CHAPTER 176: THE PHANTOM THIEF [2]

The hall plunged into chaos.

Servants dropped their trays, glasses shattered against marble floors, and nobles—draped in silk and jewels—scrambled like frightened pigeons. The pristine mask of aristocratic grace evaporated in seconds.

Amelia didn’t flinch.

She stood perfectly still, her glass still in hand, her gaze fixed on the man who had stolen every eye in the room.

The Phantom Thief.

His dramatic entrance was everything the stories claimed—loud, flamboyant, impossible to ignore. He perched atop the auctioneer’s stage with his cloak swirling, bowing low as though mocking the nobility who’d paid fortunes just to breathe the same air as one another.

Alice, meanwhile, had stiffened beside her, not from fear.

"...Why he’s here?," Alice whispered, while at the same her hands reaching for her sword.

Amelia’s heart tightened at the sound.

Alice’s wide, shining eyes weren’t on her. They were fixed on him.

That thief, that self-proclaimed phantom.

Amelia swallowed the bitter taste that rose in her throat. Of course. Even in chaos, Alice looks at someone else. Always someone else.

"Don’t worry." Amelia’s voice was colder than she intended as she gently but firmly pulled Alice behind her. "Phantoms vanish as quickly as they appear."

On stage, the man flourished a long, mocking bow. "Ladies and gentlemen! I could not resist. How could I, when the richest vultures in the North gather in one gilded cage?"

The nobles shrieked, silks rustling like frightened birds. Guards surged forward with drawn blades, only to be thrown aside as if they were children playing soldier.

"Do Westerners have no fear?!" one of the lords bellowed. "Is our security a joke to you?"

Doran only grinned, flashing white teeth under the glow of the chandeliers. He had the entire hall dancing to his tune.

"Ah, so you’re that Aden, huh?" he called out lazily, eyes sliding to the black-armored mercenary standing firm at the edge of the stage.

– Click, click, click.

Behind Aden, a line of the nobles’ private soldiers marched into position, weapons raised.

Doran chuckled. "Good spirit. Relying on numbers, are we? Typical."

As expected of a noble-led auction, the response was swift. But—

The first man who charged forward barely made it two steps before collapsing into a billow of gas. Another tripped over a near-invisible wire, setting off a chain of clattering flashes and smoke.

"Aaah!"

"Watch your feet! There are mines—!"

Soldiers fell one after another, coughing, stumbling, blinded by the traps hidden in plain sight.

Sleeping gas. Flashbangs. Smoke grenades. All nonlethal, but humiliatingly effective.

Doran whistled, hands on his hips like an artist admiring his work. "Not bad, hm? You made it this far without killing yourselves."

"Coward!" Aden snarled, fist tightening at his side.

"Coward? My, my. I didn’t set a single lethal trap. You should be thanking me. Still, I suppose rookies like you need practice."

– Bang!

Another explosion rocked the stage. Shards of wood and stone sprayed outward, drawing screams from both nobles and commoners.

"A bomb—it exploded right next to us!"

"Move aside! Do you know who I am?!"

"Why should I care? Get out of the way!"

The auction hall descended into chaos. Nobles scrambled for the exits, shoving servants and even family aside. Soldiers tried to regroup, but the constant smoke and ringing detonations shredded any order they had left.

Amelia tugged on Alice’s arm. "We need to get out of here."

But Alice didn’t move. She sat still, her eyes fixed not on the explosions, but on the thief himself.

"...Alice?" Amelia whispered, unnerved.

Alice’s gaze sharpened. "This is strange."

Her words were calm, almost too calm against the backdrop of shrieks and crumbling dignity around them.

"All the auction items have been stolen? Impossible." She shook her head slightly. "Each piece is transported under the eyes of dozens of guards. For them to vanish in minutes without anyone noticing..."

Her lips pressed thin.

"...It’s a trap."

Amelia blinked, following her friend’s stare to the stage.

There he was—Doran, laughing wildly, arms spread as though he stood in a theater rather than a battlefield.

"Hahaha! Who dares challenge me, the Phantom Thief? This so-called mercenary Aden is no match!"

Alice’s stomach twisted. The show, the bombs, the taunts—none of it was about fighting.

It was all a diversion.

A gaudy performance to capture every eye in the hall.

And it was working.

Amelia’s pulse hammered. She could feel Alice’s focus narrowing, her sharp eyes glinting as though she had peeled away the thief’s mask and glimpsed the truth beneath.

That sharpness—it was one of the things Amelia admired most.

"...You’re right," Amelia forced out, her tone steady even as the bitterness curled in her chest. "This chaos—it’s too clean. Too precise."

On stage, Doran spread his arms, reveling in the spectacle. His cloak flared behind him, his laughter ringing louder than the nobles’ screams. "Marvelous, isn’t it? A hall of treasures, and yet the greatest treasure is your panic. Priceless! Simply priceless!"

Aden shoved forward through smoke and falling plaster, fury etched across his features. "Enough tricks! Face me, thief!"

But Doran barely spared him a glance, his hat tipping low. "Ah, the mercenary with a spine. You’d make a fine rival—if only I had time tonight." His grin widened. "Alas, I don’t. For while you all play my little game..."

He snapped his fingers.

The chandelier above gave a harsh metallic groan. Not falling—Amelia realized—but lowering, slowly, deliberately. Its jeweled arms glittered as it descended, dazzling the terrified crowd into staring upward.

"...someone else is already walking out the back door with your beloved treasures."

Alice’s hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, her knuckles turning pale beneath her gloves. Her gaze was sharp, unwavering.

"An accomplice," she said firmly.

Amelia immediately stepped closer, lowering her voice to be heard over the panicked chaos filling the hall. "The guards and mercenaries will deal with it. Our priority is to leave with the others. Look—many of the nobles are already moving toward the exits."

But Alice didn’t move. Her jaw was set, her eyes narrowing with quiet resolve. "No. I’m going the other way. You go ahead."

Before Amelia could protest, Alice was already on her feet, drawing her sword in one swift motion.

The steel gleamed under the flickering chandelier light, a stark reminder that this wasn’t just some spoiled noble—this was the duchess, a protector of her people.

"Wait—Alice!"

Amelia reached out, but her hand closed around empty air.

Alice had already pieced it together. The Phantom Thief’s appearance wasn’t random. The noise, the chaos—it was all a distraction. The true target wasn’t the nobles themselves, but the treasures stored away behind the stage.

’I refuse to stand by and do nothing,’ Alice thought, her heartbeat steady despite the turmoil around her.

The Phantom Thief might have been a legend to most—an untouchable shadow who slipped past walls and guards alike—but at the end of the day, he was still a criminal. And criminals had to be stopped.

There was no honor in retreating when the safety of her lord’s subjects was at risk.

With swift steps, Alice cut through the crowd, using the chaos as cover as she moved against the flow of panicked nobles. Every stride carried her closer to the heart of the auction house.

She wasn’t chasing applause, nor recognition.

This was her duty—her burden.

As duchess, as patron, and as protector.

And so, with her sword gleaming and her path set, Alice advanced toward the storeroom where the true battle waited.