The bounty hunter turned, but before he could react, a swift chop struck the side of his neck. His vision blurred, and he dropped to one knee before collapsing unconscious.
"Not again," Marcus muttered in anguish.
He hoisted the limp body onto his shoulder, carried it to the closet, and shoved the man inside. The door closed with a dull thud. Marcus then exited the room.
Suddenly, he felt a presence.
From the edge of his vision, the woman who once stood behind the counter emerged silently.
"Nah. Just some old friends," Marcus said.
"Make sure they pose no threat to the Rose Temple," she replied in a stern voice before disappearing down the dim hallway.
"Oh, I will make sure," he muttered to himself.
He glanced toward the closet, his gaze lingering, then slowly losing focus.
Back in the Rose Temple's guest room, an old man in a white suit paced back and forth, his steps restless as he awaited good news.
Suddenly, a voice sounded beside him.
A nerdy man wearing khaki shorts sat calmly on a nearby bench. His posture was relaxed, his voice composed and strangely unreadable as he addressed the old man.
"Why not ask for something that is actually possible?"
"Mind your own business, young man," the old man snapped, not even turning to look at him.
"He is not going to kill the Headhunter," the man continued calmly. "If anything, the bounty hunter is already dead."
The empty hall echoed his words. For now, the guest room held only two people. One waited for good news. The other hoped to hear bad.
Even if the old man wished to ignore him, the words struck close to thoughts he already harbored.
The nerdy man did not stop. He continued despite the silence.
"A Headhunter cannot be killed by a Knight in traditional combat. What chance would a bounty hunter have? You know this. Darious is not even the weakest among them and there is no one in the eastern sector who could face him alone."
His tone shifted, growing firm and authoritative.
"You should give up and make a deal with me. I will give you something worth far more than the information you are holding."
He stepped forward to speak, but before the words could leave his mouth, the door burst open.
Rosacer entered the guest room.
The old man and the nerdy man both turned at once.
Without a word, Rosacer walked to the center of the hall and hurled a bundle onto the marble floor. The fabric skidded, rolling once before coming to rest at the old man's feet.
Burnt, blackened clothes, charred beyond recognition, yet unmistakably belonging to Darious Daken.
The old man froze. His pacing stopped as if time itself had seized him. Slowly, he bent down and lifted a corner of the fabric. It crumbled slightly between his fingers, reduced to ash and stiffened cloth.
Silence swallowed the room.
The nerdy man's calm expression wavered for the first time. His eyes narrowed, studying Rosacer rather than the clothes.
"You killed him?" He asked quietly.
Rosacer said nothing. His gaze remained fixed on the old man.
The old man straightened, his face grim beneath the white suit. His lips parted, searching for words that refused to form.
Rosacer finally spoke, his voice calm and steady. "Spill the information on Katrina now, old man."
The old man staggered back a step, disbelief and dread mixing in his eyes.
From the bench, the nerdy man leaned forward, fingers clasped, his interest rekindled rather than extinguished.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Rosacer turned toward him, his eyes cold and unreadable.
"Would you be interested in joining our clan, Knowledge Seeker?" the man asked.
The old man's dread wavered, then collapsed into sudden, overwhelming joy as understanding finally dawned on him. He gathered his thoughts in a rush.
"Thank you. Thank you. Yes, I will," he said, his voice trembling.
He hastily pulled a parchment from within his coat and thrust it into Rosacer's hands. Then, almost reverently, he scooped up the burnt clothes from the floor and hurried out of the guest room, tears welling in his eyes as quiet sobs escaped him.
The hall fell silent once more.
The nerdy man watched the door close, then shifted his gaze back to Rosacer. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
Rosacer lowered his eyes to the parchment, the charred scent still lingering in the air.
He rustled it open. It read:
"Maysee has crossed the line. Katrina will find him soon enough."
Just that single line was written.
'I did all that for this,' Rosacer thought, cursing his luck inwardly. Outwardly, however, he maintained his cold and precise persona.
"I will see," he said, leaving the guest room.
"Toward the northern side of the merchants' haven, we have a place for ourselves. You can visit it, if you ever decide to—"
Before the nerd could complete the sentence, the door was closed.
"You might have to deal with another psychopath, Mitra," he said to himself.
Outside in the hallway, Rosacer stopped, his ear still catching the words spoken by Mitra. "So, his name is Mitra…" he whispered as he moved out of the hallway.
The words on the parchment might have been a total mystery to another, but Rosacer could assess the hidden meaning behind them.
Most probably, it was about Michael Maysee of the Southern Sector, and it was also easier for Katrina to kill him there, for there was only one sector where a ruler truly doesn't maintain laws, and that was the Southern Sector. A location where Michael resided. It perfectly aligned with the circumstances.
But if he was wrong, he would still go to the Southern Sector. The time for the Leviathan Mariner to make preparations was near. Soon, the ship would venture into the Hidden Sea that joined the Mist City.
He could also check on Elizabeth, but before heading to the southern sector, he needs to see someone, as he requires some assistance with his own research.