I am just an NPC ,but I rewrite the story-Chapter 36 - []

"If she tries to stab you, it means she likes you."

Lysandra didn’t look comforted by my logic. She adjusted the collar of her stolen grey cloak, trying to hide the gleam of her silver armor, but she walked with a posture that screamed ’I am royalty and I am judging your sanitation.’

"This place," she whispered, stepping over a puddle of questionable liquid on Tanner Street. "It smells like death."

"It’s a butcher shop," Kaelen muttered from under his hood. "It’s supposed to smell like death. It means the meat is fresh. Or at least, present."

We stopped in front of a building that looked like it was held together by grease and bad intentions. A wooden sign creaked above the door: THE CLEAVER & CORK. Inside, carcasses of pigs and cows hung from hooks, swaying slightly in the draft.

"Let me do the talking," Kaelen said. "Red knows me. She doesn’t know you."

"She knows of me," Lysandra said dryly. "I’m on the Wanted posters next to you."

"Yeah, but yours says ’Capture Alive’," Kaelen noted. "Mine says ’Kill on Sight’. She respects the hustle."

He pushed the door open. A bell jingled—not a polite tinkle, but a heavy, dull clank.

Behind the counter stood a man who was wider than he was tall. He had a bloodstained apron and was currently chopping a leg of lamb with a cleaver that looked like a small shovel.

He stopped chopping. He looked at Kaelen.

"We’re closed," the butcher grunted.

"I’m here for the special cut," Kaelen said, leaning on the counter. "The one with the extra spice."

"Spicy’s out," the butcher said, his eyes flicking to Lysandra and me. "Who’s the baggage?"

"New suppliers," Kaelen said. "They have... exotic goods."

The butcher stared at Kaelen for a long, uncomfortable minute. Then he snorted. He reached under the counter and pulled a lever.

Behind the hanging pig carcasses, a section of the floor dropped away, revealing a stone staircase.

"Don’t touch the merchandise," the butcher warned, returning to his lamb. Thwack.

We walked past the meat and descended into the dark.

The basement was nothing like the shop above. It was warm, lit by mana-crystals (stolen ones, judging by the scratched-off serial numbers), and filled with people who looked like they would slit your throat for a copper piece.

Thieves, smugglers, and information brokers sat at tables, drinking and gambling.

At the far end of the room, sitting on a high-backed chair that looked like a throne made of stolen crates, was a woman.

She had short, fiery red hair cut unevenly, as if with a knife. She wore leather armor covered in pouches and daggers. She was flipping a gold coin—a real gold coin—over her knuckles.

[Target: ’Red’ (Ria)]

[Class: Shadow Guildmaster]

[Level: 40]

[Status: Suspicious]

She saw Kaelen. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

"Wolf," she called out. Her voice was sharp, raspy. "You’re bold, walking in here. The Covenant has a price on your head that could buy this whole district."

"Good to see you too, Red," Kaelen said, stopping ten feet away. "I need a favor."

"You always need favors. You never have coin." She stopped flipping the coin and looked at us. Her gaze landed on Lysandra.

Red’s eyes narrowed. She stood up slowly.

"Is that..." She squinted. "Is that the Knight Commander?"

The room went dead silent. Chairs scraped as every thief in the room stood up, hands drifting to weapons.

Lysandra tensed, her hand going to her rapier beneath her cloak.

"She’s with me," Kaelen said quickly, stepping in front of Lysandra.

"She’s the law!" Red spat, drawing a dagger that glowed with a faint green poison. "She hanged three of my runners last month! You brought a cop into my den, Wolf?"

"Ex-cop," I spoke up, stepping out from behind Kaelen. "She’s retired. Forcefully."

Red looked at me. "And who are you? The squire?"

"I’m the guy with the plan," I said. "And the guy who knows you’re not actually mad about the runners. You’re mad because the Covenant seized your shipment of Sun-Crystals at the East Gate yesterday."

Red froze. "How do you know about that?"

"I read a lot," I said. (Actually, I had overheard a guard bragging about it in the alleyway before we fought Marek, but ’reading’ was my brand).

"Look," I continued, walking forward despite the dozen crossbows now aimed at my chest. "The Covenant is squeezing you. They’re cutting off your supply lines. They’re arresting your customers. If you don’t do something, the Shadow Guild will be bankrupt in a month."

Red stared at me. She tapped the flat of her blade against her thigh.

"You have ten seconds," she said. "Make it good."

"We’re breaking into the Iron Hold," I said.

The room erupted in laughter. It was a harsh, mocking sound.

"The Iron Hold?" Red laughed, shaking her head. "Kid, that’s a maximum-security prison for mages. It’s built inside a volcano. It’s guarded by Golems. Nobody breaks in."

"We are," I said. "We’re going to rescue a prisoner. A mage who specializes in Gravity. And while we’re there... we’re going to loot the Evidence Locker."

Red stopped laughing.

"The Evidence Locker?" she asked softly.

"That’s where they keep the confiscated goods," I said. "Like your Sun-Crystals. And the royal jewels. And the forbidden artifacts they strip off the prisoners."

I saw the greed flash in her eyes. It was the same look Ria had in the Admin Room when she saw the Phase Blades.

"You’re insane," Red said. "But... I’m listening. Who’s the mage?"

"Cian," Lysandra said, stepping forward and lowering her hood. "He was expelled from the Academy. He is... brilliant. And dangerous."

Red looked at Lysandra. The hatred was still there, but it was warring with curiosity.

"The White Saint wants to rob a prison," Red mused. "Now I’ve seen everything. Why? Why risk your neck for a dropout?"

"Because we need him to save the world," Kaelen said seriously.

Red rolled her eyes. "Heroes. Always with the world-saving. Fine. I don’t care about the world. I care about the loot."

She sheathed her dagger.

"If I help you," Red said, "I get 50% of the Locker. And the Knight Commander has to apologize for hanging my runners."

Lysandra stiffened. She looked like she would rather eat glass.

"I..." Lysandra gritted her teeth. "I apologize... for the... administrative efficiency of my former office."

"Good enough," Red smirked. "I’m Red. You know the Wolf. Who’s the brains?"

"Ren," I said.

"Alright, Ren. You have a plan to get into a volcano fortress?"

"I do," I said. "But we need one more person. A baker."

Red blinked. "A baker?"

"Tybalt," I said. "He lives in the Merchant District. Do you know him?"

"The kid who makes the exploding muffins?" Red asked. "Yeah, I know him. He pays his protection money on time. Why him?"

"Because," I said, "The Iron Hold gets food deliveries every Thursday. And Tybalt has the contract."

Red’s smile widened. It was a shark’s smile.

"A Trojan Horse," she said. "Or... a Trojan Muffin."

"Exactly."

"Okay," Red said, hopping off her crate-throne. "I’m in. But if this goes south, I’m using you as a human shield."

"Noted," I said.

We spent the night in the Guild’s safehouse (which was surprisingly cleaner than the butcher shop).

I couldn’t sleep. I sat at a wobbly table, sketching a map of the Iron Hold from memory. In the original game/novel, the Iron Hold is a raid dungeon in Volume 3. I knew the layout, the boss mechanics, and the traps.

But I was Level 1. Knowing the traps and surviving them were two different things.

"Ren," Kaelen said, sitting down across from me. He placed a tankard of ale on the table.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Just planning," I said. "This isn’t going to be easy, Kaelen. The Iron Hold is guarded by the Warden. He’s a Level 50 Construct. Basically a robot made of pain."

"We fought a Titan," Kaelen shrugged. "We can handle a Warden."

"You fought a Titan," I corrected. "I just... watched."

Kaelen looked at me. His eyes were intense in the dim light.

"You didn’t just watch," he said. "In the forest... with the barrel... you moved before I did. You knew exactly what to do."

He leaned in.

"And Red... she trusts you. Fast. She hates everyone, but she listened to you. It’s like you know exactly what buttons to push."

"I’m good at reading people," I said, avoiding his gaze.

"It’s more than that," Kaelen said. "Sometimes... when I look at you... I feel like I’m forgetting something. Something big. Like a dream I can’t quite remember."

My heart skipped a beat. The Narrative Overlay from the previous timeline. The memories were gone, but the feeling remained.

"Maybe we knew each other in a past life," I joked weakly.

Kaelen didn’t laugh. "Maybe. Or maybe you’re just the only one who sees the board."

He stood up.

"Get some sleep, Ren. We have to kidnap a baker in the morning."

He walked away.

I looked at the map.

The Iron Hold.

It wasn’t just a prison. It was a mana-battery. Valen (or whoever was running the Covenant in this timeline) was using the prisoners to fuel something.

If I was right, the Iron Hold was built on top of a ley line.

And if I was really right... the Third Fragment (Time) wasn’t in the Sunken Temple this time.

In the original draft, Arthur moved the fragments around.

The Iron Hold was known for its "Stasis Cells." Cells where time stopped so prisoners didn’t age.

"The Time Fragment," I whispered, drawing a circle around the Warden’s office on my map. "It’s the power source for the prison."

I had a new objective.

Rescue Cian.

Recruit Tybalt.

Steal the Time Fragment.

Don’t die.

"Easy," I lied to myself.

I blew out the candle.

The next morning, the Merchant District was bustling.

Tybalt’s bakery, The Golden Crust, was popular. The smell of fresh bread wafted down the street.

We watched from an alley across the street.

"That’s him?" Red asked, peering at the blonde boy in the window, who was currently frosting a cake with intense concentration.

"That’s him," I said.

"He looks... soft," Red noted. "Like dough."

"He’s sturdier than he looks," I said. "Kaelen, you’re the face. He might recognize the Dark Wolf from the posters. If I go in, I’m just a stranger."

"You want me to scare him?" Kaelen asked.

"I want you to recruit him," I said. "Tell him we need his help. Appeal to his... I don’t know, desire to not live in a totalitarian state?"

Kaelen sighed. He pulled his hood up and crossed the street.

We watched through the window.

Kaelen entered the shop. Tybalt looked up, smiled professionally, then froze. He dropped the frosting bag.

Kaelen leaned over the counter and whispered something.

Tybalt turned pale. He shook his head frantically. He pointed at the door.

Kaelen leaned closer. He pointed at the sword on his back.

Tybalt stopped shaking his head. He nodded slowly. He took off his apron.

"He’s good," Red admitted. "Intimidation check passed."

Kaelen walked out, Tybalt trailing behind him, looking like he was marching to his execution.

They reached the alley.

"Hi," Tybalt squeaked, looking at us. He saw Lysandra in her armor. "Oh god. The police are here too. I didn’t do it! The yeast was expired, I swear!"

"Relax, Tybalt," I said, stepping forward. "We’re not here to arrest you. We’re here to hire you."

Tybalt looked at me. He squinted.

"Do I... know you?" he asked. "You look familiar."

"I’m Ren," I said. "We... met once. In a dream."

Tybalt stared at me. Then he looked at Kaelen. Then at Red.

"You guys are the ones causing all the explosions, aren’t you?"

"We prefer ’strategic demolitions’," Ria said.

"I want to go home," Tybalt whimpered.

"We need your delivery cart," I said. "And your uniform. And you."

"Why me?"

"Because," I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You’re the only one who can get us inside the Iron Hold without triggering the alarms. You’re the key, Tybalt."

Tybalt looked at us. He looked at his bakery. He looked at the Covenant patrol marching down the main street, harassing a fruit vendor.

He sighed deeply.

"Fine," he said. "But if I die, you have to tell my mom I was brave. And lie about it."

"Deal," I said.

We had the full party.

Tank. Paladin. Rogue. Strategist. And... Baker.

Now we just needed the Mage.

"To the volcano," I said.

"I hate volcanoes," Tybalt whispered. "They’re just angry mountains."

We moved out. The heist was on. And this time, we were stealing time itself.