204. Ravenna's Letter

Republic City of Otto, Southern Islands, in the Luminous Seas, off the Coast of Hilde Kingdom, Eastern Continent“Grhh—!”

The sound of a dying man gurgling filled a narrow back alley, muffled by the rain-slick walls of Otto City’s spiraling streets. A thickset man collapsed onto the cobblestones, blood bubbling from his chest as his hands clawed desperately at the wound, lungs failing him with every wet gasp.

The killer, a wiry thug in a pointed hat, didn’t spare him another glance. Knife dripping crimson, he bolted down the twisting lane, trying to vanish into the labyrinth of alleys before anyone could catch him.

But before he could turn the corner, a shadow moved. A tall man in a gray suit, standing perfectly still as though he’d been waiting there all along, swung a sturdy ironwood cane. The crack landed squarely at the base of the fleeing man’s skull. The thug’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed without a sound.

The man in gray barely adjusted his sleeves as another figure entered the alley: Kenric Jade.

Brown-haired, sharp-eyed, Kenric walked with the unhurried confidence of a predator among prey. Even the increasing drizzle of rain seemed to part around him, running down his tailored coat without daring to stain it. He crouched beside the dying man, watching his chest rise and fall in erratic spasms, and spoke casually in the smooth cadence of the Hilde tongue.

“He’s Drogon Maric, yes? Thorny Front Gang’s muscles?” His tone was almost lazy, as if discussing the weather, while the man’s life ebbed away before him.

“Yes, Mr. Kenric,” the gray-suited enforcer confirmed in the same language, his voice clipped and respectful.

Kenric’s gaze slid to the unconscious thug sprawled nearby. The knife was still clutched in his limp hand. “And our friend here?”

“Kilen Johnson. Rising star in the Conley Refuge Gang. Eager, but reckless,” the gray-suited man said flatly.

Kenric hummed thoughtfully, straightening to his full height. The rain had thickened now, each drop drumming on the cobblestones, but he seemed unbothered. His mind was already racing ahead, connecting threads unseen by most.

“Drogon has a long-standing enmity with Councilman Nathan and his faction, doesn’t he?” Kenric asked, voice smooth.

The man in gray paused, then nodded. “Enough to put Drogon on Nathan’s kill list, yes.”

At that precise moment, Drogon’s chest heaved one final time. His eyes glazed over, and the alley fell silent save for the patter of rain.

Kenric smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it, only calculation. “Good. That saves us time.”

He turned sharply, his words flowing with precise instruction. “Send a few anonymous letters, one to Councilman Nathan’s right hand. Say: I am a humble hunchman working undercover within the Thorny Front Gang. Drogon Maric is within my reach. For ten Mana Coins, I can remove him by evening. Send the payment to Lando Bar, east shore of Otto City, as soon as you receive this letter, or miss the opportunity of a lifetime.”

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The gray-suited man bowed slightly. “Yes, Mr. Kenric. And the other?”

Kenric’s eyes glinted as he crouched again, plucking the knife from Kilen’s limp grip, studying it as though the weapon itself might serve as a chess piece. “Send another letter. This one to the Thorny Front Gang. Write: I discovered Drogon Maric dead in an alleyway. I saw the man who killed him. For twelve Mana Coins, I will provide a full description by evening. Deliver payment to Hero’s Bar, west shore of Otto City.”

The gray-suited man’s brow furrowed. “You mean to bleed both sides—”

Kenric cut him off with a raised hand, his smile widening like a fox that had cornered hens. “And a third.” He slung the unconscious Kilen over his shoulder with surprising ease, as if carrying a sack of grain. “Draft another message. This one for the Conley Refuge Gang. Say: Your man, Kilen Johnson, has been captured by the Thorny Front Gang after he murdered Drogon. They intend to extract every secret he holds. But for twelve Mana Coins, I, a humble insider, can ensure his release before interrogation.”

The man in gray hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. “Three letters. Three paydays.”

Kenric strode out of the alleyway, rain streaming down the brim of his hat as if framing his calm, calculating expression. His boots made no sound on the wet stones. Behind him, the enforcer crouched, carefully extracting a tooth and a lock of hair from Drogon’s corpse.

“These will serve as proof for both Thorny Front and Councilman Nathan,” the gray-suited man said.

Kenric’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Exactly. Send Drogon’s hair to Nathan’s man, and the tooth to the Thorny Front Gang. As for Kilen…” He adjusted the unconscious man slung over his back like cargo. “…We’ll release him, after every side has paid their due.”

The gray-suited man bowed once more. “Understood.”

Kenric’s eyes sharpened as he looked toward the glimmering streets of Otto, the city where power was traded not in ideals, but in coin and cunning. Rain slicked across his coat, but he stood tall, an apex predator among scavengers.

The gray-suited man, who had been gathering Drogon’s bloodied tooth and hair for proof, suddenly straightened as if remembering something. “Ah.. sir, I nearly forgot!” He reached into his coat and produced a sealed envelope. “A letter arrived earlier, addressed directly to you. The courier claimed the sender used the same drop address as the others. The name on it…” His eyes flicked toward the writing on the wax seal. “…was The Raven.”

Kenric’s brows arched slightly, then his lips curled into a faint smile. “The Raven, is it? So… she sends another letter.” His tone carried both amusement and a quiet admiration.

“Do you wish to read it now, sir?” the man asked.

Kenric waved him off with casual elegance, adjusting the weight of the unconscious Kilen over his shoulder. “No. We have business to attend to first. Deliver the letters, secure the payments. I’ll reply to hers… in due time.”

“Yes, Mr. Kenric.” The man bowed and hurried off into the rain, his figure soon swallowed by the winding alleys of Otto.

Kenric remained a moment longer, standing beneath the slate sky as droplets pattered against his coat and hair. The smile still lingered on his lips, but it had softened, losing its foxlike sharpness. A shadow of melancholy touched his expression, a rare break in his polished mask.

“So you finally replied… Your Highness Ravenna,” he murmured, almost wistful, his voice carried away by the rain. His gaze drifted toward the distant docks, where the sea met the horizon in gray-blue haze.

Then, with a sharp exhale, his mask of calculation returned, and he stepped out of the alley, vanishing into Otto’s rain-slick streets like a ghost in the storm.