Silas sat alone in his room at the Merry Minstrel Lodge, the slip of paper Zinnia had given him within his hands.

He scanned the hastily scribbled note, absorbing every detail about the staff members' locations within the Starlight Bidders' Hall, the routes they walked, and the defenses and surveillance systems she had noticed. It was limited information, but it was good enough to give him an edge.

Beside him on the table, a beaker bubbled with a cyan-colored potion. Silas glanced at it briefly before returning his focus to Zinnia's notes.

Half an hour passed in silence, broken only by the occasional pop and hiss from the beaker. Silas's concentration was interrupted by a soft tap on the window sill. He looked up to see Nyx perched there, his feathers ruffled from his recent flight. The crow hopped inside and landed on the table with a soft thud.

From one of the enchanted pockets on his sash, Nyx pulled out a clump of hair, along with the clothes and mace that belonged to the late Priest of Probitas. Silas took the items from Nyx and examined them.

"Have you set the scene adequately?" Silas asked, his voice low, but not threatening.

Nyx nodded calmly and squawked an affirmative.

"Good work," Silas said, giving Nyx a compliment.

Nyx puffed up slightly in pride before hopping onto the bed and sprawling out in a carefree pose. Within moments, he was asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

Silas turned his attention back to the potion. He took the clump of hair from the Priest and threw it into the beaker. Instantly, the cyan liquid began to fizzle and change colors—from cyan to magenta to grey. An oddly pleasant scent reminiscent of lilac filled the room.

Satisfied with the brew, Silas set aside his own robe and donned the Priest's clothes. The fabric felt different against his skin—coarser, less familiar—but it had a purpose to serve. He tied the mace onto his hip and rolled the necklace bearing Probitas's symbol across his fingers before snorting in amusement and putting it around his neck. He grabbed a few more implements from his satchel, a few needles and several aged talismans.

He took a deep breath and lifted the beaker from the table and to his lips, taking a sip of [Envy's Seduction]. The otion slid down his throat smoothly, leaving a faint aftertaste. Within seconds, he felt his body begin to shift grotesquely. His stature shrank down to match that of the deceased Priest's, his face contorted until it mirrored that of Probitas's servant. The Alchemical Grooves on his skin became hidden under new flesh. After the transformation stopped, he observed himself in the mirror for a final check, and was satisfied with the effect.

Silas moved towards the window, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished from where he stood, seamlessly merging into Rhysling's nightscape without a sound, just as he had when he first entered the city.

The only noise left within the room was Nyx sleep-squawking softly as he dreamed on.

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Emma stood in the hall, her posture graceful and poised. She engaged in conversation with Arim, who chuckled warmly.

"It's good to hear your mother is in good health," Arim said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "And how is your father?"

With a courteous smile she responded. "He is well, thank you for asking."

Arim's gaze shifted to the letter she had delivered earlier. He unfolded it, scanning the familiar handwriting that included both greetings and playful jabs at some of his… youthful mistakes. However, the request inside stood out among the rest of the words.

"Your grandfather wishes to attempt the third step?" Arim asked, his tone a blend of curiosity and concern.

Emma's silence spoke volumes, confirming his suspicion without a word.

Arim thought for a moment before nodding. "I can create the Elixirs, but the Alchemist's Guild cannot provide all of the reagents required. Several are rare and a few are outright illegal."

She was undeterred as she replied without missing a beat. "The troublesome ingredients are being hunted down as we speak."

Arim chuckled, finding her poise admirable. "Then it will be fine," he said, signaling a servant to bring them some tea. He gestured towards one of the now empty gallery seats. "Please, sit with me. It's been so long since I've seen you—since you were a child too shy to speak and hiding behind your mother's skirt!"

Emma's cheeks flushed slightly at the reminder. "I've grown up a lot since then," she said with a hint of embarrassment.

Arim laughed heartily as they settled into their seats. They began discussing various topics, from how his old friends in the Heavenly Flame Sect were doing to her progress in cultivation.

"And what about the Young Master of the Rumbling Earth Sect?" Arim asked with a gossip's glint in his eye.

Emma chuckled softly, narrowing her eyes dangerously. "He is going to be mine."

Arim smiled wryly, shaking his head. "Your mother was the same when she met your father."

Their conversation flowed easily until Arim's expression turned annoyed. He glanced around impatiently.

"Where is that tea? It's been quite some time since I asked for it," he grumbled.

Emma nodded in agreement. "It is odd that it's taking this long."

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Arim stood up and took a deep breath to calm himself. As he inhaled, something caught his attention.

He lifted a finger to stop Emma from speaking and focused his energy on his already keen sense of smell. Inhaling deeply, his face scrunched up as his expression hardened.

"The scent of blood is in the air," he said gravely, causing Emma to look at him with growing concern.

The hall was eerily silent, no footsteps echoed through its vast space.

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At the gates of the Starlight Bidders' Hall, two guards stood and chatted with their Mana Rifles at their side. The weapons gleamed with intricate decorative designs along the barrel, and a brand on the stock marking them as one of the Artificer's Guild's creations.

The door behind them suddenly swung open with a bang, startling the guards. They spun around, rifles raised, aiming into the empty doorway. Their eyes darted around, searching for any sign of an intruder.

"Did you see anything?" one guard whispered, his grip tightening on his rifle.

"Nothing," the other replied, stepping cautiously into the hall. They moved in tandem, weapons poised and ready.

As soon as they were inside, the door slammed shut with a resounding thud. Panic flashed across their faces as they turned and fired instinctively. The enchantments on the door absorbed most of the impact, but scorch marks and cracks marred its surface.

The guards' breaths came in ragged gasps as they realized their mistake. No one was there. They exchanged confused glances, their minds racing to make sense of the situation.

Before they could react further, two dull thuds echoed through the hall. Blood splattered across the floor as their heads burst like overripe fruits. Their bodies crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap.

Silas stepped over the fallen guards without a second glance. He pulled out a paper note from his pocket and scanned its contents briefly before tucking it away again.

Silas, cloaked in the guise of the Priest, moved briskly through the hall, noticing some servants ahead.

The servants, engrossed in their cleaning duties, barely noticed his approach. He stopped in front of one who was scrubbing the floor, the rhythmic sound of bristles against stone filling the air.

He looked up from his scrubbing, eyes widening in confusion. In an instant, Silas brought down the mace with brutal efficiency. The sickening crunch echoed through the hall, drawing the attention of the others. Tools clattered to the ground as they turned to witness the horrible sight.

Two stood paralyzed by fear, their bodies trembling. One turned to flee, while another opened his mouth to scream. Silas acted swiftly, hurling the mace at the runner. The weapon struck true, and the servant collapsed mid-stride with his guts hanging out.

In a fluid motion, Silas lunged at the would-be screamer, delivering a crushing blow to his face that silenced him instantly. The remaining two servants stood rooted to their spots, eyes wide with terror.

Silas pointed upwards. As if compelled by some primal instinct, they looked up. A moment later and throats were ripped out. Their consciousness slipped away as they crumpled to the floor.

With a calm demeanor, Silas retrieved his mace from where it had fallen. He continued down the hallway, a whistle escaping his lips—a disturbingly jolly melody that echoed through the now-silent corridor…

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Kell stood at the entrance of Spirit's Gazebo, his eyes scanning the serene garden adorned with glowing lanterns and mystical flora. The air was infused with the scent of gourmet spices, creating an ambiance that was both elegant and tranquil. He approached the wait staff, his posture exuding nervousness and confidence at the same time.

"I'd like to make a reservation for two for later this evening," Kell said, his voice steady. "Fine food and fine drinks."

The waiter, a middle-aged man with a warm smile, nodded and made a note on his parchment. "Of course, Sir. Any special requests?"

Kell shook his head. "No, nothing specific."

The waiter raised an eyebrow, his smile widening slightly. "Are you sure? Your partner for the evening may appreciate a bit of added effort."

Before Kell could respond, Old Renan's voice came from behind him. "Ask for a red motif in a private section with a good view."

Kell scratched the back of his head, mildly embarrassed. "Can that be arranged?" he asked the waiter.

The waiter's smile grew even warmer. "Certainly, Sir. A red motif in a private section with a good view it is."

Kell then turned to address another concern. "I'd also like seating for my servants," he said, gesturing to the small group behind him. "Whatever they want will be covered by me."

A few cheers erupted from his posse, their faces lighting up with gratitude.

The waiter nodded again, making another note. "We'll find a way to accommodate everyone despite the short notice," he assured Kell. "Everything will be ready within the hour."

Kell paid a small deposit and turned to leave, breathing out as he muttered to himself, "This is complicated."

Old Renan chuckled softly beside him. "Most matters of the heart are," he said casually.

Kell sighed and looked at his reliable followers. "We've still got an hour. What should we do in the meantime?"

One of his servants piped up enthusiastically. "How about buying a gift for the Young Mistress at that Magicrafter shop?"

Kell considered this for a moment before nodding. "That's a good idea," he said. "But what should I get?"

A female servant chimed in thoughtfully. "Jewelry would be a safe option… if we know Lady Emma's tastes, that is."

Renan stroked his beard thoughtfully before offering his suggestion. "Perfume might be better," he said. "As long as the scent is not too overwhelming, it should serve as a good option."

Kell mulled over the ideas as they walked along the streets. The lively atmosphere was filled with laughter and chatter from people enjoying their evening.

"Perfume sounds like a solid choice," Kell finally said, nodding to himself.

They continued their stroll through the district, passing various shops and stalls.

"We'll wait a bit longer before seeking Emma out," Kell decided aloud.

His servants nodded in agreement as they made their way towards one of the more renowned Magicrafter shops in Rhysling…

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The sound of a tea kettle whistling cut through the eerie silence of the Starlight Bidders’ Hall. Inside the kitchen, bodies lay strewn about like discarded marionettes, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing.

The scene was a macabre painting of a terrible night for all those who had the misfortune to work here.

In the hallways leading up to the main stage, where the auction had been held earlier in the day, the sights were even more horrifying. Walls were splattered with dark, congealed liquids, and still limbs clutched onto weapons that had never had a chance to be used. Security golems and hidden Mana Turrets lay decimated, their once formidable presence reduced to twisted metal and shattered crystal.

Deeper within the hall, just before the entrance to the stage, Silas shook off the residue from his mace.

The last few guards he butchered bore the insignia of the Imperial family—personal guards placed here by the Magistrate himself. Unfortunately for them, their fate was no better than that of the lowliest servants in this place. Silas thought to himself that this had been a decent stress relief, almost therapeutic.

By his estimation, there should only be a handful of staff left. A few who had spotted the carnage would be on their way to get help by now.

He needed to pick up his pace and retrieve the held items. But before that, he should appropriately deal with Arim. After all, he couldn't let his friend lose face now with such a brutal attack under his nose, could he?

Silas pushed open the door to the main stage. Inside, Arim stood upon it with his eyes closed, as if meditating.

"I didn't expect our honorable guest to have such a demonic side," Arim said.

Silas snorted in amusement but spoke no words.

Arim's eyes then barely began to open, narrowed into dangerous slits as he continued, "Alas, this is the end of the road for you!"

Paying him no heed, Silas began approaching Arim…