The Extra's Rise-Chapter 132: First Mission (2)

The morning light in Marasva wasn’t so much a sunrise as it was a reluctant bureaucrat forcing its way through narrow, winding streets. Seraphina and I stepped carefully toward Gate Nine. It wasn’t the grand gateway to the city; rather, it was a modest, almost apologetic entrance on the western edge, as if trying to be inconspicuous. And in a city where mana mingled with mist like gossip at a town meeting, inconspicuous was often a sign of trouble.

At first glance, Gate Nine looked as unremarkable as a signpost in a bureaucrat’s memo. Two guards stood at their posts with expressions that suggested they’d long ago forgotten what a real crisis felt like. In the background, a cluster of warehouses stretched toward the wilderness—a perfect place for discreet transactions.

I nudged Seraphina. "This is it," I murmured.

She gave a curt nod, her silver hair catching the light like a warning flare. "Stay sharp," she said, her voice low and even. "If Arkell’s running things from here, he wouldn’t leave anything to chance."

I smiled, though inwardly I was already rehearsing every possibility—smuggling, contraband mana, and worse. "Agreed. But it all looks awfully normal, doesn’t it?"

Before I could say more, our attention was drawn to a merchant arriving in a creaking cart laden with crates. He exchanged a few brief words with one guard, and then, with a casual wave, he was allowed through. Seraphina’s eyes narrowed.

"They didn’t even check his cargo," she whispered.

"Too relaxed for a place like this," I replied, already mulling over possibilities.

We slipped into a shadow by a narrow, graffiti-sprayed alley to observe the gate without drawing attention. The guards, it seemed, were suffering from what I like to call "daily ennui." The merchant’s careless entrance was a clue—a small, dangerous ripple in an otherwise placid pond.

After he left, I decided to chat with one of the guards. Leaning casually against the weathered gatepost, I asked, "Busy day?"

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He shrugged. "Just the usual shipments," he said, his tone as nonchalant as if discussing the weather.

"Anything interesting?" I pressed, smiling in a way that hoped to be disarming.

"Not our business," he replied shortly, clearly not in the mood for idle conversation.

I almost missed it—a flicker of movement near one of the warehouses. A figure, almost imperceptibly, slipped inside. I caught Seraphina’s eye and murmured, "There’s someone in that warehouse."

She didn’t hesitate. "Let’s check it out."

We moved quietly, our footsteps muted on the cobblestones, until we reached a side entrance. The door, slightly ajar as if deliberately left open, creaked softly when pushed. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of damp wood and dust. Crates were stacked haphazardly, creating a maze that seemed to mock our every step.

It was silent—too silent, in fact.

Seraphina led the way, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her blade, while I kept a watchful eye on the dim interior. The quiet was soon broken by a faint shuffling sound, like someone trying desperately to hide.

Rounding a corner, we found ourselves face-to-face with a merchant—the same one we’d seen at the gate. He froze, eyes wide with a mix of fear and surprise.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, my voice low but insistent.

The man stammered, "I—I was just—"

Before he could say more, Seraphina stepped forward, her blade catching what little light there was. "Speak," she said, tone firm yet calm.

"I’m just a delivery man!" he blurted, raising trembling hands. "I’m delivering supplies—food, tools, nothing illegal!"

I pressed him gently, "But you were at the gate. What exactly are you delivering?"

His eyes darted around before he finally said, "Arkell!" The word tumbled out as if it were the only thing left on his tongue. "I don’t know much more—I swear!"

For a moment, I felt a mix of satisfaction and dread. Arkell. The name was like a dark chord strummed in my mind, a confirmation we’d hoped for and feared all at once.

We released him with a warning glance as he bolted out of the warehouse. I allowed myself a brief moment of triumph before a new sound cut through the tense air—a smooth, mocking clapping echoing from somewhere deep within the building.

"Well done," a voice drawled. "Honestly, I expected you sooner."

The figure stepped from the shadows: tall, with a keen, mocking smile. A faint aura of light mana shimmered around his sword. Even without introduction, we knew. This was Arkell.

My companion tensed. I felt an uneasy quake in my stomach. There was no sign of fear on his face—only amusement. He studied us like a curious onlooker at the theater.

"How long have you been… watching?" I asked, forcing steadiness into my voice.

"Since you started prowling the city, asking questions. I do appreciate how determined you both are. Makes all of this more entertaining."

I felt a prick of anger, laced with a stab of embarrassment. We had prepared for traps—but not for this. Not for being lured to Gate Nine like flies to honey.

"You set this up?" My own voice sounded strange to me, strangled with surprise.

He shrugged, the motion casual. "You were chasing rumors about a mysterious smuggler. I merely pointed those rumors where I wanted them to lead. Didn’t take much. Your curiosity did the rest."

My blood chilled. Arkell didn’t even hide the glee in his eyes. How many clues had we followed that were, in truth, breadcrumbs he’d scattered?

My companion took a measured step forward, hand on her blade. Mana flickered in the air. Arkell raised his own hand, that shimmering light intensifying around him.

"Ah, let’s not ruin my hard work with a premature exit," he said, and somewhere behind us, heavy doors slammed shut. A tremor of magic locked them tight. We were trapped, just as he intended.

For a moment, the realization stole my breath. I pride myself on thinking ahead, on reading intentions in the subtlest of gestures. Yet here I stood, cornered in a warehouse, exactly as Arkell planned. He’d lured me with rumors, guided me to his doorstep, and watched me walk straight in. My mind reeled, not just from fear, but from the humiliating knowledge that I’d been played like a novice.

"Why toy with us?" I asked, forcing the question through clenched teeth. "You could’ve hidden forever."

Another casual shrug. "Where’s the fun in that? I do enjoy a little sport before the final act."

There was no mercy in his grin—no indication he cared about who we were or what we wanted. He was simply savoring the moment, like a cat with cornered prey. Every instinct in me shouted that we needed to keep calm, find a way out. But the tension in the room was almost suffocating.

My companion’s blade hissed from its sheath. Arkell lifted his sword, the light radiating off it in a brilliant, dangerous arc. A pulse of mana rippled around us, stirring dust motes in the stale air.

"So," he said, the casual tone at odds with the lethal edge in his eyes, "care to see how far you can get?"

I swallowed the bitter taste of panic. In that instant, I understood: all my deductive prowess, all our carefully laid plans, had led us straight into a neatly designed trap. I felt a sting of shame, but there was no time for it. If we wanted to walk out, we had to face him. And by the look on his face, he was counting on that very desperation to make the show even better.

My grip tightened on my weapon. Arkell took a step forward, that mocking smile never wavering. "If you make this worthwhile," he said, "I might almost regret setting it up."

Tension bristled in the air. My companion shifted her stance—silent, focused. I stood beside her, heart pounding, thoughts racing. We might have been outsmarted, but we weren’t out of the fight yet.

The warehouse door rumbled again, sealing us in with a final, echoing thud. Arkell’s light mana flared, and I knew there was no turning back. Any illusions I had about controlling this situation vanished. We’d fallen straight into his hands, and he was relishing every second.

I steadied my breathing. Fear churned in my gut, but so did resolve. We might have been trapped like animals—but cornered animals had teeth. And if Arkell wanted a show, we’d give him one he wouldn’t soon forget.

He raised his sword. "Shall we begin?"

His tone was almost polite, but beneath it, I sensed his confidence—confidence rooted in the knowledge that he’d outmaneuvered us completely. And the worst part was realizing he was right. My pride stung as I saw the pieces click into place. This had been his game from the start.

But even pawns could still fight back. So I clenched my jaw, drew my blade, and nodded at my companion. Our chances looked slim, the odds stacked high. Yet if Arkell thought he’d already won, maybe that arrogance was our only advantage.

We stood there, locked in a standoff of will and mana, the hum of enchantments thrumming through the walls. One heartbeat passed, then another, stretching the moment thin.

"Fine," I muttered, meeting his gaze. "Let’s finish this."