Taking Over The Criminal UnderWorld As A 21st Century Magus!

In the days that followed, Elian began to adapt to the harsh realities of Ironhold. His powers remained his secret, though he often found himself tempted to use them. The other children in the alleys grew accustomed to his presence, though they rarely interacted beyond nods of acknowledgment. Elian's focus remained on survival and piecing together a plan to unravel the mystery of the boy's lost family.

Ironhold itself was a city steeped in contradictions. Beneath the grandeur of its towering spires and bustling marketplaces lay a seedy underbelly where whispers of rebellion, crime, and strange occurrences lingered. The monarchy ruled with an iron fist, its authority enforced by the Iron Guard, a highly trained military force loyal to the king. But despite their imposing presence, the guards had grown fearful. Rumors spread of a shadowy assassin targeting soldiers of the crown.

The killings were brutal, precise, and unexplained—bodies left with no signs of wounds, only the eerie absence of blood. Some whispered of the supernatural, but in a world without magic, such tales were dismissed as hysteria.

Elian's days were consumed by survival. At night, he returned to the derelict remains of a collapsed tavern he now called home. The crumbling stone walls and splintered beams offered little comfort, but it was better than the open streets. He had salvaged scraps of fabric and straw to create a makeshift bed in a corner, where he could curl up beneath his threadbare cloak. He often woke to the sound of rats scurrying in the shadows or the distant cries of the city's outcasts. It wasn't much, but it was his.

One evening, as Elian shared a piece of stale bread with Tobin and Marla, Lena appeared, her expression unusually serious.

"You're going to want to hear this," she said, leaning against the wall.

"What is it?" Elian asked, tearing off a piece of bread for her.

She accepted it with a nod. "The guards are on edge. Another soldier was killed last night—one of the king's personal men."

Elian frowned. "How do you know that?"

"People talk," Lena said with a shrug. "They say it's an assassin, someone who can…do things." She eyed him meaningfully. "Like you."

Elian's stomach twisted. "I'm not a killer," he said firmly.

"I know that," Lena said quickly. "But not everyone would believe you. If they think you're connected to this, you'll have the whole city after you—guards, criminals, everyone."

"What else did you hear?" Elian asked, his voice tense.

"Not much. Just that the bodies…they're left with no blood. Like something drained them. People are saying it's magic, or worse. But magic doesn't exist here, right?" She looked at him pointedly. "Whatever it is, it's got the guards scared."

Elian nodded, filing the information away. He couldn't afford to draw any more attention to himself.

Stealing food had become a skill born of necessity, and Elian had grown adept at it. Yet, he didn't hoard what he took. Over time, he began sharing his findings with the other children who roamed the alleys.

They were wary of him at first, but their hunger outweighed their distrust. He gave bread to a scrawny boy named Tobin, who barely spoke but always offered a shy smile in return. He slipped a bruised pear to Marla, a girl much older than him, who had a knack for calming the younger kids when they cried.

"Why do you help them?" Lena asked one evening as she watched him hand over half a loaf of stale bread to a group of children huddled in an alley.

Elian shrugged. "Because someone should."

Lena snorted. "You're too soft for this place. One day, that'll get you killed."

"Maybe," Elian said quietly. "But it's better than doing nothing."

Tobin, his mouth full of bread, looked up at Elian with wide eyes. "Is it true? Did you fight the bread man today?"

Marla elbowed him lightly. "Tobin, don't ask silly questions. You think Elian would've come back if he got caught?"

Elian gave a faint smile. "It's fine, Marla. And no, Tobin, I didn't fight him. Just… got lucky."

One day, Elian's luck ran out. He had been watching a stall laden with loaves of bread and wheels of cheese. The vendor, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, seemed distracted by a group of customers. Seizing the opportunity, Elian darted forward and grabbed a loaf. But as he turned to flee, a heavy hand clamped down on his arm.

"Got you, you little thief!" the vendor roared, dragging him back toward the stall.

Elian struggled, but the man's grip was ironclad. "Please, let me go!" he begged, his voice trembling.

The vendor sneered. "You think you can just take from me and walk away? Let's see how the guards feel about this."

Panic surged through Elian. He couldn't afford to be caught—not just because of the theft, but because of what he was. He glanced around desperately, searching for an escape. As the vendor tightened his grip, Elian felt a surge of energy welling up inside him. His free hand brushed the ground, and he whispered a single word under his breath.

The cobblestones beneath the vendor's feet began to tremble. Cracks spread rapidly as thick, writhing vines erupted from the ground. The plants were unnaturally vibrant, their thorny tendrils coiling around the man's legs and yanking him to the ground.

"What in the—?!" the vendor shouted, his voice rising in panic. He clawed at the vines, his hands bleeding from the thorns. "Help! Somebody, help me!"

Elian's heart raced as he saw the man's terrified expression. He hadn't meant to hurt him, only to escape. He hesitated for a moment, but the sound of approaching footsteps jolted him back into motion. He bolted into the crowd, weaving through the throng of people until he reached the safety of a narrow alley. His heart pounded as he leaned against the wall, gasping for breath.

"That was close," he muttered to himself. He glanced down at the loaf of bread still clutched in his hands and allowed himself a small, relieved smile.

Later that evening, he shared the bread with Tobin and Marla, who eagerly tore into the loaf. Lena appeared, leaning casually against the wall as she watched them eat.

"You keep taking risks like that, and you're going to get caught," she said.

Elian met her gaze, his expression serious. "I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," Lena said. She studied him for a moment before adding, "Still, that was impressive. Those vines…that was you, wasn't it?"

Elian tensed, his hands tightening around the remains of the loaf. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Lena's eyes widened, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It was you! I saw it—those vines came out of nowhere. How did you do that? Are you…some kind of mage? I knew it! I knew magic was real!"

"I'm not a mage," Elian said quickly, glancing around to ensure no one else was listening. "Just…keep it to yourself, okay