""Haaaa~""
A plume of white mist escaped my lips, curling briefly before dissolving into the cold night air. The chill had a sharpness to it, biting at exposed skin like tiny needles. It wasn't unbearable—far from it—but it had that lingering, persistent quality that refused to let you forget it was there.
((At least it isn't snowing...))
I adjusted my cloak, pulling it tighter against the wind's playful grasp. The cold itself wasn't a problem. It never was. My body was biogenetically engineered for conditions far harsher than this, the cold was little more than an annoyance. I'd operated in places where the air could freeze a man's lungs or melt the flesh from his bones. Arctic tundras, active volcanoes, deep-sea trenches—it didn't matter. Temperature was just another obstacle to overcome.
No, the only thing that bothered me about this weather wasn't the cold—it was the snow.
((Snow complicates everything))
Snow for an operative was the great irritating, omnipresent equalizer, turning even the most meticulously planned and excellently executed operation into a game of chance. A fresh layer of it didn't just coat the ground; it recorded every movement, every misstep. Footprints were a story waiting to be read, and I wasn't in the habit of leaving stories behind.
((Sure, I'd been trained to walk across powdered snow without leaving so much as a whisper of a footprint, but come on. Who the hell wants to dedicate THAT much focus to something as basic as WALKING? It's WAY too tedious))
I shook my head slightly, dismissing the thought as my eyes scanned the port ahead. It was quieter than during the day but far from lifeless. The occasional clang of metal echoed faintly as workers loaded crates onto nearby ships. The soft hum of mana-powered machinery punctuated the stillness, a rhythmic undercurrent to the sporadic activity.
Lanterns hung from poles along the wooden walkways, their flickering light casting long, jittery shadows over stacks of cargo. Every now and then, a muffled shout or the creak of ropes broke the silence, the sounds blending into the backdrop of the sea's gentle waves lapping against the piers.
And at the farthest berth, as expected, was my target: the SS Grudwar.
From a distance, it seemed unassuming—a hulking wooden freighter with a dark hull that bobbed rhythmically on the waves. It was the kind of ship that blended into any port, drawing no more attention than the crates it hauled. But I wasn't here for what it seemed. I was here for what it was hiding.
((No one goes to this much trouble to look that unassuming unless they had something they wanted people to not notice))
Closer to the ship, a handful of guards patrolled the perimeter. Their movements were unhurried, almost casual, suggesting routine rather than vigilance, as if the late hour had dulled their sense of purpose, this was something I could use...
Boots crunched against the frosted wooden planks, their rhythm slow and deliberate. A few of them stopped occasionally to warm their hands over small, enchanted braziers placed near the ship's gangway. Wisps of smoke curled upward from the flames, fading quickly into the frigid night.
The crates and barrels around the ship were stacked haphazardly, forming jagged silhouettes against the dim light. They offered natural cover if I needed it, though the clear line of sight from the guards would make moving through them a challenge. The gangway itself glinted faintly under the lantern light, frost catching on its steel surface like a thin layer of glass.
I exhaled slowly, another plume of mist curling upward before vanishing. My shoulders rolled as I loosened the tension building in them—the kind that always settled in just before an operation.
((Quick and quiet. In and out. Clean))
Or so I told myself but the thought rang hollow. I knew better than to expect a clean affair. Operations like these had a way of unraveling. Mostly through bad luck, or the universe's own twisted sense of humor, something always went sideways.
((When does it ever go smoothly? Lady Luck and I are not on speaking terms. Can't say I blame her though...))
My gaze swept the port again, cataloging every detail: the paths the guards took, the patterns in their steps, the workers occasionally moving crates with the half-conscious efficiency of men running on habit. The flickering lanterns, the crates scattered in just the right way to make movement through them a test of agility and patience. Everything became a part of the map in my head, the mental puzzle of how best to move through it unnoticed.
And the SS Grudwar itself—the centerpiece of this tableau, its dark hull looming like a secret. Beneath its mundane exterior, I knew something waited. Something someone didn't want found.
((Let's see what skeletons are hiding in this ship's closet))
With one last look at the sporadically active port, I pulled my cloak tighter around me. The fabric whispered against my skin as I slipped into the shadows, each movement deliberate, measured. The cold was forgotten, the noise of the port fading into the background. My focus narrowed to the path of approach that I have drawn in my head with all of it's alternate routes should the situation call for it, the countless variables clicking into place like the pieces of a puzzle only I could see .
Like a night breeze, I dashed between the shadows of the port, sticking to the path I'd mapped out in my head. It should've been a relatively straightforward route—avoiding the guards' notice by using the terrain's natural abundance of cover and hiding spots. But, as always, things didn't go according to plan.
"Oi, bring the mead here! It's not a party without it!"
The sound of movement reached my ears a split second before a familiar voice broke through the stillness.
""Emrys? That can't be right…""
I whispered to myself, freezing in place. My mind raced as I pressed closer to the nearest stack of crates, peering cautiously around the edge.
I had studied everyone's habits and schedules VERY closely—Emrys wasn't supposed to be working this shift. He wasn't even supposed to be at the port tonight. So what the hell was he doing here?
((Did he just say…mead?))
The realization hit me like a bucket of cold water, pulling a memory to the forefront of my mind.
"Thanks, Markus…man, you're a real help. Up for grabbing some drinks after the shift's done?"
That was what he'd said to me this morning during our shift.
((I thought he meant going to the bar! Why is he drinking HERE? And wait…is that…my coworkers? Why are they drinking at the PORT of all places?!))
My frustration simmered as I stayed crouched behind the crates, watching as the situation unraveled. Just as I had predicted, Lady Luck decided to throw a wrench into my carefully laid plans.
"Oi oi! Come on! What's this kiddie stuff? Bring out the good stuff!"
"Be quiet! Manager Finn is gonna kill us if he finds out. I don't want to lose our meetup spot because you can't keep your voice down!"
"What'd you say, you virgin bastard?!"
"Now, now! Save the fighting until AFTER we're shitfaced drunk,"
Emrys' voice cut through the argument, laced with that easygoing confidence that usually got him out of trouble.
"This is supposed to be a place for after-work bonding and partying, so knock it off, ya hear?"
Emrys' tone was warm, his signature easygoing smile firmly in place as he looked between the two belligerents. But beneath that smile was a subtle edge—unspoken, yet unmistakable: "Keep arguing, and I'll personally make you both regret it".
The two men exchanged quick glances, their defiance crumbling under Emrys' unspoken authority. With grumbles of reluctant agreement, they backed off, muttering half-hearted apologies.
((Haaa~ Rookie mistake. I'm still green as an operator, aren't I?))
The thought gnawed at me as I slunk further into the shadows, my irritation mounting with each step.
((I should've gathered more intel before moving in. Who knew my coworkers liked to drink here? Then again, when have I ever cared about things like 'bonding' or 'partying'?))
My eyes darted back to the group, observing their laughter and carefree demeanor from a safe distance.
((I've always avoided these kinds of gatherings unless they served a purpose—unless there was information to gain that I deemed important. Frivolous events like this? Useless.))
I exhaled sharply, my frustration bubbling over.
((And now I'm standing here, caught off guard, trying to justify my own incompetence))
The realization stung. My jaw tightened as I turned away from the noise, slipping deeper into the shadows.
((Stop making excuses. Just calm down))
Closing my eyes briefly, I visualized the alternate path I'd mapped out earlier. It wasn't ideal, but it would get me where I needed to go.
((Contingencies exist for a reason, remember? You planned for this. Stick to the plan.))
Sliding further into the maze of crates and shadows, I adjusted my course. My steps were deliberate, my irritation simmering beneath the surface but tightly controlled. My face remained as it always was—blank, unreadable, detached from the roiling thoughts in my head.
The sounds of the party grew more distant as I moved, but even with the increased gap, my enhanced hearing still picked up fragments of their conversation, drifting on the cold night air.
"Hey, when are you gonna invite that new kid to our gatherings, Em?"
One of my coworkers asked, his voice slurring slightly with drunken confidence.
"Oh, Mark?"
Emrys' familiar tone carried over the laughter and clinking bottles.
"Yeah, I tried again this morning, but…no dice"
A sigh followed his words, the kind of exasperation that hinted at something closer to resignation.
""...""
I didn't stop moving, my strides purposeful and steady, but something inexplicable kept my ears trained on their voices. Perhaps it was curiosity. Or perhaps it was the nagging instinct to know what impression they had of me—what levers I could pull to better manipulate them if necessary.
"Man, he's a good kid, but… so freaking stiff. He'll die single at this rate, just like that virgin over there!"
A familiar voice jeered, his words followed by a bark of laughter.
"You wanna f*cking go?"
Came an irritated retort, and I recognized the second voice too, they were the same two people who were fighting earlier.
"Hey, I told you two to knock it off"
Emrys said, his tone firm but still carrying that easygoing edge that somehow managed to defuse situations without escalating them.
A pause followed before Emrys spoke again, his voice quieter, more thoughtful.
"But…I suppose you're not wrong"
He admitted.
"Still, personally, I think it's deeper than that, you know? The kid seems…"
Emrys trailed off, as though searching for the right words.
"Afraid..."
He said finally.
"Like his eyes are always ruthlessly prying into everything, making damn sure he doesn't miss anything. It's almost as if…he's constantly looking for an invisible enemy."
""...""
((...))
I didn't break stride, but my thoughts churned as the words settled in.
"Ugh! Enough about the rookie already! Let's get back to partying!"
Another voice cut in, urging them back to their drunken revelry.
"Yeah!"
Came the chorus of agreement, followed by the clinking of bottles and renewed laughter.
I judged there was no longer anything worth hearing and tuned them out.
((I need to focus on navigating the alternate route and avoiding both the party and the patrolling guards. It's a bit of a winding path, but I can make good time if I push myself a little))
My muscles ached faintly, a lingering soreness from spending most of the day polymorphed. The strain of maintaining someone else's frame always left me feeling… off. There was something grounding about moving in my natural form, letting my body reacquaint itself with the power I usually suppressed.
((Perfect time for a little stretch))
I thought as I picked up the pace, my movements fluid and precise.
The alternate route wound through a quieter section of the port, weaving between abandoned storage areas and half-unloaded cargo crates. The hum of mana engines was fainter here, the shouts of workers more sporadic. I moved quickly, my steps soundless against the frost-kissed wood.
Then, of course, another obstacle had to be thrown into my plans.
I rounded a corner and immediately froze, my blank expression masking the irritation flaring inside me. Ahead, one of my coworkers—Sezare—was leaning casually against a stack of crates, his posture relaxed in the way only a man about to make a profoundly stupid decision could manage.
Opposite him stood a woman whose attire and demeanor left little to the imagination. Her smirk was sharp and predatory, her fingers brushing against his arm as she leaned in, her voice low and sultry but audible.
"Oh, don't be shy now, big boy. We're all friends here aren't we?"
((...))
I was silent for a moment.
((You know...somehow I'm not surprised that Sezare would pick NOW of all times to get frisky with a hooker))
I sighed, crouched lower behind a stack of barrels, observing the scene with muted annoyance. If it had just been the two of them, I could've slipped around unnoticed. But no, that would've been too easy. Footsteps echoed from a nearby walkway—the unmistakable crunch of boots on frost.
Patrolling guards.
And, because the universe clearly hates me, I caught the faint but unmistakable sound of Emrys' voice approaching from the direction I'd just come, the party wasn't super far away but it was still a considerable distance so I didn't think I'd be hearing from him again that fast.
"Hey, Sezare! Where'd you wander off to?"
((You've got to be sh*tting me!))
Slipping deeper into the shadows, I calculated quickly. If Sezare and the woman stayed where they were, the guards would find them first. That kind of scene would spiral out of control, creating a massive distraction that would only complicate my route further.
((No choice. I'll have to deal with this myself))
I moved silently, rounding the stack of crates until I was positioned just behind them. Sezare let out a low, nervous chuckle at something the woman said, but neither of them noticed me.
"Alright, love, let's see where this goes, huh?"
Sezare said, his voice low, husky and eager.
((Nowhere, unfortunately for you))
Before either could react, I stepped forward, striking with practiced efficiency. A sharp jab to Sezare's neck and a quick, precise pressure point on the woman's shoulder sent them both crumpling to the ground, unconscious. I caught them silently, easing their bodies down behind the crates before they could make a sound. I was faster than any normal human eye could track after all.
The crunch of boots grew louder. The guards were getting closer. Emrys' voice followed, closer now too.
"Sezare, I swear if you're off flirting again—"
((Here goes nothing...))
Crouching low, I inhaled deeply, letting my vocal cords shift and tighten, the faint tickle of my biogenetic augmentation kicking in. When I spoke, it wasn't my voice that came out—it was Sezare's.
""Ugh! Argh! AAAAAH! F*ck off Em! I'm in the middle of filling a b*tch up!""
I made grunts of exertion in Sezare's voice, simulating his demeanor and mannerisms as best I could.
"..."
There was a pause.
"…Seriously? You picked HERE of all places?"
Emrys sounded exasperated, but not surprised.
"Ahhhh!~ hey, I don't come down on YOUfor how you unwind Ah!~"
I quipped back, still in Sezare's voice, injecting just the right amount of irritation.
"...haaaaaaaaaaa~"
Another pause followed by a long sigh from Emrys.
"Fine, whatever"
Emrys relented.
"Just…keep it down, alright? Last thing we need is for the guards to—"
"Hey, what's going on over there?"
One of the guards barked, the clink of armor accompanying his voice as they closed in.
My eyes narrowed, ready to improvise further should the situation not develop as I predicted, as far as social engineering goes this was VERY impromptu for my usual standards.
"Relax!"
Emrys' voice rose sharply.
"It's just one of our guys. I'll deal with it—go finish your patrol!"
There was a moment of tense silence before the guards grumbled something and turned away, their footsteps receding down the walkway.
Emrys sighed audibly.
"Sezare, I swear, if you cost me my job…"
I adjusted my position slightly, letting my voice carry from behind the crates.
""Don't get your panties in a twist, Em. I've got it under control. AAAHH~""
"Yeah, sure,"
He muttered.
"Just try not to screw up, alright? And for the love of the gods, don't let Finn find out about this. He'll have you begging for coins on the street by the end of the week if he does and honestly I wouldn't blame him. If I was him I'd fire you right this instant"
""Ah!~ if you were my manager I'd fire myself, for the last time f*ck off! AAAAHH!~""
I snapped back in the same way how Sezare would, or at least how I think he would.
"Alright! I'm going, remember to clean up after yourselves, I don't want anything ruining the cargo"
I waited until his footsteps faded into the distance before letting out a long breath.
""Phew~""
((That was too close for my taste))
I straightened, glancing down at Sezare and the woman, still unconscious.
((They'll be out for a while. That should keep things quiet long enough for me to finish the job))
I paused, my gaze lingering on their unconscious forms.
((Still, just in case…))
I crouched beside them, my fingers brushing lightly against the cold wooden dock as I began to weave a spell.
((Better if they wake up believing they had such a good time they both passed out))
With no incantations needed, a faint glow spread beneath my hand, conjured by my will alone, it was a faint, soft, silvery-blue light. The spell circle formed slowly, intricate lines and runes spiraling outward in geometric precision. The symbols shifted and pulsed, like thoughts in motion, radiating an aura that felt both serene and invasive—like the calm before a storm.
The color deepened as I pressed my palm over Sezare's forehead, the runes glowing a bit brighter with a faint hum as they sank into his skin. A shimmering ripple passed through his features, subtle but unmistakable, as the spell took hold, he took on a euphoric smile in his sleep, ((Gonna be honest I do NOT want to know what he is dreaming about)), I moved to the woman next, repeating the process.
The spell wasn't flashy, but it didn't need to be. It worked in whispers, planting subtle suggestions, reshaping fragments of memory into a narrative that suited my needs. When they woke, they'd remember nothing out of the ordinary—just a wild night that ended in mutual indulgence and a shared blackout.
The glowing magic circle faded as I stood, the faint hum dissipating into the cold night air. ((That should do it))
Sliding back into the shadows, I recalibrated my route, my mind already moving on to the next step. For now, I had bigger problems than Sezare's poor decision-making.
The port was quieter now, though the occasional crunch of boots or distant murmur of voices kept my senses sharp. My enhanced stealth training carried me effortlessly through the maze of crates and alleyways, each movement calculated and premeditated. The patrolling guards remained oblivious as I slipped past them, using every shadow, every blind spot, to my advantage.
At one point, a particularly alert guard paused, his lantern swinging dangerously close to my position. I crouched low, pressing myself against the cool wooden planks of the dock, my breathing got so slowed it was almost nonexistent. When he finally moved on, muttering something about the cold, I resumed my path, moving even faster now.
((Almost there. Just a little more))
A few final turns, a quick vault over a stack of barrels, and there it was: the SS Grudwar. Its massive hull rose before me like a slumbering beast, the faint creak of its rigging and the gentle lapping of waves against its sides breaking the otherwise still night.
I crouched in the shadows, scanning the ship for any activity. A handful of guards milled about on the dock nearby, their postures relaxed, their movements slow. Above, the faint glow of a lantern swayed gently near the main deck, casting elongated shadows across the ship's weathered wood.
((Haa~ well, that was A LOT more eventful than I wanted it to be))
I let out a slow breath, my expression as blank as ever, but the irritation simmering beneath the surface was undeniable.
((Drunken coworkers, nosy guards, and my 'brilliant' luck conspiring against me at every turn. The universe really does like having fun at my expense, doesn't it?))
For a brief moment, I allowed myself to indulge in the thought, my mind replaying the chaotic series of events that had led me here. For some reason operations that I undertook ALWAYS either go sideways in a deadly manner or develop in an awkward and or chaotic way.
((If I could trade half of my augmentations for even a quarter-decent luck, I might actually consider it))
My face remained as blank and deadpan as ever, despite the frustrated churn of thoughts swirling beneath the surface.
((Honestly, I'm REALLY not looking forward to my coming-of-age ceremony. Seeing my [luck] stat on the [status plaque] is going to crush whatever will to live I have left))
I let the thought linger for a moment, the faintest sigh escaping me as I crouched lower into the shadows. The future loomed like an annoying fly buzzing just out of reach—unavoidable and irritating in equal measure.
""It's gonna suck I already know it""
I said deadpan and tired, as if my hopes and dreams had just been crushed under someone's heel.
For the average joe, the concept of 'luck' was just an abstract force—something to blame or thank when life went sideways or unexpectedly well. Either that, or it was a mathematical exercise in probability, reduced to numbers and odds. But for people like me—or rather, people with the talent, training, discipline, and or sheer potential for supernatural abilities, a group that made up roughly 1 in 60 of the general population globally—luck wasn't just an idea. It was a cold, hard number, a tangible reality you couldn't escape, not without a dramatic change or effort.
Once you turned 14, anyone with even a spark of supernatural ability underwent the customary coming-of-age ceremony to receive the blessing of [status awareness]. Technically, anyone could go through the ceremony—supernatural or not—but the [status plaque] was only as useful as the Prana and Mana the person could provide to conjure and sustain it. For most, these resources were dormant or woefully underdeveloped, leaving them struggling to even conjure a blank slate.
For those who could conjure it, the [status plaque] was a comprehensive summary of their existence. It revealed everything: [strength], [agility], [intelligence], [vitality], [mana], and, of course, [luck], along with a slew of other metrics. It was all laid bare, staring back at you like an unflinching, unbreakable mirror, forcing you to confront exactly what you were—and what you weren't.
((Knowing my luck—or lack thereof—it's going to be a single-digit number. If it's even that high...))
The idea of seeing it quantified made my stomach twist. Not that I'd ever show it outwardly. I kept my blank expression firmly in place, my body crouched and still as I scanned the deck of the SS Grudwar for movement.
((Hmm...now that I think about it, that last operation went way too smoothly. Maybe that Sophia girl has a high [luck] stat that countered mine?))
I thought about how well the last operation went, being reminded of that strange girl that I saved -who the Maestro called my 'counter balance' whatever that meant- before I pushed the thought to the back of my head.
((Eh...Never mind. For now, though, let's focus on the task at hand. The future can screw me over later))
My gaze sharpened, locking onto a potential path up. A sturdy length of rope dangled from the side of the ship, secured to a pulley near the deck. It swayed gently in the breeze, its knots just wide enough to provide decent footing.
I moved quickly, closing the distance to the rope with soundless steps. With a practiced grip, I pulled myself up, my enhanced strength making the climb almost effortless. The rough fibers scraped against my gloves, but I paid it no mind, my focus entirely on the deck above.
Reaching the edge, I paused, hanging just below the railing. My eyes scanned the deck for movement, ensuring no one was in sight before I hauled myself up and over with practiced ease. My boots touched the wood soundlessly, my crouched posture instinctive as I took in my surroundings.
((Alright. I'm on))
I adjusted the cloak around my shoulders, slipping further into the shadows of the Grudwar's deck, I quickly moved on to the next step. The mission wasn't over—not yet.