Monster Evolution System: I became a Rat-Chapter 97: Steal

"So, what’s the deal with this merchant? Is he cautious, or does he have any addiction of some sort?" Rosacer asked.

Amara looked at him for a second, then responded, "He does fancy eastern women. But that is something he keeps under his control."

Tracking Rosacer’s eyes, Amara looked at the two-intersection road on the map.

"The groundbreaking creation of the esteemed civil engineers of our city," she remarked jokingly. "But still, it’s not really suitable for any attack."

"Why?" Rosacer said with a perplexed expression. "We would move near them unsuspiciously."

Amara slapped her head in disappointment and turned to Gringha then back towards Rosacer, saying, "Do you think the road will not be blocked by the merchant during an important transport? Everything will be in lockdown if that merchant is moving."

Rosacer gave a small nod to himself as he rose slowly and made his way to the window, where from the upper floor he could clearly see the streets below.

The shipping docks were always loud, even at night. The sea never slept, and neither did the men who fed upon it.

Salt lingered in the air. The creaking of ships rubbed against the wooden piers, ropes stretched and groaned as waves pulled them in slow breaths. Lanterns swayed from iron hooks, their yellow light spilling across crates stamped with merchant seals and naval insignias.

It was a place where secrets could be buried under cargo manifests and the stench of fish.

Amara tapped the parchment spread across the small table. The flicker of the candles painted her face in uneven light, sharp eyes scanning every detail like a hawk circling dying prey.

"The route bends here," she said, pressing her finger near the curved road that descended toward the lower dock lanes. "The merchant caravan must slow down before reaching the reinforced gate. The slope is narrow, and the left side is blocked by warehouse walls. The right side opens toward the water channels."

Gringha leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked. His gaze followed her finger silently.

Rosacer now stood near the window, watching the dim street below.

The occasional carriage rolled past, wheels grinding against cobblestone like distant thunder.

"He will have mages too," Rosacer muttered. "Possibly hidden escorts too."

"He always does," Amara replied. "But near the dock, the Merchant Association relies more on naval security. Their coordination is poor between land and water. They trust each other to cover blind spots."

Gringha finally spoke, voice calm and sharp. "Blind spots can be taken advantage of, no matter how hard someone tries to conceal them."

Amara gave a faint smile. "Exactly."

She flipped the parchment, revealing another layer, sketches of rooftops and alley channels.

"You two intercept here," she pointed toward a narrow cargo inspection checkpoint. "There is a false customs booth. Abandoned after the last smuggling riot. Most patrols avoid it. Too many bodies were found there back then."

Rosacer raised an eyebrow. "Superstition?"

"Convenience," Amara corrected.

Gringha’s lips curled faintly. "And the lamp?"

"The merchant carries his valuables personally during sensitive deliveries," she replied. "Hidden chest, always chained to the primary transport carriage. Two lock mechanisms. Mechanical and sigil based."

Rosacer turned from the window. "Sigil strength?"

"Low tier reinforcement. Defensive, not alert based. Likely meant to delay thieves, not stop professionals."

Rosacer recently learned about sigils during a visit to the library. They were often associated with ritualistic magic, as both share the same origins and methods. The main difference, however, is that sigils are easier and far more common than ritualistic magic, making them more appealing and frequently used by most people.

Gringha glanced toward Rosacer. "You handle the sigil."

Rosacer nodded once.

"And you?" Rosacer asked.

Gringha leaned back, eyes dim under the candlelight. "I remove obstacles."

Amara folded her arms. "I will remain in the relay house overlooking Dock Lane Three. Signal mirrors and whisper stones are prepared. If naval patrol shifts or reinforcements arrive, you will know."

She paused, studying them both.

"If something goes wrong, you abandon the lamp."

Gringha chuckled softly. "That defeats the purpose."

"I don’t really recommend getting caught by a merchant; they’ll sell you to mages for experimentation," she said coldly.

Rosacer said nothing.

He already knew there had been cases of criminals being sold to mages to perform various miracles and magic on them. The most famous was the revival of a dead man by Doctor Victor Mark, whose experiment created a monster caught between life and death—a creature touched by death but never held by it. Ironically, this very same beast killed Victor Mark and burned his research, taking all the data with it. Now, mages are searching for any clue about its whereabouts.

The room 78, fell silent for a moment, broken only by the ocean wind pressing against the shutters.

"Timing?" Rosacer finally asked.

Amara glanced at the brass pocket watch in her palm. "Three nights from now. Tide will be high. Fog density predicted to increase after midnight."

Gringha stood up first. "Good. God forgive my sins."

Rosacer followed soon after.

The plan was set.

And this very night of the attack came wrapped in wet mist.

The fog crawled from the sea like a living thing, swallowing lantern light and muffling footsteps. The dock bells rang somewhere in the distance, warning incoming tide. Ships rocked lazily, their hulls knocking against each other in hollow rhythm.

Rosacer crouched atop the broken customs booth roof. The tiles beneath him were cracked and slick with salt. His eyes tracked the road leading downhill toward the docks.

Beside him, Gringha was barely visible, his silhouette blending into the mist like a cut in reality itself.

From Rosacer’s coat pocket, a whisper stone vibrated faintly.

Amara’s voice seeped through it, low and controlled.

"Caravan departing from the eastern market gate. Seven guards visible. Two carriage drivers. One primary transport confirmed. Naval patrol passing the southern channel, timing remains stable."

Rosacer adjusted his gloves slowly.

He recently bought some clothes after receiving a bonus from the guild.

Hoofbeats echoed through the fog.

Gringha tilted his head slightly, listening, not looking.

The caravan emerged like ghosts being born from smoke. Armored horses marched first, their metal plates glistening with moisture. Behind them rolled the main carriage, heavier, reinforced, the merchant seal carved deeply into its sides.

Torches burned along the escort line, their flames trembling under the wind.

"Positions," Amara whispered.

Gringha vanished. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

It was fast like an eraser.

Rosacer exhaled slowly and slid down the back of the booth into the alley. His boots touched the ground without sound. He moved toward the inspection barrier, crouching beside a broken cargo crate.

The caravan slowed exactly as predicted. Wheels creaked under the incline. Guards scanned lazily through the fog, their confidence thick from years of unchallenged passage.

They were expecting just an ordinary day, with a routine delivery.

But fate had something else in store—a gruesome scream ripped through the mist. Short, wet, and abruptly cut off.

One of the rear guards slumped from his saddle, his throat cleanly cut as he slid down to the road with natural gravity.

Panic flickered through the escort line.

"Rear compromised!" someone shouted.

Before commands could settle, another guard fell, dragged from the saddle into the fog, vanishing with a choking gasp.

Gringha moved like a shadow, never to be seen.

And just behind, Rosacer moved.

He rushed forward as confusion erupted, sliding beneath the carriage frame. His fingers traced the chained chest anchored to the axle support. Silver runes shimmered faintly across its surface.

He pressed his palm against it.

The sigil resisted, crawling with defensive glyphs that pulsed weakly against his presence.

Rosacer closed his eyes.

His breathing slowed.

The runes began to distort, bending inward like reflections on disturbed water. Threads of unseen force seeped from his fingertips, slipping between the glyph lines, unraveling their harmony.

Above him, chaos grew louder.

Steel clashed. Horses screamed. Someone fired a flare pistol that fizzled uselessly in the damp air.

"Two naval boats redirected," Amara’s voice echoed through the stone. "You have less than three minutes."

Rosacer ignored it.

The sigil cracked with a silent snap.

He reached for the mechanical lock next, tools sliding from his sleeve. The metal pins inside resisted, complex and layered. Sweat gathered across his temple despite the cold air.

A body slammed onto the carriage above him. Blood dripped through the wooden seams, pattering beside his hand.

Gringha’s muffled voice came through the fog. "Hurry."

The final pin clicked.

Rosacer unchained the chest and dragged it free, rolling out from beneath the carriage just as one of the front guards spotted him.

"Thief!"

The guard charged.

Rosacer barely rose when a thin blade pierced through the man’s eye from behind. Gringha yanked the weapon free, letting the corpse drop.

Their eyes met for half a second.

"Move," Gringha said quietly.

They ran.

Behind them, horns began to blare across the docks. Naval lanterns ignited across the water like awakening stars. Shouts echoed. Boots thundered across wooden planks.

From the rooftops, a mirror flashed twice through the fog.

Amara’s signal.

The escape route confirmed.

Rosacer held the chest close as they vanished into the engulfing mist, the sea roaring behind them like it had seen another crime it would soon forget.