Shadow Weaver: Sole Heir Of The Night-Chapter 180: Kidnapping

Inside a sleek black carriage riding upstream toward the more affluent districts of Windhelm, three figures lay limp on the velvet floor, wrists and ankles bound tightly with ropes forged from a silver dreamy alloy that shimmered faintly whenever light brushed against it.

The alloy looked soft at first glance, almost liquid in the way it caught the glow filtering through the tinted windows, yet it bit into the skin like frozen steel. None of the three captives stirred. Their breathing was shallow, drugged into submission.

Outside, the sound of hooves striking polished stone echoed through narrow canals and arching bridges. The higher they climbed into the city, the cleaner the air became, tinged with expensive incense and distant music drifting from balcony gardens.

"We’re being followed, Sir Duncan."

The voice came from the corner of the carriage. A young lady dressed in layered black robes sat with perfect posture despite the swaying ride. A blindfold covered her eyes, stitched with faint silver threads that pulsed like quiet stars.

Her demeanor was calm, almost detached, yet something about her presence pressed against the air itself. It felt as though she stood half a step ahead of the present, listening to whispers no one else could hear.

She exhumed the quiet certainty of someone intertwined with fate.

"I’m aware."

The man beside her did not bother to look out the window. Sir Duncan lounged with one arm resting on the carriage wall, boots crossed, posture relaxed to the point of arrogance.

"It’s not part of our mission to shake off pursuers. We are heading to a Freedom Party black site. If they want to attack that, they are welcome."

His tone remained even, as if discussing the weather.

He was a bounty hunter by trade and temperament. Politics were smoke to him. Allegiances were dust. If someone paid enough, he cared. If not, the world could burn without earning a glance from him. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"It’s not just one person though," the young lady said softly. "I sense three."

A faint crease appeared on her brow, the smallest fracture in her composure. The threads over her blindfold shimmered again, reacting to something unseen.

Duncan’s indifference unsettled her.

This man was the most cautious individual she had ever encountered. He layered plans over contingencies, traps over exits, paranoia wrapped in calculation. For him to dismiss three tails so easily felt wrong.

"It’s fine, Zera. It’s fine. We are already here."

He shook his head gently, releasing a slow sigh that suggested boredom rather than concern.

Zera possessed the necessary skills to survive a war zone. She could predict the arc of a bullet before it was fired, anticipate betrayal before it took shape, trace threads of probability through chaos.

She could navigate assassinations and military operations orchestrated by superpowers.

What she lacked was Duncan’s cynicism.

She sensed danger, yes, but she did not always grasp intention. The three trailing them were not killers. They were curious. They wanted the culprit. They wanted answers.

They did not want a direct confrontation.

The carriage suddenly lurched forward, accelerating without warning. Steel gates parted ahead, and the vehicle burst through into a walled compound nestled within the heart of the city.

The affluent silence outside vanished the moment they entered. The courtyard was enclosed by tall stone walls embedded with discreet surveillance lenses and humming defense grids.

The carriage came to a sharp halt.

"Package for the Freedom Party."

The doors swung open. Rough hands dragged the three bound captives out one by one, their bodies heavy and unresponsive. The silver alloy ropes clinked softly as they were hauled across smooth stone toward the center of the surrounded courtyard.

Moments later, a man in a grey Japanese style kimono stepped forward from beneath the overhang of a veranda.

The fabric of his attire was simple yet expensive, its folds immaculate. His hair was tied neatly behind his head, and his gaze was sharp with restrained irritation.

He looked down at the three figures sprawled on the ground.

"I only asked for the two there. Who’s the other guy?"

His voice was controlled, but frustration bled through the edges.

An hour ago, he had received confirmation that his bounty had been accepted and completed. Efficient. Clean. Professional.

He had not expected them to deliver the captives directly to his residence.

One of his aides stepped forward. A translucent HUD flickered before his eyes, scanning the three bodies as it emitted soft beeping confirmations.

"Sir, this is the son of Count Jake. Former member of the Lokian faction and a Royal Guardsman."

The words settled heavily into the courtyard air.

"Shit."

The man in the kimono frowned deeply, his composure fracturing for the first time. His gaze shifted toward Sir Duncan with open vexation.

This was a hot potato, and he knew it.

Dragging in the son of a count was not part of the arrangement. It invited scrutiny. It invited retaliation. It invited politics, the very thing this black site thrived on manipulating quietly.

"You’re trying to get me in trouble," he muttered.

Duncan stepped forward casually, boots echoing against the stone. He extended his hand without ceremony.

"Pay up. Kill the kid, I don’t care much."

There was no mockery in his voice. No malice either. Just indifference carved into flesh.

Clearly, he held no regard for the man in front of him.

To Duncan, this was just another transaction. Another name checked off a list. Another weight removed from someone else’s conscience and placed into his own empty ledger.

"Whatever. You fucking bounty hunters are all the same."

The man in the grey kimono did not bother to hide his disgust this time. The restraint slipped from his face, leaving behind a thin layer of irritation that sharpened his features.

Without another word, he flicked his wrist.

A translucent HUD unfolded before him, light casting faint reflections across the courtyard stones. Numbers shifted, authorization codes blinked, and the agreed sum transferred in a clean, silent transaction.

"Take them," he ordered flatly.

His men moved immediately. The three bound captives were lifted from the ground and carried toward the inner halls of the compound, their bodies swaying lifelessly between armored hands.

Despite appearances, there was no immediate intent to harm them.

If Count Jake came storming through the gates demanding his son, they would simply return him. Political storms were best redirected, not confronted.

Sir Duncan glanced at his HUD, confirming the transfer. A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

Money always came through in the end.

He turned without ceremony and stepped back into his carriage, Zera following in silence. The doors shut smoothly behind them.

The vehicle hummed to life.

"Oh, by the way," Duncan called out through the open window just before it sealed. "We were followed here. Next time, pay the discretion fee."

He laughed softly, almost pleasantly.

Then the carriage roared forward, wheels gliding across stone without visible propulsion. It moved as though guided by an unseen hand, slipping through the gates and vanishing into the affluent streets like a phantom answering no master.

For several long seconds, the courtyard remained still.

The air felt heavier than before.

"Did I hear him correctly?" the man in the kimono muttered, his frown deepening.

Followed.

The word lingered.

He was about to bark fresh orders when the gates behind him creaked again.

Two figures entered the courtyard as though they had been invited.

Both wore faint smiles.

"Kidnapping is a crime in Windhelm, no?"

The voice rang out with a lightness that did not match the tension of the space.

They stepped fully into view, robes shifting gently in the afternoon breeze. One of them tilted his head slightly, studying the men gathered in the courtyard like a curious spectator at a play.

"I mean, they even had the guts to do the same in Galafray. So this must be an international ring."

A pause followed.

"What’s the reward?"

The man who spoke carried himself with effortless confidence. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he surveyed the compound.

This was Minister Fin.

Behind that smile lay something calculating.

The moment the notice to locate Enzo and Zeke had circulated through official channels, Sword Cleaver had intercepted it. The information had traveled quickly, and it had reached the one person assigned as their escort.

Minister Fin.

He had suspected from the beginning that whoever targeted them was connected to Raven’s disappearance. The timing was too precise. The coordination too neat.

Now, standing inside this courtyard, looking at the architecture, the guards, the subtle insignias woven into sleeves and collars, his suspicions solidified.

Freedom Party.

Of course.

"Well," another voice chimed in lazily from the side, "it’s a crime."

Leaning casually near the courtyard wall stood Captain Vincent of the Royal Guards.

His armor bore the royal insignia, polished but not ostentatious. His posture suggested mild interest rather than urgency, as though this confrontation were merely an inconvenient meeting interrupting his afternoon.

"Though I’m not too sure what kind of reward you’re expecting," Vincent continued, folding his arms. "Since I’m also here on the case."

The implication hung between them.

This was no longer a quiet transaction.

Royal Guards. A Minister. A political faction operating from a black site.

The courtyard that had moments ago hosted a simple exchange of money and cargo now felt like the center of something much larger.

The man in the kimono’s expression darkened.

The spirit led carriage was gone. The bounty hunter had removed himself neatly from the equation.

And now he stood alone, facing two representatives of the crown, both smiling in ways that suggested they already knew more than they were saying.

The silence that followed was no longer awkward.

It was dangerous.