The nails flew off with little resistance giving way to the small table and glass case of shares to fall through both sets of floorboards, shooting splinters of wood in every direction. Anson had to cover his eyes and face as wooden stuck itself into his clothes and arms. He heard a crashing noise under him. There was immediate yelling from the level above as they rushed to see why the floorboards just caved in. Anson had no time to wait for such guests to see him hiding in the floorboards, so he rolled over, hanging onto the edge of one of the boards as he lowered himself until he was hanging onto wood with only one hand.
Looking down for a moment he saw the table completely shattered, but the glass case only was partially broken, just intact enough to hold in one’s arms. Jumping down, Anson landed on his feet which sent a shockwave of pain up his feet and ankles as glass shot up from the impact. Throwing his head back up, he saw Cyril following behind, doing the same things, but this time, five city guards watched from the floor above, trying to grab Cyril. They nearly got him to before Cyril threw caution to the wind and landed on his feet before immediately collapsing and landing on his back. As city guards rushed to the floor below and Cyril tried to collect himself, Anson looked toward the middle of the arena.
There he, by the slimmest of chances, made eye contact with Zeki. The man was being stormed by fellow Kadons as the referee tried handing him the trophy. He had won. No tricks, no game fixing, only skill. It was a feat to be admired, but the only thing he could do to acknowledge such a feat was a simple nod, which Zeki returned as they both went back to their business.
Cyril had gotten up by now and tried to pick up the glass case before immediately dropping it again because of glass shards entering his hand. Wincing in pain, he stood back as Anson tried to figure out how to carry the thing. City guards were now flooding the staircases and stairwells, trying to get to Anson and Cyril, but kept getting blocked by the crowds of Sovans trying to leave the arena.
Using only what he had in front of him, Anson pushed the glass case onto the top of the table, which was still in one piece, and told Cyril to grab one side of it. Though the glass shards still dug themselves into his skin, Cyril followed the order and grabbed one side of the table as Anson grabbed the other. Together, they walked as fast as they could to one of the exits. There, they were quickly met by five city guards, and they stood still for a moment as Anson tried to figure out a way to fight them. However, behind the guards stood Deo and the rest of the mercenaries. Deo said something to city guards, causing them to turn around and face off against the men. Anson would have helped, but Deo and company cut them down in about ten seconds, slicing their stomachs, causing them to fall. Anson looked away, trying to not think about the men who would likely bleed out to death. The only constellation was that their deaths would prevent future ones caused by the Chairman if he remained in control.
Deo walked to Anson saying: “A little heads up would be nice.”
Anson didn’t say anything as the rest of the group ran through a staircase toward where they had originally entered the building. Most of them stood guard, keeping their swords at the ready as Anson and Cyril held the table and ran across the arena. Luckily, they didn’t encounter many guards as the crowd of Sovans exiting the arena was now reaching its apex. Soon, they were not moving slowly through the crowd as Sovans pushed shoulder to shoulder. Staying close together, they watched carefully for the city guards. Their eyes danced around their surroundings, nearly looking at every single one in their view all the time. A few Sovans passing by gave looks, a few even tried to touch the glass case, but Deo flashed his sword, which quickly shunned them away.
Soon they were near the entrance to the maintenance areas of the arena from which they originally entered the arena from. Heading down into the maintenance area, they finally found some room to breathe. “Anyone got a bag?” Anson asked the mercenaries. No one did, but two men went off to the kitchen and storage areas to find some. In the meantime, the mercenaries who had gloves on, picked up the glass case off the table and threw it as far as they can. Everyone else, hid behind a pillar as the throwers yelled: “Cover!”
As the glass case hit the hallway floor, shards flew in every direction. Luckily, only the throwers had minor cuts on their arms and ankles. The group then collected the shares once again as they had flew all over when they threw the case and put them in various pots for when the people who went looking for a bag only came with kitchen supplies.
The group then exited the arena, the same way they came with no issue. After a couple more minutes of walking they reached where they had told the mercenaries to stay until they got the shares. Announcing what had just happened to the group everyone cheered before being ordered to head over to the stock market. Anson looked up to the sky, toward where the Kadon Headquarters was. The fire was out by now and a wave of relief overcame his body. Osman didn’t screw everything up and now the last part of the operation could commence.
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Ordering all of his men to first surround the immediate area before closing in on the stock market, Anson took this time to head over to where Baldwyn, Hera, and hopefully, Vasos were hiding. Only a block away from the stock market in a back alleyway, Anson reached the stagecoach with Cyril and Deo behind him. “Baldwyn,” Anson called out.
Peeking out his head followed by Hera and Vasos, everyone exchanged greetings. “How are you and Hera?” Anson asked Baldwyn.
“Fine,” responded Baldwyn. “You got the shares?”
“Yes, we do,” excitedly said Anson, pulling up a duffel bag full of the shares. “We first had them in pots when we left the arena. Though, there seems to be always another duffel bag.”
They all nodded as Baldwyn pulled the rest of the shares out of the stagecoach, handing a bag to either Anson, Cyril, Deo, or just keeping it to himself. They stood there for a moment, in silence, unsure how to proceed before Deo suggested that they order the mercenaries to be fully enclosed on the stock market. Anson agreed. “Also, tell one of the men to inform Osman that the job is complete and for him to meet us.”
“And where am I sending this ‘messenger?’” Deo asked.
“The Kadon Headquarters of course.” Anson replied. Deo then turned and did what he was told to do.
Meanwhile, the rest of them headed with the bag of shares—with Cyril holding the one that Deo was previously clutching—and made their way out of the alley and in sight of the front entrance of the stock market. It was nearly twice the size of the Sovan Triad Local Chapter they were stuck in many hours ago with a dozen city guards standing at the front. “You would think they would have more men,” said Cyril.
“The Chairman’s arrogance at his finest,” added on Anson. Turning to Vasos, Anson said that after this was all over that his fate would be decided, but most likely, he would be allowed to continue his job for the time being. Vasos nodded without saying a word.
Soon mercenaries were now closing in and some of the city guards caught sight of them, ordering the mercenaries to stand down and go back. However, more mercenaries from all sides now surrounded the stock market. In between the small square in the front and the small streets separating the back and side of the stock market from surrounding buildings, soon stood nearly 5000 mercenaries.
Anson approached alongside his comrades and faced the dozen city guards, nervously standing in front of the front entrance. “Move out of the way,” said Anson. “Go home and live out the rest of your lives.”
Most of the men remained silent to this suggestion, but one, a man near the front of the group responded, saying: “We’ve been ordered to hold the stock market until our deaths.” The man was terribly shaking.
“Please don’t,” Anson said under his breath. The thought of spilling these men’s blood for nothing made his stomach pierce in pain. Not an aching sensation but as if a thousand fingers pinched it with their fingernails. “If any of you have wives, children, siblings, any person that is influenced by you be alive in any way, drop your spears and go home.” Anson stepped to the side with everyone behind him doing the same. Anson pointed to the now open pathway and asked again.
First there was nothing, then after a tense twenty seconds or so of Anson staring at the men, alongside thousands of mercenaries, a man dropped his spear and ran out. He was quickly followed by everyone else. After all the nervous guards had left, Anson stepped forward to open the door, but not before looking down at the spears that the men threatened them with. Not even sharp, he thought to himself.
Ascending a couple of stairs, he reached the double-door entrance of the stock market. He pushed it open, fully expecting it to be locked, but amazingly it gently swung open. Many of the mercenaries audibly reacted to the doors opening, with some gasping, others cheering, and some even gave a congratulatory clap. Anson turned to thank the men for their loyalty by waving and even giving a quick bow.
Turning back to face the now open stock market, he was faced with the world-encompassing clock that hung at the back of the building. It’s ticks could be heard from the front and Anson watched it as the minute hand moved and the time reached a new hour. Only one hour till midnight.
Taking a deep breath, Anson stepped in and was soon followed by his comrades with the rest of the mercenaries following behind. Even though he was seeking to buy the country, this was the first time Anson had stepped into the stock market. There were standing tables dotting the floor. Receipts and ledgers scattered on them with spilled ink plaguing unreadable notes and leather book covers. On the sides stood counters for people to exchange their money for shares, and near the very back stood the clock with a stage and a gallery of chairs underneath it.
Anson climbed up on the stage and told Cyril to oversee the extraction of the shares from vault that the scouts said they were in. Cyril nodded and headed with some mercenaries to the vault. All the while, Anson sat at the edge of the stage with Baldwyn, Hera, and Vasos standing bye. Looking at Hera, Anson wondered what this was like for such a little girl. Having no idea what was happening or why must have been such a terrible experience. He thought about trying to comfort her by saying a couple of words, but nothing came to mind.
Instead, he just asked Baldwyn if he was doing alright to which Baldwyn responded with a simple yes. After that, Anson turned and faced Vasos. He was on the brink of overthrowing a country and yet he couldn’t figure out what made Vasos and Cyril hate each other so much. Sure, Vasos was an arrogant piece of shit, but he didn’t kill anyone one. He brushed it off for now. There will be time to ask about that later.
However, for now, the vault opened in a surprisingly fast amount of time. As mercenaries carried the bundles to the stage in handfuls, Anson could only say one thing to the people around him. “I guess they weren’t really concerned about people breaking in until now.”