Aedric traced a finger across the map, his mind sharpening like a blade. The plan wasn't about attacking Gorran's fortress—it was about making Gorran himself move. Kings who sat on thrones were hard to kill. Kings who left them were vulnerable.
And Aedric had every intention of pulling the crime lord into the open.
Lirian leaned against the table, watching him with an amused glint in her eyes. "So, Phantom, how exactly do you plan to drag Gorran out of his den? He's not stupid. He'll stay locked up until you're nothing more than another street legend."
Aedric smirked. "Simple. We take something he values more than his own life."
Lirian arched an eyebrow. "And that is…?"
Aedric tapped a section of the map labeled Gorran's Smuggling Route. "His gold."
Gorran's true power didn't come from his men—it came from the coin that fueled them. The black-market trade, the bribes to city guards, the mercenaries he hired—all of it ran on a constant flow of wealth. And if that flow stopped, his entire empire would begin to crumble.
Aedric pointed to a small dockyard on the eastern side of the slums. "Every week, Gorran's smugglers bring in shipments of stolen goods, illegal weapons, and rare mana-infused artifacts. It's his main source of power."
Lirian's eyes flickered with understanding. "You want to hit the shipment."
Aedric nodded. "Not just hit it—take it. If we disrupt his operations, he'll be forced to act. He can't afford to let someone challenge his control."
Lirian tapped her dagger against the wooden table. "You're either brilliant or suicidal."
Aedric smirked. "A bit of both."
Lirian's grin widened. "Good. Let's burn his empire to the ground."
Two nights later, the plan was set into motion.
The eastern dockyard was heavily guarded, torches casting long shadows across the wooden pier. Gorran's men were vigilant—crossbows at the ready, blades sharpened. They weren't expecting an attack.
They should have been.
Aedric crouched on a rooftop overlooking the docks, the moonlight glinting off the stolen dagger in his hand. Lirian and her Nightfangs were already in position, hiding within the crates and shadows, waiting for the right moment.
The shipment was here.
Crates filled with contraband weapons, stolen gold, and rare artifacts infused with mana were being unloaded from a large black ship.
Aedric's golden eyes flickered as he took a deep breath. He could feel the power coiled inside him, waiting to be unleashed. The air around him seemed to hum, charged with something unnatural.
He raised his hand.
And the night exploded into chaos.
The first guard barely had time to scream before his mind was ensnared. His body went rigid, eyes glowing faintly as Aedric whispered into his thoughts.
"Turn on them."
Without hesitation, the man swung his blade at his own allies.
Shouts of confusion rang through the dockyard as guards turned on each other, their minds unraveling under Aedric's influence. In the chaos, Lirian and her thieves struck.
Silent blades slid into flesh. Shadows moved like ghosts. Crossbow bolts whistled through the air, finding targets with deadly precision.
Aedric leaped down, his dagger flashing as he cut through the remaining resistance. He was faster, stronger—more than he had ever been before. The power inside him wasn't just magic. It was dominance.
Within minutes, the dockyard was theirs.
The shipment—the lifeblood of Gorran's empire—was gone.
And by morning, every criminal in Velmire would know:
The Phantom wasn't just a rumor.
He was a threat.