The Poet's System
Chapter 48: Rarity Wanted

Chapter 48: Rarity Wanted

Little by little, Daylan regained his strength—but even from the day he first woke, he didn’t rest. He trained relentlessly until Astara had to force him to sleep.

Only a few days into Daylan’s supposed rest—which hardly deserved the name—he was finally ready to move. Their immediate goal was to visit the hideout Astara had acquired.

They had to scout the area, settle in if possible, and devise a way to lure the phantoms without attracting unwanted attention to the hideout.

Evening crept in slowly. With their masks on, Daylan and his comrades moved through the streets as if nothing were amiss. But there was a problem.

None of the carriages they hailed stopped. Passersby cast wary glances at them, all making an effort to keep their distance.

At first, they ignored the signs. But the deeper they ventured into the city, the more undeniable the tension became. It was as though they were the most hated or hunted people within the borders of the Honor City.

And that’s exactly what they were. Moments before reaching Spine Street, they found themselves suddenly encircled—over a dozen men closing in from every direction.

Daylan and the others froze in confusion as the men unsheathed their weapons. Behind them, women and elders yelled and cursed, their voices rising in fury—demanding the men end it, end them.

"Pretty sure we’re the bad guys here," Medora muttered, readying herself to strike the moment they attacked.

"Yeah, I guess," Daylan muttered as he turned to his left—only to freeze. A poster caught his eye, and on it were their faces.

"Guys, I think I know what’s going on. Let’s teleport to a place a bit isolated. We can’t attack these people."

"The eastern district. Near the stadium." Astara suggested.

Daylan and Medora turned to her and nodded in unison. Before the citizens could strike, the trio vanished into thin air. The crowd glanced around in confusion—one person teleporting was rare enough, but all three disappearing at once? That sent a chill through them.

"Do they all have teleportation abilities?"

It was the silent question on everyone’s mind as they stood frozen, bewildered and afraid.

The moment Daylan and the others reappeared near the stadium, they were honor guards patrolling the area. Daylan held the two by the collar and dragged them into an alley.

"We can’t be seen," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "I think Mother’s finally pulling political strings—but let’s get to the hideout first. We’ll talk there."

With deliberate steps, Astara signaled for them to follow. They weaved through shadows, evading the guards’ gaze as they crossed Spine Street and slipped into a lonely alleyway.

With measured steps, Astara signaled for them to follow. They slipped through the shadows, avoiding the guards’ watchful eyes as they crossed Spine Street and disappeared into a narrow, deserted alley.

The place was everything serenity was not.

Nestled close to the city wall and shunned by the rest, it was home to society’s misfits. It wasn’t just spiritually defiled—it was a graveyard for peace, shaped by the harsh neglect of those forced to live there.

As soon as the misfits laid eyes on them, they recoiled—some crawling backward in silent fear. It wasn’t like the townspeople’s reaction earlier. No, this was fear born of reverence and dread.

The presence of a Divine among them was enough to unsettle, and the elegance of their attire only confirmed it: these were people to be feared, not approached.

A trace of empathy crept into Daylan’s gaze as he watched them. Was this really how they’re treated... just for failing a trial? The thought clung to him, heavy and persistent. Had he failed his last trial, would this have been his fate too?

From the outside, the hideout Ael secured looked aged and unsettling—cobwebs clung to the corners, and a slick, grimy film coated the concrete. But once they stepped inside, the contrast was striking.

The interior, though vintage, felt warm and unexpectedly refined, as if the place held secrets far more elegant than its appearance let on.

It wasn’t exactly a place to marvel at, but it would do. They settled onto the red sofas positioned in the middle of the room. Daylan stretched, letting out a breath.

"Honestly, this might be perfect. With misfits roaming the area, I doubt the guards will bother coming around."

"What were you saying earlier?"

"Yeah... I’m pretty sure there’s a bounty on us." Daylan’s face hardened. "That’s why they attacked."

"There was a wanted poster. Our faces—clear as day. ’Dead or Alive.’ Fifty gold coins on our heads."

"Wow, the Phantoms must be filthy rich. But hold on—are we really worth less than 20 gold coins each?" Medora laughed, unable to hold it in.

Giselle had yet to take them seriously, dispatching only her weakest soldiers and acting as if they didn’t deserve her attention.

But they didn’t mind. Underestimation was a weapon in itself—one they knew how to use.

"They’re using Enzo’s death to frame us. That’s probably how they stirred up the people’s hatred and got the guards involved."

"Frame?" Astara asked. "But we did it."

"Sure, but let’s be clear—not us as the Fools. Daylan killed Enzo, not Poet."

What started as a tense conversation slowly turned light and humorous. Before they realized it, time was quietly slipping past them.

Still, going home wasn’t an option—not with their masks. The only time they could move through the streets with any freedom was at night. More importantly, their mission was set to begin later that evening, following Medora’s lead.

They spent the remaining hours before midnight wandering through the house and talking about the hideout Medora had spotted.

A few miles from the main base she’d noticed earlier, there was an underground bunker.

She had seen Phantoms coming and going, hauling boxes and loading them into a wagon. From the way they moved, she suspected the crates held either potions or weapons.

She tried to get closer for a better look, but came dangerously close to being spotted. In a rush, she teleported away—only to end up in another Phantom-patrolled area. She had to teleport again, and the repeated jumps were what triggered Daylan’s exhaustion and eventual collapse that day.

Given it was only a bunker, they were probably collecting either a major asset or something minor—assuming the crates held only potions. Still, even their weakest couldn’t be dismissed. Not when Albert’s potions were known to grant supernatural abilities.

Before long, dawn broke. They slipped on their masks and stepped outside, ready to face the Phantoms. The streets were still cloaked in darkness, lit only by dim streetlights. In that low light, Daylan held the advantage.

A confident smile played on his lips, his pride unwavering as he and Medora flanked Astara. Even if he were to face the Creative himself, he was certain he could hold his ground.

When they neared the bunker, they saw three Phantoms patrolling the entrance, their eyes constantly scanning the area as they moved back and forth, alert and ready.

Just as they were about to make a move, two figures emerged from the bunker. Astara and Medora instinctively took cover, but Daylan didn’t budge. He knew he was invisible to their eyes.

There was something familiar about them, though the memory escaped him at first.

Then it clicked—one had been at his trial, the man who warned him not to come back if he failed. The other had been with Enzo during his fight with Enyo at the tournament.

His heart pounded as he watched them board the carriage. It wasn’t fear of the men themselves—it was the chilling truth that his mother had been keeping watch over him this entire time. The thought made his blood run cold. What kind of woman was she?

Daylan watched as their carriage rolled away.

"There’s only one person inside the bunker that I can sense," Astara whispered. "And I have a feeling they’re the only one we need."

Without glancing at the others, he became one with the shadows, and before the Phantoms even realized, their throats were slit—so fast and silent that none of them could fight back.

They moved cautiously inside, but just at the entrance, a powerful presence loomed over them, forcing them to pause.

"This person is strong," Medora said, her eyes widened.

"Yes, but not as the creature."

The person began approaching them. Its steps were quiet and gentle, but even so, Astara was able to hear them.

Before them stood something caught between man and beast—a hellhound-like figure. But unlike Enzo or the other creature they had faced, this one retained more of its human form, making it even more unsettling.

It was draped in a black cloak like the other Phantoms, but its hood was silver, setting it apart from the rest.

The creature walked toward them with a slow, casual gait—completely unconcerned. "What can I get you?" it asked as if they’d just entered a shop.

They wore confused expressions, wondering how it could speak—and more so, why it would ask such casual questions while clearly seeing them armed.

Regardless, Daylan refused to waste the chance or risk alerting more Phantoms. He quickly summoned a splash of ink from his orb and doused the creature. In the blink of an eye, it vanished—teleported inside the orb.

They didn’t hesitate for a second before fleeing the scene.

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