I am just an NPC ,but I rewrite the story-Chapter 45 - []

"Just another day in the office," I had whispered to the closed shutters.

Twelve hours later, "the office" smelled intensely of yeast and panicked sweat.

"Ren, stop eating the inventory!" Tybalt slapped my hand away from a tray of freshly glazed cinnamon rolls. He was wearing his apron like a suit of armor, his face dusted with flour war paint. "Those are for the paying customers. We have a line. A literal line! Outside the door!"

"I’m quality control," I mumbled, licking sticky sugar off my thumb. "And I need the calories. We have a heist tonight."

"We have a lunch rush now," Tybalt countered, shoving a basket of baguettes into my arms. "Table 4 needs bread. And smile. You look like you’re plotting a murder."

"I am plotting a burglary," I corrected, but I took the basket.

The front parlor of our "haunted" manor had transformed. The sunlight streaming through the cleaned windows hit the polished oak tables, illuminating a room buzzing with life. The citizens of Silver-Port, it turned out, were not afraid of ghosts if the pastries were good enough.

I navigated the crowded room. Sailors, merchants, and even a few minor nobles were cramming their faces with Tybalt’s baking. It was a bizarre sight: a hardened mercenary Guild running a café.

I dropped the bread at Table 4—a group of off-duty dockworkers—and retreated to the kitchen.

Kaelen was there, aggressively drying dishes. He handled the fragile porcelain plates with the same terrifying precision he used to wield his claymore.

"This is ridiculous," Kaelen muttered, placing a teacup on the rack. "I am the Grey Knight. I wield the power of the Abyss. And I am scrubbing dried jam off a spoon."

"It’s good cover," Lysandra said. She was sitting at the kitchen island, polishing her gauntlets. She wasn’t helping with the dishes ("I cook, I don’t clean," she had declared, though I suspected she just didn’t want to break anything). "The City Guard came by earlier. They bought a dozen scones. They didn’t even ask for our permits."

"Because they think we’re harmless," Red said, dropping from the ceiling hatch. She landed silently on the prep table, snagging an apple. "I did a perimeter check. The rumors are spreading. People think ’Eclipse’ is just a quirky name for a bakery. They don’t know about the S-Rank license yet."

"Good," I said, leaning against the counter. "Let them think we’re bakers. It makes tonight easier."

I pulled out the dossier the Weaver had given me—not the actual ledger, but the intel on where the ledger was kept.

"Councilor Vance’s estate," I said, spreading the map on the flour-dusted table. "Estate #12, High Quarter. It’s a fortress."

"Walls?" Kaelen asked, drying his hands on a rag.

"Twelve feet high, topped with iron spikes," I said. "Magic sensors on the gates. Standard security for a corrupt politician. But the Weaver said the real problem isn’t the guards. It’s the ’Exotics’."

"Monsters," Cian sighed from the corner, where he was trying to enchant a broom to sweep by itself (it was currently just spinning in circles). "Why do rich people always collect dangerous fauna? Why can’t they collect stamps?"

"Because stamps don’t eat intruders," Red said. "What kind of monsters are we talking about, Ren? You’re the walking encyclopedia."

"Councilor Vance is a smuggler," I recalled from the lore of Volume 2. "He deals in creatures from the Southern Jungles. Things that are illegal to own because they are highly venomous or inherently aggressive."

I tapped the map.

"The garden is the first line of defense. In the book, he keeps Night-Stalkers there."

"Night-Stalkers?" Tybalt asked, pausing in his kneading. "They sound friendly."

"They’re panthers with chameleon scales and tentacles on their backs," I said. "They turn invisible in shadows. And they hunt in packs."

"Invisible cats," Kaelen nodded. "Great. I love invisible cats."

"Inside the house," I continued, "the ledger is in his private study on the second floor. The study is guarded by a Gargoyle. Not a stone construct like in the dungeon—a real, biological Gargoyle. Leather skin, stone claws, very bad attitude."

"And the Vault itself?" Red asked.

"Magic lock," I said. "That’s your department. But there’s a catch. The key isn’t a physical key. It’s a biometric scanner. It reads mana signatures."

"So we need Vance’s hand?" Lysandra asked, frowning. "That... complicates things. We cannot dismember a Councilor."

"We don’t need his hand," I said. "We need his signature. Cian, can you replicate a mana signature if you’re close enough to the source?"

Cian pushed his glasses up. "Theoretically. If I have a sample of his residual magic—like from a wand he uses, or a ring—I can cast a Mimicry spell on Red’s hand. It would fool a scanner for about thirty seconds."

"Okay," I said. "So the plan is: Infiltrate the garden, don’t get eaten by invisible cats. Enter the house, neutralize the Gargoyle silently. Find a personal item of Vance’s to copy his signature. Open the safe. Steal the Black Ledger. Get out before the vote tomorrow morning."

"And try not to start a war," Lysandra added.

"That too."

"What about me?" Tybalt asked. "Do I have to come? I have a sourdough starter that needs attention."

"You’re the getaway driver," I said. "We park the wagon two streets over. If things go loud, we need a fast exit."

"Fine," Tybalt sighed. "But if the sourdough dies, it’s on your conscience."

Night fell over Silver-Port. The fog rolled in from the harbor, thick and smelling of salt, blanketing the High Quarter in a damp haze. It was perfect weather for a heist.

We left the bakery in the hands of the automated broom (which Cian had finally fixed) and slipped out the back gate.

We wore our "work clothes." Dark leathers, cloaks, and muffled boots. I checked my belt. Rusty knife: check. Bag of sand (for throwing): check. ID Card: check.

We reached Estate #12. It was a sprawling villa surrounded by the high walls I had described.

"Boost me," Red whispered.

Kaelen laced his fingers together. Red stepped into his hands, and he launched her upward. She caught the top of the wall, avoiding the spikes, and pulled herself up. She peeked over, scanned the garden, and dropped a rope ladder down. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

"Clear," she signaled. "But I hear breathing."

We climbed up.

The garden was a jungle. Exotic plants with massive leaves blocked sightlines. The air was humid, heated by magical lamps.

"Stay close," I whispered. "Cian, cast Detect Life. Low power. Don’t trigger the wards."

Cian nodded, tracing a rune in the air. His eyes glowed faintly blue.

"Three signatures," Cian whispered, pointing into the dense foliage. "Big. Moving fast. They’re circling us."

"Night-Stalkers," I murmured. "They know we’re here. They’re hunting."

"Can I kill them?" Kaelen asked, his hand on his sword hilt.

"No blood," I said. "Blood smells. It’ll attract the others. We need to incapacitate them."

"Sleep spell?" Lysandra suggested.

"Their scales reflect magic," Cian said. "Direct spells won’t work."

"Then we use biology," I said. "Night-Stalkers are sensitive to high-pitched sounds. Their ears are huge for echolocation."

I looked at Kaelen. "Do you still have that whistle? The one we used to call the horses?"

"The dog whistle?" Kaelen fished a small silver whistle from his pocket. "Yeah."

"Blow it," I said. "Hard."

Kaelen put the whistle to his lips and blew.

To us, it was silent.

To the Night-Stalkers, it must have sounded like a scream.

From the bushes to our left, a massive shape erupted, thrashing wildly. The camouflage flickered and failed, revealing a sleek, black beast with six legs and tentacles sprouting from its shoulders. It was clawing at its ears, disoriented.

Two more appeared on the right, stumbling and hissing.

"Now!" I ordered. "Knock them out!"

Kaelen moved. He didn’t draw his sword. He used the scabbard. He slammed the heavy metal sheath onto the head of the first beast.

THWACK.

The Night-Stalker collapsed, twitching.

Lysandra engaged the second one. She used her shield, bashing it in the nose. The beast reared back, and she swept its legs. It hit the ground, and she delivered a precise punch to its temple with her gauntlet. Out cold.

The third one lunged at Cian.

"Eep!" Cian squeaked, holding up his scroll.

Red dropped from a tree branch above. She landed on the beast’s back. She didn’t stab it. She grabbed a pressure point behind its neck—something she must have learned in the Rogue skill tree—and squeezed.

The beast went limp instantly.

"Nice kitty," Red whispered, patting its head.

"Let’s move," I said. "Before they wake up with a headache."

We reached the main house. The windows were locked, but Red picked a latch on the terrace door in three seconds flat.

We slipped inside. The house was opulent. Marble floors, velvet drapes, and statues that looked expensive enough to feed a village for a year.

"Upstairs," I signaled.

We crept up the grand staircase. The house was quiet, but I knew Councilor Vance was home. The lights were on in the hallway.

We reached the double doors of the Study.

"The Gargoyle is inside," I whispered. "It sits on the bookshelf. It looks like a statue until you touch the safe."

"How do we handle it?" Kaelen asked.

"We don’t touch the safe until it’s dealt with," I said. "Lysandra, you have the highest Charisma. Or at least, the most authority."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Walk in there," I said. "Distract it. Gargoyles are bound by logic puzzles. They love riddles."

"I hate riddles," Lysandra muttered. But she nodded.

She pushed the door open and stepped in.

The study was lined with books. In the corner sat a massive desk. And perched on top of a bookshelf, staring unblinkingly at the door, was the Gargoyle.

It was ugly. Leather wings, stone skin, and eyes that glowed yellow.

It hissed as Lysandra entered.

"Intruder," the Gargoyle rasped, its voice like grinding stones. "Identify."

"I am a guest," Lysandra said, standing tall. "I seek knowledge."

The Gargoyle cocked its head. "Knowledge has a price. Answer me this, intruder. I have no voice, but I tell stories. I have no leaves, but I have a spine. What am I?"

"A book," Lysandra said instantly.

The Gargoyle blinked. "Correct. Second riddle. I fly without wings. I cry without eyes. Darkness follows me. What am I?"

Lysandra hesitated. "A cloud?"

"Correct," the Gargoyle growled, looking disappointed. "Third riddle. If you fail this, I eat your heart."

We tensed in the hallway.

"I am always hungry, I must always be fed. The finger I lick will soon turn red. What am I?"

Lysandra frowned. She looked back at the door, panic in her eyes.

I mouthed the answer. Fire.

"Fire," Lysandra said confidently.

The Gargoyle froze. It looked frustrated.

"Correct," it grumbled. "You may pass. Do not touch the cheese."

It turned back into stone, entering sleep mode.

"Cheese?" Lysandra whispered, confused.

We slipped into the room.

"Good job," I whispered. "Now, find the signature."

We scanned the room. The safe was behind a painting of Vance himself (narcissist).

"Here," Red said, holding up a quill from the desk. "He chewed on the end. Saliva has mana residue."

"Gross," Cian said, taking the quill. "But effective."

He held the quill over Red’s hand. He chanted softly, tracing a rune.

Red’s hand glowed with a faint, borrowed light.

"You have thirty seconds," Cian said.

Red ran to the safe. She moved the painting aside. There was a handprint scanner on the steel door.

She pressed her glowing hand against it.

Beep. Access Granted.

The safe clicked open.

Red reached in. "Gold... jewels... blackmail letters... ah, here we go."

She pulled out a thick, black leather book. The Black Ledger.

"Got it," she said.

"Let’s go," I said. "Before the Gargoyle realizes we’re not here for the cheese."

We turned to leave.

But as we reached the door, we heard voices in the hallway.

"I’m telling you, the vote is secured," a voice said. It was oily and smug. Councilor Vance.

"It better be," a second voice replied. A voice I recognized. Deep, cold, and fanatic.

Inquisitor Marek.

They were walking toward the study.

"Hide!" I hissed.

There was nowhere to go. The windows were barred. The only exit was the door they were approaching.

"Curtains," Kaelen whispered.

We dove behind the heavy velvet curtains covering the balcony doors. It was a tight squeeze. I was pressed against Lysandra, who smelled of lavender and fear sweat.

The door opened.

"The registration act will pass," Vance was saying, walking into the room. "And then we can begin the purge. Silver-Port will be under Covenant law by the weekend."

"Good," Marek said. "The Emperor is impatient. He wants the coastline secured."

Emperor Valen. It still sounded wrong.

"A toast," Vance said. "To the New Order."

We heard the clink of glasses.

"Ren," Lysandra whispered in my ear, barely audible. "My nose itches."

"Don’t," I mouthed.

"It really itches."

"Hold it."

Vance walked toward the safe. "I have the updated list of dissenters in the ledger. I should give it to you now."

He moved the painting.

He stared at the open safe.

He stared at the empty spot where the ledger had been.

"It’s gone," Vance whispered.

"What?" Marek snapped.

"The Ledger! It’s gone!" Vance turned, panic rising in his voice. "Gargoyle! Wake up! Who was here?"

The Gargoyle animated. "A guest," it rasped. "She answered the riddles."

"A guest?" Marek drew his sword. "Search the room!"

Marek walked toward the curtains.

I looked at Kaelen. He was ready. His hand was on the hilt of his black sword.

Marek reached for the velvet fabric.

"Wait," Vance said. "Look."

Marek stopped. He looked at the floor.

There was a muddy boot print on the rug.

"Mud," Vance said. "From the garden."

Marek leaned down. He touched the mud.

"Fresh," he said.

He looked at the curtains.

"Come out," Marek said, his voice lethal. "Or I burn the room down."

I sighed.

"Well," I whispered to the team. "We tried the quiet way."

I ripped the curtains open.

"Surprise!" I shouted.

And then I threw the bag of sand in Marek’s face.

"Pocket sand!"

Marek roared, clawing at his eyes.

"Go! Go! Go!" I yelled.

We burst onto the balcony. We didn’t stop. We jumped over the railing into the garden below.

"Get them!" Vance screamed from the window. "Release the Wyverns!"

"Wyverns?" Red yelled mid-air. "You said panthers!"

"He has a collection!" I yelled back.

We hit the ground running. Behind us, the mansion erupted in alarms.

And from the roof of the estate, two massive, leathery shapes took flight, screeching into the night sky.

"Tybalt better have the wagon running!" Kaelen shouted, drawing his sword as we sprinted for the wall.

"If we survive this," Cian panted, "I’m raising the price of my potions!"

We vaulted the wall just as a jet of fire scorched the ivy where we had been standing.

The heist was successful. We had the Ledger.

But now we had to deliver it. And half the city was about to wake up.

[Narrative Objective: Deliver the Ledger to the Council Leader.]

[Obstacle: Wyverns. And Inquisitors. And probably Gondar.]

"Just another Tuesday," I muttered, sprinting down the cobblestones. "Just another Tuesday."