The Empror's Trap

Luminara City.

Today, the trading hall was as busy as ever, filled with merchants from abroad and Camelot alike, discussing business deals. There was even a special chamber where daily prices for essential goods were publicly posted, helping traders negotiate and make quick decisions on investments.

But today, the guild received a visit from unexpected guests—a group of people clad in gray robes.

Their clothing was plain and drew little attention on the street. No one really noticed them until they approached the front desk and asked to see the guild leader. At first, the receptionist tried to brush them off politely, saying the leader was too busy for visitors.

But then a small tablet was quietly placed on the counter.

The short-haired girl at the front lowered her voice and said, "Gray Scales, here on Grand Marshal's orders. Take us to your leader—we have questions that need answers."

The attendant was stunned. She watched nervously as the girl reached for the knife at her waist—a beautifully-decorated blade.

"P-please… right this way," the clerk stammered. Faced with the threat, she lost her composure completely—no one would risk getting a blade held to their throat.

She led the group up to the second floor. The bustling hall below didn't notice anything unusual; important guests often went upstairs for private meetings. Meanwhile, outside, several wagons parked near the guild emptied as groups of people quietly surrounded all the doors and windows, sealing off the building.

In the main hall, while the gray-clad visitors were on their way up, a few merchants weighed down with heavy luggage quietly hunkered down by the doors.

No one thought much of the clerk leading a guest upstairs. Meetings with VIPs were routine. But just a few minutes later, the sounds of violent struggle broke the calm, and shouts echoed from upstairs.

"What are you doing!? I'm a foreigner—you can't treat me this way!"

Cries and heavy footsteps could be heard from above.

Everyone downstairs froze. They had no idea what was happening. After a loud crash, the merchants by the door—looking as though they'd received a signal—suddenly popped open their luggage, revealing exquisitely crafted repeating crossbows and shields.

They grabbed their shields and charged up the stairs, crossbows at the ready. The ones with shields led the advance, heading straight for the second floor!

Their timing was perfect. The fighting upstairs had just reached its peak. The highly paid Floren guild security stood no chance against this sudden and precise assault—or rather, they'd never encountered opponents who allowed them no time to react at all.

Anyone who survived would forever be haunted by the memory of those gray-clad figures with black-stitched emblems. From their perspective, a group of merchants had gone up to meet the guild leader, then suddenly drew blades and pinned him to the ground. The security guards barely had their weapons out before the merchants brought out hand crossbows from nowhere and opened fire.

At that moment, another squad of gray-robed men stormed up the stairwell, tall and imposing, shields raised. They swiftly kicked down doors, repeating, "Drop your weapons and we won't kill you." Their thick shields blocked every attack, while bowmen in the back took out anyone who dared to resist.

And the girl leading them? She was the most terrifying of all.

No one on her team covered her with a shield—yet she was the first into the fray. Before the guards could even raise their weapons, she was already on top of them. Her blade flashed, and in the blink of an eye, two guards lay motionless on the ground.

Throughout the operation, the Gray Scales moved in perfect sync, fully equipped, and so swift and decisive that the guards never stood a chance. Aside from their warnings, they worked in near silence, splitting up and sweeping room by room with expert precision. In just over a minute, the guild's security force was completely wiped out.

"Any casualties?" the girl finished trussing up the guild leader and asked without turning around.

"No deaths, Ma'am. One injury—rushed the stairs too fast and twisted his ankle," reported her vice-commander, perfectly serious.

That answer broke the icy image of the Gray Scales. Everyone cracked up—they were all elites from Camelot's different branches, but twisting your ankle running up the stairs during a mission? That was embarrassing.

"What's so funny? You checked all the rooms?"

"All clear, Ma'am. These are all the people from the guild. We've also gathered the guild's internal ledgers and the president's schedule. Includes their correspondence—I'm sure we'll find something noteworthy."

At his signal, a few Gray Scales members carried over two large chests.

The commander, Lina, flipped through a few ledgers and smiled. "Well, well. Before we even get into possible collusion with the Holy Church, I can see from these records that plenty of your income streams weren't taxed at all…"

"What are you talking about? Our guild always pays every tax…"

"In that case, I'm sure all your 'tea (for hospitality)' entries here were properly taxed?"

"That's for entertaining guests inside the guild!"

"Over two thousand pounds of tea a month for personal use? Tell me, are you eating tea leaves for every meal?"

The guild leader's excuse was so desperate, even Lina, with little business experience, easily saw through it. If these records had been public, the clever merchants might have covered their tracks. But these were private ledgers—evidently once locked up in a secret place and now pried open by the Gray Scales.

"All right, let's go. Just for these two thousand pounds of tea, you'll get a nice, long stay in a cell. And we still need to ask about your relationship with the Holy Church—we can talk in detail back at Gray Scales headquarters."

With that, Lina hauled up the trembling president. The rest of the staff, bound and gagged, were dragged off as well.

On their first assignment since the Gray Scales division was established, victory was total—aside from one twisted ankle. When Lina reported the injury to Kenji, he couldn't help but laugh, ultimately describing it in his report to Pluvia as: "In the heat of battle, an agent suffered a twisted ankle in a sudden ambush."