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Night blanketed Trist City, shrouding its streets in a dense fog. Five men darted through the alleyways, their leather armor and daggers marking them as typical thieves. With faces concealed by masks, they moved swiftly.
“Hurry up. We need to stick to the schedule,” one of them barked.
“Yes, boss,” another replied.
Though the fog and darkness obscured their view, the men navigated the cityscape with ease. Familiarity with the area allowed them to traverse the maze of alleys without needing a single torch or lantern.
Eventually, the group arrived near a sprawling estate, its walls stretching endlessly into the mist. As they peered into the compound, one of the men muttered nervously. “The security here is no joke.”
The manor itself exuded elegance. It was a remnant of its origins as the residence of the Trist County. But under Ranpelt’s occupation, the refined manor had been transformed into a grim fortress. What should have been rose-laden walls were now bristling with shards of glass and jagged blades, deterring even the smallest intrusions.
Pristine hedges had been hacked apart and replaced with makeshift guard posts, manned by crossbow-wielding sentries. The once lush, noble gardens had been entirely uprooted. It was an attempt...
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