17. Tristan: First Job (II)

  “Is there like a ledger we can check?” Tristan asked. “So, we can compare and find out what’s missing?”

  “There are faster ways to do this.” Rosalina replied, her voice going lower. “You’re thinking like a fish, Little Devil. Think like a shark.”

  Then, without waiting for Tristan’s response, she called out. “Partan! Come over here.”

  Still standing outside, David responded. “I can’t leave my post, Rose.”

  Rosalina turned her gaze toward Tristan as if expecting him to do something about it.

  Recalling David’s words from outside, Tristan quickly understood the hint.

  “Partan, I order you to come here right now!” He called out.

  Rosalina nodded approvingly.

  A moment later, David the Partan rushed inside the warehouse, giving Tristan a small bow. “Yes, Young Master?”

  Tristan knew it would take him some time to get used to it. Still, he cleared his throat and spoke. “You and your partner – Fenek – were here all day, right? What was stolen?”

  David didn’t miss a beat. “Only one thing – Refined Defeorica. The whole shipment. The rest of the mess here was created by our lovely Peacekeepers.”

  Tristan’s brows furrowed. He had no idea what Defeorica was, but if it was the only thing taken, that only solidified his hunch from before – the thieves knew what they were taking. This robbery wasn’t random.

  “What’s Refined Defeorica?”

  David shrugged. “As far as I know it’s a rare medicinal herb. But I’m afraid this humble servant can’t tell you much more than that, Young Master. We Partans are your muscle, not brains.” Then, he rolled his head theatrically toward Rosalina. “If only there was an alchemist among us to tell you more about it…”

  Tristan’s gaze snapped toward Rosalina.

  He couldn’t believe his fearsome bodyguard was also an alchemist.

  “You’re an alchemist?” He asked, genuine surprise filling his voice. “How come you never told me?”

  Rosalina sighed. “You were to learn about it when we began your alchemy teachings. I was to be your teacher. But since your father had already asked for Zacharia, he had decided he would be your new teacher.”

  “Oh…” Tristan felt a pang of disappointment.

  “Don’t worry, Little Devil.” Rosalina assured him. “Zacharia is far more knowledgeable than I am. He’d be a better teacher for you.” Then, she cleared her throat. “As for your question, Defeorica is indeed a rare herb used in both high-tier alchemy and illegal drug production – specifically for the creation of 'Vintage', a drug all of Dalina’s high society had tried at least once in their sorry lives.”

  Tristan’s mind analyzed the new information, but he still needed to know more.

  “How valuable is it?”

  “Very valuable.” Rosalina replied. “It’s rare, high in demand, and tricky as hell to process. Not many underground alchemists can refine it properly. Since the stolen shipment was already refined, were talking about a lot of lost gold...”

  Tristan nodded slowly.

  ‘So, a high-society drug…that’s interesting.’

  For now, without any additional clues the Peacekeepers might’ve confiscated, Tristan’s mind began running through possible culprits.

  Desperate nobles? Unlikely. Nobles would likely negotiate for supplies, not steal them, especially not from someone like Ifrit who had his web of influence go way up.

  A rival syndicate? Someone new trying to challenge Ifrit’s monopoly? Possible. But if they were a serious competitor, they would’ve stolen more or burned the entire warehouse down to send a message.

  Foreign-funded smugglers? Plausible. The tension between Stulan and Kuisar had never been higher. It is possible that a local group, funded by Kuisar, is trying to destabilize Dalina’s black market, attempting to create chaos before making a bigger move across the map.

  Out of the three options, Tristan presented the third one to Rosalina and David, believing it was the most logical one.

  Rosalina nodded. “Could be. It still leaves us with finding this group.”

  “We need to know what the Peacekeepers found here in their investigation.” Tristan said, turning to David. “You said no one was killed. And I can see that the scene is fairly clean. Could this be an inside job?”

  Silence stretched among the three.

  “It’s hard to believe anyone would betray Ifrit, Little Devil.” Rosalina said eventually. “No money in the world would be worth getting burned to cinders, getting healed, then burned again, over and over.”

  Tristan’s skin crawled from her description, but he shook the uncomfortableness away. “It’s not always about money. Could be threats to family members.”

  “So, by saving their loved ones from one crime lord they are condemning them to a worse fate by Ifrit’s hand?” Rosalina shook her head. “Again, unlikely.”

  Tristan sighed. He didn’t rule out this possibility yet, but for now, he decided to chase other theories.

  “Then who else knows about this place outside of Ifrit’s – I mean, Father’s – people?”

  “Now that’s a better question.” Rosalina said, turning to David. “Well?”

  David shrugged, then turned to Tristan. “Anyone who’s ever stepped inside this warehouse is either one of Ifrit’s people or someone sitting on his payroll.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Then maybe some curious dock workers?” Tristan raised the possibility.

  “Could be. Most of them work for Ifrit indirectly. But not all.” David replied.

  Rosalina shifted her weight. “Is this the lead you want to pursue, Little Devil? We can track down which dock workers were on shift when the Defeorica shipment arrived and go from there.”

  Tristan still had the nagging suspicion this was an inside job, but for now, this was the best lead they could follow, in his opinion.

  “Yes.” He nodded, turning back to David. “Update us as soon as your partner returns.”

  ***

  After questioning the Dockmaster, cross-checking names, and eliminating those already on Ifrit’s payroll, only one name remained – a dock worker named Brayden Holt.

  Under Rosalina’s deadly gaze, the Dockmaster quickly gave them Brayden’s address – in a not-so-faraway district of Dalina called ‘Fort Glus’ – another slum.

  By the time they arrived at the man’s house, the city had quieted significantly as night was upon them.

  Tristan was exhausted. He might be an adult, but his body was still a child’s. Walking around the city for hours had taken its toll on him despite the physical training he had gone through the past year.

  Rosalina noticed. “Stay close. Things might turn ugly. Either way, I’ll handle it. But you – I want you to watch everything.”

  “I know how it goes.” Tristan said, recalling all the nasty things he had done in his previous life. How he had beaten people for not paying on time when he was in a gang.

  “Really?” Rosalina asked, doubt evident in her voice, but she didn’t push the matter further.

  They stopped before a small stone house. No light was coming from inside it.

  Rosalina stepped forward and knocked on the wooden door.

  Seconds passed, and she knocked again.

  Eventually, after the third knock, the door creaked open.

  Brayden Holt was a disheveled man with tired eyes and a lingering stench of cheap booze. His shirt was only half-buttoned yet fully wrinkled. His irritation was evident when he squinted at Rosalina and Tristan.

  “The hell do you want?” He muttered, voice hoarse from sleep or drink – or both.

  Rosalina didn’t waste a second.

  She slammed her boot into the door, kicking it open with brutal force. The wood cracked, and the impact sent Brayden stumbling backward into his own home, hitting the ground hard, groaning.

  “Bad start, Holt.” Rosalina said, stepping inside like she owned the place. “Let’s try again. I'll start. Where is the Defeorica you stole from Ifrit?”

  Tristan entered the house slowly, watching as Brayden pushed himself up, rubbing the back of his head. His expression shifted from drunk confusion to fear, but he definitely tried to hide it.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He barked, voice growing louder. “Now get out of my damn house!”

  He barely had time to blink before Rosalina’s fist slammed into his stomach, knocking the air out of him. He doubled over, gasping for breath.

  “Wrong answer.” Rosalina’s voice was deadly calm.

  “Brayden?!”

  A woman’s voice rang out from deeper in the house – likely the man’s wife. She appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a nightgown, her expression shifting immediately from confusion to sheer terror.

  Brayden tried to straighten up, clutching his gut. “Stay there, Mira! I’ll handle this!”

  But Rosalina grabbed him by the collar before he could regain his breath and drove him backward into the nearest wall so hard, the wooden shelf on it dropped to the ground.

  His wife let out a sharp gasp, gripping the stair rail. “Please, whoever you are, don’t – “

  “Shut your mouth before I break his jaw in front of you.” Rosalina snapped at her and the woman almost fainted.

  Brayden coughed again, trying to shove Rosalina off, but she didn’t budge. “I – I swear I didn’t steal anything!”

  Rosalina brought her fist to his face and a knife shot out above her hand, escaping her vambrace.

  The man’s breath hitched.

  “I know you didn’t steal anything. I’ve seen enough from you by now to tell you’re too pathetic to do something like that.” Rosalina said, her voice cold, devoid of emotion. “You have one last chance to tell me the truth.”

  “Okay, okay, okay!” He gasped. “I just told some guys about it! Two men! They paid me to tell them when the shipments came in and mark the crate with invisible ink! That’s all! I didn’t know they were going to rob it!”

  ‘What else would they do with it, idiot?’ Tristan wondered if the man was even in his right mind to suggest something like that.

  “Who? Where?” Rosalina pressed for details.

  Brayden swallowed hard. “They – I – I met them at an old dockside tavern. The White Gull. It’s abandoned now after the owner was arrested for double homicide. They’re probably started using it ever since.” He shook his head aggressively. “But I don’t know who they are! They didn’t tell me their names and it was dark! I swear!”

  Rosalina held her gaze for a long moment, reading him. Then, with a sharp jerk she pulled her vambrace away and the knife snapped back inside. Brayden, on the other hand, dropped to the floor, shaking.

  His wife rushed forward, collapsing beside him, clutching at his arm as he gasped for air.

  Rosalina stood over them, her back to Tristan.

  Tristan was confused as to why they were still there despite already getting the information they needed.

  “Is there something else?” Tristan asked her.

  “Yes.” Rosalina replied, not turning around. She paused for a moment, then spoke, her voice casual, almost detached. “Should I kill them?”

  Brayden’s wife yelped.

  Tristan’s stomach dropped. “What?”

  Rosalina didn’t flinch. She simply gestured toward the couple with her hand. “You’re that Master’s son. You decide.”

  Tristan stared at her. She never joked. And definitely not like this.

  She meant it.

  “He sold out Ifrit. Took payment for it. Who’s to say he won’t do it again? Who’s to say people won’t look at him as proof they can cross Ifrit without getting punished?” Rosalina said calmly. “Killing them will send a message. But if you think they deserve to walk away, say the word.”

  "I'll never - " Brayden tried to defend himself, but Rosalina quickly shut him up.

  "Shut up or I'll kill the both of you in an instant."

  Tristan felt his heartbeat in his throat.

  “But, I’m just a – “

  “It’s doesn’t matter, Little Devil.” Rosalina interrupted. “Your father does not care for your age. Tonight, you represent Vortalis. He’d want you to protect the family’s name.”

  Tristan’s heart pounded even harder.

  He had never killed anyone. Not personally.

  The closest he had come to was shooting Vasallo’s men on the night of his death, but even then, it wasn’t something he had ever prepared for. It had been pure survival. And even then, that had been the first time he ever used a gun against someone.

  But now? Now he was being asked to sentence people to death.

  Brayden coughed again, and his wife left his arm, noticing the hesitation in Tristan’s eyes.

  “Please!” She begged, shifting onto her knees and crawling toward him, though it was visible in her eyes, she was shocked she had to beg a child for her life. “Please, my lord, he won't do anything like that ever again! Please!”

  Rosalina stepped forward, her boot slamming down between them with a sharp smack.

  “Don’t come near him.” She warned. “Not another inch.”

  Brayden’s wife whimpered, her hands shaking.

  Tristan clenched his fists. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. But if this was what Ifrit had expected from him, then he must order their execution. Surely, his father won’t approve of leaving them alive.

  And if he did let them live? Then Ifrit would dispose of him. His magicless son who is also a wimp that shows weakness.

  Rosalina was right. Ifrit doesn’t care that he was a six-year-old child. Seeing his maturity, he wanted to prepare him for the ruthlessness of their life as early as possible, not withholding anything back.

  Tristan knew he had no choice. It was either them or him.

  But just when he was about to give Rosalina the command to kill the couple, he heard it.

  Footsteps.

  A soft patter of bare feet from the stairs.

  Tristan looked up, noticing a little girl, likely younger than him, staring in horror at her parents on the floor.

  She didn’t speak – too scared – but her hands clutched the wooden stair rail with a desperation that pierced straight through Tristan.

  His breath caught as he recalled his previous life. His parents there.

  It only took him a moment to change his mind.

  “We’re leaving.” He finally said, jumping to his feet and turning around.

  “As you wish.” Rosalina said, following behind him.

  “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” The wife called after him, but he ignored her.

  Before stepping out, he spared one last glance at the little girl peering from the stairs.

  She didn’t say anything.

  She just watched him go.

  Her gaze was so, so heavy on him.