Another possibility was this: their real target was Northfort, and they had a way to veil powerful Demon Race forces as they approached, like wolves slipping through fog.

Unease pricked at Spring Tide first, a thorn under silk. If that was the plan, why not strike Northfort first, pin the outside search teams, or hit both fronts like twin waves?

The city sat under lockdown already, plans laid out like sandbags before a storm. If the Demon Race wanted that, it wasn’t a smart play, not with the wind so contained.

Spring Tide’s guess landed true, a pebble thrown into still water. That same afternoon, an elite Demon Race squad, all iron and shadow, crashed down on Northfort.

The city warding shield shattered almost instantly, like glass under a hammer. The north wall split wide. From the bite of their mana, an Eighth Rank had slipped among them, a cold star in the swarm.

Factions rallied fast, banners flaring like brushfire. Clashes between powerhouses shook the streets; shockwaves toppled houses like reeds in a gale. The Holy Maiden’s guard knights moved in to keep order, steady hands in the chaos.

The Demon elite focused on wrecking the city’s defenses, like termites on beams. They avoided hard duels, darting through the streets like dark fish under lantern light.

The riot lasted about an hour. Patrol teams who’d been ambushed in the Northern Wilds returned at just the right time, sealing the Demons’ retreat like a gate swinging shut. The raid ended as abruptly as a curtain drop.

Eerily, the death toll was low. Buildings lay in ruin, the north wall mauled, yet only a few hundred were hurt and dozens went missing, mostly prisoners—names washed away like chalk in rain.

Beyond homes, the main targets were the City Lord’s Estate and the Commerce Guild headquarters tower, both struck like drums.

When the dust settled, it felt wrong, like the Demons had stormed in just to smash and then die without a song. The powerhouses from the Northern Wilds showed up with perfect timing, a note struck too neat.

And so the whole affair ended muddied, like ink swirled in a bowl.

So what was that supposed to be…

The Sanctuary’s buildings hadn’t been touched, but the City Lord’s Estate nearby lay battered, a field of broken tiles and splinters. Looking over the wreckage, Cerqin felt only doubt, a moth beating against a paper lantern.

She knew she couldn’t untangle it now. A Fifth Rank wasn’t going to tip the scales in a city fight; that truth sat heavy as stone. She had another errand—see if her little inventions could earn some pocket money, trickles filling a jar.

The other major target, the Commerce Guild tower, was where her acquaintances lived. That place had taken the worst of it, a bruise on the city’s face, and worry tugged at her for the An Sisters, thin threads pulled tight.

Spring Tide, fit for high-level councils, sank into endless meetings after the raid, a candle burned at both ends. Cerqin had wanted to bring Silver Luan and Aileaf along, but Aileaf was racing to brew salves for wounds. The Dragon Deity’s touch worked wonders on flesh, so the Half Dragonkin lady was hauled in as living material, a scale’s grace turned to remedy.

Guild Plaza lay a little ways from the Sanctuary’s encampment. By the time Cerqin arrived, most of the injured had been taken in, and many guild members were clearing debris, like ants rebuilding after rain.

The shops around the square had mostly collapsed, rubble piled like gray dunes. The An Sisters’ general store was among those flattened, a memory pressed into dust.

The two sisters were on the ruins of their shop, sifting for items that had survived, like gleaners in a crushed field. They saw Cerqin approach, froze a heartbeat, then waved with tired smiles.

Miss Cerqin, what brings you here?

Anya, the younger, sounded puzzled, while Anran hurried forward, warmth lighting her face like sunrise breaking through ash.

Miss Cerqin!

I heard Guild Plaza got hit hard by the Demon raid, so I came to check on you, Cerqin said, concern draped soft as a shawl.

Thank you for the trouble.

Anya hadn’t expected Cerqin to care. Something complicated flickered across her face, like a shadow on water.

They were acquaintances with a bit of shared luck. Seeing both sisters unharmed let Cerqin breathe again, a knot loosening in her chest.

Sorry about before. We promised to show Miss Cerqin around, Anran said, a shy note rising where a merchant’s briskness used to be, her cheeks like apples after frost.

Not that we can tour anywhere now, she added, wry as a cracked bell.

True enough…

The square would need time to heal. To restore what was lost would take days, maybe moons, like a garden replanted after hail.

They chatted a while, a few words traded like tea cups. The entire Merchant Alliance had been hit hard, losses heavy as wet cloth.

For small shops, the hurt was worst. Roofs fell, goods broke, and the ledgers bled red, coin running off like sand through fingers.

Big guilds lost plenty too, but patching those holes was easier. For small guilds and little shops, rising again would be a climb up a muddy slope.

That’s why Anya’s face stayed tight, sighs slipping out despite herself, like steam from a cracked lid.

Anran was more optimistic, saying they’d start from the ground up again—hauling for small caravans, stacking crates, building a road one brick at a time.

They’d taken over a fading family business, scraped together startup money with care, and run it only for two short years. This blow scattered those years like leaves in wind.

The loss was heavy, but at least raising new seed money wouldn’t take as long this time. The Merchant Alliance would offer relief policies for shops damaged in the raid, a hand extended over a river.

Speaking of that, I’ve got some small goods. Interested?

That was why Cerqin had come—to discuss the little magitek gadgets she’d tinkered into shape. A few simple magitek toys could be produced fast. She wasn’t worried about sales; wants rise like bubbles in a bath.

At least the Sanctuary’s Nuns would enjoy them.

Cerqin took out a few samples, palms opening like shells. She handed them over. Anran’s eyes flashed with surprise, and her expression slipped back to that shrewd-merchant look, keen as a hawk’s gaze.

Could these be…?

I made these magitek toys. This one’s the switch, and you can calibrate it. These two share almost the same function, Cerqin said, tapping pieces like notes on a zither.

Miss Cerqin wants us to sell them for you?

Mm. And I wondered if you’d be interested in the design schematics.

Huh?

They’ll be easy to copy. Better to sell as many good ones as we can before imitators flood in like reed boats on a river.

Basic magitek texts won’t circulate here for a while, so short-term, copying shouldn’t happen, Anya said, thinking aloud, the thought slow as sap.

Without foundational knowledge, the structure of magitek toys is hard to grasp. Even the simple ones. The Empire no longer blocks those books at the frontier, but duplicates won’t show up soon.

Unless there are schematics.

With precise schematics, you could copy without grasping the principles, like tracing a pattern onto cloth before you understand the weave.

Miss Cerqin, you’re going to sell the schematics?

Yeah.

Wouldn’t that be too much of a loss…

If she manufactured and sold them herself, she’d earn far more, coin clinking like rain on tiles. With enough capital, she could open a big shop just for these.

It’s a bit of a loss, Cerqin admitted, calm as a pond at dusk. But I won’t stay in Northfort long.

The Holy Maiden’s convoy wouldn’t linger. Cerqin just wanted some pocket money, to recoup material costs, not to build an empire. Time was a short wick.

So, are you two interested?

We are, for sure. But we don’t have the funds right now, Anya said, the truth landing blunt as a mallet.

Rebuilding the shop and everything else costs a mountain. A few schematics would be heavy to carry at this moment.

Heh, I’ve got an idea. How about we partner up?

Partner…?

Exactly. Let’s form a guild. We’ll call it the An-Cer Guild.