Raymond exited the "Traitor's Anchorage" tavern with a slow, deliberate stride. As the heavy wooden door creaked shut behind him, the hulking waiter exhaled a sharp breath of suppressed rage, clutching his throat where Raymond's grip had left its mark.
Waiter: (Voice trembling with muffled anger) "What is wrong with that damn brat? Why the hell is he so wound up? And what exactly did that bastard Kelan do? First, a prince causes a stir looking for him, then a terrifying sorcerer, and now this boy too!"
The Scorpion erupted in a loud, mocking laugh from his shadowy corner.
Waiter: (Staring in confusion) "What? What's so funny? And besides... he paid for one piece of information, but you gave him two. That's not like you, old man."
The Scorpion: (Wiping his eye, his yellow grin never fading) "It's nothing, boy. I just remembered something. Something... ancient."
For a fleeting second, the image of Raymond flashed in his mind—the boy's straight back, the dim light glinting off the dark dagger at his hip. The Scorpion closed his eyes, sinking into a deep memory, his expression a haunting mix of nostalgia and pain.
[Flashback: The Scorpion and The Stranger]
Young Scorpion: (Voice filled with curiosity) "My friend, you were a knight once, and now you're a mercenary fighting with a broadsword... yet you always carry that dagger and never draw it. Is it too precious to stain with blood?"
The Stranger: (Coldly) "It is my family's heirloom. A symbol passed down only when one becomes the head of the house."
Young Scorpion: "A knightly heirloom... that's a dagger and not a sword?"
The Stranger: "I wondered the same before it was handed to me. But my father told me this blade held immense significance to our founder. It represents a debt—an ancient covenant that must be fulfilled at any cost."
Young Scorpion: "A debt? A covenant? What kind of oath is this?"
The Stranger: (Exhaling slowly) "I don't know the details. It's inscribed on the blade in a tongue so old it was forgotten a thousand years ago. But we know one thing: this dagger must be delivered to someone. The proof is that no one who inherited it has ever been able to draw it from its sheath."
He paused, looking at his friend.
"That's why I can't use it. And I'll tell you this, since you helped me with your intel on my last mission... a mysterious sorcerer looked at this dagger and said: 'You, who continue to guard the ancient covenant, guiding the Moon's Shadow to the young wolf... you shall complete this oath on the night of the Blood Moon, paving the way for his quest.' Then, he vanished as if he were never there."
Young Scorpion: "Wait! You, who don't even trust me—your oldest friend—are telling me you trust the words of a shady sorcerer? That's not like you, you lone wolf of the north... Maxim!"
Maxim: "It's not about trust, my friend. It's a feeling. A hope... that this covenant ends with me."
[End of Flashback]
The Scorpion snapped his eyes open. His gaze was a sharp cocktail of longing for the past and acute caution for the future. He remained silent, staring at the dark entrance where Raymond had disappeared.
The Scorpion: (Flipping the gold coin slowly) "Well, let's see what this boy does, and what fate has in store for him. Because now... this is no longer just a personal vendetta."
Waiter: "What do you mean? What are you talking about, old man? Have you finally gone senile?"
The Scorpion didn't answer. He just smiled that cold, yellow smile and stared back at the coin.
While the tavern faded behind him, Raymond's mind was a blaze of calculation.
Information one: Kelan fled to the Isles of Mist. He was afraid. He was looking for something ancient.
Something ancient...
Images flickered behind Raymond's eye patch—blurry shadows from a childhood he tried to bury. A cold realization struck him. He let out a short, joyless laugh—a sound that carried a promise of blood.
"Fine. This makes it more interesting."
But the second piece of information troubled him: A sorcerer seeking ancient magic and Kelan. Raymond touched his eye patch, whispering to the wind: "I hope he doesn't stand in the way of my vengeance."
He turned into a side alley known for its trade in ancient scrolls and maps. The shop was cramped, smelling of salt and dust. An old man in thick spectacles sat behind piles of parchment.
But Raymond wasn't alone.
A young man with light-colored clothes and a perpetually curious, cheerful face was browsing the shelves. The moment Raymond entered, the stranger put down his book and stared at him with intense curiosity.
Raymond: "I need a detailed map of the Northern Seas. Specifically... the Isles of Mist."
Old Shopkeeper: (Voice weary) "The Isles of Mist? No one goes there unless they've lost something that can never be replaced."
The Cheerful Youth: (Interrupting with a friendly, direct tone) "Good heavens! A black eye patch, a sword, and looking for the Isles of Mist... You have quite the look, my friend! You can't possibly be an ordinary man."
Raymond: (Ignoring him completely) "What do you know of the climate and conditions?"
The Youth: "Everyone knows they're cold and brutal. But lately, someone has put out a bounty, recruiting mercenaries and pirates to go there. I wanted to go too, and I have a feeling traveling with you would be much more fun than with that lot. What do you say?"
Raymond sighed internally. This blunt approach grated against his cautious nature.
The old man spread a massive, tattered sea chart on the table. Raymond studied the symbols:
• Dangerous currents and icy whirlpools.
• A relentless, freezing climate shrouded in eternal fog.
• A voyage of at least two months from The Sunken Arkan.
Raymond: (Pointing to the islands) "This is it. How much?"
Old Shopkeeper: "Three gold coins."
The Youth: (Laughing softly) "You really are interesting. Perhaps we'll meet again, One-Eyed Man. I have a feeling we're going to be friends!"
Raymond paid the old man and left without a word, offering only a cold stare to end the conversation.
He spent the rest of the day in the main market, preparing for the frost of the North:
• A heavy fur-lined coat and a windproof wool cap.
• Double rations of dried goat meat and hard-tack bread.
• Basic tools to sharpen and maintain his temporary blade.
By sunset, Raymond was ready. The path to the Isles of Mist lay open, and the scent of the sea was already turning into the scent of blood.
[End of Chapter Two]