TWO WEEKS OF FRUSTRATION
Two weeks had passed since the Iron Hounds began their hunt for the elusive courier.
Two weeks of nothing.
Despite increasing their patrols, despite stationing lookouts at every city entrance, despite bribing merchants and hiring rogues to track him, the result was the same. Relay was nowhere and everywhere.
Garrus Ironjaw sat at the head of the war table inside Fort Blackthorn, his fingers tapping irritably against the wooden surface. Around him, his officers and enforcers stood, each wearing equally frustrated expressions.
“This is getting ridiculous.” Lena muttered, arms crossed. “We have the manpower, the resources, the influence. And yet we’re being outplayed by a single damn courier?”
Drake exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “He’s not a normal player. No one moves like that.”
Another officer grumbled, “It’s like he just-vanishes every time we get close.”
Garrus scowled. “We own the roads. We control the major trade routes. He should have nowhere to go.”
“And yet,” Lena added dryly. “our supply lines keep running because of him.”
That was the part that infuriated them the most.
Despite everything, despite the search parties, despite the bounties, Relay was still delivering.
Letters were still moving between rival factions. Goods were still being transported through dangerous zones. Information was still being whispered between cities.
All because of one man.
And they still had no idea what he looked like.
No name. No face. No voice.
Just a phantom.
Garrus clenched his jaw. “I don’t care how long it takes. We will find him. And when we do...”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence.
Everyone already knew exactly what he meant.
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MEANWHILE...
Isaac never stayed in one place for too long.
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His cabin near Alderwood Forest had been abandoned after only a week. The Iron Hounds had gotten too close, forcing him to relocate.
Now, he spent his nights anywhere but the same place twice. Sometimes it was a ruined watchtower, other times the attic of an abandoned building, sometimes even the rooftops of Eldermere.
But with the growing attention on him, he needed to do something drastic.
Which was why he found himself staring at a cursed mask in a black-market stall.
It was plain white, smooth as porcelain, with no eyeholes, no mouth. A featureless void.
The merchant, a shifty-looking elf, smirked. “You sure about this one, friend? Most folk steer clear of cursed artifacts.”
Isaac tilted his head. “And why’s that?”
“Because curses tend to have a cost.”
Isaac picked up the mask, turning it over in his hands. It was cool to the touch. There was no obvious way to see through it, but the merchant assured him it wouldn’t block his vision. The magic would bind to his face, allowing him to see, eat, drink—as if it wasn’t there.
It would never come off unless he willed it.
A permanent disguise.
Isaac’s lips curled into a small smile.
Perfect.
He placed a pouch of gold on the stall. “I’ll take it.”
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AFTERWARDS...
The moment he put on the mask, a strange sensation washed over him.
It was like a second skin, molding perfectly to his face, yet he could breathe easily. His vision remained crystal clear, despite there being no holes to see through.
He lifted a hand to his face, feeling the smooth, cold surface.
No one would ever see his expression again.
Isaac exhaled.
He hadn’t realized it until now, but he liked this.
The rumors would only grow wilder. The players hunting him would only become more frustrated.
And best of all?
It would annoy the hell out of the Iron Hounds.
He adjusted his hood, stepped into the shadows, and disappeared once more.
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LIFE MOVES ON
With the mask concealing his identity, Isaac continued his usual routine.
He delivered a sealed letter to a noblewoman in Eldermere.
He smuggled rare herbs to a hidden alchemist’s shop in a lawless outpost.
He transported gold ingots for a secretive group that paid him handsomely.
Every job, every delivery, every step he took cemented his reputation further.
He was no longer just Relay.
He was The Man Without a Face.
And the more people whispered his name, the more untouchable he became.
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A NEW PLAN
Back at Fort Blackthorn, the Iron Hounds sat in grim silence.
Another week. Another failure.
No tracks. No traces. Nothing.
The bounty on Relay’s head had tripled, yet no one had even come close to catching him.
That’s when a new voice spoke up.
A stranger stood at the doorway, a thin, sharp-eyed man with a knowing smirk.
“I hear you’ve got a ghost problem.” he said, stepping inside.
Garrus scowled. “And who the hell are you?”
The man grinned. “Someone with an idea.”
He dropped a small, leather-bound book onto the table.
Garrus raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”
The stranger’s grin widened.
“Every courier follows a route.”
And just like that a new hunt began.