"It is easier to fool people than to convince them that they have been fooled." — Mark Twain

Sometimes, when the system gives you a mission, you don't get a choice—you have to do it, whether you like it or not. No task is random, and no person is chosen without reason. That’s something I’ve learned firsthand.

The people of Harmin City, especially the guards, had no idea what was coming. Little did they know, I’d already tried to kill them them—twice. Now, before you judge me, know that I’m not a cold-blooded killer. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

The reason I have to take a guard’s life is simple: a mission was issued by the system in the three months i spent training. I couldn’t understand why killing a random guard was necessary, but I had the freedom to make my own decisions. So, I chose to do the least harm. Who knew there were so many fathers and husbands among the guards? I certainly hadn’t thought of that. But after peeking into their minds, I let them live. The mission was to kill a guard, not ruin a family.

Still, I needed to complete the task. Hopefully, the third time would be the charm—I won't be spending the whole day hunting guards just for a rare quest reward or a spiritual gold coin. Or would I?

. . .

‘The target is separating from his companion, turning down a side street. Male, around six feet tall, athletic build, short black hair,’ Azar’s thoughts were sharp, transmitted to Araumir through their telepathic connection. ‘Get into position. I’ll push him into the shadows.’

‘Got it. Don’t get seen,’ Araumir’s response was calm, but his movements were swift.

Azar moved into action. "Hey, give me your cloak," he demanded, nudging a beggar awake with his boot.

The man startled, eyes wide with fear as he scrambled to understand what was happening.

"I said, I want your cloak. Now!" Azar tossed a silver coin at the beggar’s feet.

The man's fear quickly turned to greed as he lunged for the coin, hurriedly pulling off his tattered cloak without hesitation.

Disgusted by the sight, Azar grabbed the filthy garment and strode out of the alley, pulling the hood over his head to conceal his features. "Ugh, it reeks," he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to ignore the stench.

The guard, a man in his forties, hummed to himself as he leisurely strolled down the street, heading to a nearby tavern after finishing his shift. Azar, with quick but measured steps, approached from behind, scanning the surroundings to make sure no one was watching.

In a single fluid motion, Azar struck, shoving the guard into the dark alley. No one noticed. Following swiftly, he found the man already immobilized, his limbs bound by Araumir’s shadow tendrils, and his mouth gagged to silence his cries.

"Wish me luck," Azar whispered, locking eyes with the guard. His pupils dilated, expanding until they swallowed the man’s awareness into their inky blackness.

Moments passed in silence before Azar blinked, severing the connection. A smile of satisfaction crept onto his lips. "No hard feelings."

Azar pulled a small needle from his wristband and carefully inserted it into the man’s ear, right at the acupoint* connecting with the heart. He watched as the guard’s breath grew shallow and uneven, his body trembling as his life force wavered. After a few seconds, Azar removed the needle and nodded to Araumir.

"Let him go."

Freed from his restraints, the guard stumbled back onto the street, gasping for air and shouting weakly for help. But it was already too late. He barely ran a few meters before collapsing to his knees, clutching his chest as his breath came in ragged gasps. His desperate attempts to ignite his flux failed miserably.

"Help him!" a woman screamed. "Somebody, help!"

A crowd quickly gathered, their frantic efforts to save the man in vain. His life had already slipped beyond their reach.

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[Mission Completed!]

Mission Name: Hand of Justice

Description: Eliminate one of the city guards in Harmin City.

Mission Grade: Rare

Time Remaining: 2:07:39:14

Rewards:

+1 Spiritual Gold

+1 Engraved Dagger

+7 Silver Coins

+1 Ability Card "Bolt"

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Azar checked his fluxolit and smirked. "Looks like this was more of a test mission*. At least I got a spiritual gold."

Without lingering to admire the chaos, Azar and Araumir slipped into the shadows, unseen as they made their way toward their next objective—selling the tribe’s goods. They scoured the city's periphery until they found the shop on the main road, the sign "Tekery-Toll" hanging above its door.

The two-story building looked well-maintained, its wide double doors inviting. It was clear the shop was thriving, and Azar’s mind quickly turned to darker thoughts.

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"If Tekery-Toll’s owner made his fortune exploiting the tribes, it wouldn’t be a crime to lighten his load, now would it?" Azar whispered with a wicked grin. "What do you think, Araumir?"

Araumir’s eyes gleamed in the shadowy light. "I see no issue with that."

Azar’s grin widened. "Then let’s see just how deep the coffers go."

As Azar made his way toward the shop entrance, a small thud against his leg brought him to a halt.

"Sorry! Forgive us, Mister!" a child's voice called out.

Azar looked down to find a ball resting near his feet, its faded surface clearly well-worn from hours of play.

"There's no harm done," Azar replied, already prepared to continue walking.

"Mister! Can you give us the ball back?" one of the children shouted, their wide, hopeful eyes fixed on him.

"Of course," Azar said, bending down to pick up the ball. With a quick toss, he sent it sailing back into the group of children, who cheered and immediately resumed their game.

"You’re supposed to kick it!" one of them called out, laughing.

Azar’s smile faltered, and a deep sadness flickered in his gaze. His voice softened as he sighed, "I... don’t know how to. I’ve never played with one."

The words, spoken almost absentmindedly, seemed to hang in the air. The children paused, unsure of how to respond. They glanced at Azar with a mixture of curiosity and pity, but he waved it off.

"Don’t mind me," he added quietly, forcing a smile. "Enjoy your childhood while you can."

Resuming his walk, Azar couldn’t shake the thoughts stirring within him.

Regrets. I didn’t think I still had those.

From an early age, Azar knew his life was different. That he was different. While other children played and laughed, he trained, studied, and prepared. Fun and games had always seemed meaningless to him, distractions from the path he was meant to walk. He’d distanced himself from anything that felt trivial, and as a result, had missed out on making friends. It wasn’t until the coming-of-age ceremony of the Tora Clan at seventeen that he even began to understand what he had lost.

But now? Now it was too late to heal those old wounds. He had to make money, and there was no time to dwell on what could have been. With a roll of leather under his arm, Azar stepped into the shop, Araumir trailing close behind.

The man at the counter greeted them with a practiced smile. "Good day, sir. How can I assist you?"

"Good day to you," Azar replied with an easy smile. "I’ve got a few things to sell, and I’ve heard you offer good prices. Thought I’d try my luck."

"You’ve come to the right place," the shopkeeper said, eyes gleaming with interest. "We deal in high-quality goods. What are you looking to sell?"

Azar unrolled the hide on the counter. "This, for starters. I’ve collected a good number of them during my travels. While I’ve already given some to a leatherworker to craft me a few outfits, I still have over a hundred left."

The shopkeeper’s eyes lit up as he examined the hide, his excitement barely contained. "Well, sir, you’ve certainly brought us something worthwhile. But there’s one issue—the hides are preserved using the tribes' methods, correct?"

Azar raised an eyebrow. "Why would that be a problem? I personally inspected and purchased these during a trip to the desert. The leatherworker I use had no complaints about their quality."

The shopkeeper’s polite smile remained, though a slight tension crept into his voice. "While the hides may appear fine at first glance, the issue lies in the treatment process. The tribes use preservation methods that differ from ours. Their hides often don’t hold up well in the long term. Even when made into finished products, like boots or coats, they tend to wear out quickly. They look sturdy, but they simply don’t last."

What bullshit is this? Azar’s eyes narrowed. "Then perhaps you can explain why the leatherworker I entrusted with my new clothes never mentioned this."

The shopkeeper hesitated, clearly treading carefully. "I wouldn’t speak ill of a craftsman I don’t know, sir. Perhaps if you share his name, I could offer more insight, but it’s possible he hasn’t worked much with tribal products."

"He’s not from Harmin but from my family's land," Azar replied coldly.

"Ah, that would explain it. He may lack the experience with the tribe's hides. We at Tekery-Toll have been handling them for years. We’ve learned through trial and error."

Azar crossed his arms, keeping his expression neutral. "So, based on your expertise, what’s the going price for these hides?"

"For hides preserved by the tribes? Two Kryth bronze each," the shopkeeper said with a practiced confidence.

Azar’s gaze didn’t waver. "And for a rug?"

"One silver and four bronze."

The shopkeeper’s words faded into the background as Azar used his mind-reading technique to glean more than just the offered price. Ending the connection after a few seconds, he now knew the true currency* value in this city and the actual worth of his goods. His expression turned serious.

"If that’s the best I can get, I suppose I’ll have to make do," Azar said, keeping his tone friendly. "But I’d also like to meet the owner of the shop. I’ve got more to sell than just hides, and I’d like to discuss a future partnership."

"Of course, sir," the shopkeeper said, eager to please. "I’ll fetch the boss right away." He hurried upstairs, leaving Azar and Araumir alone.

Several people entered the shop while they waited, but they were no customers. They moved with familiarity, heading straight to the basement, carrying a variety of objects.

'Araumir, I’m starting to lose control of my impulses. I can feel it.' Azar sent the thought silently to his companion. 'The way these people behave makes me want to not only steal their money but ruin their livelihoods entirely. No care for their families, no thought of the consequences. Am I becoming weak, Araumir? Am I letting myself be corrupted by the world around me?'

'You’re not weak, master,' Araumir responded, though his thoughts carried a hint of concern. 'But perhaps...'

Before Araumir could finish, a new voice interrupted. "Ah, gentlemen! I hear you wish to do business with us."

Azar turned, offering a polite smile. "Indeed. You must be the owner."

"Kasian’s the name. Pleased to meet you." The man extended a hand, which Azar grasped.

"Azar, the pleasure is all mine."

The handshake lasted a little too long as Azar subtly activated his mind-reading technique. Kasian, unaware of the silent exchange of information, merely smiled.

"I’ll get straight to the point, Mr. Kasian," Azar said, finally breaking the silence. "I’ve got over a hundred hides and several rugs to sell. Your shopman has made it clear I won’t get as much as I hoped, but that’s fine. I acted on a hunch, and it seems I’ve made a poor investment."

Kasian nodded with the practiced charm of a seasoned merchant. "I assure you, Mr. Azar, the prices quoted are fair. Tribal goods simply don’t fetch as high a price due to their inferior quality. You’re welcome to check with other shops, but I guarantee they’ll all tell you the same."

Azar smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "I’m usually a good judge of character, and you seem like an honest man. I’ll trust your word on this. I’ll have my men bring the goods in a few hours."

"Excellent," Kasian said warmly. "We’re open until eight. Just be sure they arrive in time so we can inspect and store everything."

"Of course," Azar replied, already heading for the door. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Kasian. Have a wonderful day."

Because tonight, you’ll lose much more than you expect.

"Good day to you, Mr. Azar," Kasian said with a nod, still unaware of what fate had in store for him.