The tavern was a tomb at five in the morning.
No clink of mugs, no drunkards snoring only the creak of old beams as a cold wind slipped through the shutters.
From the black corners of the taproom, shadows began to move.
Two figures glided across the floor, their boots whispering against the planks. One wore a hooded black robe that swallowed him whole; the other followed close behind, a thin blade glinting faintly whenever moonlight caught the edge.
"Still think this is a bad idea," the robed one hissed, voice barely a breath.
"Shut it," the partner muttered back. "Just help me check the door. No noise, no mistakes."
Up the rickety staircase they crept, each step groaning like a guilty conscience. Above them, a single door waited the knight's room.
Behind it, the man himself slept like a boulder in a meadow, snores deep and steady.
Outside, in the icy yard, a third conspirator stood with staff raised. A faint blue light pulsed at the tip as intricate lines of magic circled and tightened one glowing ring, then two, then a trembling third. Frost smoked off the ground beneath his feet. His jaw was clenched, sweat dotting his brow despite the cold.
Back inside, the hooded figure hesitated at the landing.
"Seriously," he whispered, heart hammering. "We sure about this?"
His partner turned, dagger reflecting the pale glimmer from the window.
"Positive. Stop quivering and keep moving." They reached the knight's door. Silence except for the slow rasp of steel as the dagger-man tested the latch. The robed one swallowed hard. Please still be asleep… Through the thin wood came a low, unmistakable snore long, rumbling, almost cheerful.
The dagger-man smirked and raised two fingers in a silent signal.
The stairwell exhaled a faint draft as another shadow glided into view.At the far end of the hallway, framed by the dim lantern glow, a tall silhouette paused hips angled, arms folded. Even in near-darkness, everyone recognized the sharp outline of Raiyna.
She lifted two fingers in a crisp signal: Go in. I'll watch the hall.
The dagger-man's lips curled in a thin grin. "Showtime," he whispered.
He nudged his nervous partner forward with the flat of the blade."Your turn. Go check."
The robed doubter stiffened. "Why me?"
"Because I said so. And because I've got the dagger."
"That's not a reason."
"It's plenty of a reason," the dagger-man muttered. "Move before I poke holes in you. Now go while I cover you"
The robed one blinked. "Cover me from what?"
A quick, humorless smile. "From me, if you don't start walking."
The doubter stared at him, equal parts disbelief and misery, then shuffled forward like a man heading to the gallows. Behind them, Raiyna stayed poised and silent, eyes narrowing as she scanned the hallway for any sign of movement.
At the door, the robed man pressed his ear to the wood. Inside: that same rumbling snore, slow and deep, like a giant cat purring.
He drew a shaky breath, reached for the latch and froze as the sound of a floorboard creak echoed faintly behind him.
The door creaked open just enough for a sliver of moonlight to spill across the room.There half bathed in silver glow lay the knight, helmet off, silver beard catching the pale light. His sword rested within easy reach, the leather-bound diary beside it. A soft, rumbling snore filled the room, slow and unbothered.
The robed man held his breath, eyes darting around the corners. Nothing moved.He lingered a moment longer, heart pounding, then eased the door shut with infinite care.
Back in the hallway, the dagger-man arched a brow."Well?"
"He's… he's asleep," the robed one whispered, voice cracking. "Sword and book by the bed. Everything's… fine."
The dagger-man gave a curt nod and flicked two fingers toward Raiyna. She tilted her head in acknowledgement, then glided down the stairs like a phantom.
At the bottom, two shadowy figures waited Sein and Ronald, both cloaked in the half-light.
Raiyna leaned in. "He's out cold."
Ronald's eyes gleamed with sudden command. "Aye then. Evacuate th' buildin' or we're ye gonna get a proper arse whooping. Get ye' mage ready." Sein opened his mouth to reply, but paused as every single person in the darkened tavern turned to stare at Ronald's ridiculous black mask just a scrap of cloth with two uneven eyeholes.
Someone whispered, "Why's he wearin' that?"
Another snorted. "We know it's you, Ronald. The voice gives it away."
Ronald huffed, the Scottish lilt muffled by the cloth. "A disguise's a disguise! Now quit starin' an' move yer arses!"
The group shared silent, exasperated looks but obeyed, shuffling to their positions as the plan to strike the sleeping knight crept closer to reality.
One by one the shadows slipped outside, boots scuffing against the dew-damp street. The cool predawn air smelled of wet stone and wood smoke. They gathered in a rough circle beneath the knight's second-floor window, the whole gang jittery with nerves and half-awake aggression.
The nervous robed figure finally yanked back his hood, revealing the thin, sharp features of the tavern owner himself. He exhaled hard. "You all realize this'll blow half my place to splinters, right? Roof, walls maybe the barrels in the cellar."
From the edge of the group, Thorus twirled a dagger between his fingers, unimpressed. "We'll fix it after. and we took put out all the liqour and valuables. Dont worry about that. Plus we've put up a protective barrier everywhere except for his room"
A dry laugh. "If there's anything left to fix," the owner shot back.
Near them, the mage knelt in the dirt, staff planted firmly, lips moving in a precise rhythm. Three faintly glowing circles shimmered at his feet complex sigils interlocking like clockwork gears.
He didn't even glance up. "If you lot want this to work," he murmured, "don't breathe on me. Three-circle spell. Not a tavern trick."
From the shadows came a rustle of cloth as Lard tugged down his ill-fitting mask sweat shining on his round face. "Perimeter's clear," he grunted. "Now what's takin' so bloody long?"
The mage's eyes narrowed, still chanting. "It's a very complex spell," he hissed between syllables. "I'm focusing. So shut. Up."
A ripple of nervous laughter and throat-clearing swept through the gang, quickly strangled by the mage's sharp glare and the eerie hum of gathering power. Above them, the knight's window glimmered faintly in the moonlight quiet, still, and ominous.
Advin concentrated as he develop the spell and the fact that it was his first time doing a 3 circle magic spell. He was even the slightest nervous. He grew up in the gutters of a town near the capital, where a dry blanket was treasure. One night he scavenged a battered one-star grimoire.
When he finally learned to read, the title almost made him throw it in the fire: "Magic 101 for Dumbasses." He swore that if he ever found the author, he'd roast their backside with a fireball.
The insult stung enough that he kept it then, he swore an oath: find the author and roast their backside with a fireball.
By gutter-candle he whispered incantations until sparks danced across his fingertips. Soon he was using small spells to snatch bread and coins, feeding younger siblings with one hand and dodging the city watch with the other.
A traveling noble, Lord Calvess, caught him mid-theft. Instead of the stocks, Calvess offered training, amazed that a half-starved street rat had already touched the first circle at a very young age a feat most well-born apprentices seldom reach till they reach their teen years. Everyone assumed the boy would hit the coveted third circle, the realm of high mages.
But Advin stayed Advin. He skipped lectures, pocketed anything that glittered, and treated magical theory like tavern gossip. Discipline bored him; temptation didn't. Years passed. Classmates advanced. He didn't.
One rain-soaked evening Calvess finally said, "Brilliance wasted on a rogue," and dismissed him.
Advin only grinned, staff in hand. He'd still carved a place as a rare two-star mage exceptional by any standard, if not the legend he'd been meant to be.
And tonight, with three luminous circles burning open in the sky above the tavern, muscles screaming and blood streaking his face, he intended to prove that even a rule-dodging "dumbass" could grasp the impossible if only for a moment.
The final syllable scorched his throat. Advin's staff trembled like a live wire as three radiant circles blazed above the tavern roof, their edges carving against the night like molten glass.
Heat burst outward, snapping every windowpane in a heartbeat. The cobblestones beneath him cracked.
Blood slicked his palms and nose, then streamed from his eyes like red tears. He felt muscle fibers fray, nerves sizzle his body screaming that a two-circle mage had no right to touch the third.
Still he grinned, teeth bright with defiance. Worth it, he thought.
"By your name in reverence," he rasped, voice barely human, "cast your judgment on my enemy with your light Goddess of Dreams Nirvana!"
Everyone stood frozen, staring at the devastation. The column of light had turned the surrounding courtyard, the roof, and the nearby trees into nothing but glowing cinders. The brilliance of the attack was hypnotic, almost beautiful but its violence made even the hardened gang members flinch.
They exchanged uneasy glances. Maybe they had overdone it, they thought. But if it meant the knight would be gone and they could return to their own lives, it was worth it. After all, the chance that he was allied with the Black Mountain Bandits was far too high. It was either him or them.
Then Advin collapsed.
Chaos erupted. Lard was the first to react, sprinting forward with eyes narrowed, his hand on Advin's shoulder. "Damn it! Letting him do that spell was a mistake!" His voice held the calm decisiveness of a leader used to managing crises brief, precise, and terrifying in its authority.
Raiyna's sharp eyes glinted as she pushed past others, kneeling by the crumpled mage. "He lied! He couldn't handle that spell."
Ednar, still tied to his stick but frantic, murmured a desperate incantation. Magic crackled weakly from his hands as he tried to stabilize Advin's mana. "Focus on your breathing! Let your mana stabilize!"
Raiyna growled, brushing hair from her face. "I should've never let you attempt this. This, this is what I feared."
Advin groaned, blood streaking his lips, but a manic spark shone in his eyes. "Who… fucking cares! Did you see that? Three-circle magic! I created that!"
The gang froze, half in awe, half in horror. Advin's words were insane, yet undeniable. They had all witnessed the raw, destructive power a feat only a handful in the world could even dream of.
Lard shook his head, muttering under his breath as he applied a stabilizing charm to Advin's wounds. "I swear… this is why I keep the books and the plans. Some of you think you can just burn everything down and call it progress…"
Raiyna rolled her eyes, muttering about recklessness. Ednar's fingers glowed faintly as he continued the healing chant. "Advin… concentrate! If you don't stabilize your mana, you'll burn yourself out entirely."
Advin, still grinning weakly through the pain, whispered with manic pride, "I… I touched the third circle… and I didn't even care!"
For a moment, silence reigned. Awe, fear, and exasperation mixed into one heavy air. And somewhere in the back, Sein couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, part impressed, part terrified, and all conflicted of what he just witnessed.
The sky answered. A single column of white-gold light plunged downward, silent and terrible.
Advin's knees buckled. This is it, he thought, vision shrinking to a narrow ring of flame. Two circles or not, I touched the third. I did it.
The pain came in waves ripping, burning, almost holy. He swayed, blood dripping from his chin like ruby beads, a crooked smile still fixed on his face. If this was the last thing he ever cast, it was enough.
Raiyna wasted no time. With a sharp motion, she cut through Ednar's bindings, ignoring his protests about her reckless strength. He stumbled forward, hands trembling, and hovered over Advin. He placed his palms just above the mage's chest, murmuring a desperate chant as golden-blue threads of magic danced from his fingers.
Advin coughed up a spray of blood, his voice hoarse. "Why… why would you do this for someone who took your book… and held you hostage?"
Ednar didn't flinch, his eyes locked on Advin as he continued the healing spell. "Because if you don't breathe, and don't control the chaotic mana in you, you will die. It's that simple."
Raiyna stared in despair, her hands trembling slightly at the sheer magnitude of what had just been unleashed and the cost it had exacted. Sein's voice barely rose above a whisper, but it carried the weight of the truth. "This… this was all a mistake. What's the worth of any victory if we're going to lose someone in the process?"
Heads drooped. Lard, Ronald and the others all stared at the smoldering remains of the courtyard and the battered mage. Each knew, in that moment, that if Advin died, the blame rested squarely on their shoulders. The selfishness of their plan, the reckless ambition, it all stared back at them like a mirror of guilt.
Ednar's voice grew louder, more strained, as he poured every ounce of his skill into the spell. "Focus, Advin! Control your mana! Fight it, or it'll tear you apart from the inside!"
As the blinding pillar of light finally fizzled into the pale predawn sky, the gang blinked through the smoke. Ash drifted down like black snow.
Someone swallowed hard. "The question still remains tho....did… did we get him?"
Another voice, shaky but hopeful, answered, "No way anyone survives that. Not even a mythic knight."
Thorus threw his head back and cackled like a drunken banshee. "Ha! I told you! Got the bastard! Got him!" His sharp nose seemed even pointier in the flickering glow, his grin twisting into something almost demonic. "That pompous tin can thought he could ha! survive Thorus's plan? Not a chance!"
A quiet voice came from just behind him. Calm. Icy. Familiar."Yes, yes… good. So our plan worked."
Everyone froze.
Thorus kept laughing "YES YES OFCOURSE IT BLOODY WORK! IT WAS MY GENIUS PLAN AFTER ALL!" he shouted his demonic face there still even more twisted now.
"Your plan was great indeed then"
Then in a split second too long, before the words actually sank in. He slowly turned, sweat already sliding down his neck. Standing in the settling smoke was a tall figure. Helmet on. Silver beard catching the moonlight. The knight.
Thorus's jaw unhinged. "Y-yeah… our plan…" he croaked, then rallied weakly, "See? I told you it would...."
The knight tilted his head, visor hiding his eyes. "Indeed. Your plan."
Every gang member felt the temperature drop. Even Advin, half-dead in Ednar's lap, mouthed a silent prayer for Thorus's soul.
And then they saw him.
Not a single scratch. Not a mark on his shirt, not a scuff on his boots. His silver beard was unruffled, his grin wide, and his fists still poised, as if he had merely sat down for morning tea and his eyes hidden beneath that helmet of his.
Sein's jaw dropped. Raiyna's hand froze mid-draw. Thorus felt bile rise in his throat. Lard's usual composure shattered into silent panic. In unison, every member of the gang thought the same, their minds unable to reconcile the impossible with reality:
We're all… utterly… fucked.
Even Advin, still shaky from his spell, let out a weak, nervous laugh. "Uh… maybe… maybe we overdid it a little?"
The knight raised a fist, still laughing, and the ground trembled with each subtle movement. His wide grin promised chaos, his presence screamed absolute power.
There was no negotiating. No clever escape. No chance to run.
They were all, without a shadow of doubt… utterly, completely, terrifyingly screwed.
The knight walked slowly, deliberately, his boots crunching against the scorched soil. Each step seemed to shake the ground beneath him. The gang instinctively recoiled, some tripping over debris, all frozen in terror.
He crouched just above Advin, who lay battered and bleeding, mana unstable and life teetering on a knife's edge. The knight's eyes hidden behind his visor locked on him. His voice was calm, almost amused, carrying across the tense air.
"I've never… seen a reckless two-circle adept mage attempt a high-mage class spell. And succeed. Brilliant. BRILLIANT! just BRILLIANT! You are insane and brilliant! You must be in a world of pain right now yet still you did it. You knew it would be life threatening yet still you cast it. You're one crazy bastard"
Advin's lips curled into a weak, blood-streaked smile. That one word, that recognition, was all he had ever wanted to hear, though not in exactly this form. "Thanks…" he whispered, light in his eyes dimming, fading.
"No! Don't die yet!" Ednar shouted, desperate, trying to pour life into the dying mage. His hands glowed, chants faltering, fear twisting his voice. But it was useless. Advin's body shivered once, and it looked like the last spark might finally leave him.
Lard's massive shoulders slumped, silent tears tracing lines through the dust on his face. He hated his complacency. After all the planning, all the danger, all the reckless bravery it had been meaningless if the mage died while the hero knight still stood alive.
The knight bent lower, close to Advin's ear, his breath like wind over burning embers. "What if I told you… you can make more than three circles?"
Advin's eyes, barely coherent, blinked. He tried to focus. He whispered hoarsely, "Bullshit…"
Then in the silence the knight only smiled. His smile wide and confident
one
two
three…
four!
Four massive, glowing magic circles hovered above them. The air shimmered, bending around the light, shadows dancing wildly across the gang and the ruins. Each circle pulsed, alive with destructive energy and raw beauty.
Advin's eyes widened, staring as the impossible unfolded above them. It was terrifying so impossibly powerful it made the ground beneath quake but it was beautiful. Beautiful beyond belief. And the knight… the knight was creating it.
Even in the moment of awe, panic, and despair, a single thought coursed through everyone's mind:
Advin's body trembled violently, eyes half-closed as life itself seemed to slip through his fingers. His breath came in ragged gasps, and the faint glow of his mana flickered weakly as he desperately tried to reach for the light created by the magic circles with his trembling hand.
He just created a beautiful 3 circle magic spell, and now before his eyes was an even more beautiful Arch Mage 4 circle spell. His emotions were conflicted as he slowly lose his breath.
The knight's voice cut through the tense air, calm yet commanding, echoing over the ruined courtyard:
"Divine River of Solitude… heal all!"
Immediately, the four floating magic circles began to pulse in harmony, their light intensifying and radiating outward. Streams of silvery-blue water materialized from the circles, flowing like liquid light, wrapping around Advin's broken form. The water moved with purpose, weaving through the torn flesh, the seared clothing, the ruptured muscles. Every wound, every bruise, every trace of the devastating spell he had cast began to mend, knitting together seamlessly as if time itself were reversed.
The gang watched in stunned silence, mouths agape, as Advin's injuries vanished before their eyes. His blood-streaked shirt became whole again, his face cleared of dirt and fatigue, his limbs unbroken. The energy radiating from the four-circle spell was so intense it made their own mana hum involuntarily.
Advin's body collapsed to the ground but this time with a soft thud, fully healed. He blinked, completely aware of what had just happened, but the utter disbelief on his face betrayed him.
The knight's wide grin remained under the visor. "Brilliant, wasn't it? You might want to remember this feeling." as Advin gave a confused look at the knight before he finally lost his conciousness.
Even Lard, Thorus, and Raiyna hardened, battle-tested members of the gang couldn't stop themselves from staring in awe. And for a moment, Sein thought: I don't know if we're witnessing a miracle… or the power of someone who's completely unhinged.
The courtyard remained silent, save for the gentle trickle of the healing river fading into the ground, leaving only the memory of its sheer, terrifying beauty.
The knight rose to his full height, towering and imposing even without armor. His fists rested on his hips, silver beard catching the faint morning light, wide grin still plastered beneath the visor. The air itself seemed to tense, vibrating with unspoken threat. Every member of the gang froze. Raiyna's hand hovered near her weapon, Ednar's fingers twitched with unstable magic, and Sein's stomach churned with panic.
Again, They were all… utterly, hopelessly, completely fucked.
The knight's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Who was it… who decided to disturb my beauty sleep?"
Every head instinctively, without thought, without reason, without an ounce of guilt, turned toward Thorus.
Thorus froze. His eyes widened. For the briefest moment, life as he knew it the imaginary children he had always dreamed of, the countless schemes, the small ambitions he had nursed in private flashed through his mind.
This is it… he thought, his pulse hammering. This is how it ends.
And then, almost absent-mindedly, he wondered what heaven would be like.
The courtyard was silent, the morning wind carrying the echo of Thorus's inner thoughts as the knight's grin seemed to stretch even wider.
"You, the woodepecker looking bastard!" the knight said, voice calm but heavy with promise. "Step forward."
Thorus swallowed, his knees weak. The imagined children in his mind waved goodbye, and every heartbeat screamed at him to run but there was nowhere to run.
He took a trembling step forward.
Thorus's voice trembled as he dared to speak. "Wh-what is it, Milord?"
The knight tilted his head, voice dripping with amusement. "You planned all this?"
Thorus stammered, "W-well… we all did…"
From the back, a small voice piped up. "He initiated it!"
The knight's gaze snapped to Thorus, his grin widening. "How… a mere gang member… orders the rest of the Laundry Gang around like he's the leader?"
From the shadows, Ronald's broken Scottish accent rang out, somehow understandable through the panic: "Aye… we promoted 'im recently, yer honor."
Lard, still holding his massive wallet and trying not to faint, added in a low growl, "He's the new third leader. And he… he wanted to show you that. So he convinced Advin here to cast the spell to… wake you up."
Thorus's eyes welled up. Finally a promotion.
And just as quickly, a chill ran down his spine. Finally… he'd die.
The gang collectively stared, half in awe, half in terror, as the knight's laugh manic and rolling like distant thunder filled the morning air.
"You idiots really have no idea what you've signed up for, do you?" the knight said, taking a slow, deliberate step toward Thorus.
Thorus gulped.
The rest of the Laundry Gang knew, with perfect clarity, that their lives and Thorus's newfound "promotion" was about to become very, very messy.
The knight chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made the walls vibrate. "Well… that was one hell of a wake-up alarm." He paused, letting the words hang in the air as every gang member swallowed hard. "I had planned to go easy on you today. But since you all seemed so excited to wake me up…" His grin widened under the visor. "…training will be doubled!"
A collective shudder ran through the gang. Nobody knew exactly what kind of training awaited them only that it involved the insane knight towering over them but they all understood one thing: there was no way to stop it. They couldn't run, they couldn't fight, and any attempt to protest would probably end with them embedded in the ceiling.
The knight clapped his hands and called down to the inn owner. "You! Yes, you! Bring me breakfast. Everything. And make sure the bill is added to the gang's tab along with the repair costs from earlier. I expect full payment, of course."
The inn owner's veins bulged, eyes twitching as he swallowed hard. "Y-yes… my lord… right away."
The gang exchanged glances, deadpan and horrified. Lard muttered something about "our debts just reached a new level of impossible," while Thorus whimpered quietly, thinking that maybe dying in his sleep might have been preferable.
Sein, ever the observer, just stared at the knight with wide eyes. What kind of man, what kind of hero, eats breakfast like this after being nearly murdered before dawn?
The knight leaned back, still grinning, resting his hands on his hips as the gang prepared themselves mentally for the double-length training session. The first rays of dawn crept in, but they all felt a single, unshakable truth: today, the Laundry Gang would suffer.
The first rays of morning crept through the cracked roof just as the inn owner shuffled forward with a chair and a tray. The knight sat, unbothered, silver beard catching the soft light, and nodded in approval at the hearty spread of bread, eggs, and a suspiciously large slab of roasted meat.
"Training," he announced, stabbing a fork into the meat, "starts at dawn."
Someone squeaked, "But… it is dawn…"
The knight pointed his fork at them without looking up. "Exactly. You'd better be ready by the time I finish my breakfast."
He took a deliberate bite, chewing with exaggerated satisfaction.
A bead of sweat rolled down Thorus's nose. Raiyna's scarred brow twitched. Lard whispered a prayer to any deity willing to listen.
The knight swallowed, leaned back in his chair, and flashed that dazzling, perfectly square-toothed grin. "Move fast, Laundry Gang. The longer I eat, the worse it gets."
The knight suddenly turned his head, the visor catching a sliver of sunrise. "Oh and before any of you get too comfortable," he said, voice ringing across the room, "don't think I've forgotten your little assassination attempt."
A hush dropped like an anvil. Every member of the Laundry Gang froze mid-breath.
They scattered like terrified rats.