The parchment felt thinner than it should have.
Light.
Fragile.
And yet heavier than iron.
Gavrilo stood beneath the dim forge-lights of the western blacksmith yard, the scent of coal and burning metal thick in the air. Sparks rose in dying arcs behind him, drifting upward before fading into the violet night.
Three mission slips were already missing.
Seven remained.
But that did not matter.
What mattered—
Was the structure.
He stepped away from the wooden board without haste, slipping into a darker side passage where torchlight could not follow fully. The alley walls were damp with old soot and city grime. Water trickled from somewhere unseen above.
He unfolded the mission again.
Retrieve the guild seal from the abandoned watchpost near southern canal and return it before midnight bell.
He exhaled slowly.
Midnight.
He lifted his gaze toward the sky. The moon had risen higher—thin clouds drifting like torn veils across its pale face.
Time was already bleeding away.
But time was not the real constraint.
Competition was.
He leaned back lightly against cold stone and began thinking.
"If every place holds ten missions," he murmured inwardly, voice calm, analytical, "and those same ten missions are replicated at all ten locations…"
He closed his eyes for a breath.
"…then nine others are holding this exact parchment."
Ten missions.
Ten copies of each mission.
Ten individuals competing per mission.
It was elegant.
Cruel.
Strategic.
His lips curved faintly beneath the mask.
"It prevents sabotage."
If there had been only one parchment per mission per location, participants could simply destroy remaining notes to reduce competition.
But here—
Even if he burned every remaining slip at this forge yard—
The same mission existed at nine other locations.
Meaning—
He could not reduce the number of competitors.
Not by destroying paper.
Only by defeating them.
Or outrunning them.
Or outthinking them.
"Only one retrieves the seal."
His fingers tightened around the parchment.
"Whether he retrieves it from the watchpost…"
"…or steals it from another competitor."
His eyes opened.
Green irises reflecting faint torchlight.
This phase was not about direct speed alone.
It was about intercepting.
Predicting.
Exploiting.
If one of the nine found the guild seal first and was ambushed—
The ambusher could take proof and claim victory.
The instructor had not specified that the mission must be completed without interference.
Only that proof must be returned.
He pushed away from the wall.
The race had already begun.
Three had taken slips before him.
Likely headed toward southern canal already.
If they ran blindly—
They might collide.
Or worse—
Fight openly and attract city guards.
He stepped into the main street.
Then stopped.
Running directly south would be predictable.
Too linear.
He began walking east instead.
Calm.
Measured.
People brushed past him—merchants closing stalls, drunk laborers laughing loudly, a child chasing a stray dog through lantern-lit corners.
He moved like part of the city.
Not apart from it.
His mind worked steadily.
Southern canal had multiple watchposts.
Which one was abandoned?
Likely older section near broken trade route.
He recalled earlier mapping.
Two canal branches.
One near noble quarter—maintained.
One near older industrial zone—less patrolled.
Abandoned watchpost likely near industrial canal.
But so would most assume.
He turned down a side street and began climbing a narrow staircase between buildings.
Up.
Not forward.
He reached a rooftop.
The tiles were uneven beneath his boots, warm from lingering heat of day.
From here, he could see the city grid.
Lantern trails marking main roads.
Darker veins marking alleys.
In the distance, faint glimmer of canal water reflecting moonlight.
He crouched slightly.
If he were one of the nine—
Would he sprint directly to canal?
Yes.
Unless cautious.
The fastest path from western district to southern canal ran along merchant avenue.
Which meant congestion.
Which meant potential confrontation.
He smiled faintly.
"Then I will not run."
He began moving along rooftops instead.
Silent.
Light-footed.
Mana threads barely reinforcing his balance.
His coat moved with him like a shadow.
Below, voices echoed faintly.
Two participants were arguing near intersection.
"…You think I'll just let you pass?"
"You're wasting time!"
Steel flashed briefly.
He did not stop.
Let others burn their time.
He crossed from rooftop to rooftop until the canal's darker silhouette grew nearer.
Water glimmered below—black and silver.
He slowed as he approached the industrial branch.
Abandoned structures lined the canal's edge.
Cranes unused.
Warehouses boarded.
And—
There.
A watchpost tower near bend of canal.
Stone cracked.
Wooden shutters hanging loose.
No visible torchlight.
Abandoned.
He descended silently behind a warehouse and approached from shadow.
He did not enter immediately.
Instead—
He waited.
Five breaths.
Ten.
Listened.
There.
Footsteps inside.
Soft.
Two individuals.
Arguing in hushed tones.
"Search upstairs!"
"Stop ordering me—"
He closed his eyes briefly.
Two already here.
Which meant at least one other might arrive soon.
If he entered now—
Three-way engagement.
Unnecessary.
He shifted position along outer wall.
There was a broken window near rear.
Too obvious.
Instead, he circled toward canal-facing side.
A small balcony jutted outward above waterline.
Rope dangling from it.
Interesting.
Someone had already used that route.
He stepped lightly onto the rope and ascended without sound.
The balcony door was ajar.
Inside—
Dust.
Old wood.
And tension.
He could hear one participant climbing stairs.
Another rummaging below.
He slipped through balcony door into upper floor storage room.
Dark.
Except faint moonlight through broken slats.
He sensed it.
A faint mana residue.
The guild seal was likely warded slightly to prevent easy detection.
He extended his perception slowly.
Subtle.
Careful not to flare.
There.
Behind loose brick near stairwell support.
He stepped toward it.
Paused.
Footstep below.
Someone descending.
Another ascending.
Time compressed.
He removed the brick swiftly.
Inside—
A small iron case bearing Mercenary Alliance crest.
Locked.
He did not hesitate.
Mana pulsed into his fingers.
Not destructive.
Just enough to fracture locking pin quietly.
The mechanism clicked.
He opened it.
Inside—
The guild seal.
Heavy metal emblem stamped with northern branch insignia.
Cold.
He wrapped it in cloth from his coat interior.
Closed the case.
Replaced brick.
As he turned—
A figure burst into upper room.
Sword drawn.
Eyes widening.
"You—!"
Gavrilo moved first.
Not attacking.
He stepped sideways and used mana thread to pull the wooden shutter closed sharply.
Darkness swallowed the room.
The attacker slashed blindly.
Steel met air.
Gavrilo struck the man's wrist lightly.
Blade clattered.
He did not finish him.
He leapt back toward balcony.
But as he did—
Another figure appeared below, climbing rope from canal.
Too late.
They had realized upper floor had been searched.
He kicked lightly against balcony railing and vaulted sideways instead—dropping not down rope—
But into canal.
Cold water engulfed him.
He submerged fully.
Clutching wrapped seal.
Underwater current weak but enough.
He moved along canal wall beneath shadow of dock.
Surfaced quietly beneath overhang twenty paces away.
Two figures rushed onto balcony above, scanning water.
"Where—?!"
"Damn it!"
They had expected rooftop escape.
Not submersion.
He remained in shadow until they retreated inside.
Then he pulled himself out silently onto lower embankment.
Water dripped from coat hem.
He did not run yet.
He waited.
Listened.
No pursuit.
Good.
He adjusted the cloth around the seal and began moving through back alleys northward.
The race was not only to retrieve—
But to return.
Midnight bell would sound soon.
Others might still intercept him en route.
He altered route thrice.
Never taking straight path.
Never using major avenues.
Once, he sensed presence behind him—
He slowed.
Turned corner deliberately.
And waited in dark.
A participant rushed past the alley mouth toward canal.
He let him pass.
Ambition often outran awareness.
As he neared training grounds, the distant toll of first quarter bell echoed faintly.
Time narrowing.
He increased pace finally.
Not sprinting.
But efficient.
When he entered the training ground gates, several participants were already present.
Breathing hard.
Empty-handed.
Or holding different mission proofs.
An officer stood beside long table.
"Proof."
Gavrilo stepped forward calmly.
Unwrapped cloth.
Placed guild seal upon table.
The officer inspected it.
Ran finger over crest.
Checked marking inside.
He nodded once.
"Accepted."
A faint mark was placed beside his name on ledger.
One of ten.
He stepped back.
Not smiling.
Not showing relief.
Because nine others might still succeed.
The night deepened fully now.
Torches flared brighter.
Participants continued arriving in bursts.
Some injured.
Some triumphant.
Some furious.
The city hunt had begun its harvest.
Gavrilo stood at edge of ground, coat still damp from canal water.
He reflected briefly.
The structure had been perfect.
Ten identical missions.
Ten competitors per mission.
Sabotage-proof.
Encouraging confrontation.
Encouraging theft.
Encouraging strategic positioning.
He glanced toward city skyline beyond walls.
Somewhere out there—
Nine others were still racing.
Or bleeding.
Or failing.
He closed his eyes briefly.
"Only one retrieves."
He had retrieved.
But retrieval alone did not guarantee top ten—
Return speed did.
He opened his eyes.
Green calm.
Calculated.
One shadow among many.
But tonight—
One step ahead.
And the bell had not yet finished ringing.