Chapter 10 The Whiskered Uprising

Historians would come to call it The Whiskered Uprising, the night when all of feline kind descended into an unprecedented thieving frenzy. Tales of that chaotic evening spread far and wide, weaving their way into the annals of history and folklore. Speculations abounded: some whispered of a powerful druid or a masterful beast tamer orchestrating the chaos. Others claimed an archmage had intervened, casting unseen spells to confound and distract. More devout scholars suggested the Divines themselves had intervened, incensed by mortal arrogance in seeking to consume the Golden Apple.

Yet the truth was far stranger than any fiction.

At the epicenter of the pandemonium was the Grand Merchant Alfonso. Known for his lean, refined features and an air of sophistication, Alfonso had a reputation as a benevolent, kind-hearted merchant. That reputation, however, could not have been further from the truth. Beneath the facade lay a ruthless businessman who valued his treasures above all else.

Alfonso stood amidst the ruins of his once-grand manor, his sharp eyes darting across the chaos. Flames licked the walls, casting eerie shadows over the disheveled thugs who scrambled to quench the fire with buckets of water. His face, usually composed and calculating, was contorted with rage.

"What the hell!? Cats? Cats!? You’re telling me cats stole my treasure?"

The merchant’s furious voice echoed through the charred halls. In front of him knelt the leader of Iron Wall, a well-known A-rank adventuring party. The burly man, known for his unshakable composure in the face of danger, now bowed his head in shame.

"Y-Yes, sir," the adventurer stammered. "They came out of nowhere—dozens of them. We were overwhelmed—"

SLAP!

Alfonso’s hand cracked across the adventurer's face, sending him reeling. "You’re supposed to be the Iron Wall! A bloody A-rank party, and you let a bunch of strays outwit you?"

Behind the adventurer, his party members shifted uncomfortably, their gazes glued to the floor. None dared speak.

Alfonso paced back and forth, muttering curses under his breath. "My treasures... My Golden Apple! Gone because of a pack of flea-bitten vermin! This can’t be real. No, no, this is a nightmare!"

His voice rose to a near-hysterical pitch as he spun on his heel, pointing a trembling finger at the adventurers. "Find them! I don’t care if you have to scour every alley, every rooftop, every damned shrub! Bring me those cats, or so help me, I’ll see to it you’re blacklisted across Felor!"

The adventurers exchanged uneasy glances. It wasn’t just the shame of their failure weighing on them; it was the absurdity of the situation. They were seasoned warriors, trained to face goblins, trolls, and even wyverns—and yet they’d been undone by a gang of organized cats.

In the background, the cries of Alfonso’s hired thugs added to the cacophony. They scrambled to salvage what little remained of the merchant's stolen hoard, but it was clear the damage was done.

One of the thugs stumbled into the room, his face pale. "Sir... the granary... the bakery... even the farms. They're being hit too. It’s the cats—they’re everywhere!"

Alfonso’s eye twitched. "Everywhere?"

The thug nodded, his voice trembling. "Yes, sir. It’s like... it’s like they’re working together. They’re even stealing from other merchants. It’s chaos out there!"

Alfonso sank into a chair, his head in his hands. This wasn’t just a theft; it was an organized assault. His empire, built on wealth and reputation, was crumbling before his eyes—all because of cats.

Outside, the city of Felor descended further into disarray. Cats darted through the streets, their small forms slipping through cracks and shadows. They raided granaries, bakeries, and food stalls with precision, their movements almost military in their coordination. Fires burned in several parts of the city as panicked citizens tried to fend off the furry invaders.

"Guards!" Alfonso bellowed, his voice cracking with desperation. "Call the guards! This is a fucking invasion!"

Just hours earlier, he had been at the pinnacle of bliss. Surrounded by the finest courtesans in Felor, sipping imported wine, and reveling in the anticipation of the Golden Apple auction—an event that would cement his status as the wealthiest merchant in all the realms. The room had been alive with laughter and indulgence, the epitome of luxury.

And then a thug had burst in, face pale as death, stammering the unthinkable: The Golden Apple had been stolen. By cats.

Now, Alfonso’s night had spiraled into chaos. His face was a mask of barely-contained rage, his handsome features twisted in disbelief. He turned on the elf in the Iron Wall adventurer party, who stood near the door, her arms crossed and her expression bored.

"You! The elf!" Alfonso snapped, pointing a trembling finger at her. "Go! Tell the guards we’re under attack!"

The elf, a striking woman with silver hair and sharp green eyes, raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "How dare you? You’ve humiliated our leader and you expect me to do your bidding?"

"Don’t question me, woman!" Alfonso snarled, slamming a goblet onto the table, the wine spilling like blood across the polished wood. "Do as I say!"

With a sigh, the elf pushed off the wall and disappeared through the doorway, her lithe form vanishing into the chaos beyond.

No sooner had she gone than another figure stumbled through the door. Alfonso recognized him immediately—Alvarez, the so-called Master Thief he had hired to safeguard his treasure.

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"You!" Alfonso shouted, rounding on him. "This is your fault! You swore to me you’d handle it! That you knew how thieves think! What is this then? What is this!?"

Alvarez, a wiry man with a face weathered by years of skulking in shadows, threw up his hands in exasperation. "And what exactly did you want me to do, Alfonso? Sprout wings and fly after them? My reputation’s in tatters, just like yours!"

"Don’t you dare pass the blame onto me," Alfonso growled, advancing on Alvarez with clenched fists. "You’re the so-called master of this craft. You said my manors were secure. Wards, eyes, traps—you said nothing could get past them!"

"Nothing human could!" Alvarez shot back, his voice rising. "Your defenses weren’t primed for cats! Do you know what those furry little bastards did? They used quick-acting paralytic poison! What was I supposed to do against that?"

Alfonso froze, his rage momentarily giving way to confusion. "Poison? What poison?"

Alvarez took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, you don’t know? Let me enlighten you, Grand Merchant. The poison they used—it’s your poison. Made by your alchemists. Manufactured and distributed under your name!"

How did Alvarez knew that? Well, he was a Master Thief and distinguishing poisons were up in his alley. The accusation hit Alfonso like a punch to the gut. He staggered back, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process what he’d just heard.

"That... that’s impossible," he stammered.

"Is it?" Alvarez sneered. "Because I recognize the stuff. It’s your signature blend. Quick to act, nearly undetectable, and damn near impossible to cure without the right antidote. You’ve been selling it for years, Alfonso. And now, it’s come back to bite you—literally."

Alfonso’s hands trembled as he sank into a nearby chair. His mind raced, replaying every decision, every deal that had led him to this moment. Could it be true? Had his own greed—his own empire—been the weapon used against him?

"No," he muttered, shaking his head. "This isn’t my fault. It can’t be. This... this is sabotage! Someone’s trying to ruin me!"

"Sure," Alvarez said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Blame it on sabotage. Blame it on the Divines if it helps you sleep at night. But the fact remains—your treasure’s gone, your reputation’s in ruins, and the entire city is crawling with those damn cats. So tell me, Alfonso, what are you going to do about it?"

Alfonso’s eyes burned with fury as he rose to his feet. "What am I going to do? I’m going to hunt them down. Every last one of them. I don’t care if I have to burn this city to the ground. Those cursed cats will pay."

A few hours later…

Alfonso paced the ruined hall, his fine silk robes dragging through soot and shattered glass. His manor was in shambles, the scent of burnt wood mingling with the acrid tang of his humiliation. Every step was a reminder of his failure. He barely registered the thugs and servants scrambling to salvage what little remained.

The doors creaked open, and a guard stepped inside. Alfonso recognized him immediately—Luiz, the Commander of Felor’s City Guard. Luiz’s armor was scuffed, his face streaked with soot, and his expression grim.

Alfonso strode forward, desperation etched into his face. "Luiz, please tell me you caught them!"

Luiz hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Can’t do anything about that anymore," he said, his tone defeated. "They escaped."

Alfonso froze. "Escaped? How? Through the sewers? Do I need to hire more of those incompetent adventurers?"

The guard commander sighed. "No, you misunderstand. They’re not in the city anymore."

Alfonso blinked, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "What? How is that possible?"

Luiz adjusted his helm, his shoulders slumping as if bracing for another wave of the merchant’s fury. "They stole horses."

Alfonso’s jaw dropped. "Horses? But the gates were closed! And there are walls—high walls! There’s no way those mangy beasts could’ve smuggled their way out!"

Luiz’s expression darkened further. "They didn’t smuggle, Alfonso. They broke through. They had... magic scrolls. Lots of them. Fire magic to bombard the gates and water magic to extinguish the flames after."

For a moment, Alfonso said nothing, his eyes darting wildly as he processed the information. He glanced toward his ruined manor, the estate now teetering on the brink of collapse. The walls bore scorch marks from fire spells, and pools of water still seeped through the cracked stone floors.

"What the hell," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.

Luiz cleared his throat. "It’s worse than you think. Reports are coming in from all over the city. They used those same magic scrolls to raid the granary, the farms, and the bakery. And there’s more—"

"More?" Alfonso interrupted, his voice rising.

The commander nodded grimly. "A depository of magic scrolls was robbed a few days ago. The cats were probably behind it. It explains how they had such an arsenal."

Alfonso staggered back, gripping the edge of a table for support. His mind raced. How had it come to this? Cats—mere animals—had orchestrated the most audacious heist in Felor’s history, leaving him humiliated and his city in chaos.

Luiz gave him a sympathetic look. "I wish you good luck, Alfonso. You’ll need it. I imagine the esteemed guests from other lands won’t be... ecstatic about this development."

Alfonso glared at him, his fury barely contained. "This isn’t over, Luiz. Not by a long shot. I’ll track them down. I’ll make those cursed beasts pay!"

The next morning, the city of Felor awoke to chaos. Rumors of the previous night’s debacle spread like wildfire, weaving tales of feline thieves and a grand heist that left even the wealthiest merchant in ruins.

For Alfonso, the nightmare hadn’t ended when the sun rose. He sat slumped at his desk in the remains of his once-lavish study. The room, like his reputation, was in tatters. His trembling hands sifted through piles of documents—account ledgers, debt notices, and urgent messages from his financiers.

The numbers were clear, yet Alfonso refused to believe them. "This can’t be right," he muttered, his voice hollow. "There must be a mistake."

A clerk, pale and sweating, stood nervously nearby. "There’s no mistake, sir. Your accounts are... depleted."

Alfonso slammed his fist on the desk, sending a quill clattering to the floor. "How? How!? I had enough wealth to buy Felor twice over!"

The clerk hesitated, clearly fearing Alfonso’s wrath. "Between the stolen Golden Apple, the destruction of your estate, and the mass theft of supplies across the city... your debts have overtaken your assets. The creditors are already calling in their loans."

Alfonso stared at the man, his expression blank. "Loans?"

"Yes, sir. To finance the auction, you borrowed heavily, assuming the Golden Apple’s sale would cover the costs and more. Without it..." The clerk trailed off, wringing his hands.

Alfonso’s face twisted with rage. "You mean to tell me I’m bankrupt because of a bunch of cats?"

The clerk flinched but said nothing.

The door to the study creaked open, and Luiz, the Guard Commander, stepped inside. His face was grim, but there was a flicker of pity in his eyes. "Alfonso, it’s over. The creditors are seizing your assets. Your warehouses, your trade caravans, even your ships in the harbor—they’re all being claimed as we speak."

Alfonso shot to his feet. "No! I won’t allow it! I built this empire with my own hands!"

Luiz shook his head. "And it’s crumbling, Alfonso. The guests from other lands are demanding compensation for their wasted journeys. Your name is mud in Felor now. People are already calling last night ‘The Whiskered Uprising.’ You’ll be a joke for generations."

Alfonso’s knees buckled, and he collapsed back into his chair. He stared at the floor, his mind racing with futile schemes to salvage what was left. But deep down, he knew it was hopeless.

"Leave me," he croaked, his voice barely audible.

The clerk and Luiz exchanged a glance but obeyed, stepping out of the ruined study and closing the door behind them.

Alfonso sat alone in the silence, the weight of his downfall pressing down on him. His empire, his reputation, his future—gone in a single night, stolen by creatures he had once dismissed as vermin.

As the morning light filtered through the broken windows, Alfonso whispered to himself, "This isn’t over. Not yet."

But even he didn’t believe it.