9. The Thread Reaver

  Dante Rivenfall had been a Thread Reaver for the past ten years. Ever since he turned sixteen, actually.

  He couldn’t deny it – the job was as shady as it gets. Reaching into a stranger’s mind, ripping away something intangible yet vital…it was nasty work, to say the least.

  But it paid too damn well for him to care.

  Among all the criminal trades in the kingdom – hell, in all of Terra – Thread Reaving stood at the top. Because in a world where only one in five could use magic, the remaining eighty percent refused to sit quietly and accept it.

  No.

  They wanted a taste.

  They wanted to steal someone else’s magic and use it as their own.

  And that’s where people like Dante came in.

  Clients offered piles of gold, desperate to experience even a fraction of magic – even if they knew it wouldn’t last.

  But that was the best part.

  Because once someone tasted magic, they could never go back.

  They’d crave it, needing more and more, returning to Thread Reavers like addicts chasing their next high.

  Dante was more than happy to oblige.

  But with demand for high level Cognition Threads constantly rising, he had to make sure supply could keep up.

  And that meant one thing.

  He needed to Reave.

  And that was exactly why Dante was here tonight – at the Veilborne Gala, and extravagant masquerade ball hosted by House Valciano, one of the most influential noble houses in Stulan.

  A gathering of high-profile aristocrats, hiding behind masks, indulging in secrets, politics, and sin.

  Among them was Lord Lucien D’Arveau – his target.

  Lucien was a low ranking noble all things considered, but his devastating good looks made up for what his name lacked in power. He had built his influence carefully, climbing his way through Stulan’s political web not with alliances, but with charm, and…a tiny bit of magic.

  You see, Lucien D’Arveau was secretly a mage.

  And Dante’s informant, Sticker – awful name, but effective man – had assured him that Lucien possessed a Level 4 Cognition Thread in Persuasion Magic.

  That was valuable.

  And Sticker was many things, but his information was never wrong.

  Most of Dante’s clients requested lower-level Cognition Threads – anything below Level 3.

  Those were easy to get.

  Easy meant cheap.

  And he already had plenty in stock, enough to hold him over for the next year without needing to replenish.

  But the higher-level Threads – the ones that required exceptional cognition and deep world understanding – those were where the real gold was.

  And came with significant risk.

  But it paid too damn well for Dante to care.

  The Gala was held in House Valciano’s estate. It was located in the center of Dalina, Stulan's capital, and the closest estate to the Royal Palace of Stulan.

  Their Grand Atrium was prepared for the ball, transformed overnight. With a high vaulted ceiling, glowing with extravagant chandeliers, polished marble floors and simple, yet beautiful, ivory-white walls.

  A grand staircase split the ballroom into two levels. The upper one reserved for private meetings or conversations, while the lower one remained alive with music, dance, and small talk.

  On both sides of the staircase were grand corridors leading inside the estate.

  A quartet of liovas played on an elevated stage in the center, their strings sending rich and piercing harmonies across the ballroom. Accompanying them were the lorrettes, with their many taut strings plucked by trained fingers to produce sounds that were soothing and relaxing.

  Outside, just through the main doors, was a beautiful, pastoral garden that stretched along the eastern wing of the estate.

  There were almost a hundred guests here – not all were nobles.

  And yet, Dante came dressed regardless.

  He wore a simple, yet elegant robe, tailored well enough to pass as a nobleman’s attire but not extravagant enough to invite unwanted curiosity.

  After all, he already had enough reasons to stand out.

  Dante was extremely tall. And paired with his broad shoulders, it was hard to miss his presence.

  That’s why he needed to take precautions - his suit was black, and his normally vivid red hair was dyed in a matching color for the evening.

  And his striking yellow eyes? Hidden behind a pair of dark green contacts.

  By all appearances, he was just another rich snob among many. And that was exactly what he wanted.

  He wore a white mask with a golden outline, covering the upper half of his face – as per the masquerade’s requirements.

  The masks themselves made things a bit trickier for his job, but Dante knew he’d manage. He had studied D’Arveau enough to recognize him by his jawline alone.

  Dante’s gaze swept across the ballroom, until he found him in the far corner.

  The low-ranking noble was deep in conversation with Lord Cassian Moreau, the unassuming but powerful head of Stulan’s ink and parchment industry.

  To most, Moreau’s trade seemed insignificant, just another merchant-turned-Lord profiting from books, scrolls, and bureaucratic paperwork.

  But Lucien D’Avreau was smarter than most.

  He understood the power of knowledge and its potential as a currency.

  And who controlled the production and distribution of knowledge in the kingdom? Cassian Moreau.

  His ink ran through every royal decree, every treaty, every military correspondence, every scroll, every book. If he ever wanted to cripple a government body, all he had to do was tighten his control over supply chains or sell exclusive access to those who could pay. The King surely wouldn’t care.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  A sleeper powerhouse, hidden beneath ink and wax seals.

  And Lucien had noticed.

  Additionally, clinging to Lucien’s arm, looking utterly smitten, was Lady Evelyne Varessant, heiress to House Varessant, a noble family that controlled Stulan’s vast network of textile production.

  Fashion, military uniforms, merchant export, ceremonial robes – even the royal family’s – Varessant fabrics draped the backs of most big cities citizens.

  If D’Avreau was working his way into Moreau’s world of knowledge distribution, then Evelyn’s family controlled perception itself.

  A smart match.

  Dante smirked, impressed by his target’s mind.

  He adjusted his posture, slipping into movements of a nobleman, and made his way toward them.

  Along the way, a few guests stopped him, mistaking him for someone else.

  He exchanged quick pleasantries, careful to remain vague, before excusing himself and drawing closer to his target.

  But then, a thin blonde woman suddenly stumbled into him, muttering a quick, curt, “apologies,” before slipping past him.

  He knew who that voice belonged to immediately.

  And then, he could tell – his wrist felt lighter.

  In a fluid motion, he caught the woman’s arm, pulling her back before she could disappear into the crowd.

  And – surprise, surprise – there, in her delicate fingers, was his golden watch.

  “Aw, aw – damn, that hurts!” The woman winced, twisting slightly in his grip.

  He definitely knew who that voice belonged to.

  “Celine, what the hell are you doing here?”

  Her eyes widened in recognition, but she quickly recovered, tilting her head with a smirk.

  “Dante?” She shook her head, clicking her tongue as she patted his broad shoulders with her free hand. “I should’ve guessed it was you. Really, who else in Stulan could look like a walking brick wall in noble’s clothing?”

  “You thought I was Lord Veyrand.” Dante said dryly.

  Celine grinned. “I totally thought you were Lord Veyrand.” She released a soft laugh, shaking her head.

  Dante snatched his watch back from her grasp, tucking it away into his pocket. “What are you even doing here? Stealing from Valciano? Are you that desperate?”

  Celine shrugged, unbothered. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  Before he could respond, she looped her arm through his, the motion so smooth and practiced that, to an outsider, they looked like a couple enjoying the masquerade together.

  She scanned the ballroom, her eyes practically twinkling with mischief. “Say, Dante, which of these snobby bastards are you planning to Reave from today?”

  Dante shook her off immediately, checking his pockets just in case she had taken anything else. “None of your damn business.”

  She sighed dramatically.

  “You better get out of here.” He warned, voice low. “You’re way out of your league here, and I’m telling you this as a friendly advice.”

  Celine’s eyes widened, a teasing smirk dancing on her lips. “For it to be ‘friendly advice’, we’d first have to be friends, which we…aren’t.” She rolled her eyes, turning away without hesitation. “Not even close.”

  “At least don’t do anything stupid while I’m here. Don’t ruin my night.” Dante added.

  She ignored his words.

  With a lazy wave over her shoulder, Celine stepped into the shifting crowd. “Later, Dante.”

  But before she disappeared, she winked at him. “By the way, you’re way hotter with your red hair.”

  Dante exhaled sharply, watching her retreating figure, her swaying hips. His jaw tightened as old memories surfaced.

  ‘A fling. Nothing more.’ He reminded himself. A tangled mess of bad decisions and toxicity, one he had no intention of revisiting.

  He pushed the thoughts aside.

  There was work to do.

  He eyes swept the Atrium as he caught Lucien moving inside the corridor next to the staircase, leaving Lady Varessant waiting behind.

  ‘He likely went into the washroom.’ Dante thought. It made no sense for someone like D’Avreau to leave a gem like Evelyne Varessant behind for long. ‘Perfect’.

  Dante stepped into the corridor behind Varessant and slipped into the lavish nobles’ washroom.

  The walls were polished white marble, accompanied by streaks of gold which reflected the light of the hanging chandelier.

  Instead of a typical basin, a sculpted stone fountain sat against the left wall, its water flowing continuously from the mouth of a carved lion’s head – House Valciano’s family crest. The air was filled with the scents of lavender and myrrh, courtesy of the three incense burners placed on the counter above the fountain.

  Three wooden stalls lined the opposite wall, each door carved with the same lion head image.

  Overall, a ridiculous display of wealth for a place meant for relieving oneself.

  Near the entrance, standing at the fountain-like washbasin, Lucien D’Avreau rinsed his hands in the cool, flowing water.

  His posture was casual, his mind clearly elsewhere.

  He barely spared a glance as Dante entered.

  Then, his gaze landed on him fully, and he smiled – a charming, confident smile. “Oh, Lord Veyrand. I was told you wouldn’t make it tonight.”

  Dante returned the smile smoothly, satisfied by the fact D’Avreau just made the same mistake Celine did a few minutes ago, without Dante even trying.

  ‘This should make things easier.’

  “Lord D’Avreau.” Dante greeted him back as he inclined his head in greeting. “I must admit, I didn’t think I would make it, but House Valciano’s parties aren’t something you can miss.”

  Lucien let out a soft chuckle, wiping his hands with a silk cloth from the velvet-lined basket at the side of the counter. “That they are, that they are.”

  Lucien took a step closer, extending a hand. “It was a pleasure seeing you, Lord Veyrand.”

  ‘You’re making it way too easy, D’Avreau.’ Dante thought as he reached for his hand.

  Before he did, he had already scanned the washroom for other presences using his magically-heightened senses – courtesy of his Level Four Cognition Thread in Perception Magic.

  They were alone.

  The moment Dante’s palm met Lucien’s, he activated his lightning magic.

  It was a subtle pulse, a mere flicker of energy, but the effect was instantaneous.

  Lucien’s body seized up, his breath hitching mid-sentence. His muscles locked, his limbs jerked violently as a sharp, silent convulsion rippled through him. His chest tightened, and his knees buckled from the sudden loss of control.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but before any sound could escape, his body went limp.

  Dante moved instantly, catching him before he collapsed.

  Then, carefully maneuvering the unconscious noble’s weight with ease, he dragged him toward the furthest stall, kicking the door open before slipping inside and shutting it behind them.

  The small space was barely enough for them both, but it would have to do.

  Dante propped Lucien up, resting him against the smooth, sculpted stone bench that served as the lavatory seat.

  Then, swiftly, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit and retrieved a golden-glowing rope – a Magebinder.

  He wrapped one end around Lucien’s wrists, pulling it tight before securing the other end around his ankles. The moment the rope was in place, a faint hum pulsed from it, and it froze in place, locking D’Avreau’s body.

  Satisfied, Dante reached for his second tool.

  A small metallic half-cylinder, smooth and cold to the touch – a Silencer.

  He brought it close to Lucien’s slack jaw – and the moment it neared his face, the device reacted. It sprang to life, snapping into place like it was alive, covering Lucien’s mouth completely.

  Dante exhaled, cracking his knuckles.

  Now comes the nastiest part of the job.

  The reaving.

  Dante reached into the second inner pocket of his suit, pulling out a small glass vial. Inside, writhing constantly, was a pale, worm-like creature no longer than a pinky – a Reaver Worm.

  He brought the vial close to Lucien’s right nostril, the noble still slumped against the stone bench.

  Then, holding it just a hair’s width away from Lucien, Dante uncorked the vial.

  Immediately, the worm shot forward, its thin, sinewy body slipping inside D’Avreau’s nostril.

  Dante remained unbothered, holding the cork and vial in his left hand as his right reached for the wristwatch in his pocket.

  Two minutes. That’s how long it would take.

  Suddenly, Lucien jerked violently as his eyes shot open. His body convulsed as he struggled against the Magebinder, but to no avail. A muffled scream of agony died behind the Silencer clamped over his mouth.

  It was a terrible pain to witness, no doubt – the sensation of something crawling deep into his mind, burrowing through the delicate strands of thought he had carefully woven.

  But it paid too well for Dante to care.

  Dante sighed, glancing up from his watch. “Calm down, D’Arveau. It’ll be over soon.”

  Lucien’s eyes bulged, his entire body arching painfully - as much as the Magebinder allowed it.

  Dante adjusted his cufflinks, looking bored. “You’ll grow the Cognition Thread back in time. Everyone does. It’s not like they’re gone forever for those who wove them the proper way. You just might feel…weirder from now on.”

  Lucien’s back hit the stone seat hard, his rolling eyes turned white, his body trembling violently.

  Dante clicked his tongue. “And that’s my cue.”

  He brought the empty vial close to Lucien’s nostril once more.

  A moment later, the worm reemerged, now glowing faint blue.

  Dante tilted the vial, letting the worm slip inside, then swiftly corked it shut. He rolled it between his fingers before storing it back in his inner pocket.

  Lucien’s body slumped backwards, unconscious again.

  Dante took his tools back and left him there, adjusting his mask as he slipped out of the stall, carefully closing the door behind him.

  Now, all that was left was to leave before anyone noticed.

  He adjusted his suit, smoothing out any wrinkles as he walked toward the exit, his mind already shifting toward the next part of his evening.

  A meeting.

  A very dangerous meeting.

  Dante had no intention of keeping that man waiting. That would be a death sentence.

  But…things went so smoothly here. He felt like he could still at least take some of the free booze before he leaves. It’ll take some time for D’Arveau to wake up and point the guards at him.

  That thought lasted for about two seconds before he heard shouting from outside the washroom.

  “Stop the thief!”

  Dante’s jaw tightened.

  He didn’t need to guess. Only one person was dumb enough to steal from House Valciano.

  ‘Curse you, Celine!’

  Now his evening was ruined, his disappointment immeasurable, and he had to leave.