Gakane summoned his shadow clone, which began sorting through the piled-up boxes, spreading the cleaner ones on the floor. Once he'd arranged some of them to serve as makeshift chairs and a bed, everyone sat down. Nahan, eyeing the clone with interest, broke the silence.
"You've got a unique ability. Can your shadow pass through walls?"
"Why do you want to know?"
Though Gakane usually seemed friendly, the way he kept his guard up around Nahan showed he was cautious about revealing too much.
An uncomfortable silence followed, stretching with anticipation as the group waited. The night wore on, and Jimmy weary of waiting in the late hour, clearly exhausted, started nodding off against the wall.
By the time the candle in the lantern had melted halfway down, faint murmurs drifted through the window. It seemed the villagers who had gone up the mountain had finally returned.
"Ah... everyone's back now, right? They'll call for us soon, won't they?" Jimmy mumbled, who had been shaking his head as he fought sleep, rubbed his eyes as he fought to stay awake. His ears perked up at the sounds outside.
Yuder, watching the boy struggle against sleep and anxiety, gently tapped the top of his head. "If you're sleepy, just lie down and rest."
"I'm not sleepy! I didn't sleep!" Jimmy startled by Yuder's touch protested, his face flushing red even in the dim light. But no one believed him.
Given the excessive hospitality they'd been shown, the chances of the late Lord's son calling them right away were fifty-fifty. If things were normal, they'd be summoned soon, but if something was amiss, who knew what awaited them.
'We'll find out soon enough.'
The murmuring continued from the castle entrance, and the inside grew noisy as well. Still, no one came to fetch them. Even as darkness faded and dawn approached, the situation remained unchanged.
When the sun had fully risen, Yuder stood and walked to the door. He grasped the ring handle and twisted it.
Creak. Creak-creak. No matter how many times he turned and pushed, the door refused to budge.
"It's clear now," Yuder said, his voice calm but firm in the stifling room.
"They don't plan on meeting us."
"This is absurd," Gakane sneered, his eyes showing signs of fatigue.
"So, what's the plan now?"
If asked, Gakane could instantly summon his shadow clone to break down the door. Even Jimmy a boy who, despite wielding a rusty practice sword, had the skill to slice through walls like the legendary sword masters of old.
"Just say the word. We'll be out of here in no time," Gakane offered.
But contrary to his expectations, Yuder didn't immediately attempt to break the door. Instead, he paused, lost in thought, before moving to the window. There, he began to whistle in a distinct, rhythmic pattern.
After repeating the peculiar whistle three times, something darted through the small window, landing on Yuder's outstretched finger. It was a messenger bird, the same one he'd kept at his saddle until yesterday.
"...A messenger bird?"
"We'll send a report first, then move," Yuder said softly, drawing everyone's attention. From his pocket, he produced a small slip of paper. Gakane, wondering how Yuder would write without a pen, watched in fascination as Yuder lifted a finger close to the paper.
A tiny, controlled flame flickered from his fingertip, etching delicate symbols onto the paper, searing it like ink on parchment. Though Yuder subtly angled his body to obscure what he was writing, the precision of his flames was evident to all.
Many could summon fire, but none could wield it with such finesse. This level of control—more difficult than conjuring a flame large enough to engulf a mountain—was something only Yuder had mastered. Watching the subtle astonishment in Nahan's eyes, Gakane felt a quiet sense of pride.
Those with newly awakened powers often lived with unchecked arrogance. Yet upon joining the Cavalry, most experienced a humbling defeat when faced with Yuder's overwhelming abilities. Although Kishiar, the Commander, had formed the Cavalry, it was Yuder's skill and leadership that instilled humility and fostered unity within the group. Gakane was sure that no matter how powerful Nahan seemed, even he wouldn't be an exception.
Feeling this, Gakane's frayed nerves—on edge since they arrived—began to settle.
Yuder, who had clearly thought through his plan, quickly finished his letter. He rolled the paper and tucked it into the small pouch attached to the bird's leg. With a low cry, the bird unfurled its wings and soared out of the window.
"We're done here. Now... let's go."
Turning back toward the door, Yuder's gaze was sharp and cold, as if winter had descended upon the room.
"Sir, Sir Zakail! Sir Zakail!"
A few days earlier, Zakail Hartan—the youngest son of the late Lord Hartan—had spent long hours attending his father's funeral. Exhausted, he had fallen into a deep sleep, not expecting to be disturbed.
But the hand shaking him awake now was insistent, rough, and urgent, ignoring the command not to bother him.
"Sir Zakail! Please wake up. Master Zakail!"
"What is it?"
"They... they're here."
"..."
The voice, trembling with fear and disgust, was unnervingly intense. Zakail's drowsiness vanished as he forced his heavy eyes open and sat up reluctantly.
"Who are you talking about?" he asked.
"Last night, some uninvited guests arrived. The steward locked them in the storage house, but those bastards just broke the door down a moment ago! They're causing a ruckus and are demanding to see you…!"
Zakail harshly slapped the nervous servant, cutting off his babbling.
"Ouch."
"Didn't I make myself clear yesterday? I'm no longer a 'young master.' Soon, I'll be the lord! Make sure you use the correct title!"
The events of the previous night hadn't just involved Zakail performing the last rites for his deceased relatives. He had finally shown those who mocked him, calling him an unworthy shell of a noble, what he was truly made of. He had carved his own path toward power.
'Of course, my elder brother is still around, but he'll be leaving soon,'
If his older brother hadn't foolishly disclosed his plans to abandon everything for a commoner woman, Zakail might not be enjoying the victory he now relished.
He had cleared away the naysayers and was just about to indulge in some much-needed rest when the servant woke him, still using the outdated honorifics. It irked Zakail.
As he glared down at the trembling servant just because of a smack on the cheek, pondering what punishment would best teach him respect, the door swung open again.
"Master Zakail."
From the sound of the voice, Zakail knew it was the old attendant's son. Rubbing his throbbing temple, Zakail responded sharply.
"Leave. I said not to disturb me while I'm sleeping. I will rest some more."
"It's not that, Master Zakail. The thing is—"
"Out of the way."
A strange voice interrupted, pushing aside the attendant's son. A moment later, several figures entered the room in a neat line.
"Are you Zakail Hartan?"
"…Who are you?"
Zakail tried to suppress his fear, but a chill ran down his spine. The aura surrounding these people was suffocating, especially the man with black hair standing at the front. His gaze alone made Zakail's skin crawl.
"I thought you would recognize us by our uniforms. A shame," the black-haired man remarked coldly.
Yuder, standing before Zakail, could easily sense all the emotions running through him. Every servant he'd encountered on the way in—after breaking down the door—had worn the same expression.
It always puzzled Yuder why people reacted defensively even when approached with respect. He had seen this behavior countless times in his past life, and now was no different.
"We are members of the Cavalry, from the capital, under the command of Duke Peletta. We came to see you, Zakail, on behalf of your late father, but there seems to be some... misunderstanding."
Yuder's words hung in the air as he glanced around the room. The servants meeting his gaze quickly shrank back, which caused a small, almost imperceptible smirk to tug at the corners of his mouth.
"Despite waiting all night, no one came to meet us. We couldn't wait any longer in a room without a chair, so we took the liberty of coming here first. Is now a good time?"
"This..."
Zakail's furious glare shifted to the servants peeking in from the doorway. But he quickly bit back his anger, forcing himself to calm down, biting his lip and standing up. The young, ambitious nobleman knew that, in this situation, maintaining his dignity was essential.
"So... that's how it is," Zakail began, his voice steadying. "Everything has been in chaos due to the fire a few days ago, which claimed the lives of my father and brother. I, too, was exhausted and fell asleep as soon as I returned at dawn... I apologize for being discourteous to our guests. I hope you understand. Could you please wait in the drawing room while I prepare myself? I will join you shortly."
Zakail was still dressed in his sleepwear, having just woken up he was unwashed and disheveled. It was humiliating to be seen in such a state. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to tolerate the shame. The black-haired man regarded him with cool indifference before giving a small nod of acknowledgment.