Mr. F slowly approached Lily's lifeless body, his steps heavy with the weight of what he knew. His magical senses told him all he needed to know—she had been dead for some time, likely killed not long after he had left the tavern. Her death, while tragic, was not something that would have deeply affected him under normal circumstances. After all, she was a stranger he had known for barely a day. But what gnawed at him more was the insult that followed: they had stolen his robe.

A wave of anger surged through him as he quickly made his way to the back room where he had been staying. He rummaged through his belongings, confirming his suspicion. "Damn," he muttered, his voice low and filled with quiet fury. The thieves had taken more than just a life—they had taken something personal, something that held meaning beyond its mere material value. The robe was a symbol of his past, of the power he once wielded as a Tier 9 mage. To be robbed by a few lowly thugs was an affront he could not tolerate.

Just as Mr. F was about to leave the tavern to track down the culprits, three individuals stepped inside. They were clad in light metal armor, their chests adorned with emblems bearing the city's crest. Two of the men bore three emblems, marking them as lower-ranking guards, while the third man, who stood in the center with a sinister grin, displayed five emblems—a sign of his higher rank.

The leader of the trio stepped forward, his grin widening as he addressed Mr. F. "Caught red-handed, old man. Surrender now, and maybe you'll live to see another day. If not... heh heh, let's just say it won't end well for you," he sneered, his voice dripping with condescension.

Mr. F stared at him, astonishment momentarily breaking through his simmering anger. The timing was too perfect to be a mere coincidence. Either these guards were paid to show up at this exact moment, or they were simply incompetent and had stumbled upon the scene by chance. But Mr. F had no patience left for such games. With a flick of his fingers, a subtle wave of power rippled through the room, and the light dimmed in the eyes of the three guards. Their expressions slackened as they fell under his control.

In an authoritative tone, Mr. F asked, "What are you doing here?"

The leader responded in a monotone, almost robotic voice, "I was paid to wait on the street for a man in a white robe to enter the tavern. Then, I was to arrest him and frame him for the murder, or kill him outright."

Mr. F turned to the other two guards, his eyes narrowing. "What do you know?"

The first guard spoke, his voice equally devoid of emotion, "I was paid not to ask questions and promised a promotion."

The second guard added, "My family doesn't have much money, and the extra income could help me reach the next tier."

Mr. F's gaze returned to the leader, his mind racing with the implications. "Who sent you?"

"I was hired by the Scorpion Twins," the leader replied, his voice flat.

"Where can I find them?" Mr. F inquired further.

"They're based at the Dry Perch near the slums. That's their headquarters."

"How many men do they have, and how strong are they?"

"The Scorpion Twins are both Tier 5, and they have about 50 henchmen with varying strengths from Tier 2 to Tier 5."

"Who supports them?"

"They're protected and supported by the local Baron Stampler."

"Oh, a baron?" Mr. F mused, his anger simmering just below the surface. "What are their goals?"

"I don't know. I just follow orders," the leader responded.

Mr. F nodded, piecing together the puzzle. The Scorpion Twins and their men were nothing more than pawns in a larger game, likely orchestrated by the baron. The thought of a nobleman dabbling in such dirty work only fueled his rage. But the significance of the tavern still eluded him. He pressed further, "What's the significance of this tavern?"

"I don't know. I wasn't informed of the plans," the leader answered, his voice still devoid of any inflection.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Mr. F said with a cold smile. With a simple hand gesture, the guards drew their swords from their scabbards, their movements eerily synchronized. In unison, they uttered, "It was an honor," before slitting their own throats.

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Mr. F watched as their bodies crumpled to the floor, blood pooling around them. The room grew eerily silent once more, save for the faint sound of dripping blood. His expression remained unreadable, but his mind was far from still. The Scorpion Twins, their henchmen, and their noble backer were now squarely in his sights, and he intended to make them pay dearly.

Stepping over the lifeless bodies, Mr. F exited the tavern. The cool evening air hit his face, a stark contrast to the warmth of the tavern's interior. He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, and muttered to himself, "It has been a long time. Let's see what these old bones can still do." With that, he disappeared into the night, his figure swallowed by the shadows as he set out to exact his revenge.

…

The next morning, Baron Stampler awoke leisurely from his plush bed, the remnants of his indulgent night still lingering in his mind. He yawned lightly and scratched his beard, reflecting on the exhausting evening he had spent entertaining his concubines. Slowly, he made his way to the grand mirror that stood over three meters tall, admiring his reflection with a satisfied smirk. "Sebastian, dressing," he called out, his voice echoing in the opulent chamber.

His butler promptly entered, carrying a meticulously prepared suit. The jacket was adorned with five white mice, each with eyes made of rubies—a symbol of the baron's wealth and status. As he dressed, Baron Stampler asked casually, "What appointments do we have today?" The butler, ever efficient, responded swiftly, "First, we have a meeting with some businessmen from the inner city. Following that, we will finalize some real estate purchases in the outer district. This evening, the bi-annual auction will take place. You mentioned there are several items you are keen to acquire."

The baron nodded contentedly, already envisioning the successful day ahead. Everything was going according to plan. The real estate purchases were crucial, as they would serve as bases for various underground organizations he was cultivating within the city. With these properties, he planned to dig tunnels for smuggling goods, ensuring a steady flow of wealth and resources. In a few years, he anticipated having accumulated enough to attempt reaching Tier 6, a goal that consumed much of his ambition.

Baron Stampler moved through his morning routine with a sense of accomplishment and invincibility. He prided himself on being a man of ambition and vision, orchestrating the city's underworld with meticulous planning. As he prepared for his day, he felt untouchable, unaware of the storm that was brewing just beyond his lavish estate.

As the baron was about to leave his mansion, he called out to his butler once more, "Sebastian, get the carriage ready." He waited, but there was no response. Frowning, he repeated, "Sebastian, the carriage." Moments later, the butler burst into the room, his face pale and sweat dripping down his forehead. The baron's irritation quickly turned to concern as he realized something was terribly wrong. "In the courtyard... in the courtyard," the butler gasped, his hands trembling as he clutched the baron's jacket.

With a swift kick, the baron sent Sebastian sprawling across the room. "Speak clearly, what has happened?" he demanded, his voice laced with fury.

The butler, still gasping for breath, could only point toward the north-facing windows. "They're all dead," he whispered, his voice trembling with fear.

Baron Stampler felt a cold sweat break out across his brow as he rushed to the window. Looking out into the courtyard, he saw a scene of carnage: the bodies of his guards, servants, and several figures cloaked in black were scattered across the cobblestones, their lifeless forms soaked in blood. Despite the chaos, the baron forced himself to remain calm as he hurried outside to inspect the bodies.

Upon reaching the courtyard, the baron's sense of horror deepened. His guards had been butchered with precision—some were missing limbs, others had their entrails spilled out onto the ground. The figures in black, clearly the assailants, lay dead among his men. But it was the discovery of one particular body that sent a chill down the baron's spine. Kneeling beside it, he lifted the mask of one of the attackers, revealing the face of the elder Scorpion Twin. Unlike the others, his body bore no wounds save for a single, fatal cut across the throat.

A sense of dread washed over the baron as he realized the significance of what he had found. If the Scorpion Twins, whom he had hired for their ruthlessness and strength, were now being eliminated, it meant that someone had outmaneuvered him—a feat he would have thought impossible. He shuddered to think of what might have happened if this unknown adversary had targeted him directly.

"Sebastian!" the baron called out, his voice steady but carrying an edge of urgency.

The butler, still shaken, hurried to his side, his eyes wide with fear. "Yes, my lord?"

"Gather the men who were not at the estate when this attack occurred. Tell no one of what has happened here, and do not involve the city guards," the baron ordered, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Sebastian nodded quickly, scrambling to carry out the command. The baron stood in the courtyard, the eerie silence pressing in on him as he surveyed the scene once more. The reality of the night's events weighed heavily on his shoulders. Whoever had orchestrated this attack had not only breached his defenses but had also managed to eliminate one of the most formidable threats in the city, the elder Scorpion Twin. This was no small feat, and it signaled that his unknown adversary possessed considerable power and resources—far more than he had anticipated.

As he looked around at the bloodied bodies of his once-loyal men, the baron's mind raced to piece together what had happened. He had to assume that the attack was a message—a warning that his carefully laid plans were now under threat. The baron clenched his fists, a mix of anger and fear swirling within him. He was not accustomed to being outmaneuvered, and the thought of someone powerful enough to do so filled him with dread.