Ordinarily, the underworld tended to grow around the wealthiest noble families.
Where money gathered, people gathered. And where people gathered, so did cri.
But the North was an exception.
It wasn’t that slums didn’t exist around the Draken Duke’s castle—there were plenty of the poor clinging to its shadow. Rather, there were simply better places for the desperate to gather.
The tunnels.
Once carved out by the demon tribe during their invasion, they had since been abandoned and reclaid by those who had nowhere else to go. The holess, the dispossessed, and those who couldn’t afford life within the castle walls all ended up here. The result: the largest, most peculiar underworld in the empire.
"It’s gloomy, isn’t it?"
"Barren too," I replied, glancing around. "They say half the residents here are people who lost their hos to monsters."
Doran clicked his tongue and scanned the shadows. "Strangely quiet, though. With this many people, anywhere else we’d already have run into so tattooed brutes itching for a fight."
"That’s because it’s the North," I said flatly.
The northern underworld wasn’t like the others. No assassins’ guild. No violent rcenary syndicates. No self-proclaid kings of cri. And there was a simple reason for that.
In a military city like this, every body counted against the demon tribe. The nobles had no patience for back-alley thugs wasting manpower. Anyone who showed too much talent for bloodshed wasn’t left to rot in the shadows—they were thrown onto the battlefield wearing a soldier’s helt.
The result was a strange balance. The underworld existed, yes, but it was trimd of its sharpest edges. Here, thieves survived less by violence and more by whispers. Information brokering had replaced plunder as the trade of choice.
Which was why Doran’s obsession with relics right now felt... absurd.
He licked his lips as he looked deeper into the tunnel, the dim light reflecting a hungry gleam in his eyes. "Hah... this is going to be fun."
He even started whistling, the sound bouncing unnervingly off the damp walls.
I grimaced. "Unbelievable. You were the one who told once—life over money. And now look at you. Whistling like a boy chasing after trinkets."
He shot a grin over his shoulder, the kind of grin that said he’d abandoned that old lesson long ago.
I sighed. "Fine. But don’t forget my share. Since you haven’t exactly been much of a teacher, consider it compensation."
Of course, I wasn’t much different. My fingers itched at the thought of the relic as much as his did.
In the end, we were both thieves.
Doran chuckled at my words, tugging his cloak tighter around his shoulders as if the damp air pleased him.
"Compensation, is it? Hah. You’ve grown greedy. When I first picked you up, you could barely tell the difference between a coin purse and a wineskin."
I snorted. "And whose fault is that? You never taught properly. All I got was: don’t die too soon, kid. So training."
He waved a hand lazily, as if brushing away my complaint. "If you survived with just that, it ans my teaching was flawless."
"Or it ans I had to figure out everything myself while you were busy chasing relics and drinking yourself stupid."
That earned a bark of laughter. "Sharp tongue. I like it. ans you’re finally acting like a thief instead of a scolded puppy."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t hide the faint smirk tugging at my lips. Banter with Doran always walked the line between irritation and amusent.
Still, I couldn’t ignore the gnawing thought in the back of my mind. This wasn’t just about relics. If Doran was here, in the North, that ant he’d sniffed out sothing worth risking the Duke’s eyes.
"When are we going to do it?"
"The auction starts tomorrow," Doran said, rolling that black parchnt between his fingers like it was nothing more than a toy. "It’ll run for a week. The real treasures don’t co out until the last day, so that’s when we make our move."
A week later, then.
I nodded, but unease prickled at the back of my mind. A whole week? That left too much room for risk.
If the Frostroot—the item I’d set my sights on—went under the hamr before then, all of this would be for nothing.
No, I told myself quickly, shutting down the doubt. That’s an unnecessary worry.
The auction’s reputation relied on building suspense, saving their crown jewels for the final act. That was the only way they kept nobles and underworld bosses alike coming back year after year.
And Frostroot... it wasn’t the sort of prize anyone would fight over early. Too unpredictable, too dangerous. A double-edged blade in potion form—temporary power with the potential for devastating backlash.
Most n with coin wanted certainty. Power they could flaunt, not gamble on.
Which ant, in all likelihood, Frostroot would sit untouched until the end.
And when it did, I’d be ready.
"You look too certain," Doran muttered, eyeing sideways as the tunnel bent into a wider chamber. "Dangerous habit, that. Certainty gets thieves killed faster than greed."
"Spoken like a man who’s been caught one too many tis," I replied dryly.
He snorted. "Caught? Boy, I’ve been chased. Big difference. Caught ans you failed. Chased ans you walked away with sothing worth running for."
"Or it ans you were sloppy enough to get noticed."
That earned another bark of laughter, echoing against the damp stone. "Hah! If I was sloppy, you wouldn’t be here to argue with ."
I shook my head, a faint grin slipping out despite myself. "You always twist things until you’re the one who cos out on top. Doesn’t matter if you were half-dead in a ditch, you’d call it a victory if you crawled away with a pebble in your pocket."
"Pebble, relic, coin purse—if soone else wanted it and I got it, then I win," Doran said without hesitation. His eyes glinted in the torchlight. "That’s the rule of thieves. Not who’s strongest, not who’s fastest—just who walks away smiling."
"Sounds more like an excuse for incompetence," I shot back. "By that logic, a rat that scampers off with crumbs is the king of thieves."
He barked another laugh, low and rough. "Aye, but that rat’s alive. Better than the cat that starved chasing after at it couldn’t catch."
I couldn’t help the smirk tugging at my lips. "So you’re admitting you’re a rat now?"
"Better a clever rat than a dead wolf." His teeth glead through his grin. "You’ve got the bite of a wolf, boy, but you still think like one too. Straight lines, straight plans. Always head-on. That’s why I worry."
"I manage just fine."
"Do you? I don’t think so but you are saying that ans everything is okay."
I slowed my steps, my boots scraping against the damp stone floor. His words stuck to like burrs, irritating, sharp, but impossible to shake off.
"You worry too much," I said finally. "You mistake caution for weakness. I don’t charge head-on like so idiot swinging a sword. I calculate."
"Calculate?" Doran scoffed, jabbing a finger toward . "That’s the problem. You’re always counting and never gambling. Thieves don’t win by playing safe. They win by risking more than anyone else is willing to."
"That’s what gets people killed," I shot back, heat in my voice now. "All your talk of clever rats and dead wolves—don’t make laugh. You’ve just been lucky."
His grin faded, his eyes narrowing. "Lucky?"
"Yes. Lucky. You think every scrape you survived was because you’re smarter than everyone else. But half of it was chance. Wrong guard falling asleep. Wrong noble turning drunk. Wrong trap breaking before you stepped in it. You confuse luck for skill."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the dripping of water from the ceiling.
Then he chuckled, low and dangerous. "Bold of you to say, boy. But tell this—if it’s all luck, then why are you still here?"
I clenched my jaw. The answer ca before I could stop it. "Because I am better."
Doran’s grin returned, sharper than ever. "Hah! There it is. The wolf bares its teeth at last. Good. I’d hate to think I wasted my ti on a coward."
I exhaled slowly, forcing my expression back to calm. "Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t teach anything. You just...left with an S-rank technique. That’s all."
That earned a bark of laughter, one that rang against the tunnel walls like the crack of flint. "Oh, you’ve grown, boy. You’ve grown sharp. But sharp edges cut both ways. Anyway, I think it’s ti to do my job as teacher."
"As teacher?"
"Yup.Then, as a teacher, I should teach you sothing. Did you have any trouble with the book I gave you?"
"Is that a joke?"
Trouble? There was plenty.
Self-learning without a proper demonstration was quite challenging.
If it weren’t for the system’s assistance, I would have only learned so basic skills like disguise or pickpocketing.
This was a good opportunity.
It was ti to take advantage of my nominal teacher.
"About the movent technique, I don’t quite understand the counterattack part."
Since he said he will teach ....I am not going to waste this opportunity.
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