Ah, Gaksi—a commercial city of lights, layers, crime, and, most importantly, inequality.

The metropolis was a maze of stone-brick and hardwood, invisible but defined layers separating the lower denizens from the pompous nobles who resided well above the seedy bedrock—this divide symbolized by the blinding splendor of the top layer that kissed the pink nighttime sky contrasting with the decrepit city floor untouched by the light of the two moons of emerald and crimson.

But what was a constant even in the caste city was one thing.

Magic.

No matter who, without a where, whatever use, and any when—magic seeped into every crack and gave life to every corner of Gaksi.

The air was filled with mana as sorceries were used everywhere, from employing crystal balls to communicate to conjuring flames to cook to casting spells of light in the lowest layers to lighting up the midnight heavens with fireworks of lightning to appease the upper class.

As one traversed the labyrinthian strata, they would struggle to find spots unlit by the supernatural glow of spells or avoid the ethereal hymn of conjuring incantations.

Even the simple act of eating was not spared such mysticisms as mana tinged the tastes and scents of meals prepared with sorcery with a richness unlike any other, only for the cutlery and platters to be rinsed away by aqueous incantations to be cleaned to spotlessness.

On roadsides, performances of light-bending illusions and voltaic surges gathered crowds in the dozens, cooling themselves off with magics to summon cool gusts of wind as they enjoyed the mystical spectacles. Even common industries such as metallurgy, transport, agriculture, infrastructure, and the like were turned into a breeze with the use of sorceries that commanded the elements.

Indeed, there was no shortage of magic in the city of Gaksi. Many cities are said to have a certain aura that connects the lifeless infrastructure and simple dismonotony with the souls and bodies of its residents.

Within this context, then, magic was that very abstract made manifest.

But on this particular night, the metropolitan unparadise was about to be shaken.

A carriage slowly rode down the crooked cobblestone streets, shaking with each uneven stone as it was pulled by a muscular drake of scale and fang. However, it was behind the closed curtains of the vehicle that was of interest to tonight's tall tale.

Peaking within revealed four figures cloaked in darkness and heavy cloth, leaning towards the middle of the ride where a smooth and beautiful crystal ball sat. "We're almost at the stop," The ball crackled with energy as a deep static voice emanated from its polished surface, "Keep your mana signatures low and hidden before you enter. Remember, you've got one shot at this. Good hunting." And with a brief farewell, it lost its glow and turned off.

The four individuals dug themselves onto their seats, leaning back and inspecting their equipment.

On one side sat what seemed to be brothers donning hefty leather gear with tattered capes of red and black—their gruff faces as rough as their wears as they inspected their firearms—handcannons powered by tiny, deep blue crystals with frames of blacksteel and hazelwood.

Opposite them was another pair, one older than the other, as shown by the elder's wizened eyes and wrinkled face compared to the younger's short-stubbled visage and lighter skin. These two had their guns holstered within their long overcoats as, instead, they looked to their wrists, which held an intricate bangle encrusted with gems.

With a simple thought, these bracelets revealed their actual function as they materialized a hologram of blue into thin air.

To cast spells, one must use glyphs of complex and near-impossible shapes, as the mere sight of such craftsmanship is what conjures sorceries from the innate mana within every individual.

The peculiarity lay in the fact that these symbols could not be memorized—only glanced. Their silhouettes, colors and even the emotions felt upon seeing them are clouded in one's memory, preventing their use.

Theories have been created and tested over the course of millennia—but none have emerged any wiser regarding the strange rules of the world. As such, the focus shifted from finding a loophole to improving the utilization of magic.

In ancient times, casters used scrolls, tomes, and even blood-soaked tattoos. But in the modern era came something more civilized, one that turned these pieces of incomprehensible art into an intangible yet invaluable form—a quasi-digital scroll of spells and the weapon of the modern mage.

Miracles and technology danced in sync in Gaksi.

And this weapon was but one example of that orchestra.

"Let's go over this plan one last time." The older spellslinger spoke, a husky and throaty voice, but one which carried a sense of authority—Codename, D.

"Why? Your partner so dumb he already forgot?" One of the brothers joked with an asymmetric toothy grin on their face—Codename, MX.

The other half of the sarcastic brother bellowed a laugh, directing it to the young mage beside D—this one was codenamed MZ.

"You bottom-feeding bumpkins better shut up, or else you'll be catching stray spells later." Youthful, bold, but talented, the spellcaster bit back as he eyed the pair with furrowed brows—Codename, A.

"Oh, is that a threat, boy?" MX replied as his finger inched ever closer to the trigger of his spellshot.

"All of you!" The older man shouted, "Quit it and listen." The three backed down, calming their mana as they listened to D's words.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

If their personable attitudes haven't keyed you in yet, this dysfunctional group of mages and spellslingers is a group of outlaws out on the prowl, but for what exactly?

"Money." D began, his hands together as he spoke, "The banks of the lower side layers usually have squat for funds, but today, a shipment of military wages just came in ripe for the picking." The leader continued as he pulled a stone slate from under his cloak, engraved with runic symbols and housing a singular gemstone of crystalline form.

Placing it down, he pressed his gloved finger onto the center, a detailed holographic map beaming from the slab. Directing the team's attention to specific points on the outline, "We've got one entrance but a few exits, two guards here since we know law enforcement is low due to the draft." He then switched his attention to the brothers, "You two incapacitate the guards on A's signal. We'll take point first and get close." The three nodded, the carriage slowing down as the wingless dragon's trot turned into an amble.

“Our exits are marked, memorize them so we can haul ass quickly once we’re done.” Pointing to multiple of the marked spaces, some led to rooftops, other to underground passages and hidden doorways.

“Or more likely once shit hits the fan.” The young bandit scoffed, eyeing even his senior with heavy doubt.

“Quit it, A.” D scolded, clearing his throat afterwards, “Whatever the case, you two are confident in your reconnaissance?”

“Yeah, yeah. Like we told you, the pair stationed there barely qualify as mages.” Leaning back with legs crossed, MZ replied, not even shifting his eyes from his weapon as he cleaned it—no room for uncertainty in his words.

“Good, that should make things easier.” D spoke, closing the interface with a swipe of his hand and pocketing the device.

“If I may interject,” The junior of the pair suddenly added, directing a glare at those opposite him, “Seeing as our compatriots here are a little trigger happy, I’d like to remind everyone we’d rather not spill any blood tonight. Got it?” Ending his remark with a command, the air in the moving carriage became heavy with tension.

“Why? Is this city boy scared of getting his hands dirty?” MX mocked, a rotten sneer decorating his taunting.

“Trust me, I’ve been waiting for a reason to strangle you since the start of this ride-”

“Another word from any of you and we are turning this vehicle around with empty pockets and nothing else.” Cutting the argument short, the gruff voice commanded with an authority none of the three questioned, "We do this quick, cleanly, and efficiently, no mistakes, understood?" D finished as he wore his wide, pointed hat.

"Aye." The three answered, conviction lining each of their voices.

"Good. This score's our ticket out of here, folks. One smash and grab, and we can leave this uncivilized filth." D finished as he closed his eyes in what almost seemed like prayer.

"Doing bad things to become better men, is that it, D?" But A's query was left unanswered by any of his associates, nary a word spoken of the irony, "What a shitshow."

The carriage suddenly halted its movements, and the door swung open as four figures stepped out.

"The bar's the rendezvous. Don't keep me waiting." A muffled and bassy voice spoke from the front of the carriage, and with a crack of the reins, it drove off.

"We'll go in first. Come in after about five minutes." D told the pair as he began walking the path toward the building with A in tow.

The Gaksi Bank Gamma was a sore thumb within the lower side layer. Its towering pillars were like that of a castle, and its walls were a pristine white in comparison to the cracked planks of its neighboring buildings. To the common folk, it was a repository of cash, to outlaws a target, and to the law, a place to protect.

But to all, it was a symbol.

A symbol of wealth unknown to the lower caste. That it was not a lack of action or resources but a refusal of opportunity from those in power.

“You’ve got the veil placed?” The older asked, walking beside his partner with a confident stride.

“Of course. Our weapons are still barely visible, but it’s better than letting our mana signatures spike. Not like it’ll matter once we go loud.” The younger responded, his bangle and firearm now translucent as they neared the entrance.

Light-bending spells were useful for those who practiced art with silver tongues and blades as brushes. They could serve as decoys, disorient aggressors, and even conceal weaponry. Still, a delicate balance had to be maintained as too strong of a spell would cause their signatures to swell and too little would reveal their fangs.

The pair entered the bank, opening the heavy doors and being greeted with the unsparing luxury of the establishment. The walls were coated with expensive dyes of purple from faraway lands, and the carpet was supple as the fur of the beasts it was taken from. Each side was decorated with landscapes of oceans and portraits of nobles. Even inside, the feeling of excessive opulence seldom disappeared.

Two guards at the entrance, one looks like he’s about to doze off and they didn’t even bother to shake us down...The vault's behind the receptionist and I can see some of the exits we planned...Just as the map said. Good.

A thought to himself as he scanned the room, his eyes locking with his partner's as he gave a subtle nod to get into position as they split off, maintaining a withdrawn mien to deter any unwanted attention.

At the end of the room was the reception desk. Made of varnished ebony and engraved with streaks and symbols of gold but shielded by a massive metal cage to protect the bank's treasures.

As the young mage continued to walk toward the desk, he observed his surroundings, ceasing his steps as he got in line. Around him, one could see a few other negotiations occurring, most likely loans being given to the less fortunate to further profit from the powerless—the beguiling smiles of the loaners trapping the poor sods who dared ask for help.

"Prices sure are getting really outrageous nowadays, huh?" One could overhear a husky voice remark, the comment coming from a man in a coat and hat.

"Indeed. If you ask me, this whole war against the dragons is all a bunch of tripe to increase the king's gold reserves." An accent of sophistication answered back.

It seemed a certain outlaw was trying to blend in before the hit began, using their charisma and wits to get closer to a possible person of interest—ever-cunning are the lawbreakers of Gaksi.

As the last person in front of A finished, the teller greeted them with a smile.

"Good evening, sir! What brings you here today?” Short, stout, and with a face one could only describe as "punchable"—The nametag of the teller spelled out a Mister Erwinne.

"I'm just here to make a withdrawal, friend. Can you do that for me?" A answered back, returning the smile with one of their own.

"Oh, of course, sir! Please provide me with your mana signature, and we can open your account!" The teller eagerly replied as he opened a hologram and summoned a glyph from a small device on their desk.

As detached from normal society as A was, he knew that connecting his mana with the glyph would yield nothing.

He was an outlaw, an unknown, so all that detection spell would do was reveal his mana signature to be an unknown—a threat. Even though the city’s atmosphere was nothing more than an ephemeral mess of rules and cultures, unfeeling and without breath, it was no less discriminatory toward its own people.

However, now was not the time to contemplate that. The doors opened from behind A as the brothers got into position, greeting the guards with eyes that hid bloodlust. He gave each of his cohorts one final glance—a grin daring to appear on his face as he pictured the following moments.

"Sure thing..." The youthful spellslinger spoke, time itself almost pausing at that moment as the air enjoyed its last moments of calm, "It's right here!" Suddenly, the light-bending spell that veiled A's hands dissipated, and a pistol of mithril and great oak seemingly materialized in their grasp—the weapon hissing with flame-red energy from the embedded fire crystals.