Svane’s color drained slightly from his face.

  "What the hell are they doing here?"

  “I have heard of them, Captain, from what I know they are a famous mercenary company.

  Ray said, keeping his voice calm.

  "Not just mercenaries,"

  Svane corrected sharply.

  "They are the premier sellswords of the Free Marches. Ruthless, elite, and incredibly expensive. Finding them in a Tier 3 mining town is like finding a dragon guarding a chicken coop. Lord Thorne shouldn't be able to afford a single squad, let alone a garrison."

  Ray’s eyes narrowed.

  Courtier: “Svane does not know that the Argent Hand uses the Gilded Wolves as their muscle to keep their hands clean. If the Wolves are here, the Hand has locked this domain down tight.”

  The Scheming Courtier concluded.

  "Halt!"

  one of the guards shouted, raising a hand. He moved with the fluid discipline of a veteran killer.

  "Restricted zone. Identify your cargo."

  "Easy, Captain,"

  Ray murmured to Svane.

  "Wolves don't fight for loyalty; they fight for a paycheck. Let's threaten their investment."

  Ray reached into his bag of holding. He pulled out a heavy glass vial filled with a viscous, glowing green sludge. It was a failed alchemical experiment from his Applied Alchemy class, essentially harmless bioluminescent slime, but in the dark, it looked radioactive.

  Ray activated Concurrent Partial Immersion and channelled both the Charismatic Conman and Scheming Courtier.

  Ray kicked the door open before the carriage even fully stopped.

  He stepped out, not as a student or the humble merchant, but as The Alchemical Supplier. He adjusted his posture, throwing his shoulders back and adopting a sneer of supreme irritation.

  "Finally!"

  Ray shouted, storming toward the elite mercenaries. He held the vial out in front of him like a weapon.

  "Do you idiots have any idea how unstable a suspension of Volatile Vitriol is when it’s been shaken over ten miles of bad road?"

  The Gilded Wolves mercenary guard blinked. They were trained to fight knights and mages, not angry civilians holding bombs. The lead guard stepped forward, his hand resting on a high-quality mace.

  "Hold on, citizen. We need to search…"

  Ray thrust the glowing vial right into the guard's face. The green light cast ghoulish shadows on the mercenary's polished helm.

  "Search it?"

  Ray laughed maniacally.

  "Go ahead! Pop the cork! This is a rush order for the Smelting Overseer. It needs to be kept at a stable temperature of twenty degrees. Every second you keep me standing in this draft, the thermal matrix destabilizes by 0.5%!"

  Ray shook the vial. The slime bubbled ominously.

  "If this goes critical,"

  Ray hissed, leaning in,

  "it won't just kill us. It will melt that expensive armor of yours to your skin before you can even scream. But please, by all means, search the carriage."

  The elite mercenary stared at the bubbling green liquid. He looked at Ray’s manic eyes.

  Self-preservation kicked in. He wasn't being paid enough to be dissolved by alchemical waste.

  "Whoa, easy!"

  The elite guard stepped back, raising his hands.

  "We didn't know it was a... hazardous shipment."

  "Then open the gate!"

  Ray bellowed.

  "Before I drop it!"

  "Open it! Clear the lane!"

  the mercenary shouted to his squad.

  The heavy iron bars groaned open. Ray didn't say thank you. He huffed, wiped a speck of imaginary dust from his sleeve, and marched back to the carriage, muttering about ‘brainless grunts’ loud enough for them to hear.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  A blue translucent screen appeared in front of him.

  [SKILLED APPLICATION DETECTED]

  [EVENT: PERIMETER BREACH (PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE)]

  [PERFORMANCE EVALUATION: ADEPT]

  [ANALYSIS: Host successfully leveraged ‘Fear of the Unknown’ against combat-specialized targets. By pretending to be an ‘Alchemical Supplier’ to project manic instability, the Host bypassed a physical inspection by converting a harmless prop into a perceived existential threat. The target of the performance prioritized asset preservation (Equipment/Self) over security protocol. Large mastery gained.]

  [Deception +15% (CAPSTONE already reached, adding half of mastery gain to the next archetype skill 'Etiquette & Protocol'), Performance (Acting within Acting) +10% (CAPSTONE already reached, adding half of mastery gain to the next archetype skill 'Misdirection').]

  Ray dismissed the notification window as the carriage rolled through.

  Svane stared at Ray.

  "You just bluffed a Gilded Wolf,"

  Svane said, looking impressed despite himself.

  "Most men lose a hand trying that."

  "They're professionals, Captain,"

  Ray said, tucking the vial away.

  "professionals calculate risk. I just made the risk too high."

  The Iron-Wake City was worse up close.

  The carriage moved slowly through the crowded, narrow streets. The buildings were identical, drab concrete blocks owned by the mining guild.

  Ray looked out at the people. They were gaunt, covered in soot, shuffling home from their work shifts. But it wasn't just exhaustion that marked them.

  "Look at their necks,"

  Ray said quietly.

  Rina looked. On the back of every worker’s neck, just below the hairline, was a tattoo. A black series of numbers like a code.

  "Debt codes,"

  Ray has read about this in the academy, he explains to Rina the situation of the majority of people they are seeing in the city. He told Rina the social structure with cold detachment.

  "They don't pay them in gold. They deduct their salary from their debt. But their debt barely goes down as they also use debt to pay for daily necessities. The prices are inflated so most of the time they always owe more than they earn. That number on their neck is their unique identifier."

  "That's slavery,"

  Rina whispered, horrified.

  "It's economics,"

  Ray corrected bitterly.

  "Slavery is illegal in the Kingdom. 'Indentured Servitude' is a legally binding contract."

  Suddenly, a shout rang out.

  In an alleyway to their left, two local guards different from the Gilded Wolves elite guards they saw at the city gates were surrounding an old man. The man had fallen, spilling a basket of coal. One of the guards kicked him in the ribs, the sound of cracking bone audible even over the factory noise.

  "Get up, old man!"

  the guard laughed,

  "Your interest payment is due!"

  Rina gasped. Her hand flew to the handle of the carriage door. Her eyes were burning with the injustice of it.

  "We have to stop them. He’s going to kill him!"

  Ray’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. His grip was iron-hard.

  "No,"

  Ray commanded.

  Rina turned to him, shock on her face.

  "Ray! They’re hurting him!"

  "Those are Iron-Wake City local guards,"

  Ray said, his voice low and intense.

  "If we intervene, we run the risk of exposure. If the guards raise the alarm, the whole city goes into lockdown. Our chances of finding Kaelen, which is the main reason we are here, disappears."

  Ray pulled her hand away from the door. He forced her to look at him.

  "We are a surgical team, not an army. If you save the stranger, you doom the target. Can you live with that?"

  Rina looked out the window. The old man curled into a ball as another kick landed. She trembled, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. It went against everything her heart wanted to do. But she saw the logic in Ray’s eyes, the cold, hard math of the battlefield.

  She slowly let go of the door handle.

  "I hate this place,"

  she whispered.

  "Good,"

  Ray said, releasing her wrist.

  "Hold on to that feeling. You will need it when the time comes.”

  Ray had the driver drop them off at a grimy inn called The Smelter’s Rest, three streets away from the main thoroughfare.

  They secured a private booth in the back corner of the bar. The air smelled of cheap ale and unwashed bodies.

  "We need intel,"

  Ray said, keeping his voice low.

  "We know the Gilded Wolves are guarding the gate. We don't know their numbers, their patrol routes, or Kaelen’s status."

  He turned to Rina.

  "Rina. This is your field test."

  Rina straightened up.

  "Young master?"

  "You already have done this in the academy and you have the skills,"

  Ray said.

  "I need you to explore, start in this bar. Blend in. Listen. I want to know why the Gilded Wolves are really here and what is happening at the Thorne Manor."

  Ray tapped the table.

  "Be invisible. You are not a mage. You are not a warrior. You are just another face in the crowd."

  Rina nodded. She took a deep breath, and Ray watched her posture change. Her shoulders slumped. Her expression went from alert to tired and dull. She adjusted her cloak to look cheaper.

  She slipped out of the booth. To Svane’s amazement, she didn't look like a capable operative he had seen earlier during their encounter with the bandits. She looked like a tired maid looking for a drink after a long shift.

  Ray stood up.

  "I'll scout the perimeter."

  Svane immediately stood up, blocking Ray’s path. His massive frame cast a shadow over the table.

  "I object, my lord”

  Svane rumbled, his voice low but firm.

  "I'll let you handle the bandits. I let you bluff the gate. But I am not letting you wander the streets of a hostile town alone. I’m coming with you."

  "You can't,"

  Ray said calmly.

  "I’m afraid I have to, my lord.”

  "Captain, look at yourself,"

  Ray whispered, gesturing to Svane’s broad shoulders and the way he carried himself.

  "Even without your armor, you're built like a siege tower and have a stride of a soldier. If you walk these streets, every Gilded Wolf in a mile radius will notice you right away.”

  Svane’s jaw tightened. He knew Ray was right, but his orders were absolute.

  "I can't protect you if I am not with you. If something happened..."

  ".. if something were indeed to happen,”

  Ray interrupted.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out two small, silver objects. He handed one to Svane.

  It was an ear cuff, etched with microscopic runes and inlaid with a tiny sliver of resonance crystal.

  “I need to be able to call for backup."

  "What is this?" Svane asked, examining the delicate metal.

  "Earings of Whisper,"

  Ray explained.

  "I made them during the break when I was bored. They are paired acoustic resonators. Whatever I whisper, you hear. Whatever you say, I hear."

  Svane looked at the cuff, then at Rina’s empty seat.

  "And the girl?"

  "Rina and I have another way to communicate,"

  Ray said vaguely.

  "But you and I needed a secure line."

  Ray looked Svane in the eye.

  "You are my heavy cavalry, Captain. I need you here, ready to move the moment I give the signal. If I take you with me, we’re just a target. If I leave you here, you’re my ace in the hole."

  Svane hesitated, weighing the risk. Finally, he clipped the cuff onto his ear. It hummed faintly, then settled into silence.

  "One hour,"

  Svane grunted, sitting back down, his hand resting near his sword.

  "And you need to check in every ten minutes. If you fail to check in even once, I’m tearing this town apart to find you."

  "Deal,"

  Ray grinned and he was touched by Svane’s declaration.

  He pulled his hood up and slipped out the back door.