"You're late," the bald man growled from behind the wagon, voice rough with the kind of annoyance that didn't care whether someone lived or died, and Kaito, crouched low on the rooftop above, adjusted the scarf covering his face and said nothing as he checked the cylinder of his revolver, cold wind brushing past him like even the air didn't want to be part of this city's problems, because the streets of Arvellas weren't streets—they were a maze of filth, rusted fences, piss-soaked cobblestones, and lanterns that flickered like they were scared of the dark, and down below, the bald merchant continued barking at the cloaked girl with the satchel, "You said the goods would be here by dusk, and now I've got rats sniffing around my ankles!"
"I told you," the girl snapped, breath visible in the night chill, "there were guards swarming the dockyard, and someone leaked the route—"
"Someone?" the man barked, "You mean you, street rat, you leaked it!"
That was when Kaito saw it—the glint of a short blade hidden in the merchant's sleeve, the twitch in his fingers, the shift in his foot as if lining up for a quick step forward, and Kaito exhaled through his teeth, muttering under his breath as his finger curled around the trigger, "Amateurs always talk too much before they kill."
The gunshot was like a punctuation mark on the conversation, clean and sharp, echoing across the alley with a metallic thump, and the merchant dropped like a stone, blood pooling under his body before his brain even had time to register betrayal, and the girl stood frozen, eyes wide, chest heaving, until Kaito landed beside her with a quiet crunch of boots against wet stone, his coat fluttering for just a second before he adjusted it and slipped the revolver back into its holster.
"Name?" he asked, without looking at her.
The girl blinked, then slowly backed up a step, eyes flicking to the still-smoking barrel.
"Y-You're the one from last night," she whispered, "The alley. You saved—"
"Name," Kaito repeated, this time with a glance that told her he didn't have time for stories or gratitude.
"…Lilyeth," she finally muttered, "I'm just a courier."
He didn't answer right away, just crouched beside the dead merchant, reached into the coat, and pulled out a folded parchment, breaking the wax seal with his thumb, and the moment he read the first line, his jaw tightened—because this wasn't a simple black market exchange, it was a transport manifest for enchanted steel bound for the Eastern Border Garrison, stamped with a noble's private sigil, which meant the merchant was smuggling royal-issue weapons for someone high up, and worse, someone who didn't want the cargo traced.
"I need a place," Kaito said, standing up again, "Quiet. No windows. Someplace where nobody looks twice at locked doors or strange noises."
"…You're not going to kill me too?" Lilyeth asked, and to her credit, she didn't sound scared, just curious, like she was too used to danger to be properly afraid anymore.
"Not unless you betray me," Kaito replied, deadpan, "but if you're useful, you'll live a long time. Probably richer too."
That caught her attention, and despite the blood at her feet and the smell of burnt powder hanging in the air, she nodded slowly, eyes narrowing with interest, because in Arvellas, money was oxygen, and the fastest way out of the slums was to latch onto someone who made it rain coins, whether through blade or bullet.
"There's an old tanner's shop near the eastern gutter," she said, brushing dirt from her sleeve, "No one's used it in years, but it's got a basement with reinforced doors, from the war era. You could set up there."
Kaito nodded once, then tossed her the parchment.
"Get rid of the body, burn the letter, and meet me there in two hours," he said, already walking into the shadows.
"Why are you trusting me with this?" she called after him, voice barely louder than the wind.
He paused at the end of the alley, then looked back over his shoulder.
"Because I've got a gun," he said simply, "and everyone talks straight when they're looking down the barrel."
The tanner's shop looked like it had been abandoned since the last war, maybe longer, the front windows boarded up with mismatched planks, the faded sign hanging by one rusted chain, and the smell that hit Kaito when he kicked the back door open was something between moldy leather and rat droppings, but he didn't flinch, just pulled his coat over his nose and moved through the dark with the kind of precision only a man trained to kill could manage, because to him, this wasn't just a hideout, it was a foundation, and if you wanted to build an empire in a world of swords and magic, you had to start with something quiet, something ugly, something that no one wanted to look at twice.
The stairs groaned as he descended, flashlight in one hand, revolver in the other, and at the bottom, he found a wide stone room that had once stored barrels of dye and salted skins, now lined with cobwebs and rusted hooks, but it had thick walls, low ceilings, and most importantly, a reinforced door on the far end that someone had once tried—and failed—to blow open, which meant it was good enough to keep secrets behind, and Kaito took one look and muttered under his breath, "Yeah, this'll do."
By the time Lilyeth arrived, he'd already cleared out a corner, pulled together some planks for a workbench, and lined the floor with stolen blankets and canvas, and when she walked in, holding a paper bag of half-stale bread and jerky, her eyes went wide at how fast the place had changed, though her first words weren't admiration, they were business.
"You plan to live here?" she asked, stepping carefully over a broken beam, "There's no food, no light, no exit if someone comes in from the front."
"I won't be living here," Kaito said as he unscrewed the panel on his revolver to clean the chamber, "I'll be working here."
Lilyeth crossed her arms, leaning against the wall, not quite relaxed but curious enough to stay, which was all he needed from her right now, because he didn't trust anyone in this world—not yet—but he knew how to use people the way others used tools, and tools were only useful if they were close at hand.
"You said you wanted to get rich," she said, tilting her head, "But you haven't asked me about coin networks or smuggling routes or which nobles are paying the guilds for 'quiet jobs.' You're just sitting here, polishing that thing like it's a sacred relic."
"It is," Kaito replied without looking up, "This thing will change the balance of power in this kingdom."
"It's just a weird crossbow."
"It's called a gun," he said, spinning the cylinder once with a click, "And once I start showing what it can do, people are going to want one. When they can't have one, they'll want me instead."
Lilyeth narrowed her eyes, trying to follow the logic, then frowned.
"That's a terrible plan," she said flatly.
"It's not a plan," Kaito said, "It's bait."
Before she could ask what he meant, he reached into his coat, pulled out a leather pouch of strange glass fragments and silver shavings, and set them on the workbench beside a hand-drawn circle carved into the wood with a broken dagger, then he reached into his belt, took out a tiny chunk of reddish crystal that pulsed faintly, and dropped it into the center.
"What's that?" Lilyeth asked.
"Ammo."
"You can make your own?"
"Craft Ammo," Kaito said, and for a second, he let his voice drop low, the way a man might whisper a spell that wasn't quite magic but felt like it should be, because even though this world ran on swords and sorcery, he had something different—something cleaner, faster, and harder to predict.
The circle lit up for just a second, then fizzled out, and Kaito nodded, picking up a new bullet with a faint reddish glow in the tip, holding it up to the lamp.
"Inferno Round," he said, "Melts armor. Scares the hell out of mages."
Lilyeth let out a low whistle, eyes wide.
"So you're not just an assassin," she muttered, "You're a damn alchemist."
"No," Kaito said, sliding the round into his revolver and spinning the cylinder once more, "I'm a businessman. Just happens the product is death."
The next night came fast, and with it, the first opportunity Kaito had been waiting for, because Lilyeth had slipped him a name scribbled on the back of a stained tavern napkin—Varn Toleyn, tax officer, sells information on merchant shipments to local bandits, pays off city guards, owns a private wine cellar with no guards between midnight and two—and that was all Kaito needed, not for revenge or justice, but for demonstration, because in this world, people didn't believe in power unless it exploded right in front of their faces, preferably with a corpse on the floor.
Kaito moved through the alley like he belonged there, cloak drawn, mask on, footsteps light as a whisper, because if there was one thing his old life taught him, it was that the best shot wasn't the fastest, it was the one nobody heard until it was too late, and this time, he wasn't being paid—he was paying attention, watching the way guards rotated on the outer gate, the way the winehouse servant left the door cracked for smoke breaks, and the way Varn sat alone in his cellar, counting coins like they were lovers he'd never touch.
He didn't knock, he didn't kick, he just slipped in through the coal chute like smoke and crouched behind a barrel of fruit wine until the fat man lit a candle, and when the flickering light touched the corner of the room, Varn looked up—and froze, because Kaito stepped out slow, revolver raised, mask gleaming silver in the candlelight, and for one perfect second, the tax officer forgot how to breathe.
"Who sent you?" Varn rasped, one hand inching toward the table drawer, the other already shaking, but Kaito didn't answer, he just aimed and fired once, the sound muffled with a scrap of enchanted cloth wrapped around the barrel, and the Inferno Round didn't even need to kill, because it punched through the drawer and lit the hidden magic scrolls on fire, sending smoke and red sparks billowing up like a demon's laugh.
"You have enemies," Kaito said calmly as the man staggered back coughing, "Too many, too greedy, too loud. Tonight, I'm not one of them. I just want your silence."
Varn coughed harder, backing up until he hit the wall, eyes wild.
"What do you want?" he gasped, "Gold? A name? I have records—"
"Clients," Kaito said, stepping closer, "I want to know who hires assassins in this city. And I want to know who would kill to keep it quiet."
"You're mad—if they knew I talked—"
"You'd be dead," Kaito finished for him, "But if you don't talk, I'll kill you now. So either way, you're risking it."
That was the thing about people like Varn—they didn't fear pain, they feared consequences, and Kaito had just shown him what kind of consequences he could create with one bullet and ten seconds of silence, so the man slumped to the ground and began muttering names, addresses, guild codes, even passphrases used in the underworld to mark safehouses, and Kaito memorized them all without blinking, because information was the one currency that never devalued.
By the time he left, Varn was still alive, but shaking, staring at the empty revolver in Kaito's hand like it was a god's eye, and when the assassin stepped out into the cold air, Lilyeth was already there, arms crossed, mouth twitching into a grin.
"That was fast," she said.
"He'll talk more," Kaito replied, pulling the cloth from the barrel and stuffing it into his pocket, "Word will spread. Someone's hunting the hunters."
She followed him into the shadows, and as they disappeared into the maze of alleys, bells suddenly rang in the direction of the city square, loud and panicked, and a black plume of smoke began rising behind the noble district wall.
"You didn't set fire to anything," Lilyeth said sharply, "Did you?"
"No," Kaito answered, then paused, his eyes narrowing, "But someone just stole my thunder."
And at that moment, a silver coin spun through the air and landed at his feet, etched with the emblem of a burning eye—an assassin's mark, not his, but close enough to be a warning.
Someone else was working the same territory.
And they'd just declared war.