Path of the Unmentioned: The Missing Piece-Chapter 57: No Turning Back [1]

Kyle slumped onto the sagging mattress in his rented room above the Rusty Nail tavern.

The place was a dump, the sheets smelled like old beer, the mattress springs poked his back, and he could hear every drunkard’s brawl from the bar below through the paper-thin walls.

But it was cheap, and more importantly, no one asked questions here.

After the fight with the Red Fangs, every muscle in his body protested.

He had gobbled down a questionable meat pie from a street vendor on the way back, the greasy kind that sat heavy in your stomach like a rock.

As he lay staring at the water-stained ceiling, he replayed the fight in his mind. Holding back had been harder than going all out.

Each strike had to be perfectly controlled - enough to disable, not kill. His arms trembled slightly from the effort of restraining his power.

A particularly loud crash from downstairs made him wince.

Tomorrow he would meet Garrick, the real prize. That sword was so close yet so far.

But he wasn’t stupid, the Vipers had nearly a hundred armed men.

Charging in swords blazing would be suicide, no matter how strong he was. He needed to be smart about this.

With a tired sigh, Kyle rolled onto his side, ignoring the springs digging into his ribs.

The muffled sounds of another bar fight faded as exhaustion finally pulled him into an uneasy sleep.

Tomorrow would bring its own problems. For now, he needed whatever rest he could get.

***

Morning came too quickly. The tavern’s watery oatmeal sat heavy in Kyle’s stomach as he made his way through Maplewood’s maze of alleys.

The usual stink of garbage seemed stronger today, or maybe he was just more aware of it after yesterday’s bloodshed.

The warehouse hideout’s guards nodded him through this time, a good sign. Inside, Rat was leaning against a crate, picking his teeth with a knife.

"Look who’s alive," Rat grinned. "Thought maybe you would skipped town after last night’s show."

Kyle snorted. "And miss all this luxury?" He gestured at the damp, filthy warehouse.

Jory emerged from the shadows, his massive arms crossed.

"Risha wants to see you. Now."

The office door creaked as Kyle entered.

Risha sat behind her battered metal desk, cleaning a wicked-looking dagger.

The morning light streaming through the barred windows made the scar on her face stand out even more.

"You are late," she said without looking up.

"Had to get breakfast. Fighting makes me hungry."

That got a smirk. She sheathed the dagger and finally met his eyes.

"Garrick’s impressed. Wants to meet you."

Kyle leaned against the wall. "So I’m in?"

Risha stood, her boots clicking against the concrete floor.

"Don’t get cocky. You proved you’re not completely useless. That’s all."

She jerked her head toward a reinforced door at the back.

"Come on. And don’t speak unless spoken to."

Kyle followed Risha through the reinforced door, his boots scuffing against the concrete floor.

The air inside was thick with the smell of expensive cigars and something sharper—magic, maybe.

Garrick Voss lounged on a chair that was way too fancy for a gang hideout, his polished boots propped up on an ornate table.

The walls were covered in weapons—guns, knives, even a few artifacts displayed like trophies.

And then Kyle saw it.

The sword hung on the far wall, its curved blade dull under the flickering lights. To anyone else, it would have looked like just another decoration.

But Kyle knew better.

Garrick studied him with cold, amused eyes.

"So you are Dain," he said, his voice smooth. Too smooth for a gang leader.

"Risha says you handled our little rat problem."

Kyle kept his face blank. "Just doing the job."

Garrick smirked, then gestured to the wall of weapons. "See anything you like?"

For a second, Kyle’s heart stuttered—had Garrick noticed him staring at the sword? Then he realized it was a test.

He forced himself to glance at the collection before pointing at a gaudy dagger with a jeweled hilt. "That one’s pretty."

Garrick burst out laughing.

"Wrong answer!" He stood, walking over to the weapons.

Kyle took the chance to size him up properly.

’Grade 2 Silver.’

That was surprising.

The intel from Gray Owls had said Grade 3. Either the information was outdated, or Garrick had been hiding his real strength.

Garrick pulled down a brutal-looking cleaver, its edge nicked from use.

"This" he said, "is what separates men from boys in Maplewood."

As he launched into some boastful story about the cleaver’s history, Kyle let his gaze drift back to the artifact sword.

’So close.’

But getting it wouldn’t be easy. Not with Garrick watching.

Not with Risha standing right behind him, her hand resting casually on the dagger at her belt.

Kyle exhaled slowly.

’Patience.’

***

Kyle had spent two days studying the patterns of the Viper hideout.

Garrick always left for his Monday meetings with Risha.

No Garrick, no Risha.

Just him and his ledger, off to settle accounts with their black-market suppliers. The perfect time to make his move.

Kyle leaned against the wall near the entrance, watching as the last of the guards wandered off, bored now that their boss was gone.

"Another thrilling Monday," one muttered, kicking at the dirt.

"Better than getting chewed out for breathing too loud" his partner replied.

Kyle smirked.

He slipped away, moving through the dim corridors toward Garrick’s office.

The sword was still there, mounted behind glass like some decorative prize.

No extra locks, no wards—just arrogance.

The hallway was empty.

Hark, the usual brute on door duty, had been sent to oversee a shipment.

Kyle had made sure of that, just a casual comment to Risha yesterday about needing muscle at the docks.

Now, it was just him and an unlocked door.

Kyle exhaled.

’This is it.’

Garrick was Grade 2 Silver. Risha was Grade 3 Silver.

Even with his blessings, Kyle couldn’t take them both head-on.

This was the perfect opportunity to steal the sword in absence of Garrick and Risha.

He reached for the lockpick in his sleeve—

The door creaked open before he could touch it.

Kyle froze.

Risha leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her blood-red eyes glinting in the dim light.

"Knew you would try something like this," she said, voice smooth as a blade sliding from its sheath.

Kyle’s pulse spiked.

’Shit.’

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Risha pushed off the door, stepping closer.

"Garrick left alone today. Figured that would be too tempting for you to resist."

Kyle forced a grin. "You caught me. Just wanted to admire the decor."

She snorted. "Cut the crap, Dain." Her fingers tapped the hilt of her dagger.

"What are you after?"

Kyle’s mind raced.

Fighting her here would bring the whole hideout down on him.

But running? That would burn his cover for good.

Risha tilted her head. "So? What’s your move?"

Kyle exhaled.

He didn’t want blood on his hands. But if it came down to it—

His fingers flexed.

Then he smiled.

"Guess I’m improvising."