Poof! The captain fires a powder bomb at a pursuing mobster, knocking him to the ground.
He turns and catches up with the troop.
The porter had been mobbed, but his suit was still able to bear the weight of the package.
"Cmon lads! The customs office is just three streets away! Don't worry about the ones left behind. They'll just have their gear stolen and spat on. We'll come back for them in the morning."
The mobsters shadowed them, peppering them with powder bombs and rotten tomatoes.
Their numbers had thinned out. They lacked the numbers to directly overcome the well equipped merchant force.
But they know mana is not an infinite resource.
If the merchant guild runs for it, they would leave the heavy package behind.
And they might well be right.
The captain glances nervously at his subordinates.
He glances up at the street signs.
He had been here many times.
He knows how far he is from the customs office.
Bizz. A buzzing sound coming from the porter's suit.
He stalled in the middle of the road.
The mobsters cheered. Jeering at the merchant troops to just give up the package.
"This is not good. His suit is damaged, we won't be able to make it to the merchant office."
The captain looks at his troops.
They probably have enough mana left to safely reach the customs office themselves.
He signals for the assassin.
Wham. Wham.
He knocks out two mobsters before breaking into the ring.
"Sh*t." Regis sees the stalled porter and immediately figures out the problem.
"You got any ideas? Or it looks like we're not getting paid for our troubles."
Regis blocks a powder bag with the tip of his sword.
"Do you expect me to carry it?"
"Ha. You might not look like it, but I got good eyes. That armour of yours with some strength potions, definitely enough to hold its weight. I'd be sure to put in a good word for you."
"What in Herda's name is in that box anyway?"
"Beats me. Never question it. The mobsters don't know either. They just assume it's shiny and it pawns for good coin."
The assassin glances at the jeering crowd gathering around them.
He glances at the heavy box that was the width of his shoulders.
"Alright, fine! You better be asking for double."
"Good man."
A smoke bomb bursts.
…
Regis hid in the shadows.
Around him, the mobsters combed the area.
He found a good hiding spot. An abandoned balcony on the second storey.
The package on his back was heavy as hell.
He barely made it up here with the help of a strength potion and his living armour.
Even so, his leg hurts from the recoil.
He just had to wait it out now.
His hand was itching for a stick.
But if he gets found out here, he just has to abandon the package and run.
Or he could test the limits of his new gear and solo the mob army himself.
"F*ck. What in Herda's tits is in the package. It's as heavy as a baby wyvern. Based on the weight, it sure as heck is not a lady's saddle."
A mob patrol walks past the streets below.
Regis grips his sword.
"Herda's tits. That merchant patrol was a tough one. Even the boss's favourite got knocked out. Half of our guys had to be carried back to the camp. Their necks were blue black from getting hit by something hard."
"Yeah, and we didn't get the package either. We salvaged some of the gear from them. Shiny stuff. Should buy us a day's worth of meals for everyone. Wonder what they're guarding though."
"I'm thinking about that too. I swear that large box was the size of my shoulders. How did something that big disappear into thin air?"
"It's probably just a big box containing a small box. What's in the small box? I dunno. Maybe a lady's saddle."
"Shut up about lady's saddles. You'll never have one. Safe for dreaming about them after a drink."
Regis waits in silence as the mob patrol passes.
His aura just about masks the mana inscriptions on the crate.
The city guards were on the streets again. The mobsters had to disperse.
Regis straps on the package again.
It was heavy.
He can't use his strength potion.
It gives him the burst of strength he needs to break out of the ring but it won't last him the remaining distance to the customs office.
He checks around.
The alleyways are empty and dark.
He tries to stand up.
He feels the living armour tighten around his legs.
He gives him as much boost to strength as the mana suit used by the merchant guild.
"Hope the mana on this one doesn't die like the porter."
Carefully, he drops to street level.
The alleyways are his only option.
His shadeborn skill would not fool the guard patrols.
Being stopped might mean having his package confiscated.
But against the mobsters, he stands a chance.
Steadily he moved.
His legs reinforced by the living armour just about holds.
A pair of thugs guarding an alleyway. They were each having a stick.
"Ah sh*t, another riot ruined the pub. What did the bartender do to deserve it? Take it out on the stuck ups on the high street."
"That's right. Good thing the boss ordered some of the rioters we caught a good flogging. That should teach them not to mess with our territory."
"That wouldn't rebuild the pub."
"Then go work as a builder. The boss encourages us to get a job anyways."
"That's a good idea, would you be joining me?"
"Sure thing."
The lantern above them flickers.
"Hey? What's wrong with the thing?"
It was back to normal.
"Nothing. You're just missing the drink."
Regis makes it past the guard patrol unnoticed.
"This armor's pretty good. I was right under their nose and they didn't notice a thing."
Slowly but surely, he approaches the customs office.
The mobsters don't post guards close to it as it invites trouble.
"Looks like the night's over."
…
"Here goes."
Regis steps into the luminous aura.
"Who goes there?"
He raises both hands, turns around and lowers the package on the ground.
A finely dressed man appeared.
He was short and chubby. His shirt buttons look as though they were about to burst.
"A package?"
He walks forward and inspects the box.
"Yes."
"Very well, bring it inside."
A pair of helpers showed up.
They anxiously positioned themselves on either side of the box and attempted to lift it.
It wouldn't budge.
The customs officer raises an eyebrow.
Another pair of helpers emerged.
They managed to tit the box and insert a piece of plywood below it as a lever arm.
"Well?"
The customs officers return an annoyed glance at the assassin.
"Come inside?"
"Sorry?"
"You heard me."
Regis paused.
"I would rather-"
"Or I won't issue you the receipt. I'm sure you'll need it to claim payment for your services."
"Hold up, is this really necessary?"
"Quite so my good sir. It is standard procedure. I advise you to comply."
"The captain handles it. Where is he?"
At the moment, a tall figure emerges from the customs office.
The merchant guild guard captain.
He had already dressed down.
Bandages on his arms and forehead.
"Ha! So you've made it. Good job. I knew you were good at your job. Hey, what do you say we grab a drink in the morning when-"
"There, may I have my receipt?"
"Not at all my good sir. Rules of the house. Only the bearer of the package may partake in the verification procedure."
"What-?"
The captain shrugs.
"Why don't you just come in? If you bear the token of the Liforia guild, we are honor bound not to take any action against you even if you are some of the worst scum the underworld has to offer."
Regis glances at the guild captain.
He was nodding enthusiastically.
"No tricks, or it's your neck."
…
Regis sits down.
The table was fine polished wood. A stark contrast to the rotting wood of the slums he had just traversed.
The customs officer sits across from him.
A bell shaped tea cup on his left. A plate of cookies on his left.
"Good evening sir, as a representative of the customs office, I sincerely welcome you to our humble establishment. As you can see here, we have a rich history serving the royal house and all who wish to have their goods securely delivered to where they need to go. As you can see from the painting behind me, our founder whose name will forever be celebrated… "
The assassin sat across from him.
Arms folded. A killing glare under his hood which the untrained customs officers could not see.
An eerie shadow aura about him.
"When he first founded our customs office, he had all but ten staff with him. Humble beginnings. The clerking work. The labor. Our founder did it all. Around the clock. Not a package going missing… With the third year of his founding, the trade between Herdial and the Moradale houses … "
Twin blades strapped crossed behind the assassin's back.
A horizontal swinge severs his head.
A vertical swing splits his skull.
"Now before we begin, I would like you to do a quick customer satisfaction survey."
The customs officer slides a piece of paper towards the assassin.
A shadow aura oozing out of him.
"Any feedback and suggestions would be most welcomed. Please give a circle a number between one to five. A four would be satisfactory. Oh and I should remind you that giving a rating below satisfactory would require the participant to provide a reason."
The assassin glares at him.
A dagger to the eye pierces his brain.
A dagger to the neck keeps him alive for as long as he needs to suffocate.
He reaches for the quill, circling the number five.
His hand trembling.
The customs officer gives a satisfied grin.
"There's another page."
The customs officers flips over the paper.
Five. Five. Five. Quick hand movements.
A dagger would impale his hand down to the wood.
A poisoned needle will cause death in thirty minutes.
"Now if you will, sign here. That would also confirm your registered name. Let's see. Rambunctious sackbarrel, that's the name the guild provided us with."
"Regis shadeborn."
A quick swipe with his quill.
In the same instant, he would have stabbed his eye.
Writing ink is good enough to kill if he stabs the right place.
"Much obliged, now on to the next. Form 117A. Declaration of mandatory compliance auditing for third-party transport and delivery operators."
A swing to the side of his head will not slit his skull open, but deep enough to cause internal brain hemorrhaging.
"Form 137B. Indication of intention of handover of goods and recognition of involved parties and recipients indicated by initial submissions of said parties."
A shadow clone will distract him as he dashes to his back and stacks him through the neck.
"Form 2937F. Declaration of the integrity of goods and comprehensive evaluation of the consigned goods for discernible deviations from baseline specifications ."
A horizontal thrust with his sword would pierce between his ribcage into his heart.
Regis slammed the quill on the table as he finished his false signature.
The customs officer stands up and walks to the box.
Regis glances at his exposed back.
"Now for the final part of our inspection, I am going to need you to open the box."
"Huh? I can't do that. I don't have the key."
"Well, you're going to have to think of a way now. I can't confirm receipt if I can't verify the integrity of the goods."
"Sh*t"
The assassin studies the box closely.
Two runes? No three. If he forces the lock, the lock down spell will trigger.
The box itself can withstand a cannon shot from point blank.
Even the locksmith workshops of the spire city would struggle to crack it.
"Well?" The annoying voice he had endured.
Regis takes a deep breath, restraining himself from strangling him.
He takes out his lockpick.
…
Donk. The lid of the box was flung open.
The customs officer looks down at the box.
"Hrmp, well, this is a surprise. I may have to do some additional independent valuations to gain clarity on the declared value of this… article."
Regis takes out a stick and places it in his mouth.