Wade began walking, merging with the soft flow of late-night foot traffic along the main road.

Most of the taverns were closing, and a few carriages rattled past, their lanterns glowing faintly gold.

As he walked, his thoughts turned to the next task at hand.

Viscount Fairchild.

If he wanted to stay ahead, he couldn't just disappear after making his fortune.

That would raise questions. It was better to stay visible, predictable, and make sure the noble knew his investment was being put to good use.

He reached the corner where the streets widened into the upper merchant district, where the mansions of guild officers and minor nobles stood.

Their windows glowed faintly with candlelight, guards pacing lazily near their gates.

The hotel where Fairchild had been staying stood ahead, its walls and golden lanterns standing out against the dim street.

Wade approached confidently, his boots silent against the stone.

Two guards stood at the entrance, spears crossed.

"State your business," one of them barked, his tone brisk but not hostile.

"I'm here to see Viscount Fairchild," Wade said simply. "He's expecting me."

The guards exchanged a glance before the older one nodded.

"The Viscount's not staying here anymore," he said. "He returned to his estate earlier today."

Wade's brows rose slightly. "His estate?"

The guard nodded again. "Aye. About a mile north of the merchant quarter."

"Follow the main road past the fountain, then take the first turn east after the bridge. You can't miss it. Big mansion with silver gates."

Wade nodded his thanks. "Appreciate it."

As he turned away, the faint grin returned to his lips.

He continued onward, making his way to the area that had been pointed out to him.

And before long, he was frowning.

The streets of this area of Hiving at night were vastly different from the bustling, daylight version Wade was used to.

He walked with his hands in his pockets, eyes out and alert. His pauldrons were on full display, marking him as an adventurer.

That meant nobody would really disturb him as he walked.

The lamps flickered along the roads, patches of gold light fighting against the night.

It wasn't dangerous per se, not in the inner rings of the city, but Wade knew enough about this city to know trouble could find you anywhere if you weren't paying attention.

He followed the main road as instructed by the guard, expecting to see the mansion's tall silhouette soon enough.

But after several turns, the path narrowed, twisting between buildings he didn't recognize.

The stone paving grew uneven, and the smell of ale and burnt wood thickened.

He stopped at an intersection, frowning. "This isn't right," he muttered, glancing around.

The streets here were dimmer. Narrower. The kind of place where lamplighters didn't bother coming often.

There were a few scattered barrels, a tipped-over crate, and one stray cat perched on a window ledge, staring down at him like a silent witness.

"Great," he sighed. "Lost again."

He was about to turn back the way he came when he heard it. Laughter.

Raucous, low, and mocking.

It echoed faintly from somewhere down the adjoining alley.

Wade hesitated, glancing toward the sound. Maybe someone there could give him directions.

Or maybe, if he was lucky, it was just a group of drunk adventurers who wouldn't care enough to bother him.

He started towards the laughter, boots silent against the cobblestones.

As he neared, the scent of smoke hit him. It wasn't smoke from a fire, but from cigarettes and cheap pipeweed.

The alley opened into a wider space between buildings, half-lit by the flickering glow of a lantern perched on a crate.

A group of five adventurers lounged there, each in various states of half-armor and exhaustion.

One sat on a barrel, another leaned against the wall, while the rest stood talking in a loose circle.

Their laughter bounced off the stone walls, mingling with the curls of smoke rising from their cigarettes.

Wade slowed his pace, letting the polite merchant's smile curve his lips.

He kept his tone light and unthreatening as he raised a hand in greeting.

"Evening," he said. "Sorry to interrupt. I'm looking for directions to the Fairchild Mansion. Any chance one of you could point me the right way?"

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then one of them, a lanky man with a thin scar across his cheek, squinted through the haze.

"Fairchild Mansion, huh?" the man repeated, his voice slurred but amused. "Fancy errand for someone walking alone at this hour."

Wade kept his expression mild. "You could say that. I'm meeting the Viscount. Which way's north from here?"

That was when another man, who had been sitting on a crate, suddenly froze mid-laugh. His cigarette slipped from his fingers, falling to the ground with a faint hiss.

His eyes locked onto Wade's face, narrowing.

"Wait," the man said, his tone changing instantly. "I know you."

Wade blinked, tilting his head slightly as the man stood, pointing.

His face clicked into recognition almost at once. The crooked nose, the narrow chin, the swagger.

It was him. The adventurer from Tom's blacksmith shop, the one who'd tried to run the scam.

Wade's polite smile didn't fade, but his voice cooled slightly. "Small world."

The man grinned widely, teeth showing. The exact kind of grin that promised bad things. "Well, well, well. Look who just walked into the lion's den."

He turned toward his companions, laughing harshly.

"You boys remember that story I told you? The one about the self-righteous bastard who ruined my plan with the blacksmith? That's him."

The others perked up, smirks appearing like a spreading infection.

"This guy?" one of them said, snickering. "I expected someone taller."

"Or smarter," another added.

"Must be your lucky night, Ferris."

The group began to crowd closer, the circle tightening.

Wade could smell the smoke on their breath now. He sighed inwardly.

"I'm not looking for trouble," he said evenly. "Just directions. Point me the way, and we all walk out of here without any issues."

They laughed, all of them, the sound ugly and mean.

"You hear that?" Ferris sneered, stepping forward. "He thinks he gets to ask things."

"Maybe we should teach him some manners," said the one with the scar, cracking his knuckles.

"Last chance," Wade warned, voice dropping slightly. "You don't want to do this."

Ferris smirked, spreading his arms mockingly. "Or what? You'll run crying to your guild?"

Wade's eyes narrowed, but he didn't answer.

"Get him!" someone barked.

The first punch came fast, a haymaker from the right.

Wade stepped back, letting it whistle past his face. The next one came from his left, and this time, he caught the man's wrist mid-swing.

Using the attacker's own momentum, Wade twisted, pivoted his hip, and threw the man over his shoulder.

The adventurer slammed into the cobblestones with a grunt, air rushing from his lungs.

The others roared and charged.

Wade barely had time to see the fireball before it was already flying toward him.

He reacted on instinct.

Fire Conversion.

The world flared red, then dimmed instantly as the flames folded inward, sucked into his body like air into a furnace.

His veins thrummed with sudden heat, energy crackling under his skin.

Before the adventurer who cast it could even register what happened, Wade blurred forward, the boost of speed snapping through his limbs.

His fist slammed into the man's ribs with a crack. The air filled with a choked scream as the caster collapsed, clutching his side.

Wade pivoted, sensing movement behind him. A blade gleamed at his back, and he teleported.

He reappeared behind his attacker, his hand snapping out to grab the back of the man's head.

With a grunt, he slammed the head into the stone wall. The impact echoed through the alley, followed by the dull thud of the body hitting the ground.

The last of the group froze.

Ferris, the scammer, stood several paces away, eyes wide, face pale under the dim light.

Two of his men were unconscious. One was groaning on the floor, another coughing blood.

Wade straightened slowly, dusting his hands off. The air around him still shimmered faintly from the remnants of absorbed fire.

"Now," Wade said, his voice calm, and his gaze fixed on Ferris, "which way is the Fairchild mansion?"

Ferris opened his mouth, stammering incoherently. His bravado had evaporated completely.

"I— It's… north," he finally choked out, raising a trembling hand. "Straight down this road, past the bridge. The silver gates. You can't miss it."

Wade nodded once, calm and polite again, as if they'd just finished a casual conversation. "Thank you."

He stepped forward. Ferris stumbled back instinctively, hitting the wall.

Then Wade's fist lashed out.

The punch connected with the man's jaw, snapping his head to the side.

Ferris was lifted off his feet and crashed into the ground, limp and unconscious before he hit the cobblestone.

Wade rolled his shoulder, exhaling softly.

"Next time," he murmured, stepping over the fallen man, "remember when someone gives you a chance to walk away."

He turned and strode out of the alley.

Behind him, the groans of the beaten adventurers followed him, soon fading into the night as he emerged onto the empty street once more.

The lamps glowed softly now, the world quieter than before, as if nothing had happened.

Ahead, in the distance, he could see the faint outline of the bridge the man had mentioned, and beyond it, the silvery shimmer of wrought-iron gates glinting under the moonlight.

The grin appeared once more on Wade's face.

"Fairchild Mansion," he muttered to himself. "Finally."

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