Before they got to their next location, the ground underneath the carriage changed from stone to wood. Looking out of the back of the carriage, Anson caught a glimpse of a sign warning pedestrians that they were now stepping onto the Canal Bridge. Spanning the entire fifty-kilometer width of the canal, Anson wondered how he had never heard of segments of the bridge collapsing before. As the sign disappeared, the only thing in sight became buildings and feces-stained windowsills. I wonder how much blood and money went into this bridge, he thought. There was a worry early on in the planning of the operation that as a last-ditch attempt to keep his country, the Chairman would blow up the bridge, but Mercenary Commander Eros decided, with the advice of some engineers, that a total collapse was impossible.

When they finally arrived, they all sat there for a moment before attempting what would be the real start of this operation. The building didn’t have any side doors nor any possibility of walking in with fake identification. As Baldwyn explained before the operation took place, entrance into the three-story building was only allowed if you were invited. “Once we take out the two guards in the front,” Anson explained as the carriage stopped. “Anything can happen, so stay on your feet.”

Everyone nodded, so ready to face the two guards at the door and shoot them in a non-lethal area, Anson peeked his head outside the carriage, looked at the Sovan Local Chapter, and then swiftly put his head back into the carriage. “What happened?” Baldwyn asked.

When he looked at the three-story building, it was rather better looking than what he expected, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that it was in the middle of a courtyard, visible to every building around it, but most importantly “There’s a lot of guards,” Anson said. “Around twelve. Some inside, some outside.”

“Well, it looks like we are in for a fight,” Deo said.

“No, we are not going to fight twelve men at once!” Anson shot back. “We need another solution.”

Everyone fell silent as they tried to think of another way. Baldwyn suggested just trying to talk their way in, but Anson thought that would be stupid, Cyril suggested jumping from one building to another, but it was too far to jump, and lastly, Deo reaffirmed the simple solution of walking up and shooting twelve people.

Anson grabbed his head out and nearly tore out the hair from his scalp. First, Baldwyn talked at Local Chapter Number Three, and now there were more guards than there were supposed to at Local Sovan Chapter Four. Leaning back, Anson took a couple of deep breaths as he tried a solution out of his head, but before too much time could pass, Cyril suggested that they could go under the bridge.

Everyone looked at him like he was a mad man. “What?” Anson asked. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“There are manholes every five blocks on the bridge that lead down to a frame that allows maintenance workers to do repairs.”

“How do you know this?” Deo asked.

“You know how I said I had a financial education? Apparently, when the bridge was first constructed, the issue of how far apart the manholes should be was apparently a big monetary issue for the builders.”

“And people still throw their shit right outside their window.” Baldwyn shook his head. “Can’t just walk five blocks, dump your shit into the sea and let children play in the streets in peace?”

“I am sure you would love to clean the streets, but you can invest in that with your shares later. Cyril, please continue.” Anson said.

“We measure how far the building is from the nearest manhole. The building is a little more advanced than the ones around, so it should have some pipes going to it and guide us there. However, when we get there, we have a problem. I don’t know how we would get through the floor.”

“Isn’t the bridge made of wood? Just hit it with a big stick?” Deo suggested.

“You know you can’t just build a wooden bridge and build an entire city on it, right?” Cyril asked. “The entire frame is reinforced with stone and pillars going down into the water. You must have seen it, right? Have you never sailed under the bridge.”

“Too dark,” Deo responded. “Also, no point. All the mercenary jobs were in the ocean. It seems Kato’s Lake is quite a peaceful place.”

“How are we going to get through it?” Anson asked, brushing off Deo’s distraction.

“You know that homemade cocktail we made for the stock exchange?” Cyril asked.

Anson shook his head. “We can’t make another. We need to use something else.” Looking around themselves and the carriage, they couldn’t find anything that was except for one thing: Zinc. Anson had a couple of zinc coins in his pocket, and noticing this, Cyril asked everyone to check if they had any spare change. Able to gather three Zinc coins, they had enough money to buy their solution.

Stepping out of the carriage, they grabbed more duffel bags and put on their masks for a moment to talk to the driver. He hadn’t seen their faces for the entire operation in case he got captured and was vulnerable to torture. After they hit the second Sovan building, they wouldn’t need him anymore, so they got their supplies, and told the driver to take the scenic route back to Mercenary Headquarters before heading to the stock market to meet up and commence with the later parts of the operation. With that, the gang made their way to the nearest market.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Though it was only four in the morning, some blacksmiths were beginning to set up for the day. And even with many of them not selling anything yet, Baldwyn found a Sovan Triad-friendly blacksmith, approached the man running it, and pretended to still be part of the triad. Anson, Cyril, and Deo all listened while staying out of sight. “How are you doing, good man?” Baldwyn asked. Everyone else stayed quiet as they pressed up against a cold stone wall next to the blacksmith.

“Good, good. I’m supposing you aren’t coming to check in with an old business partner again are you?” asked the blacksmith.

“No, no. Though it would be nice. What I came—”

“How’s your daughter?” The blacksmith paused for a moment. “What was her name again?” Judging based on the raspiness of the blacksmith’s voice, it seemed he was very old and on the brink of death.

“Hera. Her name is Hera.” There was another pause before Baldwyn continued again. “I need a pickaxe. Do you have any around?”

“Yes,” the blacksmith said. “It’ll be four Zinc.”

Hearing the jingling from Baldwyn’s pocket, Anson could envision Baldwyn reaching his hand out, showing that he was one short. “This is all I got,” Baldwyn said. “It’s still a good price.”

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. Longer than the last two. Did something go wrong? Were they not going to get the pickaxe? But before any worries could fully mature, Baldwyn came out from out the corner with one in hand. They followed him and only started talking when they were out of earshot of the blacksmith. “What was with that silence at the end?” Anson asked.

“That blacksmith doesn’t like talking during the actual transaction.”

Anson didn’t say anything more, only finding it strange as they walked another block and found the manhole cover in the middle of the street. Opening it up, Anson's organs felt weightless as the smell, sound, and sight of the sea came rushing in. The only thing that separated the sea from the overside of the bridge was a now-removed manhole cover and thin support beam. The panic of finding a solution to the twelve-guard problem was now gone but was immediately replaced with another worry even more scary. Dying due to falling off a beam and hitting the water at a high rate of speed.

Backing away from the manhole, Anson asked who wanted to go first. “Cyril?” Deo teased.

“What?!” Cyril responded, taking it seriously.

“I’ll go,” said Baldwyn. I’m the tallest here, and we don’t know how far this beam is from the floor of the bridge.”

Walking back to the manhole, Anson glimpsed into the hole before immediately backing up again. “Say, isn’t there equipment that the bridge repair workers have so they don’t you know…die?”

“Do you want to find that equipment Mr. ‘We have no time?’” Deo teased.

“Fine,” responded Anson. “But I am not going last.”

“Why?” Baldwyn asked.

“So, one of you guys will catch me if I fall.”

“And then fall with you?” Deo rebutted.

Ignoring what Deo said, Anson moved on and told Baldwyn to move forward. Gingerly, he inched toward the hole, with the beam barely visible in the dark morning. Second, went Cyril, and then Anson slowly lowered himself onto the beam. It turned out to be bigger than it appeared, but not by a lot. He was able to put both feet on it and stay upright, but not without the help of nearby pieces of wood so he could hold on. Looking down, he didn’t trust his feet to know where the beam was, so methodically, he made baby steps while staring at the thing that would kill him if he took a wrong step: the water.

Deo followed behind, putting the manhole cover back on, and it seemed that everything was moving as fine as could be, until Cyril made the observation that everyone had forgotten until now. “It’s the underside.” Looking up, Anson found a low-dense, but remarkable number of buildings stringing the underside of the bridge. He had heard murmurs of it, and though he believed the people who said it, the sight was still unbelievable. Compounds of string, wood, and straw formed shacks for those who chose to live on the underside of the bridge. Since he never went under the bridge during his service as a mercenary during the war, this was the first time he saw the glimmering light of candles illuminate the underworld of an already horrendous city.

Though, this couldn’t stop them as they had to continue six whole blocks to the Sovan Local Chapter. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. This was all of Anson’s internal dialogue during the six-block journey, except for the fact that the ticking sound from his watch had come back, but this time with the addition of the waves crashing underneath him. His head was a cornucopia of various sounds, worries, and thoughts swirling in his brain, so by the time they saw the two pipes leading to the building and reached it, he hardly realized that it was now 4:30. They were already nearly out of time for the second location.

Baldwyn placed his finger in front of his mouth to make sure now one talked too loudly. “I think we are under the bathroom,” he whispered. “I forgot this place has a bathroom. Lucky bastards,” he said as he eyed the pipe that shot up directly on top of them.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Deo. “Start going at it.”

Baldwyn told Deo to shut up, but instead of speaking, he tried signing it. However, instead of something intelligible coming out, the only thing that Anson was able to comprehend was that someone was currently using the facility they meant to break into. After another two minutes passed, it seemed that whoever was using the toilet was done as they heard a noise from the pipes, and Baldwyn readied himself to start hitting. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he told Cyril to hold him as best he could.

Starting slowly, he made a little groove into the stone before making bigger swings. Though, they were nothing compared to what a man could do without having the fear of falling 500 meters. It took grueling minutes as Anson kept checking his watch, keeping his balance, and Baldwyn chipping away at the stone. Eventually, bigger stones began to fall from the bridge, so Baldwyn went harder, and the cycle continued. Sweat formed on his brow as the weird angle of swinging took a toll on his body, and the pressure of getting the job done before the next man came to use the bathroom weighed on his shoulders.

Continuing going at it, there were moments that Baldwyn almost fell or lost energy but kept going at it until the stone above him cracked and shattered. Stone fell on his face, and he soon saw a dim light.