An hour ago
Roric was a silent spectre in the city of Blackhaven. He had been staking out a nondescript jewellery shop, one of many that lined the winding, cobbled streets of the city's merchant district. From his hideout, he observed as a group of men exited the shop and made their way towards the city gates. He had been a Hunter long enough to know the signs of a hunt, and the subtle, almost imperceptible movements of the men who had just left the shop had set his instincts on edge.
These men were clearly predators going out to seek their prey. There were a dozen of them, all moving with a quiet, lethal grace that spoke of a shared purpose.
Roric had initially considered following them, but he decided against it. Instead, he turned his attention to the shop they had just left. He subtly extended one of his Flow strings to one of the men, the one who had close-cropped hair and a light stubble, wearing a simple leather cuirass over a canvas tunic. Roric noticed a barbed chain dangling from the man's side but decided to prioritise searching the shop. If anything, he could follow the group with the 'bond' he'd just established with the leader of the group.
He then moved through the shadows so as to remain unseen, a ghost in the city's labyrinthine alleys.
The jewellery shop was locked, but the lock was a simple, mundane thing that took him less than ten seconds to bypass. He slipped inside, a shadow swallowed by the gloom. The interior of the shop was a single, large showroom, with long, elegant glass display cases showing off rings, necklaces, and other trinkets that gleamed under the soft, ethereal light of the street lamps outside. The air was thick with the scent of old wood, dust, and something else—a faint, metallic tang that felt out of place.
He moved silently, his steps making no sound on the polished wooden floor. He used his Flow Perception, a technique that allowed him to perceive spiritual energy, the Flow of the world. He felt the faint pulses of Flow in the room, the intricate web of energy Arrays that had been put in place to detect intruders. Energy cage grids, pressure plates, tripwires—they were all there, invisible to the naked eye but as clear as day to him. He was like a fish in a river, able to sense every current, every ripple.
He slipped past them all with the ease of a man who had spent his life dodging traps. His body moved with a fluid, unnatural grace, a silent dance between the invisible lines of energy. He didn't even come close to triggering a single one.
He moved to the back of the showroom, where a heavy, wooden door stood. It was a simple, sturdy thing, but a faint shimmer of Flow around the hinges told him it was enchanted. He didn't bother with the lock. He simply placed a single hand on the door and pushed, not with strength, but with a subtle manipulation of his own Flow, nudging the door to open with a soft, almost imperceptible click.
He was in the storeroom, a large, rectangular room filled with wooden crates and chests. The air here was heavy with the smell of old paper and dust. It was also a staff room, he realised, as he saw a desk in the corner with a ledger on top of it, and two more doors, one leading to a washroom, and the other to what he assumed was the manager's office.
He started with the storeroom, using Flow Perception to scan every nook and cranny. He opened one of the chests, expecting to find weapons or incriminating documents, but found a jumble of women's clothes, including a few pieces of lingerie. He scowled, his face a mask of disappointment, and moved on. The manager's office was just as fruitless. He found receipts, ledgers, and other mundane business documents, but nothing that would link them to anything other than a legitimate jewellery business. 'The men were too smart for that. They wouldn't leave anything so obvious lying around,' he thought.
He had saved the washroom for last. It was a standard lavatory, a small, cramped room with a ceramic squat toilet and a small basin for washing one's hands when finished. The air here was surprisingly fresh and fragrant. Nothing out of the ordinary. He sighed and turned to leave, a wave of frustration washing over him.
"Perhaps this really is a legitimate business," he muttered, but he still felt he was missing something.
'This building is too big for these to be the only rooms inside.'
The showroom was large, the storeroom was a decent size, but the entire building was too big for just those two rooms and a lavatory. There was something else here, something hidden. He paused as something else dawned on him.
'And this place smells way too nice to be a lavatory.'
It was a simple, almost insignificant thought, but it was enough.
He turned back, his face a grim mask of determination, and used his Flow Perception again, this time with a laser-like focus. As a Hunter, his five senses were unnervingly keen, an essential tool for surviving the untamed wilds. His Flow Perception was an extension of those senses, an enhancement that allowed him to see the world not just as a physical place, but as a sea of spiritual energy. He saw it now, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer of Flow that radiated from the edges of the wall inside the washroom. It was an Array, a masterful work of craftsmanship designed to hide the existence of a secret room.
He drew closer to the ceramic squat toilet and noticed a faint gleam from within it. Following his instincts, though against his better judgement, he reached into the hole.
His hand went into a surprisingly dry crevice, and his fingers closed around a small, metal lever.
"Bingo."
Just as he was about to pull the lever, a voice, a low, casual rumble, spoke from behind him.
"You're not supposed to be here."
Roric's blood ran cold. He hadn't heard a thing. No footsteps, no rustle of fabric, nothing. The man was a ghost, a silent predator who had appeared from nowhere. But then again, it would be strange for a place this well-guarded to have no one watching it.
He turned his head to look over his shoulder, a wide, easy smile on his face.
"Sorry, sir, but I had to attend to nature's call. I couldn't hold it in."
The man, who was now standing with his arms crossed, shook his head.
"The shop's closed, mate. If you need anything, you'll have to come back in the morning."
Roric, with a theatrical sigh, got to his feet.
"Well, that's just insensitive, isn't it? A man has needs. But I'm done anyway."
He began to walk past the man, his movements fluid and relaxed, but the man's hand shot out and gripped his shoulder. The grip was strong, a vice of muscle and bone that was a testament to his strength. Even as a Saint, Roric felt the power behind it.
"The place where we are is beyond the bounds allowed to customers, mate. There's no way you could have known there'd be a washroom here."
Roric's smile widened. It didn't reach his eyes.
"Oh, I don't know," he said, his voice a low, casual growl.
"Maybe it was the smell?"
"The place doesn't smell," the man said, his voice a low snarl, his eyes narrowing.
"Oh, it does," Roric said, his voice now a mere whisper.
"It smells of a secret hidden behind a wall."
The man then slammed Roric into the wall, pinning both hands above him.
"You're an intruder, so I'm going to have to detain you."
"You can drop the act, it's not fooling anybody," Roric said, and he delivered a powerful Spartan kick, his heel a blur of speed and a devastating force that sent the man flying through the wall behind him. The sound of the kick was a sickening crunch, and the man's body was a whirlwind of motion, a projectile that left a gaping hole in the wall. The wall wasn't made of stone. It was a facade, one side mirroring brick while the other was smooth and transparent, meaning those behind the wall could see what was going on.
The other side of the wall was a dark, cavernous space, a massive, unlit corridor that stretched into the darkness. More men stepped out from the darkness, their faces grim and determined. The man Roric had kicked was now on his feet, his hand wiping a thin line of blood from his mouth. He looked at Roric, his eyes filled with killing intent.