The Tallcrag estate was quiet.
Too quiet.
Morning light filtered through the tall windows of the study, illuminating shelves filled with ledgers, maps, and sealed reports. Count Russell Tallcrag stood with his hands behind his back, staring out at the inner courtyard, his expression rigid.
Behind him, the door opened.
Soft footsteps. Controlled. Familiar.
Russell turned.
"You're finally here, Sylver."
The man who entered bowed deeply, one knee touching the floor, fist to his chest.
"My lord."
Russell exhaled slowly, tension easing just a fraction.
"Get up. Tell me first—how is my daughter?"
Sylver rose.
"She is well. More than well, my lord. She has made… significant progress."
Russell's eyes narrowed slightly.
"How significant?"
Sylver did not hesitate.
"She has reached the Fourth Circle."
For a brief moment, the Count said nothing.
Then, slowly, a smile appeared—brief, restrained, proud.
"…At her age," Russell murmured. "So the old mage wasn't exaggerating."
"She is disciplined," Sylver continued. "Focused. She does not waste her power."
Russell nodded once.
"That is good. She will need it."
He turned away from the window and moved toward the desk, resting both hands against the polished wood.
"Sylver, the reason I recalled you—"
"I know," Sylver said quietly.
Russell looked at him.
"You do?"
Sylver's gaze hardened.
"What you are about to describe matches what I witnessed before returning."
Russell's fingers tightened.
"Then you already understand the severity."
"For months now," Russell began, his voice low, "we have had disappearances. Caravans intercepted. Villages reporting stolen goods. And monsters…"
He paused.
"…monsters behaving as if they were thinking."
Sylver's jaw clenched.
"The King asked me to investigate," Russell continued. "Quietly. These incidents are becoming too frequent to ignore."
He straightened.
"And the pattern leads to one name."
Sylver finished the sentence with him.
"The Cannibals."
Russell's eyes darkened.
"Their leader is not just a bandit," the Count said. "He is a beast tamer. A handler. He commands monsters. Directs them. Uses them."
Sylver closed his eyes briefly.
"That explains it."
Russell looked sharply at him.
"The attack on the road," Sylver said. "The merchant Aren was traveling with. The monsters were coordinated. Too precise. Too controlled."
Russell nodded slowly.
"Then we are in agreement."
"Yes," Sylver replied.
"They are searching for something," Russell said. "Intercepting specific routes. Specific cargo."
Sylver lowered his head.
"And my daughter is walking directly through their hunting ground."
Silence fell between them.
Russell finally spoke again.
"She chose this path," he said. "And I allowed it."
Sylver met his gaze.
"Then we ensure she survives it."
The forest breathed.
Leaves rustled softly. Branches creaked. Somewhere in the distance, something laughed.
Aren held his breath.
The bandit stood only a few meters away now, half-hidden by the trees. His eyes scanned the undergrowth lazily, confident. Enjoying the hunt.
For a moment—just a moment—he frowned.
"…Thought I saw something," the man muttered.
Then he shook his head.
"False alarm."
Aren did not move.
Neither did Stella.
Neither did Hassan.
They were already surrounded.
Hassan's jaw tightened. His hand slowly closed around the hilt of his sword.
"From all sides," he murmured. "They're good."
Stella swallowed.
Aren's mind raced.
Too many. Too close. No clear path.
Hassan exhaled.
"…Listen carefully."
He turned slightly, keeping his voice low.
"I'm going to draw them away."
Stella snapped her head toward him.
"No."
Aren frowned.
"That's stupid," he said bluntly. "That won't solve anything."
Hassan didn't look at them.
"It's my role," he replied calmly. "I'm the veteran."
"And die for nothing?" Aren hissed. "That's not heroism, that's waste."
Hassan finally glanced at him.
A faint smile crossed his face.
"You're sharp, kid. That's why you'll live."
Stella grabbed Hassan's sleeve.
"No. We fight together."
Hassan gently removed her hand.
"You're strong," he said. "Both of you. Stronger than you think."
He stepped back.
"Which is why you'll run."
Before either of them could speak—
Hassan turned.
And ran.
Straight toward the bandits.
"Hey!" one of them shouted.
Steel rang.
Aren cursed.
"That old bastard—"
Hassan crashed into the nearest bandit like a battering ram, sword flashing, drawing every eye, every shout.
The forest erupted.
"After him!"
"Don't let him escape!"
Footsteps thundered.
Aren felt it—the pressure lifting.
"They're following him," he said sharply.
He grabbed the nearest crate.
"Now."
Stella hesitated.
"We're really leaving him?"
"Yes," Aren said. Flat. Cold. "Move."
They lifted the crates together and ran.
Toward the lake.
They did not go to the village.
Aren refused.
"That's where they expect us to go," he said. "We hide first."
They moved along the lake's edge, found a rocky outcrop where roots twisted into natural cover.
There, they collapsed.
Breathing hard.
Stella broke the silence first.
"…Do you think he's alive?"
Aren stared at the ground.
"I don't know."
She clenched her fists.
"I'm going back."
"No."
"I'm serious."
Aren looked up.
"They were at least twenty," he said. "We saw that many. Going back now is suicide."
"I don't care."
"We don't even know if he's alive."
Stella stood.
"I'm going anyway."
Aren rubbed his face.
"…Damn it."
He stood as well.
"Fine. We observe. From a distance. If we don't find him, we leave."
Stella smiled, relieved.
"I knew you wouldn't let me go alone."
Aren's expression hardened.
"Don't get the wrong idea," he said. "I just don't want to owe my life to someone else."
She didn't answer.
She just smiled.
They moved carefully.
Backtracking.
Searching.
Aren spoke in whispers.
"We return to where we split. If there's no body, we track them."
Stella nodded.
They found the trail.
Broken branches. Footprints. Blood.
A lot of it.
Stella's breath caught.
They followed.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Until—
They saw him.
Hassan.
Alive.
On his knees.
Hands bound.
Surrounded by bandits.
And behind them—
A figure.
Wrapped in black.
Face hidden beneath a hood.
Watching.
Still.
Aren's blood ran cold.
The man raised his head slightly.
And even without seeing his face—
Aren knew.
This was no ordinary bandit.
The forest seemed to lean in.
Waiting.