Mr. F couldn't hear what was being discussed, but he could easily surmise the identities of the two men. The elderly man with the beard was clearly the alchemist the baron had invited to concoct the elixir. The other man was a representative of the Church of Light, most likely the highest-ranking member of the Church in the city. If Mr. F's assumptions were correct, this man was likely a true Rank 6 Mage.

As Mr. F continued to observe, the doors of the two carriages suddenly opened. From the alchemist's carriage, two men emerged, both clad in light-reflecting, gleaming armor. One of the men carried a broadsword on his back, while the other bore a shield on his back and a saber at his side.

From the Church's carriage, a young woman stepped out. Even from a distance, Mr. F recognized her immediately. It was the girl who had introduced herself as Sister Tem and had questioned him a few days ago.

This complicates things, Mr. F thought to himself. With the Church's involvement, it would be much more difficult to use soul magic, as the Church members would almost certainly sense it. The presence of the Church's agents meant that Mr. F would need to be even more cautious and strategic in his actions. The stakes had risen, and the margin for error had narrowed considerably.

Sister Tem's presence was particularly troubling. Though she appeared harmless, her connection to the Church suggested she was far more capable than she let on. If she was here, then the Church was taking this event very seriously, and any misstep could lead to disaster.

n the next moment, a man landed beside Mr. F on the rooftop where he had been hiding. The newcomer eyed Mr. F. He was wearing the same mask when he first gathered the information for today's events.

The man himself wore no mask. A scar ran across his face, cutting a path from his right eye to the left corner of his mouth. His appearance would have intimidated most, but not Mr. F.

"Good day," the man said, his voice steady and composed. "My name is Arnold, and I belong to the Syndicate of Dark Clouds. I noticed that while you've hidden your presence, you haven't bothered to conceal your appearance here on the rooftop. That leads me to believe you're either powerful enough not to care if you're seen, or your organization must be somewhere nearby. However, seeing you up close, I'm inclined to think it's the former."

Mr. F listened carefully. It was true—many eyes were watching the baron's estate. There was no need to hide when it was clear that chaos was about to erupt. Besides, he had enough strength to protect himself and had no need for stealth. But if anyone dared to attack him... Mr. F licked his lips... he wouldn't mind harvesting a few souls in advance.

Arnold noticed the strange expression on Mr. F's face, the way he listened intently, staring with a stern gaze, and then licked his lips. A shiver ran down Arnold's spine. I hope this guy isn't some kind of pervert, he thought to himself.

Arnold maintained his composure, but he was beginning to realize that Mr. F might be more dangerous than he had initially assumed.

Arnold's tone became more respectful as he continued, "I and my comrades have formed an alliance with two other groups that are present here tonight. It's quite clear why all the scoundrels have gathered here today. But our plans have had to shift slightly. As you've surely noticed, the Church of Light is now involved. If we want to steal the elixir..." His voice grew darker, more menacing. "...then no witnesses can be left behind."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, before adding with a pointed look at Mr. F, "Except for our allies, of course."

Mr. F remained silent, his expression unreadable. Arnold's message was clear: tonight's operation had become far more complicated, and success would require not just skill but ruthlessness. The involvement of the Church meant they were dealing with powerful adversaries, and any mistake could lead to catastrophic consequences.

Arnold continued, "We need to ensure that everyone who isn't part of our alliance is... dealt with. But this also means that we need to trust each other, at least for tonight. If we work together, we can all walk away from this with what we want. What do you say?"

Mr. F's mind raced through the possibilities. The offer was tempting—having additional forces on his side could prove useful, especially against the Church. But trust was a dangerous commodity, especially among criminals and opportunists like those gathered tonight.

After a moment of silence, Mr. F finally spoke, his voice calm and measured. "I'm not opposed to an alliance, as long as it benefits me. But understand this—I don't trust easily, and I won't hesitate to eliminate anyone who poses a threat to my goals. If you or your comrades try anything foolish, you'll regret it."

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Arnold nodded, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Fair enough. Then let's make sure this night goes smoothly. We'll be in touch when it's time to strike."

With that, Arnold turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Mr. F alone on the rooftop once more. The situation had grown more complicated, but Mr. F was not deterred. If anything, the increased stakes made the game all the more interesting. Now, he just needed to be ready for whatever came next.

Mr. F watched intently as figures began to converge on Baron Stapler's estate from all directions. The moment everyone had been waiting for was finally upon them. The attack would soon commence, and the ensuing chaos would be the perfect opportunity to either steal the elixir or, if necessary, thwart the plans of his enemies.

Albert appeared on the rooftop beside Mr. F, his movements swift and his breath slightly ragged from the rush. He tossed a red cloth to Mr. F and spoke in a hurried tone, "Our spies inside the estate have given us the signal. Tie this cloth somewhere on your body; it's our mark to identify each other and avoid attacking our own. But be cautious—it can easily be stolen by an enemy who might use it to blend in. So don't trust anyone blindly just because they're wearing the red cloth."

He paused for a moment, catching his breath, before continuing, "The agreement between us and the other groups is simple—we don't attack each other until the elixir is in our possession. After that, well, it would be ideal if we could find a way to resolve things without bloodshed. But that's a problem for after the mission is successful. Let's focus on getting the job done first."

With those words, Albert vanished as quickly as he had appeared, likely moving on to inform others of the impending assault and the fragile alliance. But Mr. F paid little attention to Albert's departure. He slowly rose to his feet, his expression calm but calculating. With a gentle push of his magic, he floated down from the rooftop, his form descending gracefully in the early evening light. He tied the red cloth around his wrist, the symbol of the alliance, and began walking toward the estate at a steady, unhurried pace.

…

Inside the estate, the atmosphere was tense. Light chaos had already begun to spread through the halls. A few last servants were dashing through the corridors, rushing toward the core of the manor where the most important figures had gathered. In the grand hall, alongside the simple servants who possessed little combat ability, stood Baron Stapler, the alchemist with his personal guards, the highest-ranking priest of the district, Sister Tem, and the captain of the city guard, flanked by a handful of soldiers.

The soldiers, who had arrived via a secret passage into the estate, formed a tight circle with their backs to one another. They were maintaining a barrier, one that had been erected earlier to protect the inner sanctum of the manor. The attackers wouldn't expect these reinforcements to be present, which was their only advantage.

Baron Stapler's anxiety was palpable. Sweat beaded on his forehead, ran down his chubby face, and dripped onto the marble floor. This was a critical moment. The elixir had been completed only recently, and within a few hours, a powerful escort from the Church of Light was expected to arrive in the city to take possession of the potion and transport it to their headquarters.

The baron, his voice quivering with nerves, shouted, "Priest Dunklin, I thought the escort was supposed to be here by now!" Dunklin gave the baron a stern, almost contemptuous look, as if the baron had made a grave error. The baron immediately recoiled, offering a hasty apology, though Dunklin couldn't entirely blame him for his concern.

The original plan had been straightforward: the elixir's creation would begin at noon, and the escort would arrive shortly after to clear out any attackers and swiftly depart with the potion. However, the escort had been delayed, as Dunklin had learned through his communication crystal. It was likely that agents of the criminal factions now converging on the estate were responsible for the delay. With the elixir already in production, stopping the process was not an option, so they had pressed on with the brewing. Now, it was up to them to hold off the attackers until reinforcements arrived.

"Don't worry," Dunklin reassured them, though his tone was laced with tension. "The reinforcements will be here soon. With the barrier we've erected, we should be able to hold them off until they arrive."

The tension in the room was thick, each second stretching out as the threat of an imminent attack loomed over them all.

"Tem!" Priest Dunklin's voice rang out sharply, prompting the young woman to hurry over to him. "You called for me, Priest Dunklin?" she asked, her tone respectful but focused.

"You have my permission to act independently," Dunklin instructed, his voice low but commanding. "Your task is to take out as many attackers from the shadows as you can. Engage them from a distance, disrupt their ranks, and then retreat back inside the barrier once you've done enough damage."

Tem nodded, her expression serious. "Understood," she replied before turning and slipping out of the barrier and the room, her movements swift and precise. She knew her role well; surprise attacks and one-on-one combat were her specialty.

Baron Stapler, watching her leave, couldn't contain his anxiety. "Wouldn't it be better to concentrate all our forces here in the main hall?" he asked nervously, his voice betraying the fear gnawing at him.

Dunklin shot him an irritated glance, clearly displeased with the baron's questioning of his decision. "Tem's strengths lie in ambushes and single combat. She is less effective in group battles and prefers to take on multiple opponents on her own terms rather than being confined here. You would do well not to question my judgment, Baron. I know my people and their capabilities far better than you do."

"Of course, of course," Baron Stapler quickly agreed, trying to mask his unease. But internally, he was anything but reassured. Nothing was going according to plan, and now yet another Rank 5 mage had left the hall. The baron's nerves frayed further at the thought of their dwindling defenses. His carefully laid plans were unraveling, and the disappearance of another powerful ally only added to his growing sense of dread.