"Are you sure you don't need to report this to the school?" Chris asked, his brows furrowing in confusion as he looked at the senior standing before him. "It feels like we should at least let someone know about what's happening."
The senior waved his hand dismissively, a small, knowing smile on his face. "Relax, kid. I've been around here longer than you. Trust me, there's no need to escalate something so minor to the dean. You're just overthinking it. Go grab some breakfast and stop worrying."
Though still uncertain, Chris could only nod in compliance. He turned away, feeling unsettled, but left as instructed.
As soon as he returned, Lesley rushed up to him, her expression anxious. "So, what did he say? Did he mention anything about it?"
Chris sighed, shaking his head. "Nope, nothing. He just told us to wait and not make a fuss. I thought I was being reasonable, suggesting he report it to the academy, but he brushed it off completely. He even told us not to get anyone higher-up involved, like the dean."
Lesley's eyes narrowed, considering his words. "Sounds like he wants to keep this quiet. Maybe he doesn't want the dean's people to know about the situation." She nodded thoughtfully. "Let's eat first. We can decide what to do after."
"Alright. Oh, by the way, what do you think of Tom?" Chris asked, leaning in a bit closer.
"Tom?" Lesley blinked. "He's a nice old man. Why, is something up?"
Chris nodded, though not entirely convinced. "Yeah… never mind. Just wanted to check." He turned away, his mind elsewhere. It seemed Enola hadn't said anything yet.
Enola, meanwhile, sat by herself in the far corner of the room, deep in thought, her face betraying uncertainty as she stared into the distance. She seemed wrapped up in something; though what, no one could be sure.
---
Elsewhere, Oliver was approaching the city. He had been following a trail, but he'd been a step too late when it came to dealing with the elf's body the night before. He had expected it to be left near the village, but the other party had chosen a much more troublesome location; a patch of land where the elves cultivated medicinal plants. It was a place Oliver barely knew about, let alone the exact location. Naturally, this meant he hadn't found the body in time.
Now, his only option was to search the city for any leads.
Disguised to avoid suspicion, Oliver moved unnoticed through the streets. His usual bow and arrow had been swapped for twin daggers. His hair, tangled and matted with fruit juice, looked a mess, and his face was streaked with smudges of black, giving him the appearance of someone scarred and worn. A scraggly fake beard clung to his chin, and his clothes were dust-covered and torn, with a few well-placed holes in his shoes to complete the illusion.
Despite his efforts, Oliver still felt like something was missing. The disguise wasn't quite right. But morning was the perfect time to slip past the sleepy guards at the city gates, and so he pushed aside his doubts and pressed on.
As expected, the yawning guard barely gave him a glance. Seeing his tattered appearance and human ears, the guard waved him through without a second thought.
Having successfully entered the city, Oliver's next challenge was figuring out how to penetrate the white-walled district.
He ducked into a quiet alley, ensuring no one else was around. There, he shed his filthy clothes, scrubbed his hair and face clean with the water he carried, and peeled off the fake beard. Reaching into his bag, he retrieved a human skin mask he had carefully crafted before, slipping it over his face. His transformation was nearly complete.
When passing through the gates, being too clean would have raised eyebrows; no one dressed so meticulously unless they were part of the nobility. But being too dirty in the white-walled district would draw just as much unwanted attention. He needed to strike a careful balance. The place he was heading, a popular teahouse, was frequented by common folk who liked to splurge on new experiences, and he needed to blend in just right.
Satisfied with his look, Oliver gathered his discarded clothes, wrapped them up, and buried them in the alley. With a calm, casual stride, he stepped back out onto the bustling street, his eyes scanning the scenery as he walked toward his destination.
Though he hadn't had the chance to exchange any of his gold coins yet, Oliver still had enough with him to cover what he needed; an advantage that would soon come in handy.
Oliver leaned back in his chair, savoring the expensive tea that had cost him five gold coins. As he drank, his eyes swept over the busy street beyond the teahouse window. It was still early in the morning, and merchants bustled about, replenishing their stock for the day. Carts laden with fruits, meats, wine, and even barrels of water rolled by, pulled by laborers and horses alike. The sheer volume of goods being transported was impressive. Most of it came from nearby sources, but some of the finer items had clearly been shipped in from distant cities.
No ordinary chamber of commerce could keep up with this level of trade every single day. Oliver's mind churned with thoughts, half-closing his eyes as he pondered the opportunity slipping past him.
A sharp-eyed waiter noticed his contemplative mood and quickly approached. "Is something on your mind, sir?" the waiter asked, his voice polite but eager to please.
Oliver let out a soft, bitter laugh, gesturing toward the bustling street. "I was just thinking about all the goods still flowing in. It's a perfect opportunity to make some serious coin, but here I am, unable to grab it."
The waiter chuckled, leaning in slightly. "Oh, sir, you jest. If it's something ordinary humans can't get their hands on, it doesn't matter."
Oliver raised an eyebrow, amused by the comment. "Isn't that just stating the obvious?"
"Perhaps," the waiter smiled, "but a man like you, sir, surely has access to things most people could only dream of. I'm certain you could find something valuable."
Oliver's eyes gleamed, his smile widening. "I like the way you think. Go on, bring me more food. I'll be handling some business soon enough."
"Right away, sir. Thank you!" The waiter bowed slightly and rushed off to fulfill the request.
As the waiter disappeared, Oliver's smile faded, replaced by a calculating look. The man was right, of course. He had something that could fetch a small fortune: the sacred juice of the World Tree, the holy water. It was worth more than gold, especially in the hands of the right buyer.
Now, he just needed to figure out how to explain how he'd come into possession of such a rare item.
Oliver rose from his seat, mind working through the details as he walked toward the city gates. He had hidden his things earlier; disguises and gear, and now he needed them again. As he dug out his stash, a plan began to form.
"Why not just say I found it along the river?" he mused to himself, staring at the stream he had once plunged into. "That spy from Black Crow definitely saw me fall into it. It would make sense."
The sun had climbed higher into the sky by the time Oliver returned to the stream, map in hand. He traced the water's path, noting the small settlements nearby. If he claimed he had passed through one of those villages on his way, it would make the story even more believable. His finger paused over a small town called Howle, a place that was known to harbor Black Crows. "Perfect. I'll say I came from there."
His preparations nearly complete, Oliver glanced up at the midday sun, calculating his timing. A normal person would take most of the day to walk from Howle to this point, meaning they'd arrive by evening. If he waited until then, his story would make sense. After all, anyone crossing the border between elf and human lands would surely have heard of the current tensions. No one would travel at night without good reason.
With that decided, Oliver passed the time methodically. He changed his outfit, trading in the ragged clothes he wore earlier for a more fitting look. He donned a pair of glasses with no prescription, adding an air of studiousness to his appearance. Dust clung to the exposed parts of his skin, but the rest of his face was made as clean as possible, with a few strategic patches of sticky, skin-like material changing the shape of his features. He chopped off some of his long hair, leaving it neat and short, better suited for a traveler. A water flask hung from his belt, with a dagger on the other side for good measure.
Satisfied with his appearance, he took a final look at himself. It was a perfect traveler's disguise. Not too clean, not too ragged; just someone passing through, minding their own business.
With slightly uneven steps, as if weary from a long journey, Oliver made his way toward the city gate, his movements slow and deliberate, one step deep and the other shallow, perfectly mimicking a tired traveler on the move. The next phase of his plan was about to begin.