Chapter 59: Repayment

Chapter 59: Chapter 59: Repayment

"All warfare is based on deception. When able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive." — Sun Tzu, The Art of War

The heavy iron gates of the Undervault felt intimately familiar now.

An entire month had bled away into the biting chill of the frontier night. Four relentless weeks of brutal, soul crushing training in the monolith ruins under Garreth’s unblinking eye.

During that span, Riven’s relentless performance on official Guild contracts had finally pushed his credentials upward, officially bumping him to an F+ Rank adventurer.

It wasn’t a dramatic promotion.

But it was progress.

And progress was something Riven valued more than praise.

The official Guild boards offered steady work, reliable payment, and a reputation he could build on.

The Undervault offered something else.

Experience.

Real experience.

The kind that came from dealing with people who didn’t care about rules, ranks, or whether he was still a child.

Garreth had steered him toward the black market a month earlier.

"The Guild pays in copper and stamps your paperwork with a smile while you risk your neck for pennies," Garreth had rasped over a map, tossing a blood stained ledger onto the stone table.

"The Undervault pays in real silver and teaches you how to survive people who actually want to put a knife in your throat. Go down there when you want to learn how the world really works."

Riven had taken the advice seriously.

Now, stepping past the curtain of heavy chains into the subterranean black market, he felt the familiar mixture of smoke, damp stone, and sweat settle over him.

The Undervault hadn’t changed.

Or perhaps he had simply become used to it.

Merchants whispered over illegal goods.

Mercenaries leaned against walls with weapons within easy reach.

Mages inspected strange artifacts beneath dim lanterns.

Nobody questioned Riven’s presence.

Nobody cared that a six year old in an obsidian half mask was walking through a place where most children wouldn’t have survived five minutes.

Riven preferred it that way.

The dual runed shortsword at his hip hummed with a stable, comforting resonance against his core.

His fingers briefly brushed the hilt.

The weapon had been expensive.

But it had already proven its worth.

Neither rune made the sword stronger.

Neither made it deadlier.

They simply made it quieter.

For someone like Riven, that was more valuable than raw strength.

He headed straight for the jagged iron backed bulletin board tucked into the back alcove.

Several dozen wax stamped slips covered its surface.

Riven ignored the smaller jobs.

Debt collection.

Package retrievals.

Monster hunting.

Information gathering.

His eyes moved farther down.

Then stopped.

A brutal, high yield contract had been pinned near the bottom.

The target was a fortified subterranean contraband den carved deep beneath the lower slums. It was a notorious bottleneck where a rival smuggling ring processed stolen runestones.

Riven pulled the slip free.

The details were simple.

And unforgiving.

Tight quarters.

Heavily guarded by armed enforcers.

Zero witnesses.

Riven stared at the final line for a moment.

Zero witnesses.

That wasn’t a normal bounty.

Someone wanted the job done quietly.

Very quietly.

He folded the contract and slipped it inside his cloak.

Two gold pieces.

The reward was enough to make him pause.

But the money wasn’t the main reason he had chosen it.

The job itself was exactly what he needed.

Tight spaces.

Multiple opponents.

Limited visibility.

Spatial interference.

And no room for sloppy movement.

It was the perfect test.

Riven turned away from the board.

His obsidian half mask cast a sharp shadow across his face in the flickering tallow light.

He descended toward the catacombs beneath the lower slums.

Into the Warrens

Minutes later, Riven slipped through a rotting wooden service hatch.

The door groaned softly as he pushed it open.

He froze.

Nothing.

No footsteps.

No voices.

Only dripping water somewhere in the darkness.

Riven slipped inside and closed the hatch behind him.

The smell hit him immediately.

Damp earth.

Stale pipeweed.

Unwashed wool.

Old blood.

The cramped stone hallway stretched ahead beneath a low ceiling.

Riven lowered his breathing.

Garreth had spent weeks drilling that habit into him.

Slow breath.

Controlled breath.

Don’t let your body dictate your movement.

Don’t let your mana flare when your instincts tell you to panic.

Riven moved forward.

Amber torchlight flickered around the next corner.

Two men sat on cracked wooden crates beneath it.

Both were armed.

One carried a heavy iron studded truncheon.

The other had a short sword resting across his knees.

They were playing dice.

Neither had noticed him.

Riven pressed his back against the cold, weeping stone wall.

He closed his eyes.

The mask sharpened the darkness around him, but he didn’t rely entirely on it.

He reached deeper.

Spatial awareness.

Air pressure.

Movement.

Weight.

The men shifted every few seconds.

One leaned forward.

The other leaned back.

Their movements created small changes in the space around them.

Riven watched.

Waited.

There.

A gap.

He drew his shortsword.

The Dusk Gleam rune swallowed the torchlight.

No reflection.

No warning.

Riven stepped forward.

Then he activated Shadow Leap.

Darkness folded around him.

He crossed the three feet between them almost instantly.

The nearest enforcer sensed the sudden displacement.

His head snapped around.

"What?"

Riven emerged directly behind him.

The man spun and swung his truncheon.

Riven stepped inside the attack.

His shortsword intercepted the iron weapon.

Thud.

The Echo Step rune swallowed the metallic impact.

The enforcer’s eyes widened.

Riven twisted his wrist.

The truncheon was redirected away from his body.

His next strike hit the man’s wrist.

The weapon fell.

Before the man could recover, Riven drove his shoulder into the man’s chest and sent him crashing against the wall.

The second enforcer finally realized what was happening.

He jumped from the crate and drew his sword.

Riven turned toward him.

The man charged.

Riven didn’t retreat.

Instead, he focused on the space beneath the man’s leading foot.

He didn’t try to manipulate the entire hallway.

Garreth had beaten that mistake out of him.

Find one point.

One small section of space.

Riven compressed it burrowing his mana into the ground.

A sharp spatial pulse disturbed the floor beneath the enforcer’s step.

His footing slipped.

Only for an instant.

But an instant was enough.

Riven stepped forward.

His sword passed cleanly through the man’s guard.

The enforcer collapsed.

The first man was already reaching for his fallen truncheon.

Riven turned.

One precise strike ended the struggle.

Silence returned.

Riven stood still for several seconds.

Listening.

Nothing.

No footsteps.

No shouted alarm.

His breathing remained steady.

He looked down at the two bodies.

His first test had been successful.

But it had been easy.

Too easy.

Riven wiped the edge of his blade against a discarded piece of cloth and continued deeper into the compound.

The passage became narrower as he moved deeper.

Riven slowed.

The walls were closer here.

The ceiling barely gave him enough room to stand comfortably.

A perfect place for an ambush.

He stopped.

Closed his eyes.

Listened.

Nothing.

Then a faint metallic scrape.

Riven opened his eyes.

He continued.

The corridor eventually widened into a large pillared vault.

The sound reached him first.

Metal sorting against metal.

Wooden crates being dragged across stone.

Low voices.

Riven crouched behind a fractured stone pillar.

Three more enforcers stood around a central oak table.

The table was covered with runestones.

Dozens of them.

Some glowed faintly blue.

Others pulsed with unstable light.

Riven’s eyes narrowed.

Those weren’t ordinary stones.

Raw runestones.

Unstable and unprocessed.

One careless strike could turn the entire room into a grave.

Riven breathed slowly.

Garreth’s training took over.

Distance.

Eight paces.

Movement.

Three guards.

Space.

Distorted.

The runestones were interfering with the natural flow of mana around the table.

Riven couldn’t use brute force.

He needed precision.

Absolute precision.

He lowered himself further.

Then moved.

His boots barely made a sound.

The Dusk Gleam rune kept his sword hidden from the blue glow of the runestones.

One of the guards shifted.

Riven froze.

The guard looked toward the pillar.

Riven waited.

The man eventually turned away.

Riven continued.

He reached the edge of the open floor.

Then used a short Shadow Leap.

Darkness wrapped around him.

He reappeared behind the nearest guard.

The man turned.

"Who’s?"

Riven stepped inside his guard.

The guard swung wildly.

Riven ducked underneath the strike.

A dagger appeared in the man’s other hand.

It came toward Riven’s ribs.

Riven twisted.

His shortsword caught the dagger.

Thud.

Again, almost no sound.

Riven rotated his grip.

The pommel of his sword slammed into the man’s temple.

The guard collapsed.

The other two reacted instantly.

They weren’t amateurs.

Both drew their weapons.

One rushed from the left.

The other from the right.

A pincer.

Riven’s eyes narrowed.

He didn’t have enough room to retreat.

So he didn’t.

He stepped toward the gap between them.

One blade passed inches from his shoulder.

The second came toward his back.

Riven compressed the space beneath his foot.

His body shifted sideways.

Not teleportation.

Not a Shadow Leap.

Just raw ability.

The blade missed.

Riven twisted through the opening.

He emerged at their flank.

His shortsword moved once.

Then twice.

Both men froze.

Their weapons slipped from their hands.

They collapsed.

The vault fell silent.

Riven stood still.

His chest rose and fell.

His core hummed steadily.

No panic.

No wasted movement.

No unnecessary noise.

A month ago, he would have fought those three differently.

He would have relied on speed.

Shadow Leap.

Raw instinct.

Now he was beginning to understand what Garreth had been trying to teach him.

Magic wasn’t supposed to replace skill.

It was supposed to become part of it.

Riven walked toward the table.

The stolen runestones were packed into several padded crates.

He checked the manifest.

The markings matched the description on the contract.

These were the ones.

He began transferring them into his heavy leather pack.

Then he stopped.

A sound came from the far side of the vault.

A door opening.

Riven slowly turned.

His hand settled around his sword.

Footsteps entered the chamber.

More than three.

Much more.

Riven’s spatial senses expanded.

He could feel them through the walls.

Five.

No.

Seven.

And something else.

Something heavier.

Riven’s grip tightened.

The job wasn’t over.

Not even close.

An hour later, Riven stepped through the rotting service hatch and emerged into the freezing rain.

The alleyways of the frontier settlement glistened beneath the weak lantern light.

Riven adjusted the heavy leather pack across his shoulder.

The stolen runestones were secure.

The compound had been cleared.

No witnesses had survived.

And no alarm had reached the surface.

The contract was complete.

At least, according to the client.

Riven walked several steps before stopping.

Someone was leaning against the crumbling brick wall beside the Undervault’s back exit.

Garreth.

The older man smoked a thin, foul smelling herbal cheroot.

The cherry glowed dull orange against the darkness.

He didn’t look up.

He didn’t need to.

His steel gray eyes tracked Riven from beneath lowered brows.

Riven approached.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Rain pattered against the cobblestones.

Finally, Riven unbuckled his pack.

He removed the heavy leather pouch containing the client’s two gold payment.

Then tossed it toward Garreth.

The pouch landed against the wet stones near his boots.

Clink.

Garreth looked down.

Then up.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

Riven waited.

The old knight crouched and picked up the pouch.

He weighed it in his hand.

Then looked at Riven again.

"You finished?"

"Yes."

"Anyone see you?"

"No."

"Anyone hear you?"

Riven hesitated.

"...Not enough to matter."

Garreth’s eyebrow rose.

"That’s not the answer I asked for."

Riven said nothing.

Garreth stared at him for another moment.

Then a rare smirk cut through the scarred lines of his face.

He tossed the pouch back.

Riven caught it.

"Keep your earnings, boy."

Riven looked down at the pouch.

Garreth turned away.

"You paid your debt."

He took another drag from the cheroot.

"And you didn’t wake the dead while you were at it."

Riven’s fingers tightened around the gold.

Garreth started walking.

Then stopped.

He glanced over his shoulder.

"Don’t let it swell your head."

Riven waited.

"Tomorrow at dawn"

Garreth’s smirk returned.

"We train harder then ever."

Riven’s expression disappeared beneath the mask.

"...I hate you."

Garreth laughed.

It was a rough, quiet sound.

"Good."

He continued into the darkness.

Riven stood in the rain for another moment.

Then followed.

The two figures disappeared into the dark streets of the frontier settlement.

Behind them, the Undervault continued to breathe beneath the city.

And somewhere beneath those streets, more people were already preparing for the next knife fight.