The murky dome of night draped a shadowy veil over the sky. Torches and lanterns flared to life within the castle, their flickering glow casting restless shadows across the stone walls. The night guards trudged along their designated paths, yawning between steps. When no one was watching, some would slip into a quiet corner for a stolen moment of rest.
Above, the sky hung heavy and starless, a vast, desolate expanse. A chill breeze swept through, carrying the nauseating stench of decay from the village below—a village that lay cold and lifeless, sprawled across the dead plains like a plague-stricken graveyard.
From his chamber, Harold Golden Shrine watched the forsaken landscape through his window. The mournful howls of wolves echoed across the night, their cries slicing through the stillness like a dirge.
"All right," he murmured under his breath. "Time to take a closer look."
He shed his heavy armor in favor of lighter clothing, pulling a hood over his face. Stepping to the window, he focused his mana, reinforcing his legs. A faint glow flickered in his eyes as his enhanced vision pierced the distant forest, spotting a group of knights. Their polished armor clinked noisily as they made their way deeper into the woods.
"Oh? Baron, what are you up to?"
With a swift, effortless motion, Harold vaulted from the castle, landing silently among the trees. Cloaking his presence with mana, he trailed the knights, his steps light as a phantom's whisper.
Could this just be a routine patrol?
Harold narrowed his eyes. They were far too loud for anything requiring subtlety.
One knight swung his torch irritably through the air. "Damn these cursed werewolves! Wandering this forsaken forest just for a chance at spotting one? Why don't we just burn the whole place down and be done with it?"
Another knight scoffed. "Brilliant idea, genius. While we're at it, why don't you toss your brain into the flames too?"
"Shut up, bastard! You think I like being out here, stumbling through the dark?"
"Then keep your mouth shut and do your job."
"Oh, am I wrong? Everyone knows you sneak off to see those forest nymphs. What's the matter? Hoping for an excuse to slip away?"
"Forest nymphs, my ass. I've been stuck babysitting fools like you all night—hunting werewolves, no less."
"Oh? Is that so?"
"What, you think I'm as corrupt as you?"
The knight laughed. "Hah! You got me there. So, what do you say? This patrol's already over."
"Nah. I'm not in the mood for the village girls tonight."
"Come on… Drinks are on me. No fun drinking alone."
"Oh? Afraid those harlots will eat you alive?"
"Bah! Those wenches are relentless. I swear, if they could, they'd suck the marrow from your bones."
Their crude laughter echoed through the trees as they veered toward the thicket behind the village.
So, the girls in rags are the village prostitutes, serving the knights… But how does the Baron not know? Or does he simply turn a blind eye?
Harold followed as the knights veered onto a less-traveled path, their boots crunching against the underbrush. The trail wound through the forest before leading to a hidden underground cavern.
He halted behind a tree, his senses sharpening as the stench of rot thickened in the air. His jaw tightened, eyes darkening as he watched the knights descend into the cavern's depths.
For a brief moment, his killing intent flickered.
One of the knights froze mid-step. A shiver ran down his spine as he turned toward the trees, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. Sweat beaded on his brow.
"W-who's there?"
The others reacted instantly, drawing their swords and exchanging wary glances. Moving with measured steps, they advanced toward the presence that had sent ice through their veins.
But when they reached the source, they found only a thicket of blackberry bushes.
After a quick search, they found nothing.
Did I imagine it? No... That intent was real. So strong it felt like it could sever my neck in an instant.
Silence stretched between them. Then, after a few uneasy exhales, they sheathed their weapons and disappeared into the cavern.
High above, perched in the branches of an ancient tree, Harold observed the faint red glow pulsing from below. His expression remained cold, unreadable.
"The mystery of the girls is solved. Now to uncover why they claim to remember nothing." He exhaled softly. "That's enough for tonight. Time to head back."
---
Smoke coiled lazily from the Baron's pipe, curling into the dim air of his chamber. He took a deep drag, holding it in his lungs before exhaling into the stillness.
His desk was a battlefield of parchment—some crumpled, others ink-stained with frantic scrawls. But at the center of the mess lay a single, aged document. One that had held his attention for days.
Frowning, he picked it up and read:
Notice: Missing student of the Magic Tower. Return dead or alive to the Council of Magic representatives. Reward upon delivery.
—Alias Franter—
The Baron's grip tightened around the parchment. His jaw clenched.
"Why must every damned misfortune in the kingdom land in my domain?"
Knock, knock.
"My lord, may I enter?"
"Come in," the Baron sighed.
A soldier stepped inside, saluted, and stood at attention. "As you ordered, my lord, we kept Sir Golden Shrine under surveillance. He hasn't left his quarters all night."
"Is that so? Very well. You may go."
As the door shut behind the soldier, the Baron remained still, his thoughts swirling.
If Golden Shrine uncovers the truth about this cursed land, rivers of blood will flow. But… he hasn't made a move? I was certain he would investigate by now. Perhaps my men were right.
He leaned back, the weight of uncertainty pressing against his shoulders.
I can't ask a holy knight for help. Someone like Golden Shrine wouldn't stay silent about the truth. But if I could find that wizard… If I could bring him to my side, I might strike a deal with the Tower and put an end to this coup.
A sudden chill slithered up his spine, snapping him from his thoughts. He stiffened, eyes darting to the shadows pooling in the corners of the room.
Nothing. Just the dark clouds shifting beyond the window.
But he wasn't alone.
High above, standing motionless on the rooftop, Harold listened. He had heard every word. And as the Baron turned uneasily in his chair, Harold allowed a single thread of his presence to slip through—just for a moment.
The Baron shuddered.
On the rooftop, Harold smirked.
"Looks like I'm getting old," he murmured before vanishing into the night.