The three went to Orel's home. Weirdly enough, no one was home. Usually Ymir was there, but now the house was completely silent.

"Wow, now this is a nice house," Diarmuid watched in awe.

"Not bad, right?" Ándras smirked.

Orel sat on the sofa and pulled out his phone. The Guild app was at the same handy for more minor things but annoyingly short-handed for important matters. Ándras sat beside him and turned on the tv.

"So, you know how to call up the Zabad office?" He asked.

"I'm trying." Orel tried to navigate the app.

"There should be an office near the east coast," Diarmuid noted. "By the way. I remember you had a mage last time we met."

Orel paused for a moment. His eyes slowly panned over to Diarmuid.

"Right, we should tell by now." He sighed. "We are going to Eden's gate to ask for him to come back."

"Really? Just for that?"

"His family picked him up one night. We didn't even realize it until the next morning."

"So, this Norman is in Eden's gate. Wait, he's of the Normans?"

"Yeah," Orel dropped his head.

"I don't know, kid. Mage academies don't like intruders." Diarmuid left out the memories of taking down Magistrate intruders. Thieves often found themselves becoming unwilling test subjects as part of their punishment.

Diarmuid watched Orel's eyes water. It was like watching his little sister cry after a bad breakup. However much she would annoy him, he would always help her.

"Well, that's your objective. As long as I get paid, you can count me in." Diarmuid gave a thumbs up.

"Then you better be prepared for a wild ride!" Ándras laughed.

"Yeah, we get into weird situations all the time." Orel smiled.

"So, what sort of quests are there?" Diarmuid asked.

"Let's see." Orel looked through the offers on his phone. "Found one. C rank quest to bodyguard a VIP for three days."

"Bodyguarding, huh? I have some experience with that. What else does it say?"

"Hm? It has some special conditions. Parties need to be assessed by the quest provider. Further information of the objective will be provided for those that pass." Orel read the description.

"I knew it. Well, it shouldn't be too hard if you have magic."

"I registered us." Orel declared.

The three smiled at each other in unison. Even Diarmuid was feeling giddy about it.

"So, when are we going?" Ándras asked.

"Oh, right." Orel checked. "The assessment test is in two days."

"Two days?!" Diarmuid stumbled.

"What?" Orel asked.

"Do you realize how much a day-before ticket costs to get there?"

"We can always go economy," Orel shrugged. "Besides, how much can it cost?"

"Check right now." Diarmuid stared with cold eyes.

Orel clicked away and found the plane ticket prices.

"An adult ticket from Tanlen to Puerta Blanca costs around 150 Eer."

"See? Ridiculous!" Diarmuid flailed his arms around.

Orel's eyes glanced left and right. They met with Ándras', who was equally confused.

"It's not that much." They said.

"What sort of privileged life have you two been living?" Diarmuid took a step back.

"How much did you get from your job?" Orel asked.

"Let's see. It was 200 Qit per month, with 50% going to taxes and health insurance, and 30% I donated to my family." Diarmuid recounted.

Orel took out his calculator and did the math.

"You got by with 480 Eer per month?!" He had to double-check. "Didn't you get any benefits?"

"They all went to my family."

"Couldn't you drop the health insurance?" Ándras asked.

"Drop the health insurance? I'll rather die than see the bill for my hospital bills without it!"

"Okay, okay. I can pay for your ticket if it's so much for you." Orel sighed.

"You would do that? Oh, I'll be in your debt! Literally!" Diarmuid was ready to hug him.

"It's nothing. We should be thanking you for joining us."

"I just thought you might be fun to be around." Diarmuid scratched his cheek with a blush. "And you did get paid well from your quest, didn't you?"

The three ordered the tickets, packed their belongings, and said goodbyes to the family. Tuja hugged Orel before he stepped out the door, and Deras threw one of his favorite bottles to Ándras with a silent nod. Diarmuid was treated as a guest, but more importantly, as a friend of Orel. The group set sail back again to the port of Alanland and its main airport.

Near the edge of a small pier, a casual man begged on his knees to a pinstriped gentleman holding a jet-black stiletto. The figure stood with his back against the city lights, the only thing giving light to the night and the sparkling ocean.

"I'm sorry, mister Ocham! I needed it! I'll pay it back I swear!" The man begged.

"That won't do, Steve. Father hates rats like you." Ocham shook his head while tapping the knife.

"No one needs to know about this. How about we split the prize and walk away?" The man tried to twist a desperate smile.

"We're way beyond simply walking away from this, Steve." Ocham stared him down with cold hard eyes.

"I'll give it all back! My family and I will pack up and never return to Puerta Blanca!" The man pushed the bag away with tears.

"No, no, no. You don't understand. You owe us your life, and The boss sent me to claim it." Ocham raised his stiletto.

"No, please! Think about my family!" The man cowered in fear.

"You should have thought of them when you stole from us. Do not worry, I will tell Marie the news."

The man heard the waves behind him. Between being murdered and escaping, he would happily jump into the ocean. He rolled over the edge and sunk beneath the waves in just a moment. Ocham leaned over to look, but the dark water hid him well.

"Well, this is a problem." Ocham sighed and flipped his stiletto in the air. "I don't have time for this."

"Seeker edge." Ocham chanted.

The blade froze in the air, pointing down into the sea like a compass.

"Twenty feet, 240 seconds."

Ocham watched the blade float in the air, but nothing happened. He snatched it back into his hand and walked away with the bag full of money.

"Guess he drowned." He shrugged.

Hidden under the pier, the man listened to the footsteps go away until finally peeking around to see if Ocham had left. The coast was clear, so he made a beeline to the nearest taxi. He waved for one to stop and stepped in.

"Where to?" The driver asked.

"Airport. Push the pedal to the metal. I'll pay extra." The man threw cash at him.

After checking the money on a street corner, Ocham took out his stiletto again. "There's still a couple grand missing."

"That rat is trying to flee with the cheese." He threw it in the air. "one mile, sixty seconds."

The blade speeded off, whistling in the air.

"Hope that's enough," he said.

The narrow dagger flew in a straight line while making precise turns when needed until it found its target. The driver ducked from the noise and hastily pulled over to the side of the road. The taxi was not fast enough nor the back window strong enough. The blade skewered the back of Steve's skull before he realized it. Soon, the pinstriped man walked next to the driver's door and knocked on it. The window rolled down where Ocham greeted him with a jaded face.

"You saw nothing. Take the money, or Grandfather will have a problem with you." He counted a slip of money and handed it over.

The driver took the money without saying a word. Ocham pulled the knife from Steve's body and dragged him out of the car. Some people stopped to look in horror but knew to look away once they saw Ocham staring at them back.

He took out his phone and dialed a number.

"It's Ocham. The job is finished. I got the money, but I need someone to take care of the target."

A gangster round as a barrel held the phone with his sausage fingers. Gabriel "Roundhouse" Torrio handled and distributed the most critical information in the gang. Though he rarely worked outdoors, his business sense and smarts kept him well-fed to keep his nickname.

"Good work there, Razor," Gabriel puffed his cigarette. "Do the usual. Find an alley, cover him with newspaper, and no one going to bother him for the night."

"I will send the address."

"Also, Father has a new job for you." Gabriel looked at his notes.

"So soon? Fine, what is it?"

"You might have heard that we are holding a meeting between the ring leaders soon."

"What about it?"

"There's a newcomer from Azuma that's been on his high horse for too long. He got just got lucky and became the head of a few larger gangs. All the dons hate him, Father included. That's why they decided to make a game."

"A game?" Ocham raised his eyebrow.

"Nothing like a good old huntdown!" Gabriel laughed with his belly. "We'll all work together to crush that old slanty eyes!"

"Won't that create a gang war?"

"What are those Azumians going to do? Go war with everyone? Don't make me laugh! They are finished after this meeting."

"You haven't really explained what the game is about."

"Right," Gabriel drew breath. "The old man prizes only one thing above his money. His daughter. The game is simple: Steal her and deliver her head on a silver platter to her precious papa."

"That doesn't sound very co-operative."

"We are mafia. Playing fair is an insult."

"And I guess I am supposed to get her?"

"Sharp as always. You are our best hitman. Father is counting on you."

"Sounds like a hassle, but orders are orders." Ocham sighed.

"Good. I will send you the details."

As the sun was about to rise, Ocham returned to his apartment. Though he lived alone, the silence past the door felt wrong. His dog was not there to greet him with its wagging tail and droopy eyes. Instead, Ocham found it stitched to the living room wall, dissected open with the organs rearranged to a smile. A small note hung from its loose tongue. A rather large vein grew on Ocham's otherwise blank face as he took and read it.

"You are Grandfather's best lap dog, so I was hoping to rile you up for the hunt with this, Ocham. I was prepared to kill your whole family, but all I found was this small mutt. Consider it a souvenir for us coming here. Best wishes, la Loupe."

Ocham crumbled the paper, closed his dog's eyes, and left. Or he would have, if not for a bird chirping on his kitchen table near an open window. Ocham would not have minded it otherwise, but as someone knowledgable with birds, he found it odd that a dagger-tail swallow, home to Koonfur, would somehow have ended up in Zabad. As he went in to take a closer look at the long-tailed bird, Ocham noticed another odd detail. A smell of rotten eggs, yet there were no eggs in his fridge, nor did he forget to take out the trash. Then he realized it, just as the bird imploded.

"Gas!" Ocham sprunt out of the room.

The kitchen burst into flames. Though Ocham ducked for safety. The gas ignited and exploded with a blast he could barely dodge.

As his hearing returned, Ocham could hear mad laughter before a colorful parrot flew in from the broken window. It landed in front of him and hopped closer. Ocham was about to stab it until it started talking.

"I heard you Zabadians liked grand introductions, so I tried one myself. Squawk! Got to say, I'm having a blast with this! How about you, Ocham?" The bird whistled. "After we're done with that girl, I will have some fun with you, so be prepared. Yours truly, Bam the druid."

Ocham stabbed the bird with only a sour frown on his face.

"Looks like I have my work cut out for me." He sighed.

Ocham walked out of the burning apartment and took out his phone.

"Hey, Darius. I need to be low profile for a while. Could you give me a better place for that?"

Darius "The bat" Bulger was the man to call for supplies, hideouts, and vehicles. He worked from the shadows in the dead of night and the legend said he never slept.

"Sure thing. What are you looking for?" Darius asked.

"Rather a safe house than a nice one."

"Okay, I'll set you up, but it will take a few days."

"Fine then. I will be staying at White Rose until then."

"Don't you have better things to waste your money on?"

"I will do whatever I damn please with my money." Ocham frowned.

"Wow, Ocham's angry~"

"Shut it." Ocham cut the call off.

He walked in the dark shadows of the tall casinos and skyscrapers. He did not need anything more than peace, quiet and his stiletto. Unluckily for him, he was in Puerta Blanca, where noise and music played in a loop like a bad record. It was the perfect tourist trap, but Ocham preferred it over the quiet yet desolate slums on the edge of the city. It was his moral philosophy that everything needed a sacrifice, and his was living in peace.