"It's a trap," Riley said, his voice flat and certain.
"Oh, definitely," Aria chirped, leaning against a crate of empty glass vials. "Ten gold for a recipe we're currently using to bankroll our entire lives? It's either a trap or someone with more money than brains. Either way, it's going to be a disaster."
Sofia bit her lip. "But if it isn't a trap… ten gold could get us through the next three zones without ever worrying about repair costs."
Riley shook his head. "In this game, if an offer looks like a shortcut, it's usually a cliff. We go. But we don't go to talk."
He turned to the team, his tactical brain shifting into overdrive. The "Prophet" wasn't just about knowing boss mechanics; it was about knowing how players behaved when they smelled blood and gold.
"Kipp, stay here. If they're smart, the tavern meeting is a distraction while they try to raid the workshop for the recipe stash. Hayes, you're with Kipp. If anyone so much as breathes on that door, show them why you're called The Wall."
Hayes nodded, his massive gauntlets creaking as he closed his fists. "Nobody gets in. Not even the devs."
"Aria, Sofia, and the newcomers—you're with me," Riley continued. "We're going to the Whispering Willow, but we aren't using the front door."
The Whispering Willow was a dive on the edge of the merchant district, far enough from the main plaza that the guards rarely patrolled it. By midnight, the streets were draped in a heavy, artificial fog—a weather effect Riley knew was often used by Rogues to mask their movement.
"Rezion, keep Frostbite low," Riley whispered as they crept through the shadows of the neighboring alley. "If you smell anything other than stale ale and wet wood, signal us."
The husky spirit let out a low, vibrating huff, his blue eyes cutting through the mist.
They reached the tavern's rear—a sagging wooden porch overlooking a murky canal. Riley signaled for them to halt. He pulled up his interface, toggling a rarely used Scout skill he'd invested in specifically for urban environments: Vibration Sense.
Three pulses.
"There's six of them inside," Riley murmured. "Two at the table, four hidden in the rafters. Bows and daggers. It's an ambush."
"Assholes," Aria hissed, her hand going to her Shockwire. "Can I fry them? Please tell me I can fry them."
"Not yet," Riley said. "We're going to give them exactly what they asked for. Jonathan, give me one of those decoy scrolls Kipp made."
Jonathan handed over a roll of parchment that looked identical to a high-tier recipe but was actually a 'Stink-Cloud' trap.
Riley checked the time. 12:00 AM.
He stepped out of the shadows, alone, hood pulled low. He pushed open the creaking back door of the tavern. The interior was dimly lit by a single, guttering candle on a central table. Two figures sat there, their faces obscured by high-collared cloaks.
"You're late," one of them said. The voice was filtered—distorted by an item.
"I'm exactly on time," Riley replied, his hand hovering over the decoy scroll. "Where's the gold?"
The figure placed a heavy leather sack on the table. It clinked with the unmistakable weight of high-value coins. "The gold is here. Now, the recipe."
Riley stepped closer, his Vibration Sense screaming as the four players in the rafters shifted their weight, drawing their strings.
"Ten gold is a lot for a starter recipe," Riley said, his eyes tracking the shadows above. "Who are you working for? Iron Reign? Or one of the Capital guilds?"
The figure laughed—a cold, mechanical sound. "We're the ones making the offer. That's all you need to know. Hand it over, or we take it from your corpse."
"Option three," Riley said, his smirk hidden by the dark.
He didn't hand over the scroll. He threw it—not at the table, but straight up into the rafters.
BOOM.
A cloud of thick, yellowish-green gas erupted above them, followed immediately by the sound of coughing and players falling from the beams.
"NOW!" Riley yelled.
The back wall of the tavern didn't just open; it exploded as Aria and Rezion burst through.
"SURPRISE, YOU POTION-STEALING JERKS!" Aria screamed, her gauntlets discharging a massive arc of electricity that chained between the two figures at the table and the stunned rogues on the floor.
Sofia's staff glowed. "Lumi, Flash!"
The tavern was plunged into a blinding white light. Riley didn't even need to see; he felt the air. He drew Shimmerstring, three Light arrows notched and ready.
Thwip-thwip-thwip.
The arrows found their marks in the shoulders of the hidden archers before they could even blink the spots from their eyes.
"Wait! Stop!" the lead figure yelled, scrambling back as Jonathan's tiger cub pinned him to the floor. "It was just a test! We were told to see if you were actually as good as the video!"
Riley walked over, the tip of a glowing arrow pressed against the man's throat. He reached down and pulled back the cloak.
It wasn't a guild member. It was an NPC—a high-level fixer from the Capital's Merchant Union.
Riley's heart skipped a beat. This wasn't a player grudge. This was a quest trigger.
"Who told you to test us?" Riley asked, his voice low and dangerous.
The fixer trembled, his eyes wide. "The... the Alchemist General in the Capital. He saw the draughts hit the market. He said no Level 9 could brew something that pure. He thought you'd stolen the recipe from the Royal Vault."
The tavern went silent. Aria lowered her hands, her sparks fading. "The Royal Vault? Riley... did we just accidentally commit a crime?"
Riley looked at the gold sack on the table. It wasn't gold. He opened it to find a sealed wax invitation embossed with a gold crown.
"By order of the Crown: The creators of the Mirage Draught are summoned to the Capital for an Alchemical Inquiry. Failure to appear will result in a global bounty."
Riley stared at the invitation. He had wanted to go to the Capital, but he hadn't expected to go as a fugitive or a prodigy.
"Well," Riley said, turning to his stunned team. "I guess we aren't staying in Dawnview for those forty-eight hours after all."