Damon took his first step toward the main warehouse, and the morning seemed to shrink around that simple movement, as if even the surrounding air understood that the silence was about to end. The low fog that covered part of the industrial grounds crept between broken stones and rusty rails, enveloping the old structures in an almost funereal appearance, while the thin smoke rising from the side chimney betrayed that, despite the external decay, something inside remained alive, active, and dangerously functional.

He didn’t run immediately.

He walked.

Each firm step on the cracked stone floor echoed loud enough to be heard by anyone paying attention, but not loud enough to sound theatrical. Damon had never needed dramatization to impose his presence. There was something naturally menacing in the way he advanced without hesitation, as if any future resistance had already been accounted for and considered irrelevant before it even happened.

To the left, Ester disappeared among smaller ruins and fallen walls, moving with the precise discretion of someone accustomed to observing before acting. Cherry followed close behind, complaining under her breath about the mud, the smell, and the injustice of being assigned to the tunnels, though the animated glint in her eyes completely belied any real protest. Ingrivid remained to the right, choosing an elevated position behind a fallen stone block, from where she could cover both Damon and the upper windows of the warehouse.

Lysandra, tied to the broken column, watched everything with a curiously relaxed expression.

"You really prefer to solve problems like this," she commented, crossing her legs within the limit allowed by the ropes. "No negotiations. No charm."

Cherry, already a few meters ahead, raised her hand without looking back.

"I have enough charm for the whole group."

"That worries me," Lysandra replied.

Damon ignored them both.

His focus was on the building.

The main structure had clearly been renovated just enough to remain useful. Old gates reinforced with new bars, upper windows partially sealed, loading rails too clean for a supposedly abandoned place. There was discipline there. Resources. Intelligent people operating behind the decaying facade.

He paused for a moment.

He inhaled slowly.

Then he spoke without raising his voice.

"Three on the roof."

Ingrivid replied almost immediately, already aiming.

"I saw two."

"The third is lying down."

A short pause.

Then the dry snap of taut string cut through the air.

Ingrivid’s arrow rose in an elegant curve and struck something invisible behind the upper edge. A body rolled from the roof seconds later, falling undignified among rotting crates and scrap metal.

Cherry whistled from afar.

"I love it when he does that."

The second lookout appeared in a panic at the high window, trying to pinpoint the source of the shot.

Another arrow. Another body.

The third tried to run across the roof.

Damon simply vanished from where he stood.

A dark blur crossed the impossible vertical distance, and the next instant the man was hurled from the heights like an empty sack, hitting the ground with enough force to quell any possibility of alarm.

Silence.

For two seconds.

Then—

Screams inside the warehouse.

"Good," Damon murmured, reappearing before the main gate. "Now they’re starting to pay attention."

He placed his hand on the reinforced wood and pushed.

Nothing.

Locked from the inside.

"Polite," he commented.

Then he took a half-step back and kicked.

The impact went through the entire structure. Internal bars bent, hinges snapped, and the two gates exploded inward with a crash of wood, iron, and dust, revealing a vast interior space filled with walkways, old cranes, stacked crates, and armed men rushing in too late to organize themselves.

The first fired a crossbow.

Damon caught the projectile in mid-air without even looking.

Then he threw it back.

The man fell before understanding what had happened.

The others hesitated.

Fatal mistake.

Damon entered.

The next movement was too quick for ordinary eyes to fully follow. One man was thrown against a pile of barrels, another lost his weapon before losing consciousness, two collided when they tried to flank him from the wrong side. He didn’t fight like someone exchanging blows; he fought like a natural disaster choosing its targets.

High above the walkways, Ingrivid began taking down snipers attempting to reposition themselves, his arrows emerging from unexpected and precise angles. Each time a man found partial cover, an arrow appeared where the cover ended.

From the left side of the building, a metallic sound echoed.

Then a yell.

Then Cherry.

"I HATE SEWERS!"

Seconds later, a side grate was flung open and Cherry emerged, knee-deep in grime, sword in hand, followed by Ester, her expression too neutral for someone who had just traversed clandestine drains.

"Tunnel entrance clear," Ester announced, wiping her blade. "Two guards, a nasty trap, and a criminal smell."

"I want emotional compensation," Cherry said, already running into the warehouse.

A brute tried to intercept her.

She passed him like an angry lightning bolt, striking the side of his knee first, then his chin on the return of the flattened blade. The man fell like a demolished tower.

"That’s for making me go down a drain!"

Damon almost smiled.

Almost.

In the center of the warehouse, a staircase led to the elevated office Morgana had mentioned. Reinforced door. Opaque glass. Perfect place for someone intelligent to watch the chaos from above and escape at the right moment.

"Ester," he called.

"I see."

She ran to the side, climbing a narrow maintenance ladder to cut off the back route. Ingrivid shifted position high up to cover the office windows. Cherry began to fight her way up the main staircase, too cheerful for someone in combat.

Inside the warehouse, the remaining men began to break down.

Some fled.

Some dropped their weapons.

Some still tried to fight out of sheer panic.

Lysandra, outside, watched through the destroyed door with genuine interest.

"You really don’t do half measures," she commented to no one in particular.

High above, the office door suddenly opened.

A thin man, too elegant for the place, appeared escorted by two armed guards and a small metal briefcase chained to his hand. His eyes fell on the scene below and immediately hardened.

"Burn it all down!" he shouted.

"Classic," said Cherry.

One of the guards pulled a side lever.

At the back of the shed, drums connected by hoses began to leak flammable liquid along pre-prepared trails in the floor.

Ester appeared in the back corridor at that exact moment.

"They’ve set up self-destruction!"

"Also classic!" shouted Cherry back.

The elegant man turned to run through a side door.

Damon was already standing before him.

The collision was so sudden that the two guards didn’t even have time to raise their weapons. One collapsed against the wall; the other crashed through the doorway as he was thrown sideways.

The man with the briefcase froze.

"You don’t understand who you’re dealing with," he said, trying to regain his composure.

Damon took the briefcase from his hand as if picking up a forgotten object from a table.

"Correct," he replied. "You’ll still explain."

The man tried to draw a concealed pistol.

Cherry appeared behind him and struck him on the back of the neck with the pommel of his sword.

"He talks too much."

The man fell.

In the background, trails of fire began to ignite.

Ingrivid fired an arrow that severed the main oil hose before the flame reached it. Ester kicked two barrels away from the burning path. Cherry ripped up an old rug and smothered some of the initial fire with surprising efficiency for someone who seemed to improvise everything.

Damon opened the briefcase.

Inside were sealed vials, smaller account books, lists of coded names, and small dark glass ampoules marked with the same symbol seen in previous documents.

Ester approached, breathing faster from the effort.

"This is the logistics center."

"It was," Damon corrected.

Outside, a short whistle was heard.

Lysandra.

Everyone looked.

She was smiling differently now.

Less confident.

More bitter.

"If this was just a branch," she said calmly, "you just annoyed much bigger people."

Cherry wiped the mud from her boot on the coat of an unconscious man.

"Great. I’m still in a bad mood."

Damon closed his suitcase slowly and turned his eyes to the gray horizon beyond the warehouses, where other old chimneys rose in the distance like rotten teeth.

"Then let’s keep walking."

Damon took the first step toward the main warehouse, and the morning seemed to shrink around the movement. There was no theatrical run, no war cry, no warning that sensible men usually wished for before a calamity. There was only that firm, steady walk, laden with an irritating confidence that made it seem as if the rest of the world needed to get out of its way out of sheer common sense.

The ground between them and the entrance was vast, covered in broken stones, rusty rails, and the remnants of rotting crates that time hadn’t finished consuming. The wind carried fine dust between the ancient structures, and for a moment everything seemed too still, as if the complex itself were holding its breath at the approach.

Then the first sentry appeared on the roof.

The man raised a short crossbow, probably believing that distance and height still meant something. He didn’t even fully pull the string. Damon vanished from where he was and appeared on the roof in a dark blur, grabbing the man’s face with one hand and using the momentum to hurl him through an old glass window. The crash echoed through the courtyard.

"Contact confirmed," Cherry murmured in the distance, overly pleased.

The second guard tried to run along the side walkway to sound some kind of alarm. An arrow fired by Ingrivid pierced the sleeve of his coat and pinned the fabric to the wooden post behind him, locking him in place without killing him. Before he could scream, Ester emerged from the shadows below the structure, climbed up with silent swiftness, and knocked him unconscious with a sharp blow to the back of the neck.

"Two outposts neutralized," she said, as if reading a report.

Damon had already landed on the ground again.

Without slowing down.

He advanced straight for the main gate of the central warehouse, two thick sheets of old metal reinforced by recent internal bars. New padlocks. Heavy chains. Expensive work attempting to secure a decaying building.

"How cute," Cherry commented, approaching from the side.

Damon placed his hand on the metal.

He pulled.

The hinges screamed in protest. The iron warped like wet wood, and the whole thing collapsed inward with a violent crash that shook dust from the ceiling. The echo echoed through the neighboring warehouses like an announcement of inevitable disaster.

Inside, dozens of faces turned at once.

Armed men. Workbenches. Open crates. Barrels. Sewn sacks. Improvised glass tubes. An entire production line interrupted in the middle of a clandestine shift. The smell of reagents, oil, and burnt herbs filled the air.

For two seconds, nobody moved.

Then someone shouted:

"INTRUDERS!"

"Correct," Damon replied.

He went in.

The first row of guards tried to form a firing line with crossbows and handguns. Cherry passed Damon laughing loudly, sword in hand, and threw himself into their midst before they could aim properly. Chaos erupted immediately. One man fell clutching his arm. Another lost his weapon. A third simply decided to run and was knocked down by a crate thrown by Ingrivid from the side entrance.

Ester didn’t go for the direct confrontation.

She went for the tables.

Her eyes scanned records, marks on barrels, symbols on lids, numbered labels. While others were breaking people, she was breaking secrets.

"Red lot, north corridor. Blue lot, river transport. Damon, don’t destroy everything yet!"

"No promises," he replied, as he lifted a man by the collar and used him to strike another.

From the back of the shed, four mercenaries emerged with thick shields and short spears, professional training, probably hired for situations where ordinary idiots failed. They advanced together, disciplined, trying to surround him.

Damon seemed genuinely pleased.

"Ah, adults."

The first struck with a low thrust. Damon dodged an inch and twisted the spear shaft until he ripped it from the man’s hand. The weapon spun in the air and pierced the second man’s knee. The third raised his shield and received a punch that shattered wood, metal, and pride all at once. The fourth tried to strike him in the back of the neck from behind.

Ingrivid threw a short knife that lodged in the man’s shoulder before the blow connected.

"You were open," she said.

"I know," Damon replied.

Cherry kicked a man over a workbench and pointed her sword at Ester.

"How many more?"

"Main warehouse with twenty-three. Fewer now."

"I love simple math."

A rumble came from the shed next door.

Everyone stopped for a moment.

Another rumble.

Then screams.

Ester slowly raised her face.

"They’re moving cargo."

"Or burning evidence," Damon said.

He turned to the inner passageway connecting the buildings and sniffed the air like a predator. Smoke. Resin. Alcohol. Haste.

"Cherry with me. Ingrivid, hold the entrance. Ester, grab anything worthwhile."

"Define worthwhile," she replied.

"Things that incriminate rich people."

"Perfect."

Damon hurried through the inner doorway so fast that the chains hanging beside him swayed in the vacuum of the passage. Cherry followed, twirling her sword in her fingers like someone heading to a particularly violent festival.

The second shed was narrower and hotter. Makeshift furnaces occupied the center, cauldrons boiled dark liquids, and three men poured documents into a growing flame while others tried to drag boxes to an inner cart.

"Look at that," said Cherry. "They really thought they had time."

Damon didn’t answer.

He grabbed the cart by the front and threw it aside. The wheels shattered against a column. Boxes burst open on impact, revealing straw-wrapped vials, colored powders, and small sealed metal cylinders.

One of the alchemists ran to the furnace with a bottle.

Ester entered at that moment through the opposite door and shouted:

"DON’T BREAK THAT ONE!"

Cherry threw a dagger that pierced the man’s sleeve and pinned his hand to the wall.

"Specify first!" she replied.

Damon stepped onto the pile of burning papers. The fire died down under pressure and damp ashes. Then he grabbed the nearest supervisor by the neck and lifted him up.

"Where’s the secret exit?"

The man spat blood and tried to smile.

Damon squeezed a little harder.

"Where."

"Third... shed... basement..."

He dropped the unconscious man.

"Thank you."

Cherry smiled dangerously.

"I like it when you’re polite."

The third shed was behind a courtyard surrounded by high walls, with rails entering through a side opening for heavy cargo. Unlike the others, this one was almost silent.

Too silent.

Damon slowed down.

"Trap," said Ingrivid, coming up behind after leaving two guards tied up in the first building.

"Yes," replied Ester. "Too obvious."

Cherry pushed the door open with the tip of her boot.

Nothing.

Damon went in first. The interior was empty, except for stacked crates and a freight elevator in the center leading to the basement. New ropes. Lubricated pulleys. Frequent use.

Then the crates around him burst into motion.

Hidden men leaped out of them and from the shadows to the sides simultaneously, a dozen attackers armed with nets, chains, and short spears impregnated with some dark liquid.

Cherry chuckled.

"Finally, some creativity!"

The net thrown at Damon never reached him. He caught it in mid-air and pulled hard enough to bring two men flying along. He used both as projectiles against three others. Ingrivid rolled to the side and took down two with rapid shots. Ester crouched behind a crate, annoyed.

"Could you fight without stepping on the documents for five minutes?"

Cherry pierced an attacker with the hilt of his sword and replied:

"No."

A man managed to graze the poisoned spear on Damon’s arm.

Everyone froze for a moment, waiting for a reaction.

Damon looked at the shallow cut, then at the man.

"You tried to drug me?"

The man paled.

"Brave."

He passed out with a slap.

In less than two minutes, the floor was covered in groans, weapons, and bad choices.

Damon approached the elevator.

He lowered his gaze to the darkness below.

A different smell rose from there.

Expensive perfume.

Paint.

Candles.

And blood.

Morgana had described that kind of luxury out of place amidst decay.

"Central Command," said Esther.

Cherry rested her sword on her shoulder.

"Shall I go down first?"

"No."

"You never let me have organized fun."

"Because you improvise fires."

"Just once."

"Incorrect," Ester and Ingrivid said together.

Damon gripped the elevator chain and tested the weight.

"Lysandra knew about this," he said.

Ester nodded.

"Of course she knew."

"When we get back, I’ll talk to her again."

Cherry smiled broadly.

"Can I watch?"

"No."

"Cruelty."

Damon stepped onto the platform and began to descend into the dark basement, while the others took up positions behind him. The light from the warehouse faded above, swallowed by the depths. Down below, a row of torches lit up one by one, as if someone were waiting for them.

And a calm, elegant female voice echoed from the darkness:

"You took longer than I expected."