The Twilight Bandits boast a force that rivals individual kingdoms. Even outside of Garbrandt, their operations remain widespread; plundering unaffiliated kingdoms, trade routes, and more. They have their finger in every pie for all things criminal-related. As of late, they've begun expanding into legitimate companies and acting as hired swords for prominent nations like the Idil Empire. Their political influence is beyond the scope of any other criminal organization in recent history.

So why do they refuse to take over the unguarded neutral zone in the heart of Garbrandt?

I had asked all my associates about any possibilities as to why, and only one of them earned an answer from their leader, albeit cryptic and short.

"She lives there."

~ An informant's report on the Twilight Bandits, date unknown

"Well, that's everybody. Are you sure your brother's even here?"

"Don't jinx it," Damien muttered.

Another group of children returned to the base, bringing up the total number of people in the house to eleven. Alvis, Bentham, and Sheila were the only ones Damien could remember off the top of his head. Only one of the newcomers originated from a different district in the city controlled by a now-defunct gang called 'Slimebellers'. None of them had an inkling of Braham's whereabouts. It was unlikely they'd get any further leads and Damien looked on despondently.

"Well, thanks for reaching out Bentham. I appreciate it." The vampire teen sighed. He knew it wouldn't be easy and didn't allow himself to get discouraged so early in the search. But he needed to be efficient and decided to move on quickly. "Let's go, Chester."

He beckoned for his dog, but the illusionist didn't move from his spot at the table. He looked deep in thought, placing his head in his palm while staring at Damien intensely.

"Dame, I think we're going about this the wrong way."

"How so?"

"If we combed through every part of this city looking for your brother, it'd take months. Years, even. Look at this place; there's gotta be millions of people living in this city. That's just as much as the big cities had in my homeland." Chester said, being intentionally vague when discussing his homeland. He was conscious of the children there, after all.

"Get to the point," Damien said impatiently. He was open to any ideas and suggestions. "What else can we do to find him even faster?"

"What I'm trying to say is that instead of searching for Braham," The curly-haired man leaned in closer with a small smile. "We make him search for us."

The vampire teen considered that for a moment. He scratched his head at the idea. "How are we going to do that?"

"Make some noise. Put on a disguise, pretend we're holding you hostage and make demands of him. Something like that. He'd show up if it involved you, wouldn't it?"

Damien hesitated. He couldn't say that with full certainty. Would his brother rescue him in a time of need? Both he and Braham stood out from their family in different ways. When the boy was too soft-hearted and kind to fully embrace Wisperium's fierce, warrior-like mentality, his brother melded perfectly with it, becoming a fearsome foe that even made the most war-loving patriot in their kingdom hesitate at the acts he committed against enemies. His older brother didn't seem like the sort to rescue someone, even if said someone was his own brother. It was a harsh analysis of his brother's personality, but Damien had to be honest.

Dracule Rose. The Gilded Lord. The man who brought entire armies to ruin and created the Valley of Headless Men. Although wisdom and age had tempered his personality, the fact even he tried to preach mercy and restraint to Braham was very telling.

'Why aren't we attacking? Just because they're not attacking first, doesn't mean we should be waiting for them to develop in power. We should prune the branch before it grows large enough to threaten us.'

The callous way his elder brother once talked about assaulting a neighboring, peaceful kingdom chilled Damien to the core. It was something he expected from a maddened warmonger, not a young teenager. He had justified it as childish ignorance, borne from never seeing the horrors of war. But Damien knew that Braham was far from dumb and had witnessed firsthand just how violent battles could be during the frequent invasions of the city.

Braham held no remorse for enemies and those not close to him, and that coldness permeated throughout his entire personality, regardless of how well he learned to hide it. Damien knew that. What he didn't know was how the years affected his brother.

The vampire teen couldn't ignore his actions, but he believed deep down that Braham would have a reason for it. He had faith in his brother. The letters he sent them showed no signs of darker impulses having taken over.

Chester tilted his head in a questioning manner after the vampire didn't respond for several seconds.

"I don't know about that. But I suppose we can give it a try." Damien answered, bringing himself back to reality. He was willing to attempt other methods if it meant finding his brother.

"Really? That's great then. I'm really happy you listened to my suggestions. I'll make sure to help you."

The teen stared at the curly-haired illusionist. His innocent, small smile and closed eyes were already odd, but the way Chester said those words made Damien's spine tingle. It felt as though he closed a deal with a demon. He couldn't help but feel as though he had done something terribly wrong.

"Why are you smiling?"

"What, I can't smile? Don't worry about a thing. I'll get your brother's attention. Sooner or later."

The noble prince couldn't help but worry even more. He feared the illusionist would bring down a lot more than his brother on their heads judging by the glint in his eye.

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A man peeked through a slot in the door, spotting a hooded figure with three children in tow. Their faces were obscured, but chains were visible, clinking together with every step. Their bare feet and dirty legs could be seen poking under their ill-fitting clothes.

"Cozbi's brought the goods!" A muffled shout could be heard from within and the door began to creak open. It was a thick, rusted metal door with clear signs of damage.

The resident opened the door. He was a gritty-looking individual, with scars along his face and wrinkled skin. Downturned eyes glanced at the hidden figure in front of him with arms crossed sternly.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"You're late. Where the hell were you?"

"I'm sorry to say. But I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else."

He instantly sensed something was amiss and placed his hand on the axe at his waist. "You're not Cozbi! GUYS-!"

Before the rough-looking man could finish his sentence, a metal gauntlet snatched him by the throat and swung him into the wall. The impact made him grunt, but he was still able to move. With great effort, he swung the sword and tried to sever the hooded figure's arm off. The blade created sparks along the turquoise surface, showing its exceptional hardness. But considering the strength of his attack, the fact the intruder's arm didn't budge and maintained a strict hold on his neck was baffling. The strength and endurance it took to shrug off a strike like that was superhuman.

All the scarred man saw was a closed fist aimed at his face before everything turned black.

"Search the place. Flag down any enemies."

In an instant, the hooded children's chains vanished like they were a mirage. With weapons in their hands, they marched into the building and split up into pairs.

The interior was spacious and large, filled with many amenities that resembled a shared housing space. Before the children could take too many steps inside, several men burst from the other rooms carrying weapons. One of them had a spatula and an apron much to the intruders' amusement. The smell of cooked food wafted through the air.

The hooded man sighed. Dropping the unconscious man in his hand, he began talking to the children in a lecturing manner.

"This is a great example of information not being always correct. Although you must do your diligence when information gathering, problems like these will inevitably arise. Maybe there are more guards than you initially counted. Or the loot you're looking for wasn't what you expected."

Opening his palm, a short staff materialized into existence.

Closed Mirage Staff

- Crafted from dark ebony wood and reinforced by an ancient elven blacksmith, it boasts decent hardiness and durability.

- Deals decent bludgeoning damage

- Reduces concentration required for illusion-based spells

- Illusion-based spells can be overcharged by a maximum of 50%, allowing for more potent and longer-lasting skills. Effects of skill overcharge may vary.

-There is a small chance of not consuming mana when activating a skill

- Return IV: Upon command, the weapon will reappear in the user's hands. Once unequipped, it will disappear into a pocket dimension that prevents it from being stolen.

On the very end, it had a purple orb that glistened beautifully whenever the light reflected on it. The gang of men assembled and their numbers grew to over a dozen. In his other hand, a flail constructed from iridescent metal clinked to the floor. A deadly yet mesmerizing sight.

"You have two solutions; forget everything and run," Chester's arm glowed with untold power and the children behind him watched with a mix of wonder and awe. His posture was tall and confident against a line of dangerous-looking men. A little smirk formed on his face as the group closed in on them.

"Or adapt and overcome."

Darkness spread throughout the base, blocking any view the men had of their enemies. Three identical figures dual-wielding a staff and flail dashed forward through the common area, giving them only a split-second to determine who was real and who wasn't.

Alvis watched in astonishment as the adventurer tore through their ranks. Numbers were an impossible advantage to ignore. It wasn't just a matter of skill, but luck also. No one could predict and avoid every single attack coming toward them. It would only take a single hit to create an opening that would be hard to recover from.

But Chester didn't care. He kicked, swung, and cast spells like a whirlwind of chaos, giving no quarter to his enemies. The few attacks he allowed to land bounced harmlessly off his armor. His speed allowed him to weave through their ranks with ease. His strength made glancing blows crippling. The illusions made them hesitate and create openings that were exploited ruthlessly.

The children quickly learned that power triumphed above any advantage. It was unlike anything they'd seen before.

Within a minute, the men were laid out on the floor in no condition to fight. Chester dusted himself off in brief silence, before realizing he had to do one more thing before continuing with the robbery.

"Alas, my minions! The Omen strikes again! Heed our words; if Braham Rose doesn't show himself, we will sacrifice his brother to our...God!"

The lines were announced robotically as though they were being read off a script. An idea he had to spread their infamy throughout the city without incurring any consequences for themselves. Using the mad cult as a disguise would prevent any backlash in the process. He made sure to get it out as fast as possible before their enemies fell unconscious. After making sure the men were knocked out, the children began to peruse through the house with the bags on their shoulders, looting anything that wasn't bolted down.

"Move! Move! Act like there's reinforcements coming to get you all! Prioritize the valuables and remember you have limited space in your sacs!"

Chester took the orphan children with him to teach them more effective methods of committing crimes. He felt a sense of kinship with the children and wanted to bestow upon them things he had learned from his long and decorated career as a thief. And he also wanted to live out his dream of having sidekicks and minions. But the children didn't need to know that.

He glanced at one of the hooded children trying to fit a chair into his bag.

"Bentham! Are you an idiot?" He chastised the teen who dropped the chair.

"Sorry! We needed a new one, it's got a bad leg and shakes too much."

"How are you going to carry a chair back to base? You're sacrificing so much space for one item. Focus!"

In the meantime, Chester looked through the house and investigated every corner. But he wasn't in search of treasure.

The house was spacious, but enough to fit a dozen men? It didn't make sense. Unless they packed in together like a can of sardines, they must have a second floor. Chester made sure that the rolled-up parchment containing the names and addresses of every client that the kidnappers had was safely tucked away under his armor. It gave him a large set of potential targets for burgling, as many of them happened to be located around the area. Alvis and Bentham were able to identify where they were found, making the heists a breeze.

'Thank god for stupid people. Who puts their address down to purchase fucking slaves? Curbside delivery? Not an ounce of fucking self-preservation in those sickos.'

He assumed that it was due to the complete lack of police presence whatsoever. Anybody could commit crimes openly in Garbrandt, even murder. The only people they had to be wary of were the ones in control of their surrounding territory, and the Twilight Bandits didn't seem like the type to outlaw kidnappings or trafficking. Chester shook his head.

'At least I get a free list of people to rob without any guilt. Damien can't get mad at me for pulling a Robin Hood.'

It wasn't until he arrived in a bedroom where one of the beds had been displaced; an underground hatch door was barely visible. The illusionist opened it, saw the door unlocked, and headed downstairs.

The walls were dimly lit and simply made. There were two rooms, both without doors. As he passed by the first, he could see a dirty mattress that was likely where the other men were sleeping. Giving the entire underground space one careful look, he confirmed there were no kidnapped victims in the house. It was a valid concern he had; if the men were buying slaves, they'd have to be keeping them somewhere. But those worries were laid to rest. It was time to move to the next step of his plan.

"Alright boys," Chester shouted, quickly climbing back to the first floor. The shuffling footsteps of the children could be heard, moving with a sense of urgency as they began to wrap up their thieving. "Line up! Show me what you've got."

The three oldest children that tagged along with him stood stiffly with sacs over their shoulders. He perused through them all, nodding his head in a satisfactory manner. The orphans had a knack for taking shiny items, but one particular object caught his attention—a bottle containing a viscous, milky white fluid.

"Alvis, what the hell is this?"

"Magic glue, sir!"

Magic Glue

- A substance that will bind anything together within five seconds of contact. After it dries, it becomes harder than steel.

- weight: 0.1kg

"...I'm taking this. Think of it as a teaching fee."

"Sir, yes sir!"

They couldn't complain. He was giving them invaluable information and lessons. It was worth a singular bottle of magic glue. He kept it for a multitude of reasons.

'My armor isn't fragile by any means but it does have a lot of moving parts. At least I can stick them together for a temporary fix-up if it ever gets broken...Also, it sounds like something I can prank Damien with.'

"You all did well! Now, drag those men out of here. We'll be going out with a bang."

It didn't take too long for them to drag over a dozen men outside with the illusionist's help. Few cared to stop or stare at the group of hooded thugs dragging out the residents defending their homes. Molding the Attainium into his desired shape, he unlatched a certain striking head from his waist and put it at the very end of his iridescent chain. Giving the weapon a few careful swings, the children watched as the flail grew to the size of their heads.

Tensing his arm, Chester readied to hurl the flail at the house's stone walls.

"Here, we g-"

BOOM!

With just a single blow, the house's structural integrity began to crumble. The children watched with their jaws wide open as Chester cackled manically, unleashing the full brunt of his legendary striking head on an inanimate object. He had been to a rage room on Earth before; armed with a hammer and given full impunity to destroy things in a room for stress relief. The illusionist likened the experience to what he was doing currently.

"HAHAHA! COLLATERAL DAMAGE!" The curly-haired man hollered before getting a hold of himself. "I mean- THE OMEN! WE WILL NOT REST UNTIL BRAHAM ROSE IS FOUND!"

The locals watched as a madman demolished a random house on a particularly quiet street before dutifully minding their business.