Once upon a time, Twilight Castle had stood as an impregnable fortress—warding off invaders and safeguarding the golden trade route that ran through its lands. But now, the enemies were gone, and the territories that had once belonged to it were now part of the Kingdom of Wester. They had become the domain of another great noble house. At this moment, Black strolled leisurely across this very land, gazing at the buildings before him with a touch of nostalgia and appreciation.
"Even after all these years, it doesn't look like it's changed much," he muttered.
He glanced up at the national flag fluttering above the city gates and shrugged. He had been here a few times before, and back then, the city had presented much the same sight. If there was one obvious difference now, it was the flag. The banner flying high above the gates was that of the Kingdom of Wester—not Lania. The latter had long since fallen into ruin.
Of course, Black had not come here merely to wallow in nostalgia or exchange pleasantries with other nobles. He had also learned from Ofalil that the noble who ruled this territory was locked in a bitter feud with the Byrds. But that was not the reason for his visit, either. Black's purpose in coming here was simple: as he had promised Ofalil, he was here solely to purchase servants.
There was a good reason he had chosen not to go to the more prosperous, bustling cities closer to the golden trade route—those were all under the Byrds' control. If he had paid little heed to them before, their unprovoked decision to send an envoy had certainly made him raise his guard. As the saying went, even a mighty dragon could not crush a local serpent. The Byrds had ruled this region for over a century; any move he made would inevitably be detected by them. It was wiser to conserve his strength before facing them head-on. That was why Black had deliberately avoided the Byrds' territories and come to do his business in the domain of another noble instead. After all, they would surely not bother to spare a second glance at a nobody like him—a young lord who had only just inherited his fief.
With that thought, Black looked up at the boy standing before him. He had met the child when he entered the city, begging by the gates. Black had pulled out three silver coins and hired him as his guide. Boys like him, who lived on the fringes of society, knew every nook and cranny of the city—they might even know things that ordinary people did not. And that was exactly what Black needed.
"Behold, honored sir! That is Victory Square. Legend has it that in days of old..."
The boy was over the moon at the sight of the three silver coins. To nobles, such a sum was barely worth noticing, but to a street urchin like him, it was enough to live comfortably for a whole month. He could even afford to buy a new linen tunic—no longer would he have to wear this tattered, faded rag he had patched and washed so many times it was threadbare!
He glanced up eagerly at Black, who walked a few paces behind him. The young lord was dressed in an elegant black noble's gown, a large cloak draped over his shoulders that partially obscured his face. His jet-black longsword hung slung at his waist, just as it always did. To be honest, in a city like this, Black's attire made him stand out like a sore thumb.
"Sir?" the boy prompted when Black said nothing.
"I have no interest in such tales," Black waved a hand dismissively, his eyes sweeping over the surroundings. "I wish to purchase some exquisite, high-quality jewelry—pieces that are reasonably priced, however. I hope you can recommend some good places."
"Certainly, sir! That is no problem at all!"
To the boy, Black's request seemed a little odd, but it was nothing he could not handle. Though his station meant he would never step foot inside those fancy shops to buy anything himself, street kids like him had their own ways of getting information—and getting paid for it, too.
But the boy had made the matter far simpler than it actually was.
At first, he had taken Black to several jewelry stores in the city center, the kind frequented by nobles. But the young lord had seemed unimpressed by everything he saw. So the boy had then led him to the workshops of master craftsmen in the surrounding districts who made their own jewelry. Still, Black had shown no sign of satisfaction. This left the boy feeling rather dejected. In his eyes, those pieces were all beautifully made and of the finest quality—he could not for the life of him understand why the noble was being so picky. Still, he did not dare to say a word about it. After all, as a homeless waif, he knew better than most people how to read the room. Never speak unless spoken to; never ask questions that are not yours to ask. High and mighty folk always had their own reasons for doing things. His job was simply to do as he was told and keep his mouth shut.
"T-this is the last one, sir! I swear it!"
The boy was exhausted after running around the city with Black all day long. They had visited every single jewelry store and craftsman's workshop in town, yet Black still did not look the least bit satisfied. What on earth was he looking for?
Unlike the poor, weary child, however, Black showed no signs of impatience or frustration. He looked up at the dilapidated, swaying signboard above the shop, then nodded.
"You may leave now."
"Ah! Th-thank you, sir! Farewell, and may fortune smile upon you, kind sir!"
At those words, the boy, who had been on his feet all day, felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He turned on his heel and vanished into the dark, shadowy alleyways in the blink of an eye. Black shrugged, his gaze lingering on the boy's retreating figure for a moment before he turned and pushed open the heavy wooden door of the shop, stepping inside.
"Welcome, honored guest! How may I be of service to you today?"
The jewelry store looked no different from any other. Exquisitely crafted pieces lay quietly in glass display cases, and the decor around them was clean and neat. An elderly man, well past his fifties, rose from behind the counter and smiled warmly at the customer who had just walked in.
"I wish to look at your jewelry," Black said simply.
"Of course, sir! That is absolutely no problem at all!"
At that, the old man beamed. "Everything we have here is of the finest quality, masterfully crafted—you are certain to find something to your liking..."
Black picked up a piece of jewelry from the table the old man had laid out, examining it carefully. He turned the ring over in his hand, holding it up to the light of the setting sun, rotating it slowly as if he were appraising a priceless work of art with the utmost care.
"You have excellent taste, sir!" the old man narrowed his eyes, smiling as he launched into his sales pitch. It was clear that from Black's attire and bearing, he had already guessed his identity—a young noble. And young nobles were the best customers of all. They were vain, eager to show off and collect rare treasures, and they spent money like water. Perfect targets, in other words. That was why the old man was putting so much effort into his sales talk.
"This ring was forged by the master craftsman Sanford. It is known as the *Emerald Tear*. Look at its elegant design, and the gemstone inlaid upon it! I swear on the reputation of my shop that this is a genuine juniper emerald! Just look at the intricate patterns—so beautiful, so enchanting, so..."
"Complicated," Black finished for him, still turning the ring over in his hand. He held it up, a cold glint flickering in his eyes, then rotated it slightly to let the light catch its inner surface.
"The craftsmanship is indeed exquisite. And the curvature looks perfect, too... Using the gaps between the patterns to set the gemstone—that is a most unusual technique," he commented coolly.
"It seems you are a connoisseur, honored guest!" the old man's smile faltered for a split second, but he quickly recovered his composure. "In that case, you must surely know that a piece of jewelry of this caliber does not come cheap..."
"That it does not," Black nodded, turning to face the old man. "Though I daresay its value would be even higher if it did not bear those crude scratches, would it not?"
"W-what are you talking about, sir?" the old man's face paled, and he took an involuntary step backward. "I do not understand what you mean. Scratches? But this is..."
"How much?" Black cut him off, clearly uninterested in whatever excuses he was about to make. He set the ring back down on the table and asked flatly.
"T-three... three hundred gold coins, sir."
Black sneered inwardly at that answer. He was no fool. Judging solely by the materials used to make the ring, it was worth at least five hundred gold coins. The fact that the old man was offering it to him for a mere three hundred was certainly not because he did not know its true value.
"Three hundred gold coins?" Black repeated, his tone laced with amusement.
"Y-yes, sir! Three hundred gold coins!" the old man stammered, growing increasingly uneasy. He could feel Black's eyes boring into him, sizing him up. What did this young noble want? Who was he?
"Three hundred gold coins," Black said once more, then smiled—a cold, sharp smile. "Tell me—did you pay thirty gold coins when you bought it yourself?"
"I-I... I do not understand what you are implying, sir..."
The smile vanished from the old man's face in an instant. His complexion turned ashen, and he tried to step back further in his panic. But before he could move another inch, he felt a blur before his eyes—and then the cold, sharp edge of a sword was pressed against his throat.
"This is a capital offense, old man," Black said softly. He glanced over his shoulder at the shop door, relieved to see that the street outside was quiet and empty, with no one around to witness what was happening. "Surely you are aware of that. Should I go and report you to the city watch? I think they would be more than happy to squeeze some extra coin out of you..."
"W-who... who exactly are you?" the old man whimpered, his voice trembling like a leaf in the wind.
"Relax. No need to be so nervous," Black said, pressing the tip of his sword lightly against the old man's cheek instead. "Tell me where you got this ring. Who sold it to you? Where can I find them? Do that, and I will pretend this never happened. You can go back to running your little shop, and I will go about my business. Understood?"
"Y-yes! Yes, sir! It was the Grier brothers!"
Cornered by Black's threats, the old man could hold out no longer. His fear was not just because of the sword at his throat—it was also because of what Black had implied. Though the young lord had not said a single explicit word, his insinuations had sent a chill down the old man's spine. It was clear that if this young noble went to the city watch, those corrupt dogs would never believe a word he said! They would never dare to convict a noble of making a false accusation! And the old man knew full well that it was no false accusation. If the city watch so much as glanced inside his shop... Holy Light, he did not dare to imagine the consequences! Would he be hanged? He most certainly would! And then—
The old man could not bear to think any further. He blurted out the name in a panic. "T-they live at number twenty-five Blackwater Street! You cannot miss them—they are hard to mistake. The elder brother has a big scar across his face! And they are Sittrites!"
"Excellent. Thank you for the information," Black said.
A flash of black light—and the sword was gone.
When the old man blinked and looked again, the cold steel that had been pressed against his cheek had vanished without a trace. The terrifying young noble was still standing there, as calm and leisurely as ever.
"Well then, I shall take my leave now... I do not think we will be seeing each other again, if all goes well. Oh, and one more thing," Black added, picking up the ring from the table, tossing it into the air, and catching it again in his palm. "I do not suppose you have any further use for this ring, do you? In that case, I shall take it as a gift... Farewell."
The old man stared dumbfounded as the black-clad figure pushed open the door and walked out, the bell above the door jingling softly behind him. Only then did he collapse onto the floor, his entire body shaking violently, soaked in cold sweat as if he had just been dragged out of a freezing river. He was certain that that single encounter had shaved at least five years off his life.
Holy Light, he thought, gasping for breath. Never again! Never in his life did he want to deal with a customer like that—or a transaction like that—ever again!