GOURMAND CITY, PORT RAVENOUS
Siah approached the Moonshine Express tower. At the entrance, a guard stopped him, startled by his disheveled state. Siah produced a note. The guard glanced at it, then silently gestured for Siah to follow.
Inside, Siah's eyes swept over the grand reception hall. A wide staircase of carved stone ascended gracefully, its balustrades twisting in delicate, lace-like patterns. Below, a trio of deep leather couches encircled a sturdy wooden table, each seat adorned with plump cushions in muted earth tones. In a far corner, a low fountain gurgled quietly, its water glinting like liquid sapphire beneath the chandelier's flicker.
The guard motioned toward the reception desk.
"Hand the letter to Hazel, the receptionist."
Still suffering from his injuries, Siah staggered forward and placed the note on the desk. Hazel played with her ginger curls, red rimmed glasses framed her soft delicate facial features she took the note warily, keeping one eye on Siah as though he might collapse at any moment.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
Siah nodded, offering an awkward smile. Hazel returned it, discomfort visible in her forced expression. Then, as she unfolded the note and read, her features softened into an amicable smile.
"Take a seat on the couch," she said. "Tea or wine? The president is still occupied with a client."
"Tea," Siah answered wearily.
Moments later, Hazel returned with the tea. Siah accepted it with a faint smile. In a low, whispering voice, he asked, "Why is it so quiet? Isn't this the headquarters of the black market?"
Hazel giggled, surprised. Seeing Siah's clueless expression, she shook her head.
"Mr. Tally Score is a world-renowned businessman. How could he possibly be tied to the black market?"
Siah's brow furrowed. They are clearly not trying to hide it. he thought.
Siah looked around the reception hall.
"Are you the only employee in this place?"
Hazel shook her head. "Most of our staff are abroad, transporting goods. The rest are asleep in their rooms upstairs."
Siah nodded weakly. "What kind of goods do you transport?"
Hazel smiled. "Everything."
Siah leaned back into the couch, unable to bring himself to sip the tea. Above, a massive chandelier—wrought with filigree and flickering candles—hung like a crown over the hall, bathing it in warm, golden light. His thoughts churned.
The note said Tally Score was mother's former associate… but this company operates openly. The Pantheon must not know about their dealings—or perhaps they do, and they're complicit.
Heavy footsteps broke his train of thought. Tally Score descended the stairs with a beautiful woman at his side. His sharp white-silver hair gleamed under the chandelier. His long fringe swayed as he walked, his immaculate white attire spotless.
Siah stole a glance at the woman as Tally escorted her to the door. The guard shut the door behind her, but Tally's gaze lingered on her figure until the very end.
"That woman looks familiar," Siah murmured.
Tally Score turned towards the reception area, laughter bursting from his throat and echoing through the hall. He spread his arms wide, voice brimming with manic reverence.
"Hazel, this is a moment to behold—the The Red Bane has a son!"
The mad laughter reverberated against the stone walls. Siah straightened in his seat, his expression tensing.
"The world indeed rewards severity," Tally Score said, his tone softening as he approached Siah.
He squatted before Siah, locking eyes. "As expected, degeneration is in your blood. It's surprising that the Pantheon allowed you to live."
Siah blinked, confusion flashing across his face. "What do you mean?"
Tally Score grinned, reading the turmoil. "Let's not dwell on pleasantries. You're here for employment. Let's focus on that for now."
Siah followed him upstairs. Tally Score threw a sly glance over his shoulder at Hazel's plump chest. "Hazel, it's been a while since you came up to my office. Our guest didn't have time to enjoy his tea—bring a fresh one up."
Hazel rolled her eyes.
Tally Score's laughter echoed again, manic and bright, as he slung an arm around Siah's shoulder. Siah stiffened, his expression turning cold, but Tally Score's laughter only grew louder.
"Don't worry about Hazel. I'll wear her down until she gives in."
Siah exerted strength to shrugg off the embrace, his mood growing ill.
---
Outskirts of Gourmand City
A castle loomed like a jagged fang on the horizon, its twin curtain walls rising one within the other. Each was lined with grim watchtowers that pierced the low sky like spears. Inside, the Bloodhound Knights gathered in the castle cafeteria.
The room smelled faintly of roasted grain and ale. Corkboards covered the walls, plastered with notes and sketches. The emblem of the Hounds hung above them. Barrels and potted greenery softened the corners, their presence a rare touch of calm amid stone and steel.
Sir Gael sat at the head of a long table, his tankard heavy in hand. He set it down with a thud, ale sloshing over the rim. His voice, deep and steady, carried through the hall.
"The Mournmound situation isn't as simple as we first thought. The Hue Beasts show signs of being tainted. The Pantheon wants us to evacuate Gulp Village at the mountain's foot before we explore further."
A hush settled across the cafeteria. The only sound was the low crackle of torches against stone. Then, clearing her throat, Dame Elia spoke—her voice hesitant.
"I know we have our hands full," she said, "but… I received an invitation. From House Ardour. A ball."
A few heads turned. Some knights raised brows; others exchanged uncertain looks.
Sir Gael nodded solemnly. "Do not worry, Dame Elia. Your vacancy will be covered by Dame Mila—she seems to have recovered."
As soon as he turned away, Mila's cold eyes cut across the table, fixing on Elia. Elia looked down, avoiding her gaze.
The silence was broken by First Lieutenant Sir Dante. He lounged lazily in his seat, his tone sharp and indifferent.
"What plan have you come up with, Gael? You can't expect us to just rush up Mournmound —that's too simple even for you."
Before anyone could retort the disrespectful words, a table hurtled through the air toward Dante's head.
A sly grin played on the corners of Sir Dante's lips as he chanted. "Rigidity: Iron shield." with a casual swipe of his hand through the air. Sir Gael's ale burst from his tankard, The liquid burst against the flying table, shattering it into splinters before it reached Sir Dante's head. Drops of ale rained down across the room.
Sir Dante turned slowly, his smirk twisting into disgust as his eyes landed on the culprit.
A lean man with a cut, weathered face. One eyebrow was split; a thin scar ran across his upper cheek. His eyes were hollow, framed by disheveled black hair that swept over his forehead and was cropped short at the sides.
Sir Dante's lips curled. "Second Knight Lieutenant Sir Ronald," he sneered, "your slave blood doesn't seem to agree with how things are done on this side of the world."
The words hung heavy in the air. Sir Gael shook his head, warning Sir Ronald silently. Sir Ronald's jaw tightened, but he exhaled, shutting his eyes and leaning back against the wall.
Sir Dante's grin widened, satisfied. He turned forward again.
Sir Gael ignored his taunts. Reaching across the table, he picked up two sealed letters and tossed them—one to Sir Dante, one to Sir Ronald.
"We're splitting into three groups," he said. "Sir Dante's group will evacuate the people of Gulp Village to Swilling Village. You'll take Sir Alden, Sir Ewan, Sir Theal, and Sir Halric. The village population is about five thousand. Handle the troublemakers lawfully—we don't need more legal cases piling up after the your Honey Rain incident."
Sir Dante chuckled under his breath and turned toward the window, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.
Across the room, Theal sat quietly, wiping down his blade's sheath with a rag. Though he couldn't see the exchange, the tension in the air was enough to draw a faint frown.
Why put me in the same group as Sir Dante after I defeated him? he thought. He's petty—what is the Knight Captain thinking.
He pushed the thought aside and continued polishing the already spotless sheath.
Sir Gael's voice broke the silence again.
"Sir Ronald's group will defend the nearby illegal settlements. They don't have documentation to enter formal lands, so there's nowhere to evacuate them. Your team will consist of Sir Bram, Sir Thom, and Dame Mila. There are five settlements around Mournmound—combine them into one and guard them from there."
Sir Ronald, still leaning against the wall, gave a slow nod without opening his eyes.
Sir Gael cleared his throat.
"Sir Jory and Sir Clive will accompany me. We'll camp at Mournmound's peak and descend toward Tartarus's border to investigate the cause. The Pantheon suspects Tartarus unsealed the Critten King's pit."
A murmur swept the cafeteria.
Sir Jory raised his hand. His face was long and narrow, with tired eyes shadowed by sleeplessness and hair slicked back but slightly unkempt. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.
"If that's the case, it's a trap. There's no way Tartarus could unseal that pit without reason. They know it will lure the Grelon Empire's heretics to the border—it's an easy way to sow chaos in Gourmand. With House Chagrin at war with the ruling House, their little ploy will undoubtedly plant some troublesome seeds."
Sir Gael nodded grimly, but before he could speak, Sir Clive cut in.
Sir Clive's face was soft but strong, his brown hair swept back into a loose ponytail, streaked lighter at the ends.
"Then we need to request Code Red Totems from the Pantheon."
Sir Dante burst into laughter, the sound sharp and mocking.
"Now I see why the Bloodhounds haven't achieved anything in recent years," he said. "Two Status Five Stillness knights led by a Status Six Stillness, begging the Pantheon for priceless Totems just to investigate a mountain? Meanwhile, I—a lone Status Five—get saddled with three so called knights all below Status three, the weakest one blindfolded, plus five thousand peasants to babysit, and you don't hear me crying for totems."
The room fell silent. Sir Ronald let out a low, disdainful sneer from his corner, but said nothing.
Sir Gael ignored the tension and spoke with measured calm.
"We may already have heretics who've performed rituals at the Critten King's pit. Be vigilant. You know the law—execute on the spot if you notice any odd behavior. Mortals lose their will upon contact with the pit's impurities."
Theal's polishing halted. His frown deepened beneath the blindfold.