu, in the middle of blocking another attack, shot him a sideways glance. "You doing okay there, Jon?"
Jon scrambled to his feet, looking flustered. "I'm fine! Just... giving them a false sense of security!"
With a roll of his eyes, Ubuntu slashed through the next wave of guards, his movements quick and efficient. The remaining guards hesitated, clearly starting to realize that they were outmatched, but Marlov's enraged shout spurred them forward.
"Useless!" Marlov spat, drawing his jeweled dagger and advancing on Ubuntu. "I'll deal with this one myself."
Ubuntu raised an eyebrow, flicking his sabre to the side as he casually stepped back from another guard's strike. "Oh, now you want to fight? This should be fun."
Marlov lunged, his dagger glinting in the dim light as he aimed for Ubuntu's throat. But Ubuntu was faster—he parried the attack with ease, twisting Marlov's wrist and sending the dagger flying across the room. Before Marlov could react, Ubuntu grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the nearest wall, pinning him there with one arm.
"Let's cut to the chase," Ubuntu said, his voice dangerously low. "What's the Sovereign planning? I know you're funneling resources to his armies, so don't even think about playing dumb."
Marlov gritted his teeth, his eyes wild with fury. "You think you can stop him? You're nothing. The Sovereign is unstoppable. He's gathering power far beyond what you can imagine. And once he's done with this world, he'll reach into others."
"That so?" Ubuntu said, tightening his grip on Marlov's collar. "Maybe I'm not interested in his whole evil emperor shtick. Maybe I'm more interested in stopping him before he wrecks my world."
Marlov's eyes flickered with a hint of realization. "You... you're not from here."
Ubuntu's smirk returned. "You're catching on. Now, tell me—what's the next step in his plan?"
Before Marlov could answer, the doors to the meeting room burst open, and a group of heavily armored soldiers stormed in, their armor bearing the emblem of the Sovereign. The air in the room seemed to grow colder as they entered, their weapons drawn and their expressions unreadable.
"Well, well," Ubuntu muttered under his breath. "Looks like we're out of time."
Jon, who had finally managed to get back on his feet, looked from the soldiers to Ubuntu, panic in his eyes. "Uh... what's the plan now?"
Ubuntu sighed, glancing around at the soldiers closing in. "Plan? Oh, you mean the 'boring strategy' part? Yeah, we're done with that. Time to improvise again."
Without another word, Ubuntu shoved Marlov aside and charged at the soldiers, his sabres flashing in the dim light. Jon followed behind him, his knife gripped tightly in his hand, looking more like a frightened child than a fighter.
As the battle erupted in the room, Ubuntu couldn't help but smile. Things were finally getting interesting.