The room smelled of burned parchment and secrecy, thick with the kind of tension that made even shadows hold their breath, the light from the underground oil lamps flickered across the low stone ceiling, dancing over maps, scrolls, and bullet molds stacked neatly like war plans disguised as trade goods, and in the middle of it all sat Kaito, cross-legged on a crate, staring down at a freshly forged capsule glinting with the frost rune etched into its casing, his mind busy replaying Ashcloak's smile over and over like a virus he couldn't delete.
Lilyeth paced nearby, arms crossed and boots tapping an uneven rhythm on the floor, her cloak dusted with the ash of their last job, and though her words came sharp and focused, the nerves behind them were obvious to anyone who knew her longer than a week, which, Kaito realized, was now exactly how long they'd been partners, a funny thing to consider after three shared heists, two escape tunnels, and one murder of a noble on temple grounds.
"I don't trust him," she said again, the tenth time, "Nobody who smiles like that is honest, and nobody who wears white robes in a sewer meeting has clean intentions."
Kaito nodded slowly, still watching the frost capsule, watching the frost rune slowly pulse with mana the way a heartbeat does when someone's lying to you, steady and even, like it had nothing to hide, unlike Ashcloak, who spoke with too much confidence and offered too much gold for too little detail.
"He knows we're not just bounty hunters," Kaito said finally, lifting the capsule and loading it into the test rig, "And if he knows that, he probably knows I'm the one selling Witchbanes and Echo Talismans at the west market stall, and that means either he wants to expose me or... hire me."
Lilyeth stopped pacing, turned sharply, and leaned against the crate beside him, eyes narrowing.
"We should vanish. Go south. Sell your magic items in another city. Change our aliases."
Kaito cocked the capsule back out of the rig and weighed it in his hand, feeling the faint hum of magic carefully infused through [Craft Ammo], a blend of frost powder, bone chalk, and a drop of wyvern blood, expensive but effective, freezing impact and mana disruption packed into a two-finger charm sold as a one-use ward against lesser undead, yet in his hands, it could take down a plate-armored knight mid-charge.
"He knew too much," Kaito muttered, "But he didn't sound like the Church. And he didn't threaten us."
Lilyeth gave a skeptical snort.
"He smiled at us, Kaito. Right after you put a noble in the dirt. That's a threat where I come from."
Kaito exhaled through his nose and finally stood, walking toward the back shelf where his rebranding kit sat—an old alchemist's box he'd retrofitted to stamp magical seals onto bullet casings, transforming high-caliber rounds into innocuous-looking "blessing charms," the perfect disguise for a man with the only gun in a fantasy world full of mages and swordsmen.
"We'll take the meeting," he said without turning.
Lilyeth's voice rose, sharp and immediate.
"What?!"
"We take the meeting," Kaito repeated, grabbing a fresh Hollow shell and carving a radiant sun pattern into it with one of his etched branding tools, "But we don't go in blind. We scout the location, we prep an escape, and we bring enough firepower to turn the sewers into soup if he double-crosses us."
Lilyeth stared at him for a long moment, jaw tight, then sighed and threw up her hands.
"Fine. But I get to aim the crossbow this time."
Kaito gave a small grin, just enough to break the tension.
"Deal."
And behind them, unnoticed for now, a rune flared faintly red on the map pinned to the wall, marking the exact spot where Ashcloak had left his card, and beneath the glowing ink was a single word written in elegant, looping script:
"Partnership."
"Let's go over this one more time," Lilyeth said as she adjusted the strap of her satchel, her expression halfway between suspicion and irritation, they were standing in the mouth of an alley just a few turns from the old well house where Ashcloak's contact had set the meeting, and though the area was quiet, Kaito's instincts were louder than the silence.
"The drop point's in an abandoned bathhouse," he replied, checking the folds of his coat for the Frostbite Round he'd hidden in a disguised incense tube, "Lilyeth goes in first to scout, I follow thirty seconds later wearing the mask, we keep the conversation light, no names, no commitments, and if things get weird—"
"I shoot someone in the leg," she said, finishing the sentence for him with a smirk as she pulled a thin throwing blade from her sleeve and tucked it into her wrist glove, "Don't worry, I've got itchy hands today."
Kaito gave her a small nod, then pulled his mask down, a simple black ironplate with a smile carved into the mouthpiece, not because he liked the look, but because masks were theater, and nothing was more unsettling than a man who smiled while planning your death, he'd learned that back in Neo-Tokyo during an infiltration job that involved an embassy, a piano recital, and a poison vial disguised as a lipstick tube.
"Be my guest," he said, gesturing toward the cracked wooden door of the bathhouse, its hinges rusted and the paint flaking like dead skin, Lilyeth rolled her eyes and stepped inside without hesitation, her cloak fluttering behind her as if the shadows themselves were reluctant to let her go.
Kaito waited precisely thirty heartbeats, then entered after her, the stench of mold and forgotten soap stinging his nose, the room was wide but low, with broken tiles and old bath pits filled with dust, steam pipes lining the walls like dead veins, and in the center, under a flickering crystal lantern, stood Ashcloak.
Or rather, someone wearing Ashcloak's insignia, a silver clasp in the shape of a moth resting on their shoulder, the figure was lean, wrapped in linen and leather, with no exposed skin, even the eyes were hidden behind a veil of black silk, and when they spoke, the voice was neither male nor female, just smooth and clear, like a whisper passed through a mirror.
"Welcome, Mr. Saint," the figure said, gesturing at a bench beside one of the ruined pools, "You came armed. That's smart."
"I came polite," Kaito replied, sitting slowly, his right hand resting casually near his belt pouch where a single Echo Round sat disguised as a noise charm, "But I don't do blind deals."
"Then let me shine a little light," the figure said, reaching into a scroll case and pulling out a parchment that unfurled with a snap, revealing a detailed sketch of a nobleman's crest, a pair of rings, and a location—Silvervine Estate, East District, Sundown.
Kaito recognized the crest immediately, it belonged to House Dermalune, one of the smaller noble lines famous for their trade in enchanted fabrics and high-society theater troupes, their heir had recently bought a warded warehouse near the temple district, and rumors said they were importing something that made mages nervous.
"You want him dead?" Kaito asked quietly, though he already knew the answer.
"No," the figure replied, "We want you to ruin him, not kill, not expose, just damage him beyond recovery—socially, financially, magically."
Lilyeth stepped forward now, crossing her arms.
"That's a messy request. And not cheap."
The veiled figure chuckled.
"We'll pay you in enchanted catalysts—rare, high grade—and access to a mana forge in the old quarter. The kind your... product line could benefit from."
That made Kaito pause, just long enough for them to notice, then he stood, dusted off his coat, and looked at Lilyeth.
"We'll think about it," he said flatly.
"No rush," the figure replied as they vanished into the far door like smoke on a cold breeze, "But sundown is only three days away."
Kaito and Lilyeth didn't speak again until they were three blocks away, walking in silence through alleys and narrow streets lit by moss-lamps and the occasional wandering bard.
Finally, Lilyeth broke the silence.
"You're going to do it, aren't you?"
Kaito's voice was quiet.
"I'm going to do something."
And in his coat pocket, the status panel flickered faintly as [Trigger of Fate] activated without warning.
The workshop lights buzzed softly as Kaito leaned over the reinforced table, his gloved fingers moving with surgical precision as he assembled a new round type from scrap core fragments and crushed frostleaf crystal, Lilyeth sat on a stack of supply crates nearby, munching on a sweetbread stick she'd stolen from the baker two alleys over, her eyes following every movement he made, not with wonder, but with that calculating look that said, if this thing explodes, I'm blaming you first.
"Let me get this straight," she said, chewing slowly, "You're going to accept a job to ruin a noble with a single bullet, but not kill him."
Kaito didn't look up, but the corner of his mouth twitched as he sealed the silver casing around the crystal core, the glow of mana pulsing like a heartbeat through the bullet.
"Not just any bullet," he muttered, sliding it into a cloth-wrapped tray beside three others marked with different etchings, "I'm crafting a round that causes a hallucination spike, triggers magical feedback, and overloads any enchanted fabric within ten meters, if I hit him during a gala, in front of half the court, his enchanted robe will go wild, his voice will stutter like a cursed flute, and he'll probably soil himself in public."
Lilyeth raised a brow.
"Subtle."
"I don't get paid to be subtle," he replied, standing and locking the ammo case with a rune-etched clasp, "I get paid to be undeniable."
She stood, dusting off her trousers.
"You're really building a business off of this stuff? Magic bullets that look like charms and capsules? Even if you hide the gun, what if someone reverse engineers one?"
"They won't," Kaito said, turning to the back room where the forge lay hidden beneath mana seals, "Because without a chambered compression engine and a soul-bound trigger enchantment, these rounds just look like unstable alchemy experiments, most mages won't touch them, most knights won't understand them, and the ones who do will want to buy more."
Lilyeth folded her arms, looking at him seriously now.
"And if they trace it back to us?"
Kaito paused at the doorway, hand on the switch, then glanced back.
"Then I'll sell to both sides," he said, not smiling, "That's how wars get profitable."
The moment the door shut behind him, the workshop went quiet except for the ticking of the rune clock and the faint pulse of the newly crafted bullet—[Hollow Curse Round], a new prototype loaded with illusion magic, compressed fear essence, and a whisper of trickster mana, capable of making a man believe his skin had turned inside out for ten full seconds.
The real trick was that it wore off with no evidence.
Lilyeth sighed and kicked the crate lightly.
"He's going to drag us all into the abyss one day," she muttered.
And then there was a knock.
Not on the workshop door.
On the hidden entrance.
Three slow taps, a pause, then two more.
Kaito froze mid-step in the forge room as the sound echoed faintly, then reached under the workbench where the [ZeroSystem Mk-IX] rested, gleaming under the amber light.
No one was supposed to know that pattern.
Not unless they'd trained in the Black Ink Network.
Not unless they were assassins.
And all of them were supposed to be dead.