The night of June 1610 wrapped Surat in a shroud of silence, broken only by the faint crash of waves and the stealthy tread of Jai Vora's team. The warehouse on the city's fringes stood like a sleeping giant, its walls hiding the thieves who'd stolen Vora Trading Company's recipes, spice mixes, and funds—along with the lives of two guards. Jai, nine years old but a storm of strategy, led Amir, Kofi, Annu, and Ravi through the warehouse's main door, their hooded forms cloaked in Kofi's leather armor, faces masked, and hands gripping bows and blades. Outside, Vikram, Ram, Shashi, Kali, Sarita, and Manoj stood guard, arrows nocked, ready to catch any who fled. The Emperor System, Jai's secret AI-spirit guide, pulsed with urgency: "Inside's where it counts, Jai. That tracker's screaming—the loot's close, but these thieves are no pushovers. Don't get cocky."
Jai's heart pounded, his mind sharp as a honed blade. The warehouse was vast, its interior a maze of crates and shadows, lit only by slivers of moonlight through cracked shutters. No figures stirred, but the air thrummed with menace. Jai's suspicion of Keshav, the vanished worker, lingered—could he be here, orchestrating this? His hatred for the East India Company, a silent ember from his past life as Vihaan Roy, flickered, though no proof yet linked these thieves to the EIC.
He reached into his satchel, pulling out a friction matchstick—another marvel born of his 2025 knowledge. Matches wouldn't exist for centuries, but Jai, with Kofi's Blacksmithing finesse, had spent late nights in the workshop grinding sulfur and saltpeter, binding them to a wooden stick coated with wax. A strip of roughened wood, treated with red phosphorus, sparked when struck. "Light without flint—game-changer," Jai had grinned during testing, as Kofi fanned away smoke from a misfire. Now, Jai tossed the matchstick onto an oil-soaked cloth he'd placed at the entrance, striking it against his wristband. The cloth ignited with a whoosh, flames leaping to cast the warehouse in a flickering golden glow, banishing the darkness.
Figures flinched along the walls—five shadows exposed, their Stealth betrayed. Jai's spyglass, already stowed, wasn't needed; the system's overlay flashed stats: four burly thieves with Strength and Agility in the 20s, and one small, thin figure in black, moving like liquid night—Agility=41, Stealth=30. "That's their leader," the system hissed. "Dangerous. Take him alive for answers." Jai pointed Amir toward the thin figure. "Amir, Kofi, capture that one—alive. Amir, his Bladework a dance of precision, nodded, gripping his blade.
Jai, Annu, and Ravi turned to the four larger thieves, who'd relied on darkness but now stood exposed, their eyes wide with confusion. The blaze disrupted their coordination, but they adapted fast, drawing curved swords and spreading out like wolves. "Smoke arrows, shoulders!" Jai barked. Annu and Ravi, their Agility honed by months of training, loosed arrows from Kofi's bows. Clay tips shattered, releasing soot clouds that stung eyes and throats. Two thieves staggered, coughing, swords clattering as they clutched their shoulders. The other two charged, their Strength formidable, blades flashing in the firelight.
Jai ducked a swing, his small frame weaving with uncanny speed, a smoke arrow nocked and fired point-blank into a thief's arm. The man howled, dropping as the irritant cloud enveloped him. Annu, his Endurance a quiet fortress, parried a blow with his dagger, his arrow striking true. Ravi, his Power a battering ram, tackled the last thief, pinning him as smoke bloomed from another arrow. The four were down, writhing but alive, their coordination shattered by Jai's tactics.
Across the warehouse, Amir and Kofi cornered the thin leader, his black cloak a blur. His Agility let him dodge Amir's initial lunge, but Kofi's massive frame blocked his escape, a smoke arrow grazing his shoulder. The cloud erupted, and the leader faltered, eyes streaming. Amir, his Bladework a whirlwind, pinned him to a crate with a blade to his throat, careful not to kill. "Got him," Amir growled, binding the man's wrists with rope.
Jai scanned the warehouse, the fire's glow revealing sacks of stolen spices and a locked chest—likely the funds. The system pinged: "Clean sweep, Jai! Quest progress: Reclaim What Was Stolen, 80% complete. Get that chest and grill the leader." Jai's team regrouped, their breaths heavy but triumphant, the thieves subdued. The warehouse, once an enemy lair, was now under jai's control.