Ch - 4 Fourth wall? What fourth wall? I don't see it.

Sam chose the first alley he came across on the right. It was wide enough for a single person to walk through. Standing in front of a door that opened directly into the alley, he took a moment to check himself one last time. After making sure everything was in order, he knocked on the back door and patiently waited for someone to answer.

After waiting for almost a minute, the door creaked open, producing a heavy noise, and a head peeked out. The person behind the door was an old man with receding white hair and a grumpy expression. He emitted a low growl before fully opening the door. "You're early today, boy," he grumbled, moving back inside.

"I didn't have any extra work, so I came here," Sam explained, closing the door behind him. He followed the old man through the corridor to the main shop. The old man, a retired alchemist and the owner of the potion shop, had been running this establishment since before Sam was born and even before the academy was established in the area. He was widely known in the area as 'The Meek,' but despite the name, he was anything but meek.

The shop didn't have many real customers since Sam joined, except for a few mercenaries who operated near the shores. Most of the time, all Sam had to do was sit at the counter until late at night and then go home after cleaning the dust off the potion bottles. However, now he had to stay until sunrise as a punishment.

"Go sit at the counter until I take a nap. Don't fall asleep while you're on it; I had a dreamt last night about an important customer visiting us," he said, ascending the stairs to the second floor. His naps often lasted longer than the time the sun remained in the sky, so, he wouldn't even notice if Sam slacked a bit. With that in mind, Sam opened the door leading to the main shop.

The door creaked open, revealing the interior of the main shop. The shop was neatly organized, with shelves lining the walls, each holding a variety of potion bottles in different shapes and sizes. The air was infused with the subtle fragrance of various herbs and magical ingredients. A counter stood at the center, showcasing a few essential potions, while the rest were stored systematically behind it. Dim lighting illuminated the space, creating an atmosphere of mystique.

Sam sat comfortably behind the counter, pulling out a book from underneath. He wasn't much of a reader, but he stumbled upon this book while cleaning the inventory. Intrigued by its interesting title, "Phantom, Wit of the Wicked," he decided to give it a read.

It was simply a collection of stories about the main character, Phantom, and his two friends devising schemes against kings and gods. Sam had only continued to read it because it was good time-pass. The current story he was reading was about when Phantom was 26 years old.

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"You know, it's high time we bid farewell to this town. Last night, I witnessed four knights clad in full armor sprinting through the streets. They've established a camp on the hill, and their numbers surpass our initial estimates," remarked Garry, a close companion of Phantom.

"Don't be a downer, Garry. Just be patient until the next fortnight, and we'll be swimming in gold," teased Josh, downing his mug of ale in a single gulp.

"He's got a point, Garry," Phantom chimed in with a wide grin. Accepting defeat in his attempt to sway opinions, Garry finished his ale and signaled the passing waitress for another round.

Seated in a bustling tavern, the trio soaked in the lively atmosphere. The air resonated with the clinks of mugs and the buzz of diverse conversations, forming a harmonious background hum. A rich aroma of robust meals permeated the air, while the flickering candles on each table cast a warm glow upon the wooden surroundings. Adorned with faded tapestries illustrating epic battles and mythical creatures, the walls exuded an adventurous and slightly rustic charm, completing the inviting ambiance of the establishment.

Relaxing in his chair, Phantom surveyed the eclectic crowd populating the bustling tavern. Merchants engaged in animated discussions about trade, mercenaries exchanged tales of their bold escapades, and bards in a distant corner filled the air with lively tunes. Laughter intermittently punctuated the atmosphere as groups shared jokes.

However, Garry, unsettled by the armored knights in the town, fidgeted in his seat. "Phantom, I can't shake this ominous feeling about those knights. Maybe we should rethink our plans," he suggested, his unease evident in his voice.

Maintaining his characteristic optimism, Phantom brushed off Garry's concerns with a casual wave of his hand. "Garry, my friend, let go of your worries. We've got a good fortnight before things heat up. For now, let's savor the ale and the merriment."

Just as Phantom uttered these words, the tavern door swung open, and a mysterious figure cloaked in a billowing hood stepped inside. A sense of intrigue enveloped the newcomer as they scanned the room, locking eyes with Phantom. Without uttering a word, the hooded stranger made their way to their table, adding an unexpected layer of mystery to the already lively atmosphere.

The enigmatic stranger settled into an unclaimed seat and nonchalantly placed a dagger on the table. His eyes, shrouded by the hood, bore a menacing intensity as he focused on Phantom. "Everything's set as instructed. You've got four days to settle up, or you'll find yourself acquainted with this," he declared, pointing at the dagger.

Remaining unperturbed, Phantom examined the dagger briefly before returning his gaze to the mysterious figure. "Four days it is, my friend. I'll ensure you receive what's owed to you."

Having delivered his message, the hooded stranger swiftly rose from his seat and departed as swiftly as he had arrived. Garry and Josh exchanged puzzled glances, unaware of the stranger's identity, while Phantom sported a satisfied smile.

Their curiosity lingered as the waitress approached, slamming a mug of ales onto the table. In a hushed tone, she advised, "Finish that and make your exit. The owner doesn't want folks associating with assassins lingering around here."

Garry settled the tab for his drink and pledged to leave. "Come on, Phantom. You owe us an explanation on why you want the guild tangled up in this. Those folks switch allegiances quicker than your thoughts change, especially if someone offers them more coin," Josh commented, his curiosity clearly reflected in his expression.

"There's no cause for concern; it's a minor assignment. Follow me," Phantom assured, lifting his mug in a toast. Swiftly concluding their drinks, the trio exited the tavern, ensuring they escaped notice.

Beyond the tavern doors, the sun had already dipped below the horizon. The trio had secured lodging in an inn situated on the outskirts of town, a strategic move to reduce the risk of surveillance. The inn itself presented as a modest two-story structure, its operations overseen by an elderly innkeeper, who seemed to have one foot planted firmly in the grave.

Positioned before the inn, Phantom gestured to his companions. "Attend to those matters, and rendezvous with me behind the church come midnight. Tonight marks the culmination of the initial phase of our plan," he instructed.

With their nod of acknowledgment, Phantom left them to attend to their respective tasks. Opting for the road that led away from the town, he casually ambled through the slums. His journey brought him to a dilapidated shopfront, where he came to a halt.

he wooden planks of the storefront displayed signs of warping, as if protesting the hardships of its existence.

A weather-beaten sign, barely hanging on by a single rusty hinge, creaked faintly in the evening breeze. The windows, grimy and cracked, failed to provide a clear view into the dim interior. A motley assortment of forgotten items and discarded debris littered the small entrance, offering a glimpse into the shop's abandonment.

Phantom, met with resistance from the stubborn door, resorted to a forceful kick, causing it to swing open. Stepping into the shop, he was met with an interior that aligned with grim expectations – items haphazardly strewn across the floor, and rats scurrying in the corners, a testament to the neglect that had befallen the place.

Undeterred, Phantom navigated toward one of the few remaining shelves, despite its battered state and numerous holes. He fumbled around for a moment until his search yielded the object of his quest – a switch. Pressing it, the shelf responded with rusty protests, eventually succumbing to its dilapidated condition and collapsing in a broken heap.

As the shelf crumbled, revealing a small opening, the adjacent wall slid aside to unveil a compact safe, barely large enough to accommodate a baby. Phantom retrieved the intended item before exiting the forsaken shop. As he strolled away, glancing back at the now-exposed interior, his eyes underwent a curious transformation from black to fiery orange hue. A glance back at the shop was followed by an eruption of flames, engulfing the structure.

Phantom seamlessly blended into the crowd rushing towards the flames. The chaotic assembly was mobilizing to quell the fire, united in their collective effort to prevent the encroaching threat from reaching their homes.

Once safely away from the burning shop, Phantom examined the item he commissioned item from the assassin's guild. It was a beautiful golden badge with a mesmerizing sigil at the center, formed by intricate arcane symbols. The badge shone brightly, reflecting light and giving it a magnificent aura. The craftsmanship was exceptional, showcasing high-level skill and artistry.

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