Soren hunched over a massive tome, his fingers tracing the faded script of noble lineages. Around him, scrolls and documents lay scattered across the table. Across the table, Alaric lounged in his chair, twirling a dagger between his fingers.

Soren’s brow furrowed as he turned another page, his eyes scanning the densely packed text for any mention of the Fischer name.

“Anything yet?”

Soren held up a hand, silencing Alaric as he focused on a particular passage. “Here.” He tapped the page. “The Fischer family. Their roots in Wiete stretch back to the days of the Heptarchy.”

Alaric leaned forward. “What’s it say?”

“It says the Fischers have been influential landowners since the first restoration. Their primary holdings are north of Welttor, including a large manor on the Kusten Road.” He paused, skimming ahead. “Interesting. While the family name has always carried weight, Aaron Fischer himself has kept a low profile in recent years.”

“So, he’s rich and likes shiny things.” Alaric leaned back in his chair. “What else?”

Soren shot him a look. “It’s not that simple. Fischer’s not involved in politics or public life. He’s a recluse, content to sit on his wealth and collect rare artifacts. That doesn’t fit with what we’ve seen.”

He reached for another stack of documents, these more recent. As he sifted through them, a pattern began to emerge. “Look at this. Fischer’s spending has increased significantly over the past year. Rare artifacts, expensive antiques, high salaries for a massive staff.”

Alaric leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he studied the figures. “Where’s all this money coming from? Land holdings are profitable, but not this profitable.”

“Exactly.” Soren nodded. “There’s more going on here than we thought.”

The candles burned low, their flickering light dancing across the Vault.

Soren’s eyes burned. His fingers, stained with ink, trembled slightly as he reached for yet another document.

Across the table, Alaric sighed heavily, pushing aside a stack of ledgers. His chair scraped against the stone floor as he stood, stretching his arms over his head.

He disappeared into the few stacks and returned with a scroll. As he unrolled it on the table, his eyes widened. “Sor, you need to see this.”

Soren looked up, blinking to refocus his vision. He moved to Alaric’s side, leaning over the scroll. It was a plan of Fischer’s manor.

“These markings.” Soren traced a series of symbols along the manor’s perimeter. “They’re not just decorative. Look—guard posts, security gates.”

Alaric nodded, pointing to a section near the rear of the property. “And here. This isn’t just a kennel. It’s positioned for maximum coverage of the grounds. Trained dogs, has to be.”

Soren studied the layout, a frown deepening on his face. “This isn’t normal. No typical nobleman needs this level of security. It’s more like a private fortress than a home.”

“He’s protecting something. Something valuable.”

Soren nodded. “The question is, how do we inside?”

“We turn up, sneak in, grab what we need, and go.”

“No. We need to understand what we’re dealing with before we make a move.”

Alaric’s jaw tightened. “So what, more waiting? More planning? While Fischer sits there with the ravenglass?”

Soren took a deep breath. “We need to see this place for ourselves. Plans are one thing, but on the ground, it could be a different story. We scout first, then we plan.”

“Fine. But if we’re going out there, we need to be ready for anything. IF the opportunity arrives, I’m taking it.”

“We’ll go during the day. Less suspicious than skulking around at night, and we’ll be able to see more.”

Soren rolled up the scroll and stood, stretching muscles stiff from hours of research. Across the table, Alaric was already rolling up scrolls and stacking books.

As Soren returned the last book to its proper place, he turned to his gear. He shrugged on his Guild tunic, the familiar weight settling on his shoulders. He checked hidden pockets for lockpicks.

Alaric buckled on his weapons belt, the soft clink of metal on metal breaking the silence.

Without a word, they moved towards the Vault’s exit.

Crisp air nipped at Soren’s face as he crouched behind a low hedge, his eyes fixed on Fischer Manor.

Beside him, Alaric shifted, the rustle of leaves underfoot threatening to betray their position.

Soren shot him a warning glance, and Alaric stilled.

The manor loomed before them, a fortress of grey stone flanked by towering iron gates. A small guardhouse stood sentinel near the entrance, while a thick iron fence encircled the entire property.

The Kusten Road stretched out behind them, a remnant of the old empire cutting a straight line from Welttor to Gottsisle.

Two guards patrolled the perimeter, their movements precise and rhythmic. Every ten minutes, they changed positions. Near the entrance, more guards stood at attention, their hands never far from their weapons. In the distance, the low growl of security dogs added another layer to the manor’s defences.

“This is far too much for a man who’s supposedly just a collector.”

Alaric nodded. “So when do we move in?”

Soren held up a hand. “Not yet. We need to be careful.”

He drew out his monocular and pressed it to his eye, scanning the manor’s exterior. “There.” He pointed to a small door half-hidden by shadows. “East side. Servant’s entrance, I’d bet.”

“Bit obvious, isn’t it? They’ll have it guarded.”

“Maybe. What about that?” He indicated a section of wall where thick vines climbed the stonework. “See how the growth is denser there? Could be hiding a door.”

“Now that’s more like it. Hard to spot unless you know what to look for.”

Soren continued his survey, pausing as he reached the upper floors. “Those windows on the second storey. No bars, unlike the ones below.”

“Risky though. Long climb, exposed the whole way up.”

“But possible.” Soren lowered the monocular. “With the right tools, the right timing.”

“We’re wasting time. Let’s just get in there and—”

“And what?” Soren snapped. “Get caught? Thrown in prison? Or worse?” He shook his head. “We do this smart, or we don’t do it at all.”

Alaric’s jaw clenched, but he nodded.

Soren turned his attention back to the manor, his mind racing. “Let’s see if we can get a closer look. Find a way in.”

Alaric gestured to the spikes mounting the fence. “I’m not climbing that thing.”

“Let’s check the perimeter.”

“Fine.”

Soren inched forward, scanning for any signs of movement, anything that might be useful.

He paused at the corner, his hand raised in a silent signal.

A guard passed by on the other side, his boots crunching on gravel.

Once the footsteps faded, Soren nodded, and they continued their circuit.

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Halfway down the eastern side, Alaric’s hand clamped on Soren’s shoulder. He pointed to a section of fence where the iron bars had bent, creating a gap just wide enough to squeeze through. Thick bushes on either side provided cover.

Soren studied the opening. He glanced at Alaric, who nodded.

Soren’s heart pounded as he wriggled through the narrow opening, cool iron scraping against his sides.

Alaric followed.

They were in.

Soren darted across the lawn in short, controlled bursts, using the trees and hedges for cover.

The manor grew closer.

He crouched behind an ornate fountain, its tinkling water masking the sound of their movements.

Alaric tapped his shoulder, pointing to a nearby topiary.

They sprinted to it, pressing their backs against the greenery.

A guard passed by mere feet away, his gaze sweeping the grounds.

Once the guard rounded the corner, Soren signalled to move.

They dashed from bush to statue, using every bit of cover the landscaping provided.

As they neared the building, the shadows of its walls offered more protection.

As they reached the base of the structure, Soren paused, his eyes tracing potential routes up the façade.

A loud clang shattered the silence.

Soren whirled to see Alaric frozen in place, a fallen metal bucket at his feet.

A shout rang out from the direction of the guardhouse.

Footsteps pounded on gravel, growing closer by the second.

Soren shot Alaric a glare. “Move!”

A shout rang out.

Soren bolted across the manicured lawn.

Boots pounded behind him.

Angry voices rose.

A whistle shrieked.

Soren veered left, ducking behind a hedge.

Alaric followed.

They crouched, chests heaving.

Guards thundered past.

“This way.” Soren pointed to a gap in the shrubbery.

He crawled through, thorns tearing at his clothes.

On the other side, an open expanse of grass stretched before them.

“We have to risk it,” Alaric said.

Soren nodded.

They sprinted.

Halfway across, a shout. “There!”

Dogs barked.

Soren’s legs burned. He pushed harder.

The main gate stood ahead, but guards blocked the exit, weapons drawn.

Soren raced along the perimeter fence, footsteps closing in.

A crossbow bolt whistled past Soren’s ear.

Alaric pointed to a tree. “Up there!”

Soren’s eyes locked on the massive oak tree, its branches stretching over the iron fence. “Go!”

Alaric reached it first, leaping to grab the lowest branch. He swung himself up, reaching down for Soren.

Soren’s fingers grasped Alaric’s wrist.

He scrambled up, bark scraping his palms.

A guard’s hand clutched his ankle, but Soren kicked free.

He climbed higher, branches swaying under their weight.

Shouts echoed below as guards swarmed the base of the tree.

“Jump!” Soren launched themselves into the air.

He hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact.

Pain shot through his shoulder, but there was no time to dwell on it. “Run!”

They sprinted down Kusten Road, the highway stretching before them. Behind, gates clanged open as guards poured out in pursuit.

A rhythmic clop-clop-clop grew louder.

“It’s a taxi. Flag it down!”

Soren and Alaric waved frantically.

The carriage slowed, its driver eyeing them from his seat.

Soren yanked open the door, practically throwing himself inside. Alaric tumbled in after him.

“Go!” Soren shouted. “Welttor! Full speed. We’ll pay double!”

The driver cracked his whip and the carriage lurched forward, picking up speed.

Soren slumped against the seat, chest heaving.

Through the rear window, he watched Fischer’s guards grow smaller in the distance.

He rounded on Alaric. “What in the void were you thinking? You need to be more careful! That was reckless, and now we’ve tipped our hand. They know someone’s been snooping around. We’ve blown it.”

Alaric, still panting, looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry, Sor. I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to? For the love of Creation, you need to be more careful. We can’t afford mistakes like that. One wrong move, and it’s over.”

Alaric’s face hardened. “I said I was sorry. It was an accident. It could have happened to either of us.”

“But it didn’t. It happened because you weren’t paying attention to your surrounds. Because you got careless.”

They lapsed into tense silence, the rhythmic clop of the horse’s hooves filling the carriage.

Soren dragged his hand down his face. “We need to find out what we’re dealing with, who we’re dealing with. There’s something bigger going on here.”

Alaric stared out of the window, remaining silent.

Soren leaned back. “We need to regroup, move forward. Figure out a better approach.”

Alaric sniffed. “Right.”

Soren marched away from the cab when they arrived in Welttor.

“Sor, wait! The Guild’s that way. Where are you going?”

Soren didn’t slow his pace. He jerked his head towards a building ahead. “Tax office.”

“Tax office? What for?”

“Information.” Soren rushed up the steps, pushing open the heavy wooden doors.

Narrow corridors stretched out before him, lined with shelves that groaned under the weight of countless ledgers and documents. The air hung thick with the scent of old parchment and ink, punctuated by the constant scratching of quills, and shuffling of papers.

Soren moved through the dim hallways, his eyes scanning the room numbers as they passed.

“What are we doing here?” Alaric asked. “I’m hungry.”

Soren ignored him, focusing instead on the weary-looking man before them. “Good afternoon. We’re looking for some information on Lord Aaron Fischer’s tax records. I’m sure you can help us with that, yes?”

The clerk rose from his seat. “This way..”

Soren followed the clerk in to a cramped room, filled with shelves.

The clerk stopped and gestured to a row of ledgers. “You should find all you need here. If you need any assistance, I’ll be at my desk.”

When the clerk left, Soren set to work, pulling down books and flipping through pages. “Here.

“Here,” he said after several minutes of searching. “Fischer’s records.”

Alaric leaned against a nearby shelf. “What’s it say?”

Soren scanned the entries. “At first glance, everything looks normal. Modest income from land rents, agricultural profits. Nothing out of the ordinary for a nobleman of his standing.”

“But?”

“But it doesn’t match what we’ve seen.” He dragged out another ledger. “These expenses. Large sums spent on rare artifacts, fine art, antiques. The salaries for his household staff alone are astronomical.”

Alaric whistled low. “So he’s hiding something. Shocking.”

Soren shot him a look. “This is serious. Fischer’s spending habits are way beyond what he should be able to afford. Either he’s got a hidden source of income, or he’s up to something he shouldn’t be.”

“Maybe he’s just bad with money,”

Soren shook his head. “No, this is something more. He’s either hiding wealth somewhere, or he’s earning large sums on the side.”

A slow grin spread across Alaric’s face. “So we squeeze him. Threaten to expose his little financial games unless he hands over the ravenglass. Simple.”

Soren hesitated. “It might work, but we need more information. We can’t blackmail him if we don’t know the full extent of what he’s hiding.”

“Could be smuggling, illegal trade, something under the table.”

Soren nodded. “Whatever it is, it’s not on the books. If we can find out where it’s coming from, we’ll have him. We just need to dig a little deeper.”

“So, we blackmail him.”

“Blackmail is risky. If we don’t do it right, he’ll just push back. He’s got the money and the connections to fight us off.”

Alaric shrugged. “We’ve got the Guild behind us.”

“Not yet. We’d be on our own. If we’re going to do this, we need to make sure we’ve got something solid. Something that will hurt him if we expose it.” He gestured to the ledgers. “We can’t threaten him with just this. We need proof of what he’s doing, and we need leverage strong enough that he won’t fight back.”

“I’m up for that.”

“We need to know who Fischer’s working with and what exactly he’s hiding. And once we know that, we can turn it against him.”

Alaric nodded. “Then let’s get to work.”

The familiar scent of dust, ink, and old parchment enveloped Soren as he strode into the Vault, Alaric close on his heels.

Soren’s mind raced with possibilities as he paced back and forth.

Alaric leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “So what’s the plan, then? If we’re going to blackmail him, let’s get moving.”

Soren took a deep breath, forcing himself to slow down and think. “If we expose him, we need to be certain we’ve got something so solid that he has no choice but to cooperate. And we need to know exactly what he’s hiding before we make our move.”

The Vault door creaked open and Raz stepped into the room. “How are things going?”

Soren straightened, meeting Raz’s gaze. “We found a ravenglass orb for sale at auction. A noble called Aaron Fischer bought it outbid everyone there.”

Raz’s eyebrow arched. “Go on.”

“We followed the lead to his manor. It’s a fortress. Guards everywhere.”

“And?”

“We’re sure he’s collecting ravenglass,” Alaric said. “We think there might be more at his estate.”

Soren nodded. “We were planning to use his finances as leverage. There are discrepancies, signs of hidden income. If we could prove he’s involved in something illegal—”

“Fischer won’t be blackmailed,” Raz said.

Soren blinked. “But with what we’ve found—”

“No.” Raz’s gaze hardened. “You don’t understand who you’re dealing with. Fischer isn’t just some noble with a hobby. He’s dangerous.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

Raz’s eyes narrowed. “Find another way. One that doesn’t involve making an enemy of Fischer. Trust me, you don’t want that.”

Alaric frowned. “How dangerous are we talking here?”

Raz leaned against the table. “He’ll fight back, and it won’t be pretty.”

“Then how do we deal with him?” Soren asked.

“You don’t. Not like this, anyway. There are ways to get what you want without drawing too much attention to yourselves. But trying to blackmail someone with Fischer’s connections? That’s a dangerous game.”

Soren dipped his head. “Then we’ll rethink.”

“Good.” He turned as if to leave, then stopped. “I heard about a man getting knocked out near the auction house.”

Soren’s jaw tightened. “That was necessary. It wasn’t an impulse—it was a quick decision.”

“Quick decisions like that can lead to mistakes. You need to be careful not to get reckless. I’ve seen too many people lose everything because they acted without thinking about the consequences.”

Soren shook his head. “I disagree. We were out of time. I had to adapt. It was the best option at that moment.”

Raz watched Soren for a moment longer, then a faint smile crossed his lips. “I see.”

With a final nod, Raz turned to leave the room.

As the door closed behind Raz, Soren and Alaric remained silent for a moment.

“So, what now?” Alaric asked. “No blackmail?”

Soren sighed. “Raz is right. Fischer won’t be pushed around. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find another way to get what we need.”

“We should just go back to the manor and get what we need. No more waiting.”

“We rushed at the museum. We went in unprepared, and we were lucky to get out without getting caught. We can’t make that mistake again.”

“We don’t have time to sit here and come up with some grand plan, Sor. Fischer’s got what we need. The longer we wait, the more chance he figures out someone’s after him. We go in, we take it, and we’re done.”

“We need more information.”

Alaric sighed, rolling his eyes. “More scouting, then? You sure that’s the best idea?”

“And this time, we do it right. We go at night, we take our time, and we find out exactly what we’re up against. Once we know, then we can plan the break-in properly.”

Alaric hesitated. Finally, he nodded. “Alright. Fine. We’ll do it your way. But if we see an opportunity, we take it.”

“We won’t act until we’re sure. No unnecessary risks.”

They began gathering their gear in silence.

Soren moved methodically, double-checking each piece of equipment as he tucked it away—lockpicks, weapons.

Alaric checked his dagger. “If we’re doing this, let’s make sure we’re ready for anything.”

Soren nodded, pulling on his gloves. “We will be.”

As they finished their preparations, Soren and Alaric exchanged a final glance.

“This time,” Soren said. “We do it right.”

Alaric smirked, giving a nod. “Right. No more buckets.”