The night wind rolled down from the cliffs, sharp with the scent of stone and smoke. Beyond the open gates of Black Tortoise City, the last of the traders drifted away, their torches winking out one by one in the mist.

On the ramparts, beneath a sky bruised by twilight, Mirean Moon stood with an animal-skin ledger pressed to her chest. Her silver hair fluttered against the torchlight as she turned to the man beside her.

"Is that plan of yours still in motion?" she asked softly.

Luciel didn't look up right away. His gaze followed the silhouettes of Waldo and the others, disappearing into the streets below like shadows dissolving into deeper night.

"Of course," he said at last, a faint smile tracing his lips. "And it begins tonight."

Mirean tilted her head, her curiosity glinting through calm blue eyes.

Luciel turned toward her, the dying sun casting half his face in gold, the other in darkness. "You'll play the thief tonight," he said. "Take a handful of Star Tea and some of the seed stock. Go to those who haven't traded with us yet."

She blinked. "And those who have?"

"They'll come crawling to us soon enough," Luciel murmured, his voice carrying that quiet certainty that always unsettled her.

Mirean's brow furrowed. "You've made another bargain, haven't you?"

He smiled thinly. "With Yiliyi. He'll have his people moving under cover of chaos. Tonight… we play a little game."

Her lips parted. "What kind of game?"

Luciel's tone turned sly. "A game where the thief shouts to catch the thief."

The phrase hung between them like smoke. Mirean's pulse quickened. She knew the kind of games Luciel played—each one sharp-edged and double-sided.

From behind them, a soft laugh. Elara, the pale-haired girl with eyes like ice, leaned against the parapet. "Let me guess," she said, a smirk curling at her mouth. "I'm the one chasing the thieves?"

Luciel inclined his head. "Exactly."

"No problem," Elara replied, brushing a strand of white hair behind her ear. "I'll make it convincing."

Mirean exhaled and gave a small, helpless laugh. "You really do enjoy tossing me into trouble, don't you?"

Luciel's grin warmed, briefly human. "Think of it as a game, Mirean. We're only playing roles tonight."

"Then don't blame me if I play mine too well," she warned, her smile darkening.

Luciel chuckled under his breath. "Please—have fun with it."

---

Inside the courtyard, the flicker of torches revealed Mino, the rabbit-eared girl, sorting through the last of their trade goods. Piles of cloth, pottery, and bundles of vegetables were stacked against the stone wall, smelling of clay and earth.

Luciel crouched beside her. "How's the trade holding?"

Mino glanced up, brushing dust from her fingers. "Water jars and pottery are gone. Only some tomatoes and cabbage left."

"That's fine," Luciel said. "If no one buys them, we'll eat them ourselves."

His eyes drifted to the wooden chest beside her—half-filled with beast spars. The faint, crystalline gleam of the stones glimmered like captured starlight. Most were low-tier, the kind you could find in any backwater market. But even those held value—ten points of evolution each.

Nearby, Mirean was flipping through her ledger again. "The cloth alone could keep us clothed for years," she murmured, running a hand across a folded bolt of gray-blue fabric. "Two hundred pieces… if we were frugal, they could last a generation."

Luciel nodded. "When the time comes, put some into the exchange. The contribution system will need strong materials."

"Understood." Mirean dipped her quill and scribbled in the ledger.

Luciel leaned closer, his tone softer now. "You'll need help soon. The exchange is growing faster than you can manage alone."

"I can ask Agni to assist," Mirean said immediately.

Luciel's mouth curved in approval. "Good choice. The girl's been working hard. It's time she learned more."

Before Mirean could respond, Alina, standing watch by the gate, called out quietly, "Someone's coming."

Luciel straightened, his eyes narrowing as figures approached from the fog-shrouded road—seven or eight of them, weary and hollow-eyed. The torchlight caught faces lined with dirt and sorrow. Among them were old men, children, and a pregnant woman struggling to walk.

They stopped at the base of the rock tortoise—the colossal creature whose shell formed the city's foundation. Above, bound to its massive iron hooks, hung the captured thieves, their bodies limp but still breathing.

An old woman stepped forward. Tears streaked her cheeks. "My lord," she said hoarsely, "may I… may I bring my son's body home?"

Luciel's black eyes flicked to her. "Your son is one of them?"

The woman nodded. "Yes."

"They're not dead," Luciel replied evenly.

She gasped. "Not… dead?"

The crowd stirred. Hope flashed across gaunt faces. Mothers, wives, children—all drawn here by rumor and desperation.

"Not dead," Luciel repeated, his voice cool. "But close."

The woman trembled. "Please, my lord… spare them. I beg you."

Luciel's expression didn't soften. "They entered Black Tortoise City without sanction. They stole what wasn't theirs. Theft is treason—and treason is death."

A wail broke through the night. Someone fell to their knees. "It was the first time!" another cried. "They were hungry! Desperate!"

Luciel's gaze drifted across them, detached but thoughtful. Then, almost idly, he said, "If a crime must be offset, it can be done—with beast spars."

The sobbing halted. Heads lifted. Eyes widened.

"If a family offers a spar," Luciel continued, "the death sentence will be lifted."

The old woman clutched her chest. "I have one! I have a spar!"

"Then fetch it," Luciel said with a wave of his hand. "Your son will live."

The crowd erupted—some in relief, others in disbelief. The pregnant woman stepped forward, her voice trembling. "If we hand over the spars… will you release them?"

Luciel turned to her, his tone still calm. "Release? No. The death sentence can be spared, but the punishment remains. They'll serve a term of labor in Black Tortoise."

He paused, letting his words sink in. "If you wish, you may accompany them."

Mirean, Elara, and Alina exchanged startled glances. For a heartbeat, even the wind seemed to still.

Then realization dawned.

Luciel wasn't showing mercy—he was binding loyalty. Turning thieves into laborers, their families into citizens, their debt into obedience.

"You'd take them all?" Mirean whispered, almost to herself.

Luciel didn't answer. His eyes were on the crowd—watching as despair gave way to fragile hope.

The pregnant woman's lips trembled. "We can come with them?"

"Yes," Luciel said simply. "We leave the Tenth-Floor City tomorrow. Those who come will not return for years. Those who stay… will wait."

The woman hesitated only a moment before nodding fiercely. "Then I'll come. I'll pack what little I have."

She turned and walked away, one hand on her swollen belly, her torch casting a wavering shadow behind her.

Others followed—murmuring to one another, clinging to the sliver of hope Luciel had offered. One by one, they drifted back toward the city to gather what they could.

Luciel watched them go, his expression unreadable.

Behind him, Mirean finally spoke. "You're not freeing them," she said quietly. "You're… keeping them."

Luciel's gaze stayed on the mist beyond the wall. "They're skilled. Every one of them. Even the weakest thief is a Tier Two enhancer. Why waste talent?"

He turned toward her then, and there was no warmth left in his eyes—only calculation. "Their families will keep them obedient. They'll work harder with something to lose."

Elara folded her arms. "And when they've worked their debt away?"

Luciel's tone was almost gentle. "Then they'll have earned a place among us. Black Tortoise needs hands, not corpses."

Alina frowned. "And those without families?"

Luciel's answer was flat. "Prison for now. If they live long enough, perhaps they'll find purpose. If not…" He let the silence finish the sentence.

A long moment passed.

Above them, the bound thieves stirred, groaning faintly. Their swollen eyes blinked open. From their vantage, they could see their families' retreating figures disappearing into the fog—walking, not weeping.

Confusion crossed their bruised faces.

Why were they leaving so willingly?

Were they… happy?

One thief choked out a hoarse laugh, half disbelief, half despair.

Luciel didn't look up. "Let them think on it," he murmured. "By dawn, they'll understand who holds the keys to their lives."

Mirean shivered. There were times she forgot how dangerous his kindness could be.

Luciel turned back toward the torchlit courtyard, his coat brushing against the stone as he moved. "See that their families are fed tonight," he said. "They'll need strength for the road ahead."

Mino nodded silently.

Elara lingered a moment longer, her silver eyes glinting. "You really do enjoy playing gods and thieves, don't you?"

Luciel's smirk returned, weary but sharp. "Someone has to."

He stepped into the shadows, leaving only the echo of his boots and the faint rustle of the beast spars in the wooden chest—a sound like falling glass, like the quiet promise of power still to come.

And above, on the great shell of the rock tortoise, the wind carried the whispers of the bound men—half prayer, half curse—as the night swallowed their voices whole.

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