Chapter 69: Sylvia’s Ghost

Chapter 69: Chapter 69: Sylvia’s Ghost

The automated Mana-Forge on the second floor of the Investment Guild was a masterpiece of magical engineering.

Garrick stood in front of the massive, matte-black fabrication unit, completely mesmerized. He watched as the machine passively drew ambient holy mana from the building’s leylines, using it to superheat and perfectly fold a block of raw tungsten. There was no soot, no extreme heat radiating into the room, and no margin for error.

"It’s an A-Rank forge," Garrick whispered, his newly healed hands tracing the sleek metal console. "It can run continuously. It doesn’t even need manual hammer strikes. Guild Master... Investor... this single machine could out-produce the entire Genesis City Blacksmith’s Union in a week."

"Then we have a lot of work to do," Donald said, leaning against the doorframe. "I need standard B-Rank combat gear for fifty people by the end of the month. Armor, blades, kinetic shields. We’re going to expand the roster quickly."

"Fifty?" Garrick asked, his eyes wide. "Sir, you only have me."

"The machine does the heavy lifting, Garrick," Evelyn said, stepping into the armory. She had taken off her rain cloak and was back in her dark urban combat gear. "You just need to QA the output and handle the custom enchantments."

Garrick swallowed hard, nodding rapidly. "Yes, ma’am. Consider it done."

Donald walked over to the console and placed a single item on the glass surface.

It was the carbon-steel dagger Sylvia had abandoned in the executive office.

"Before we start mass production," Donald said, tapping the hilt. "I need you to appraise this. You worked for the Crimson Lotus. Do you recognize the mark on the pommel?"

Garrick picked up the dagger. His eyes locked onto the small, faded red flower etched into the metal. A deep, instinctual shudder ran through the old man’s shoulders.

"I didn’t forge this," Garrick said quietly, setting it back down like it was poisonous. "But I know who carries them. That’s a Blood Petal mark. They were the Crimson Lotus’s internal black-ops squad. Assassins, wet-work specialists, silencers. Guild Master Malcor used them to tie up loose ends."

"Were?" Donald caught the past tense.

"They don’t exist anymore," Garrick explained, wiping his hands on his apron. "About a year ago, Malcor took the Blood Petals into an A-Rank dungeon called the Weeping Caves. It was supposed to be a secure raid to farm a high-tier core. But the raid went bad. A boss anomaly spawned."

Evelyn crossed her arms, her expression darkening. She already knew how this story ended. "Malcor ran."

"He used them as bait," Garrick nodded grimly. "Malcor and his executive team triggered a hard-light barrier behind them and left the Blood Petals trapped in the boss room. The entire squad was wiped out. The Guild held a fake memorial service and buried empty caskets."

"Not the entire squad," Donald corrected. "The woman who threw this dagger was in my office this morning."

Garrick stared at Donald in shock. "That’s impossible. If a Blood Petal survived and made it back to the city, she would have gutted Malcor in his sleep. They were fanatically loyal to each other."

"Unless someone prevented her from taking revenge," Donald said, the pieces of the puzzle rapidly clicking together in his mind. He looked at Evelyn. "Julian Vane."

Evelyn’s blue eyes flared with realization. "Dragonheart didn’t just hire her. When she crawled out of that dungeon, Vane must have intercepted her before she could get to Malcor. My System evaluation said her little brother is being held hostage. Vane took the brother to put a leash on her."

"He got a prime A-Rank assassin for free," Donald said, his voice turning ice-cold. "And because she’s a ghost, she’s completely untraceable. If she gets caught assassinating a rival Guild Master—or an Investor—it never leads back to the Capital."

"Where do we find her?" Evelyn demanded, looking at Garrick.

"I don’t know," Garrick said quickly, raising his hands. "I swear. But... there is a broker in the lower sectors. Silas. He runs a dive bar in Sector 5. He handles all the underground clean-up jobs for the elite Guilds. If a ghost is moving through Genesis City, Silas knows what shadow she’s standing in."

Donald picked up the dagger and slid it into his jacket pocket.

"Keep the forge running, Garrick," Donald ordered.

Sector 5 was a step above the slums, but only barely. It was the red-light and gambling district, controlled entirely by corrupt Guild enforcers.

The Rusty Nail was a subterranean dive bar packed with low-level mercenaries, illegal potion dealers, and syndicate thugs. The music was deafening, masking the sounds of illegal dice games in the back booths.

The heavy iron door at the top of the stairs blew open.

It didn’t just swing; the hinges snapped entirely, the metal door crashing down the concrete steps and slamming onto the bar floor.

The music instantly died. Forty heavily armed thugs jumped out of their seats, drawing weapons.

Donald walked down the steps, his golden mask gleaming under the flickering neon lights. Evelyn walked beside him, her S-Rank aura violently suppressed, but her hand rested casually on the hilt of the Bloodhound’s Fang.

They walked straight through the center of the bar.

A massive, Level 25 C-Rank Brawler stepped into the aisle, cracking his knuckles. "Bar’s closed, shiny."

Evelyn didn’t stop walking. She didn’t draw her sword. She simply channeled a fraction of her [Divine Pulse] into her shoulder and walked straight into his chest.

The physical transfer sounded like a cannon firing inside the small room.

The Brawler was instantly lifted off his feet, launched backward over the bar counter, and crashed through a shelf of expensive liquor. He didn’t get back up.

Not a single other mercenary moved a muscle. They parted like the Red Sea.

Donald walked up to the corner booth.

Sitting behind a stained wooden table was Silas. He was a thin, rat-faced man wearing a cheap suit, flanked by two nervous-looking guards. He stared at the golden mask, a drop of sweat rolling down his temple.

"Investor," Silas choked out, trying to maintain a tough facade. "You’re out of your jurisdiction. This is Crimson Lotus territory."

"I don’t recognize their borders," Donald said. He pulled Sylvia’s dagger from his pocket and slammed it point-down into the wooden table. It buried itself to the hilt. "Tell me about the girl who carries this."

Silas looked at the Blood Petal mark on the pommel. He swallowed hard. "I’m a broker. I don’t give up client names."

Evelyn took a step forward. The ambient temperature in the booth instantly spiked by thirty degrees. The two guards flanking Silas took one look at her glowing blue eyes, dropped their weapons, and sprinted for the exit.

Silas was completely alone.

"Her name is Sylvia," Silas blurted out, pressing himself flat against the back of the booth. "She’s a ghost! She operates out of an abandoned transit tunnel beneath the financial district. But you can’t touch her. She’s protected by Dragonheart!"

"Dragonheart doesn’t protect her. They own her," Donald corrected coldly. "Julian Vane has her brother. Where is the boy?"

"I don’t know!" Silas shrieked, the intense holy heat radiating off Evelyn starting to singe his cheap suit. "Dragonheart keeps their high-value hostages in the Capital! But Julian Vane isn’t holding the leash right now. He handed her contract over to Malcor temporarily!"

Evelyn’s aura flared. "Malcor? The man who left her to die in a dungeon?"

Silas nodded frantically. "The Crimson Lotus is leading the embargo against you. Vane told Malcor that if he can bankrupt the Investment Guild, he gets a seat in the Capital. So Malcor is using Sylvia to enforce the blockade. She’s supposed to silence anyone who tries to sell you supplies!"

Donald pulled the dagger out of the table. The golden UI of his System verified Silas wasn’t lying.

"Thank you for your time, Silas," Donald said.

He turned and walked back toward the stairs. Evelyn gave the terrified broker one last, freezing glare before following her Investor.

As they stepped back out into the smog-filled streets of Sector 5, Evelyn’s fists were clenched at her sides.

"She is being forced to take orders from the man who murdered her squad," Evelyn said, her voice shaking with raw, kinetic fury. "Julian Vane is a monster."

"Vane is a politician," Donald corrected, his mind rapidly mapping out the tactical board. "Malcor is the immediate problem. As long as the Crimson Lotus enforces this embargo, we can’t grow. And as long as Malcor holds Sylvia’s leash, she has to fight us."

"So what do we do?" Evelyn asked, looking up at him in the dim streetlights.

Donald stopped walking. He looked at the massive, neon-lit skyscraper of the Crimson Lotus headquarters towering in the distance, directly in the center of the financial district.

"We break the embargo," Donald said smoothly. "We prove to Julian Vane that we aren’t trapped in our building."

"How?"

"We are going to raid the Crimson Lotus," Donald stated, adjusting his dark jacket. "Tonight. We bankrupt Malcor, we shatter the blockade, and when Sylvia shows up to defend him... we offer her a better contract."