The bright moonlight spilled over the narrow alleys of Stone Bell City, coating the cobblestones in a pale silver glow. A soft, lilting melody drifted from a tavern ahead—gentle, melancholic, almost like a nocturne carried by the night breeze.
Through the windows, the warm glare of a roaring fireplace flickered rhythmically. Shadows danced on the wooden walls, and the scent of wine, sweat, and roasted meat mingled heavily in the air.
A slightly crooked wooden sign swayed above the door: Golden Wheat Tavern.
Magus pushed open the sturdy wooden door and stepped inside, instantly wrapped in the familiar wave of noise and warmth. The place was overflowing with people—rough laborers, mercenaries, travelers—each lost in their own world of drink and laughter.
The air was thick with the pungent smell of cheap ale mixed with the raw, unmistakable scent of human hormones. Boisterous men shouted over drinking games, and voluptuous waitresses in revealing outfits weaved gracefully between tables. Their fair legs and swaying hips drew countless brazen gazes.
Magus, accustomed to the environment, moved without hesitation to a dimly lit corner and sat down. A passing waitress carrying a tray paused near him. With ease, he flicked a few silver coins into the opening of her bodice.
"The usual," he said softly.
She flashed him a flirtatious smile before disappearing into the crowd. Moments later, she returned with a mug of ale and a wooden plate of simple food.
The ale was cloudy and yellowish, its low alcohol content unable to mask its sour, unrefined taste. There was no pleasant aroma—just a bitter, rough edge that clung to the tongue. It was the kind of drink commoners cherished simply because they could afford nothing better.
Magus rarely drank alcohol at all. But when he did, it was always high-quality brews—rich, fragrant, refined. Compared to that, this tavern ale was almost undrinkable.
As for the food, it was even more lackluster. Everything was boiled or roasted using crude methods, then sprinkled with nothing more than coarse salt. There were no spices like pepper or exotic seasonings, no honey, no creamy sauces—luxuries reserved for the nobility and wealthy merchants. In this world, sugar alone was considered a luxury item; spices could be more precious than silver.
Magus ordered the food and drink only to blend in. Sitting in a tavern without ordering anything would be far too conspicuous.
A tavern, however, was the perfect place for gathering rumors. Drunk men loved to talk, and their exaggerated stories often hid fragments of truth. Since arriving in Stone Bell City, Magus visited this tavern every night, hoping to gather information among the disorderly chatter.
The rest of his time he spent undercover near a Starfire Church stronghold—an address extracted from a captured Black Sword Knight. But after three days of surveillance, he had found nothing.
If I still don't find clues tonight, he thought, I'll simply capture someone and force the truth out of them.
While taking another reluctant sip of the poor ale, Magus's keen ears caught a conversation from the table beside him.
"Have you heard?" a drunken man said excitedly. "Lord Kubero's manor in the north is haunted!"
"Haunted? Oh, stop it. Don't spout ghost stories. There's no such thing as ghosts."
"I'm being serious," the first insisted. "My brother-in-law is a soldier under Lord Kubero. After weird things started happening, Lord Kubero moved out of the manor! He later sent several knights inside to investigate. They've been gone for days—none of them ever came out! The manor is sealed off now."
A moment of silence followed.
"Knights disappeared…? Are you sure? Even knights died in there?"
"If it's really a ghost, it makes sense. A knight can't fight something without a body."
Another man leaned closer. "So… is the ghost male or female?"
"What, Lance? You want a female ghost too?"
"Heh! If she's pretty, why not?"
The group erupted into loud, crude laughter before drifting into their usual obscene chatter.
Magus's expression sharpened slightly.
Ghosts did exist in this world—but the people discussing them clearly had no idea what that meant.
The simplest type was a Specter, born from individuals who died violent or unjust deaths. A Specter looked much like the person did in life, often with visible traces of the injuries that killed them. But despite their eerie appearance, Specters were generally harmless. Their touch only caused mild chills, and ordinary people rarely saw them at all. Sunlight weakened them severely, and they would eventually dissipate over time.
Harmless—or at least manageable.
But above them were Vengeful Spirits—souls twisted by deep hatred, unable to rest even in death. Unlike Specters, Vengeful Spirits could drain vitality or even manipulate the minds of weak-willed humans. They were immune to physical damage, capable of killing ordinary people with ease. Only trained knights with Battle Qi could truly harm them.
A Vengeful Spirit that devoured enough souls became a Malevolent Spirit, a far more terrifying entity. Such spirits were often bound to locations, turning entire areas into ghost domains. Fully formed Malevolent Spirits were unaffected by sunlight and physical attacks. Even a Great Knight might struggle against one.
And above them were horrors like Malevolent Spirit Aberrations and Evil Spirits—nightmarish existences so destructive that their appearance could doom an entire nation.
Every Evil Spirit in history had been tied to the fall of a kingdom.
Judging from the rumors, if the Kubero Estate was genuinely "haunted," the culprit was likely a Malevolent Spirit.
Interesting… Magus mused.
Malevolent Spirits were the perfect source of soul energy for crafting soul crystals—materials essential for creating advanced puppets. A powerful soul crystal could allow him to craft a puppet far stronger than his Black Rock Leopard.
But he shook his head.
I should finish investigating the Starfire Church first. The spirit can wait.
After lingering a little longer to gather a few more scraps of information, Magus stood and headed upstairs.
The Golden Wheat Tavern doubled as an inn. He had been lodging there for the past few nights, using a modest room on the second floor as his temporary base.
As he left, several waitresses watched him ascend the stairs. Their eyes glimmered with curiosity and mischief.
"I swear he's a noble," one whispered excitedly. "He's even more handsome and refined than Young Master Elvin."
"Forget Elvin! I brushed against Magus's arm yesterday… Gods, his muscles were like iron. He doesn't look bulky, but he's so fit!"
"You little pervert," one teased.
"Oh please, as if you're not tempted too."
"Hehehe… If you're so interested, why don't you go knock on his door? Say you're offering a massage service. Who knows what might happen?"
"That's not a bad idea," another chimed in. "If you're not going, then I might."
"I didn't say I wasn't going," Sandy, a bold waitress, smirked. "Just wait. Tonight I'll see if he's as 'firm' as you say."
They all burst into laughter, drawing eager glances from several male patrons.
— Late that night —
Sandy took her preparation seriously. She changed into a shorter, tighter waitress uniform, lowered the neckline, let her hair cascade behind her shoulders, and approached Magus's room with a racing heart.
She raised her hand and knocked softly.
Tap, tap.
Silence.
"Guest…?" she whispered. "Do you need a massage service?"
She knocked again.
Still no response.
"Is he already asleep?" she murmured, disappointment washing over her.
Just then, the door beside her creaked open. A plump, greasy-faced man poked his head out. His eyes gleamed lasciviously as he stared at Sandy's exposed curves.
"Your tavern has massage services?" he said eagerly. "Get me one too!"
Sandy's expression instantly froze. Her eyes drifted over the man's sloppy appearance, and she forced a polite tone.
"Sir, the tavern does not provide such services."
"But I heard you asking—"
"You misheard," she said sharply.
Before he could say another word, she turned on her heel and marched away, back straight and face stiff with embarrassment.
As she disappeared down the hallway, one truth remained:
Magus was not in his room. He had slipped away long ago.
The room sat empty—its window slightly ajar, moonlight spilling softly across
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