"Three carriages, a total of fourteen guards." I signaled my teammates, indicating their positions.
The leading mercenary, Luo, was said to be the only Vision holder among them—a Geo wielder from Liyue. His brown hair and loud personality made him stand out, a stark contrast to the disciplined guards flanking him.
Carriages like these often carried treasures and artifacts, and even a twelve-year-old like me couldn't resist the temptation. With my two teammates, we moved into our pre-planned positions, waiting for the right moment.
A volley of flaming arrows shot through the air, illuminating the night as they rained down toward the convoy. The guards reacted instantly, shields raised to protect the carriages. Luo, standing at the front, smirked as he stomped his foot. A thick stone wall erupted from the ground, blocking most of the projectiles with ease.
Still grinning, he pointed in the direction the arrows had come from. "Five of you, check it out!" he ordered. The knights hesitated only for a second before setting off, weapons drawn.
Unfortunately for them, that was exactly what we wanted.
The ground beneath them had already been rigged with homemade mines—a mix of stolen black powder, brittle metal casings, and just enough Fire Slime essence to guarantee destruction. The moment one of them stepped forward, the first mine detonated.
Boom!
A deafening explosion ripped through the night. Dirt, flames, and shrapnel tore through the air. The five knights were thrown off their feet, crashing onto the ground, their armor dented and bloodied.
Luo's smirk vanished. His grip tightened around his sword, and with a sharp flick, he slammed the blade into the ground. A shockwave rippled outward, triggering every remaining mine at once.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The chain of explosions tore through the forest. Trees splintered, flames spread, and thick black smoke billowed into the air. The stench of gunpowder and burning metal filled my nostrils.
But that wasn't all.
Another scent—one undetectable to humans—now drifted through the battlefield. Carried by the wind, it spread beyond the flames, creeping into the shadows of the night.
And it did not go unnoticed.
From the distance, guttural growls echoed. Then came the rhythmic drumbeats—deep, steady, and growing louder.
The Hilichurls were coming.
One, two, three… eleven, twelve.
A total of twelve red flames flickered in the darkness, their twisted horns and crude weapons gleaming under the firelight. And that wasn't counting the drummers and berserkers.
The guards were in big trouble.
Luo stepped forward, taking the vanguard. With a sharp command, he ordered his remaining nine men to stand their ground. Hilichurls weren't mere wild beasts—they were hunters. And yet, despite being outnumbered, the guards held them back.
Luo clashed with three berserkers at once, his blade carving through the chaos, but how long could a human last?
With their forces locked in battle, my teammates and I moved for the carriage.
I placed my palm against the lock, channeling my ability as an Apprentice. With a faint shimmer, the mechanism clicked open. The doors swung wide, revealing a pile of glimmering treasures.
My teammates' eyes lit up. Without hesitation, they dove in, stuffing their bags with everything they could grab.
Artifacts—ranging from simple one-star relics to a single three-star treasure.
Goods worth at least 100,000 Mora.
We cleaned the carriage dry.
With our job done, we prepared to leave—but how could I walk away without leaving my mark?
Marauders have principles.
We steal not just for wealth but for passion.
I pulled a small parchment from my bag, pressing it flat against the empty carriage seat.
A signature. A name. A legacy.
With our work complete, we disappeared into the night, slipping past the battlefield undetected.
It wasn't until an hour later that reinforcements arrived from Mondstadt.
Two Vision holders.
One of them, a fresh recruit of the Knights of Favonius—Eula Lawrence.
She inspected the carriage, expecting to recover at least some of the stolen goods.
But when she opened the door, only a single piece of paper remained.
The words, written in elegant script, spelled out a single name—
"Amon the Deceitful."
…
It was past midnight when we finally reached our base at Galesong Hill. The journey had been exhausting, but having a hand-drawn cart saved us—without it, the sheer weight of the stolen goods would have crushed us long before we made it back.
Nighttime at Galesong Hill was dangerous. Though the monsters here weren't as strong as those near other Treasure Hoarder hideouts, carrying a heavy load while facing a Hilichurl ambush could prove fatal.
"Leader, the hideout is in sight," Jason called out.
Jason, one of my teammates for this heist, had dark crimson hair and striking emerald eyes. His fiery personality often got the better of him, but despite being a few years older than me, he never questioned my leadership. His respect for my abilities was genuine.
I served as the fortune teller and the leader of a heist-planning group for the Galesong Hill hideout. Under my command, there had never been a mistake. Though I had only planned eleven heists so far, this one—my twelfth—was my biggest yet.
"We've arrived!" Clara announced cheerfully.
She was twelve, an aspiring Treasure Hoarder with pink hair and gray eyes. While she lacked the breathtaking beauty of some of the figures in this world, she had a sharp mind and quick hands, which were far more valuable.
I stepped forward and knocked on the wooden fence in a cryptic rhythm—the signal of a successful heist.
A moment later, the gate creaked open, revealing the settlement. A small group of Treasure Hoarders had already gathered, their eyes widening at the sight of us. Three children, none older than fifteen, had pulled off something this grand. Even I had to admit that the feat was impressive.
As we pushed the cart inside, the whispers grew louder. The admiration in their gazes was unmistakable.
Then, from the crowd, a middle-aged man emerged. He had a grungy beard, sharp black eyes, and an ever-present smirk that made it hard to tell whether he was pleased or plotting. His gaze fixed on the cart, his lips curling into a satisfied grin as he extended a hand.
I snorted. "Jason, hand over his share."
The man was Syrus, the leader of the Treasure Hoarders' archery unit—and my short-term partner for this heist.
Before the job, we had agreed on a split: four parts for us, one part for him. Considering the size of his platoon, the deal had been heavily in my favor.
He took his cut without complaint, though I caught the glint of curiosity in his eyes. He wanted to know just how much we had made tonight.
But that was a secret only my team and I would keep.
As the last of his share was unloaded, I exhaled, finally allowing myself to relax.
The hardest part was over. Now, it was time to enjoy the spoils.
Or so I thought.
"Amon! My gem!"
A loud, grating voice cut through the murmurs of admiration. It belonged to none other than Mr. Smith—the self-proclaimed leader of this settlement. If there was ever a voice that fit a parasite leeching off the hard work of others, it was his.
If not for the fact that he was Syrus's older brother and had connections in the underworld, I would have buried him six feet under by now.
"You must be exhausted!" he declared, his tone dripping with artificial warmth as he clasped a hand on my shoulder, guiding me toward one of the better-built tents in the camp.
I barely suppressed a sigh but didn't resist. Before leaving, I shot Jason and Clara a quick signal—an unspoken order to get some rest.
Mr. Smith's tent was one of the finest in the settlement. Of course, this wasn't a proper town; the entire camp had to stay mobile to avoid the ever-watchful Knights of Favonius.
Once inside, the atmosphere shifted.
"So," he began, his tone suddenly turning cold as he shut the tent flap behind him, his sharp eyes locking onto me like a hawk. "A well-executed mission, Amon."
He gestured toward a chair, an invitation I knew better than to refuse. His own seat was positioned before a cluttered desk filled with various artifacts—though, at best, they were mediocre two-star trinkets.
"I would have sent you back to rest," he continued, leaning back as he studied me. "But there's something I need you to do first."
As he spoke, he rummaged through one of his drawers, eventually pulling out a sheet of paper and placing it before me.
A picture was attached.
The man in the image had black hair and deep red eyes. He was slightly handsome, probably in his mid-forties, but there was an air of danger about him.
"I need you to track this man using your divination," Mr. Smith said, his tone laced with urgency.
I studied the picture for a moment before looking up. "May I ask why?"
At my question, he fell silent, his fingers drumming lightly on the wooden table. Then, with a fleeting, almost playful smile, he answered,
"This man is a spy from the Knights of Favonius. He's stolen information from the main hideout… and we need to catch him. Soon."
I didn't know what this incident would turn into at that time.