Hitman With A Badass System

Michael and Gaya exchanged a knowing glance. The vendor's words were helpful, but they both knew they wouldn't get more without loosening his tongue with some gold.

"How much for that one?" Gaya asked, pointing towards the multicolored bird, its feathers a vibrant mix of reds, blues, and greens.

The vendor's eyes lit up, a predatory gleam in them.

"Ah, the Rainbow Finch," he announced, his voice taking on a reverential tone. "A rare beauty. For you, my lady… two thousand gold coins."

In the realm of the Gods, each deity's domain often had its own currency. Gold coins, while accepted in some places, weren't as universal as they were in the mortal realm. But Luxor was different. They accepted gold, no matter its origin, no matter which god's face was stamped on it. They'd just melt it down and repurpose it. Still, two thousand gold coins for a bird, no matter how exotic, was steep. But Michael had mountains of gold, thanks to his raid on Skyhall.

Gaya, however, didn't even blink.

"We'll take it," she said, her voice casual and dismissive. She flicked her wrist, and stacks of gold coins, unmarked and untraceable, materialized on the counter.

The vendor's grin widened, revealing teeth that were surprisingly white for someone who hawked birds for a living.

"Excellent choice, my lady," he purred, scooping up the coins, his fingers nimble and practiced.

"Anything else? Perhaps a Lumina bird? They change colors, you know. And they glow. Quite useful for setting the mood on one's honeymoon."

Michael chuckled. "We'll take one of those too," he said.

"And, if you could be so kind, perhaps you could point us in the direction of the Silver Citadel. We're looking for an invitation."

The Silver Citadel was the most logical location for Seraphene's data center. Heavily guarded, exclusive, and nestled in the heart of the city, where the wealthiest and most influential citizens resided. The kind of people who'd have access to the information Seraphene craved. It was obvious, really. A perfect hiding spot.

The vendor, already moving towards another cage containing a bird whose feathers shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow, explained.

"You can't just buy an invitation, my lord. The Silver Citadel… it's not a district, you see. It's a building. A fortress, more like. And there's only one way in. One way out."

He carefully retrieved the Lumina bird, its feathers shifting and changing colors as he moved, casting a mesmerizing display of light across the stall.

"The entrance is heavily guarded," he continued, placing the bird in a small, ornate cage.

"By Luxor's elite. You'd need to know someone. Someone with influence. Someone who resides there, or works there, to get you inside."

Gaya, who had been toying with the idea of infiltrating the Citadel by blending in, sneaking through a back alley, or maybe even posing as a delivery person, frowned. A single building, heavily guarded, with only one entrance? That complicated things a lot.

"And what if," she inquired, her voice laced with a casual curiosity that didn't quite mask the steel beneath, "someone was to just walk in? Without an invitation?"

The vendor chuckled, shaking his head. "They wouldn't get far, my lady. The guards, they're not ordinary soldiers. They're hand-picked, and trained. And they have ways of detecting intruders. Let's just say, it wouldn't be pleasant."

Michael and Gaya exchanged a look. They had assumed the Silver Citadel was a district, a neighborhood, with multiple entry points, back alleys, sewers maybe – weaknesses they could exploit. But a single building? A fortress? That was a whole different ball game. Getting past those guards, that single entrance… it would be difficult.

"Damn," Michael thought to himself.

But Michael thrived on challenges. The harder the target, the more satisfying the victory. And the more he learned about the Silver Citadel, the more it sounded like the perfect location for Seraphene's spy hub.

"Five thousand gold coins for this one," the vendor stated, his voice smooth and practiced, as he presented the Lumina bird's cage to Gaya.

Despite her annoyance at having to waste money on a glowing bird, Gaya maintained her facade. She smiled, a tight, forced smile, and produced another stack of gold coins, unmarked and untraceable, from her pouch. Even though she was loaded, a queen with a vault full of treasure, she still valued money. Five thousand for a bird was highway robbery.

"And is there anyone you could recommend," Michael inquired, his voice casual and unhurried, "who might be able to secure us an invitation to the Silver Citadel? For our honeymoon, of course."

The vendor, his eyes flickering for a moment, shrugged. "Afraid not, my lord," he replied, his smile faltering slightly. "Those who have access to the Citadel, they are reclusive, private, and wealthy." He paused, his gaze shifting to Michael and Gaya's human features.

"And even if I did know someone, well, let us just say the elves of the Silver Citadel are not particularly fond of outsiders, especially humans."

He tried to soften the blow, to temper his prejudice with a veneer of politeness. But Michael and Gaya could see it, the disdain in his eyes, the distrust of anything that was not elven. He was a businessman, yes, but he was also a racist prick.

"I see," Michael responded, his voice flat and unreadable. "Well, thank you for your time."

They had squeezed the merchant dry. He had given them everything he had. Now they needed to regroup, re-strategize. The Silver Citadel was a fortress but every fortress had a weakness and they just needed to find it.

As they stepped out of the bird vendor's stall, Gaya, with a theatrical sigh, opened the cages, releasing the Rainbow Finch and the Lumina bird. The elves nearby, accustomed to the eccentricities of their city's visitors, barely gave them a second glance. It was, after all, a rather mundane sight in the grand scheme of things.

Michael and Gaya continued their stroll through the city, the two empty cages tucked away in Michael's inventory. They soon came across a building that, even in this city of opulence, stood out. It was a tavern, of sorts, but unlike the rough, rowdy establishments they were used to, this one was different. The name, "Richmen Club," was emblazoned in gold lettering on a polished marble sign above the entrance.

Music, soft and melodic, drifted out from within, accompanied by the clinking of glasses and the murmur of conversation. It was an inviting sound, a stark contrast to the chaos they had left behind in the Verdant Sanctuary.

"Might as well check it out," Michael suggested, shrugging. "A tavern is as good a place as any to gather intel, and maybe get a drink."

Gaya grinned. "And maybe start a brawl?"

Michael chuckled. "Let us try to avoid that for now. We do not want to attract too much attention."

They pushed open the doors and stepped inside. The interior was surprisingly tasteful. A group of elves, their instruments gleaming under the soft light, played a lively tune in one corner. Three beautiful elven women, their movements fluid and graceful, belly-danced on a small stage, their hips swaying to the rhythm of the music. Round tables, draped in white cloth and adorned with flickering candles, were scattered throughout the room, most of them occupied by well-dressed patrons. Elven waitresses, their trays laden with drinks and food, navigated the crowded space with practiced ease.

And behind the bar, a sight that made Michael do a double-take: an orc. Tall, green-skinned, and surprisingly well-groomed. He was shaking a wooden cocktail shaker, his movements precise and deliberate, a stark contrast to the brutish nature usually associated with his kind.

A few of the elven patrons, noticing Michael and Gaya's entrance, glanced their way, their expressions curious but not hostile.

"Humans," one of them muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "Have not seen their kind in here before."

"They are probably lost," another elf chuckled, taking a sip from his wine glass. "Or slumming it, looking for cheaper drinks."

Ignoring the stares and whispers, Michael and Gaya made their way to the bar, where two empty stools sat invitingly. They climbed onto the stools, the worn leather creaking beneath their weight.

"Welcome to the Richmen Club," the orc bartender greeted, his voice surprisingly smooth and refined, despite the tusks that protruded from his lower jaw. He placed two wooden mugs before them, his gaze curious. "What will it be? We do not usually get humans in here."

"We are not drinkers," Michael clarified, glancing at Gaya, who nodded in agreement. "Just looking for information. Something non-alcoholic will do."

The orc raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Not drinkers, eh?" he remarked, his voice a low rumble. "That is unusual, especially for your kind." He paused, his gaze sweeping over them.

"But I think I have something you might like. They call it Elven Spring Wine. It is practically grape juice, if you ask me, but the elves seem to enjoy it."

"Sounds interesting," Michael responded, intrigued. "We will take two."

The orc nodded, turning to retrieve two wooden bottles from a shelf behind the bar. He poured the wine into their mugs, the liquid glowing with a faint, purple light.

"So," Michael began, leaning forward, his voice low and conspiratorial. "An orc, working as a bartender in an elven establishment. That is unusual, at least where we come from."

"The elves, they appreciate my skills," he explained, his grin revealing a set of surprisingly white teeth. "I make a mean cocktail, and I know how to keep a secret. They tolerate my race for that." The orc chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound.

"And the name?" Michael asked, gesturing towards the sign outside. "The Richmen Club?"

The orc shrugged. "It is ironic, see? Most of the patrons are nobles, and elves with too much money and not enough sense. They like to pretend they are better than everyone else. But money, it talks, does it not? Even here."

The orc slid the mugs filled with glowing green liquid towards them. Michael, his hand hovering over his drink, paused as the entrance doors swung open again. A hush fell over the tavern; the music faltered for a moment, the conversations dying down.

A young elven woman entered, her beauty striking even in this city of ethereal beings. Her movements were graceful and regal, her silver hair cascading down her back like a waterfall. She was flanked by a group of soldiers, their armor gleaming gold, their expressions stern and unyielding. Several of the elven patrons, their drinks momentarily forgotten, rose from their seats, bowing their heads in a gesture of respect, or perhaps fear.

The young woman's gaze, sharp and intelligent, swept across the room, taking in the scene before her. When her eyes landed on Michael, a flicker of surprise, perhaps curiosity, crossed her face. She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary.

Meeting her gaze, Michael felt a prickle of unease. He recognized that look. It was the look of someone who was used to getting what they wanted, someone who was accustomed to power and was not afraid to flaunt it.