I am just an NPC ,but I rewrite the story-Chapter 44 - []

"And tomorrow, we would start rewriting the story in earnest."

The sentiment was noble. It felt epic when I whispered it to the dying embers of the fireplace. But the reality of "rewriting the story" apparently involved a lot less sword-fighting and a lot more flour than I had anticipated.

"Ren! The oven isn’t hot enough! I need steady heat, not this... flickering nonsense!"

I groaned, rolling off my dusty mattress and shielding my eyes against the morning sun slicing through the broken shutters. My back popped in three places. Sleeping on a floor in a haunted mansion wasn’t doing wonders for my agility stat.

I trudged down the grand staircase, stepping over a hole in the runner carpet that looked suspiciously like a mouth. The foyer, which yesterday had looked like a mausoleum for forgotten furniture, was now... well, it was still a mausoleum, but it smelled fantastic.

Tybalt had converted the front parlor into the storefront for The Golden Crust. He had dragged a massive, claw-footed oak table from the dining room to serve as a counter, and baskets of fresh bread, muffins, and croissants were already lined up, steaming in the cool morning air.

"It’s a wood-fire oven, Ty," I said, leaning against the doorframe and yawning. "You have to feed it wood. That’s how physics works."

"I did!" Tybalt gestured wildly with a rolling pin, sending a cloud of white dust into the air. He was covered in flour from head to toe, looking like a very stressed snow golem. "But the chimney draws weirdly. It’s like the house is breathing. It inhales the smoke and coughs it back out!"

"It probably is," I muttered. "Haunted, remember?"

I walked over to the fireplace behind the makeshift counter. The fire was sputtering, the wood damp from the sea air.

"Cian!" I shouted toward the stairs. "We need a heating rune on the oven! Tybalt is having a breakdown!"

"I am not having a breakdown!" Tybalt shrieked, furiously kneading dough. "I am having a culinary crisis! There is a difference! If the brioche falls, the reputation of this Guild falls with it!"

Cian appeared on the landing above, looking disheveled. He was wearing his oversized scholar’s robe, which was now stained with various colorful alchemical fluids. His hair was sticking up in static-charged spikes.

"I’m busy," Cian called down, adjusting his taped-up glasses. "I’m calibrating the mana-condenser in the tower. If I don’t stabilize the ambient aether, my potions will turn into sludge. Or acid. Or sludge that is also acid."

"If the muffins don’t rise, we don’t eat," I countered. "Priorities, Einstein."

Cian sighed, the weight of the world clearly on his shoulders. He muttered something about "the misuse of genius" and came down the stairs. He walked into the parlor, slapped a piece of parchment onto the side of the brick oven, and scribbled a quick glyph with a piece of charcoal.

Heat.

The fire roared to life, turning a steady, consistent orange. The smell of baking dough instantly intensified.

"Thank you!" Tybalt sighed, sagging against the counter. "Now, out! Customers will be here in ten minutes. Ren, put on a shirt that doesn’t look like you slept in a ditch. Kaelen, stop looming in the corner; you’re scaring the imaginary patrons."

I looked at the corner. Kaelen was standing there, arms crossed, wearing his leather trench coat. He blended into the shadows so well I hadn’t even noticed him. The massive shape of his wrapped sword was silhouetted against the peeling wallpaper.

"I’m security," Kaelen grunted.

"You’re a bouncer," Tybalt corrected. "Stand by the door. Smile. Try not to look like you kill people for a living."

Kaelen attempted a smile. It looked like a wolf baring its teeth before tearing out a jugular.

"Maybe just nod," I suggested. "The nod is safer."

We opened the doors at 7:00 AM.

The location—42 Whispering Lane—was technically in the High Quarter, but it was at the very end of a dead-end street known for being cursed. The neighbors were mostly gargoyles and overgrown hedges. Foot traffic wasn’t exactly heavy.

For the first hour, the only customer was a stray cat with one ear that Red named "Bandit." She fed it a piece of ham and it immediately moved in.

"This isn’t working," Red said, sitting on the counter and eating a croissant. She was wearing her rogue leathers, but she had tied a small white apron over them. It looked ridiculous. "We have the product, but we lack the footfall. We need marketing."

"We need a reputation," Lysandra said.

She walked in from the garden, where she had been clearing vines with a relentless efficiency. She was wearing her armor, freshly polished, with a tabard she had improvised from a blue curtain. It bore the sun-and-moon symbol of our Guild—Eclipse.

"Ren said we need to be seen," Lysandra continued, accepting a cup of coffee from Tybalt. "Sitting here selling pastries is not heroic. It is... domestic."

"It’s financing," I corrected, checking the ledger (which was currently empty). "But you’re right. We need to split up."

I looked at the team. We were a Guild now. We needed to act like one.

"Kaelen, Lysandra," I said. "You two are the face of Eclipse. You look the part. Big sword, shiny armor. I want you to patrol the Market District."

"Patrol?" Kaelen asked. "We’re not City Guards."

"No, you’re freelancers," I said. "Walk around. Be visible. If you see a heavy crate, lift it. If you see a lost child, find their mom. If you see a pickpocket... frown at them."

"And if we see the Covenant?" Lysandra asked, her hand drifting to her sword.

"You avoid them," I said firmly. "We are not starting a war today. We are building a brand. If they hassle you, show them the Guild Badge. We are legal entities now."

"Fine," Kaelen said, adjusting his coat. "PR duty. I’ll try not to glare at anyone."

"And us?" Red asked, hopping off the counter.

"You and I have a date," I said. "With a Spider."

Red’s eyes lit up. "The Midnight Market? Finally. I was getting bored of the smell of yeast."

"Cian," I said to the mage. "Stay here. Guard Tybalt. And keep working on the tower. We need a secure perimeter."

"I’ll ward the windows," Cian said. "If anyone tries to break in, they’ll find themselves upside down."

"Perfect."

Kaelen and Lysandra left for the main city, looking like a power couple from a heroic ballad. Tybalt went back to kneading dough, humming a nervous tune.

Red and I headed for the Lower Quarter.

The sun was high now, but as we descended into the tangle of narrow streets near the docks, the shadows lengthened. The Lower Quarter was a maze of shanties, warehouses, and canals filled with questionable water.

"So," Red said, keeping pace beside me. She had her hood up, her hand resting casually near her daggers. "This Weaver. What do we know?"

"We know they have eyes everywhere," I said. "They knew about the Spire. They knew about the Fragments. And they hate the Covenant."

"Enemy of my enemy?"

"Maybe. Or maybe just a competitor. The Weaver runs the information trade. The Covenant is trying to lock down the city. Bad for business."

We reached the entrance to the Midnight Market. It wasn’t a gate; it was a sewer grate under a bridge.

"Classy," Red muttered.

We climbed down.

The Midnight Market wasn’t actually a market in the traditional sense. It was a subterranean network of tunnels where the illegal and the magical converged. It was lit by glowing moss and floating skull-lanterns. Stalls were set up in alcoves, selling everything from dragon scales to bottled screams.

"Watch your pockets," Red whispered. "There are pickpockets here who can steal your teeth without you opening your mouth."

We navigated through the crowd. I saw Goblins selling poisons, Orcs selling unauthorized weapons, and a few cloaked figures that looked suspiciously like vampires selling... well, probably nothing good.

We reached the center of the market—a large cistern where the water had been drained.

Sitting on a pile of Persian rugs in the center was a figure.

They were wrapped in layers of purple silk, their face hidden by a porcelain mask painted with four eyes. They were smoking a long pipe that puffed out smoke in the shape of spiders.

[Target: The Weaver]

[Class: Information Broker]

[Level: ??]

[Faction: The Weaver’s Court]

"Ren of Eclipse," the Weaver said. Their voice was like silk sliding over gravel—smooth but with a gritty undertone. "And the Little Red Rogue. You are punctual. I appreciate that."

"You sent the letter," I said, stepping onto the rugs. "You said the Covenant is making a move."

"Sit," the Weaver commanded, gesturing to a cushion.

We sat.

"The Merchant Council meets tomorrow at noon," the Weaver said, blowing a smoke spider that crawled across the air toward me. "The Covenant has proposed the ’Magical Registration Act’. It requires all mages and magical creatures to be tagged, tracked, and tithed."

"That sounds like slavery with extra steps," Red said, disgusted.

"It is," the Weaver agreed. "If it passes, your Mage—Cian—will be collared. Your Paladin—Lysandra—will be drafted. And your Dark Knight... he will be executed as a public hazard."

"The Council is neutral," I said. "Why would they vote for this?"

"Because they are afraid," the Weaver said. "And because they are bought. Five of the nine Council members have received... gifts. Large gifts. From Inquisitor Marek."

"Bribery," I said. "Classic."

"I want you to stop the vote," the Weaver said.

"How?" I asked. "We can’t outbid the Covenant. We have gold, but not Empire gold."

"You don’t need gold," the Weaver said. "You need leverage."

The Weaver reached into their robes and pulled out a small, leather-bound book.

"This is the ledger of Councilor Vance—no relation to your school bully, just an unfortunate coincidence of naming. He is the swing vote. He is also corrupt, adulterous, and smuggling illegal artifacts."

The Weaver slid the book across the rug.

"Steal this book from his estate tonight. Deliver it to the Council Leader tomorrow morning. The vote will fail."

I looked at the book. It was a quest item.

[Quest Item: The Black Ledger]

"And in return?" I asked.

"In return," the Weaver said, "I tell you where the Second Fragment is."

My heart skipped. The Physics Fragment. I had lost it in the reboot, but it was out there.

"Deal," I said, grabbing the book. "Where does Councilor Vance live?"

"High Quarter," the Weaver said. "Estate number 12. It is heavily guarded. Not by soldiers, but by... exotics. He collects monsters."

"Monsters," Red sighed. "Why is it always monsters? Can’t it ever be angry poodles?"

"Go," the Weaver said. "The night is young, but the shadows are long."

We stood up and backed away.

As we walked back through the market, the atmosphere changed. The chatter died down. The vendors started packing up quickly.

"Ren," Red whispered. "We’re being watched."

"I know," I said. "Don’t look back."

Three figures stepped out from behind a stall selling cursed mirrors. They weren’t Covenant. They were adventurers. They wore gilded armor with a lion crest.

The Golden Lions.

And leading them was Gondar.

"Well, well," Gondar sneered, blocking the tunnel exit. "If it isn’t the bakery boys. Slumming it in the sewer?"

"Gondar," I said, keeping my voice bored. "We’re busy. Move."

"You embarrassed me," Gondar said, his hand resting on a massive mace. "In front of the Guild. You think you can just walk in, take the S-Rank glory, and walk out?" 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"We did," Red said. "It’s called being competent. You should try it."

Gondar’s face went red. "Get them!"

There were five of them. Two warriors, a ranger, and two mages.

"Ren," Red hissed. "I can take the Ranger and the Mages. You got the heavies?"

"I’m Level 15," I reminded her. "I have a rusty knife."

"Figure it out!" Red shouted, launching herself at the ranger.

The fight started.

Gondar swung his mace. It was a clumsy, angry swing.

I dodged. The mace smashed into a crate of dragon scales, sending shimmering discs flying everywhere.

[Analysis: Gondar (Level 42)]

[Weakness: Left Knee (Old Injury). Anger Issues.]

He was strong, but he was slow. And he was mad.

I didn’t have Kinetic Redirect. I didn’t have Pause.

But I had the environment.

I grabbed a handful of "Flash-Dust" from a nearby stall (sorry, merchant) and threw it in Gondar’s face.

"Argh! My eyes!" Gondar roared, flailing blindly.

I slid under his guard. I didn’t stab him—my knife wouldn’t pierce his plate. I kicked the back of his knee. Hard.

His leg buckled. He crashed onto one knee.

"Stay down," I panted.

The second warrior charged me—a big guy with a two-handed axe.

I scrambled back. I was cornered against a stall selling... Potions of Volatile Gas.

"Oh," I said. "Convenient."

I grabbed a bottle. I threw it.

SMASH.

A cloud of green gas erupted. It smelled like rotten eggs and pepper spray.

The warrior gagged, dropping his axe to claw at his throat.

"Chemical warfare!" I shouted. "Red, let’s go!"

Red was dancing around the mages, cutting their robe sashes so they tripped over their own clothes. She kicked the ranger in the shin and backflipped over the gas cloud.

"Running away!" she cheered.

We sprinted past the choking Lions and scrambled up the ladder to the surface.

We burst out onto the street, gasping for fresh air.

"That," Red wheezed, "was messy."

"But effective," I said, checking my pockets. The Ledger was still there.

"We have the blackmail," I said. "Now we just have to break into a monster-filled mansion."

"Is that for tonight?" Red asked.

"No," I said, looking at the moon. "We need the whole team for that. Tonight, we rest."

We walked back to the Guildhall. The city was quiet, unaware of the political war brewing in the shadows.

When we opened the front door of Eclipse, a bell jingled.

Kaelen and Lysandra were sitting by the fire, looking tired but accomplished. Tybalt was asleep on a sack of flour. Cian was reading a book.

"How was the patrol?" I asked.

"We saved a cat," Kaelen said deadpan. "And Lysandra arrested a man for littering."

"It was a significant amount of litter," Lysandra defended.

"And you?" Kaelen asked. "How was the Weaver?"

I tossed the Black Ledger onto the table.

"We have a job," I said. "Tomorrow night, we rob a Councilor."

"Robbery," Lysandra sighed. "I suppose that is part of the ’Adventurer’ description."

"It’s for the greater good," I promised.

I looked at the group. My party.

We were gaining momentum. We had a base. We had a quest. And we had enemies who were starting to realize we weren’t just a bakery.

"Get some sleep," I said. "Tomorrow, we go to war with politics."

I walked to the window and looked out at the city.

The Dragon was still sleeping. But the Kingdom was waking up. And Eclipse was ready to greet it.

[Arc Objective Update: Stop the Registration Act.]

[Next Target: Councilor Vance’s Estate.]

"Just another day in the office," I whispered, and closed the shutters.