After finishing off the officer and the bandits, Angellon wasted no time. She knew that if she left the bodies as they were, the guards would relentlessly search for the killers everywhere. For that reason, she manipulated the scene to make it look like a confrontation between rival gangs.
First, she dragged the officer's body to the chair where Aiden had been tied, pressing what remained of the rope tightly against his wrists to leave marks, simulating that he had been the one interrogated. Then, she delivered several blows to his face and body, making sure it looked like he had been tortured before dying. After that, she took the blood from the dead and drew a symbol on the floor: three daggers, two crossed and one in the center. It was the emblem of The Brawl, a gang from Zhailon made up of bandits from the domains of Noctaris, Vharos, and Solvayne, who operated throughout the kingdom without a fixed base.
Then, she leaned over one of the bandit's corpses and removed one of his boots. She took five gold coins from Aiden's small pouch before handing him the rest and, without giving him a chance to protest, placed the empty small pouch next to the officer and slid the coins inside the bandit's boot before putting it back on. The message was clear: an officer had been kidnapped, tortured, and killed, and then a rival gang appeared and killed the other bandits. Whether a civilian or a guard found the scene, the rumor would spread, and Veilon would have no choice but to direct his attention toward the gang.
When she was done, she took one last look at the carnage she had orchestrated and, satisfied with the result, signaled Aiden to follow her. Leaving the door slightly ajar, they both vanished into the night, moving through the darkest corners of the kingdom.
The streets of Zhailon were a labyrinth of stone and shadows. Aiden followed Angellon, keeping pace as she weaved through the alleys as if following a predetermined path. The narrow streets were barely illuminated by wrought-iron lanterns, their flames flickering at the slightest breath of the night wind. The city slept, but the sense of danger never entirely faded.
As he walked, Aiden couldn't stop thinking about what he had just witnessed. Angellon's strength was overwhelming. He had seen it with his own eyes—throwing a grown man against the wall as if he were a rag doll. And the most terrifying part was that she had done it without even using Terum. If she had used her energy, she would have left traces that any investigator with basic knowledge would have detected.
How strong was she really?
Aiden clenched his teeth, feeling uncertainty flood his chest. He knew Angellon was dangerous, but what he had seen that night surpassed everything he had ever imagined.
Aiden could barely stay on his feet as he walked. Every step sent a sharp pain through his body. The knife the officer had driven into his shoulder had left a deep cut, and the warm blood trickled down his arm, making the fabric cling to his skin. His leg burned with every movement, soaking his pants in red, the wound throbbing with every step. His head, battered and dazed, pulsed with constant pain, and his vision wavered between clarity and dizziness.
He was leaving a trail. He realized it when he saw a line of dark droplets marking the stone behind him, and Angellon noticed it too.
Without saying a word, Angellon snatched Aiden's bag and pulled out the clothes he had been given in prison during his younger years. Without caring about his state, she tore the fabric into pieces, then used the scraps to wipe away the blood he had left on the ground. Afterward, she wrapped the fabric around his wounds, tying it tightly over the cuts on his shoulder and leg, ensuring the bleeding wouldn't continue. Aiden let out a grunt of pain as he felt the tourniquet tighten.
"You'll be useless if you bleed out on the way," Angellon murmured irritably, making sure the fabric was secured firmly.
They continued their path, slipping through the darkest alleyways of the kingdom. The structures surrounding them were tall, made of dark stone with slanted roofs, some with balconies reinforced by iron bars. Zhailon's architecture was neither elegant nor ostentatious like that of the kingdom of Ryshou or Yanzhou, but imposing, as if every building were a fortress waiting to close in on its inhabitants. The cobbled streets were marked by centuries of wear, with cracks forming irregular patterns under the dim light. Some doors were reinforced with metal plates, others with symbols carved into the wood—warnings that certain businesses or residences belonged to powerful clans.
Aiden could barely hear his own footsteps. The layer of dust and accumulated grime on the streets muffled the sound, and Angellon moved with such silence that she seemed like a specter gliding through the shadows. Every now and then, she would stop, listen, and scan her surroundings to ensure they wouldn't run into anyone.
She knew the patrols weren't far. She knew that if Aiden made a wrong move, the entire alibi she had built with the ambush scene would collapse.
The path continued winding through the kingdom's depths. The air was dense and cold, carrying the stench of rusted metal, stagnant moisture, and the burnt flesh of some forge still smoldering.
"Focus," Angellon warned in a low voice when she saw Aiden stumble.
Aiden took a deep breath, ignoring the burning in his body. He just had to endure a little longer.
However, his body was already reaching its limit. Weakened, he felt his leg give out under his own weight, and he failed to react in time. His body crashed against one of the dark stone walls surrounding them, sliding slightly downward, leaving a crimson smear on the rough surface.
"Tch." Angellon let out an exasperated sigh, grabbed his good arm, and pulled him back to his feet with ease. Aiden felt the firmness of her grip, her skin cold through the fabric of his blood-soaked jacket.
For a moment, he barely managed to stay upright, breathing heavily. Angellon studied him for a moment, realizing he was already too hunched over—if they didn't hurry, Aiden would bleed out.
"We're almost there. Just hold on a little longer." Angellon's voice was sharp, devoid of compassion, but not entirely indifferent either. She let go of him once she was sure he wouldn't collapse again.
"For what?" Aiden asked, swallowing his pain.
But Angellon didn't answer. She simply continued forward as if responding wasn't worth the effort. With no other choice, Aiden gritted his teeth and followed her in silence.
The minutes stretched, feeling heavier with every step. He let out a ragged sigh, his throat dry and his body trembling from the strain. His muscles burned, his leg throbbed with unbearable intensity, and his head spun more with each moment. When his vision began to blur completely, they finally arrived.
Before them, extending beyond the last structures of Zhailon, lay a wasteland swallowed by neglect. The ground was rough and dry, covered in patches of weeds and twisted roots jutting from the earth like old bones. There were no marked paths, only the imprint of scattered footprints and some cart wheels that had once crossed the area.
An improvised camp stood in the middle of that forsaken expanse, hidden among the night's shadows. Worn-out tents of thick fabric swayed slightly with the nocturnal breeze, some reinforced with hides to withstand the harsh climate. There were no stone walls or watchtowers like in Zhailon's military bases; instead, crude wooden palisades formed an irregular perimeter around the camp. They were sturdy enough to deter common intruders, but Aiden knew they wouldn't hold up against a real attack.
Aiden spotted banners bearing Zhailon's emblem hanging from some tents, signaling that this refuge belonged to the army, but he also noticed something strange. There were no guards patrolling like in a conventional military camp—just one lone figure sitting on a crate.
As they passed by him, he didn't even look up. No questions were asked, no attempt was made to stop them, just a slight tilt of his head, barely noticeable, as if he was already aware of what was happening. Aiden, despite his weakened state, took in every detail as they drew closer.
He was young—or at least he seemed so at first glance. His black hair fell in unruly strands over his forehead, with some longer strands sliding down the sides of his face, giving him a calculated yet careless air. His skin was fair, his posture firm, imposing despite the apparent indifference with which he gazed into the camp's darkness.
His uniform spoke for itself. A silver tone dominated the high-collared jacket, adorned with subtle golden details that caught the firelight. Black pauldrons rested on his shoulders, beneath which was an engraved golden insignia Aiden didn't recognize. His belt, deep black, held a sheathed sword and a divided white waist cape with dark edges, contrasting with the black boots that barely reflected the light. His arms, hidden beneath the folds of his uniform, ended in black leather gloves reaching up to his forearms, reinforcing the image of someone meticulously prepared for combat.
But what unsettled Aiden the most were his eyes. Dark blue, almost icy, glowing with a subdued intensity in the camp's dim lighting. They didn't reflect curiosity, interest, or hostility. Just an absolute coldness, a dangerous stillness that instantly made Aiden realize he was in the presence of someone highly skilled. There was something about him that made the atmosphere feel heavier—not Terum energy, but a different kind of pressure, as if every minor detail around him was within his perception without the need to move.
Aiden felt a pang of discomfort but kept moving forward. They left the young man behind and continued to the center of the camp, where a large bonfire still crackled under the night breeze.
Here, everything was calm. Too calm.
Aiden couldn't help but wonder. Why was Angellon in such a secluded place from the kingdom? Zhailon's army had well-protected bases, fortified strongholds with hundreds of soldiers and impenetrable lines of defense. But here… everything seemed improvised. The tents were well arranged, but they lacked the rigid order of a military detachment. There were no constant patrols or large formations of training soldiers.
It didn't align with what should be a camp under Veilon Thalmyr's command.
This whole place…
Was far too silent, as if they were hiding something.