Ximen Daguanren returned to their base, an abandoned warehouse on the edge of Treasure Island's Dock District, thick with the smell of freshwater fish.
He pushed open the creaking wooden door. Even late at night, a dozen or so people were still sitting or standing inside-the fellow players who had joined the Minisia Restoration Army with him.
Some were cleaning and maintaining their guns, while others were mixing black powder themselves in the crude surroundings, utterly unafraid of an accidental explosion.
"Ximen's back."
A tall, thin player spotted him first and called out quietly.
"How did it go?"
The others stopped what they were doing and turned questioning eyes toward Ximen.
Ximen Daguanren closed the door behind him, shutting out the noise from the docks, then walked over to several wooden crates stacked in the warehouse's central clearing. He dropped onto one and sighed heavily.
"Well? Did you see Sir Dolong? What did he say?"
Another player approached, a burly man with a virtual scar on his face. He was still carrying a heavy flintlock with an obviously sawed-off barrel.
Ximen Daguanren rubbed between his brows, his face full of exhaustion and resignation.
"I did. Things aren't looking good."
He recounted his conversation with Sir Dolong and his own deductions to everyone, leaving nothing out.
When they heard Sir Dolong's words about "staying alive to be useful," and the obviously suicidal assassination operation led by Count Lawrence, a brief silence settled over the warehouse.
"Fuck!"
The burly player was the first to curse, slamming a fist into a nearby wooden crate with a dull thud.
"Why do these fucking NPCs have to make everything so complicated? Can't they keep it simple?"
"What we're trying to do isn't simple to begin with. Running into trouble is only natural."
The tall, thin