"How are you still alive?" Ethan's armorer asks as he passes his hand through the coat's and shirt's gaping holes. "And what attacked you?"

Ethan raises his gaze from the book he rented from a librarian. "It attacked me in the dark; I didn't get a good look," Ethan begins. "And my wounds are already scarring; I had a few drops of health potion left, and my constitution is pretty high." The Huskstalker's claws dug into his abs and obliques but did not hit internal organs.

"You're fucking lucky; that's what happened. And don't think I don't know what those marks on your neck are," the armorer growls as he takes his sewing tools out.

"Why are you so worried about me? I don't even know your name." Ethan flips a page, returning to his reading. 'When a monster reaches the highest level for their class, they may experience a form of hibernation. They may exit unchanged or evolve into a higher form of existence. As is the case for humans and other sentient species, they may die during the process or turn crazed by it,' Ethan reads internally. 'May, may, may. There are no certainties in this book.'

"Aldwin," the armored says. "I have to replace a steel plate, and I have to do patchwork with the bits of leather I still have. It will take an hour or so. That will be five coppers; you can pay when you retrieve it."

Ethan slides a silver on Aldwin's workbench. "By the way, is there a good weapon smith you would recommend? I broke my sword."

"You need to take better care of your tools," Aldwin grumbles. "In the inner city, there is a shop called the Hammered Heart Smithy. The owner is getting old, but he has some good blades for sale. However, someone like you will need a custom order; you're going to have to wait a few months."

Ethan sighs. "Thanks; I will come back this afternoon," he says as he snaps his book shut.

"Wait, you forgot your change," Aldwin says.

Ethan smirks as he moves away. "That's a tip, for your discretion about my patronage," he says, before disappearing through the front door.

With grime splattered on his clothes and his hair messed up by water, Ethan drags a cart through the streets. He moved his jaw and loosened his facial muscles, giving himself a weaker, dumber look. He lowered his shoulders, placing them inward to hide his frame.

The cart he pulls holds a wooden crate containing the cage of the Huskstalker queen. He moves slowly, but at an even pace, so as not to draw any attention. Soon, he reaches the back section of the Blackwood estate.

Two guards protecting a cellar's door spot him. One of them raises his hand towards him and yells, "Halt!" Ethan stops, letting go of the cart.

"What is your business here?" the other guard asks. He approaches Ethan, his hand on the handle of his sword.

Ethan alters his voice, making it raspy, mispronouncing words, and adopting the local accent. "I have a special delivery for Viktor Blackwood, an exotic animal."

They glance at each other, looking perplexed. One of the guards leaves his post, walking towards a door. The other gets close to Ethan. "Don't move; we'll sort this out," he says.

"I've got many other affairs to attend to. I've made my delivery; I should go now," Ethan says, feinting a hint of fear. He turns around and begins walking away.

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The guard kicks him in the back, and Ethan feints to fall and tumble. "I ordered you to not move!" he yells. He drags Ethan to the side, sitting him down.

Keeping his gaze down, Ethan triggers predator's sight. Two new individuals are coming towards them, accompanied by the guard who left. One of them wears numerous items emitting Ether – rings on his fingers, a necklace, even his vestments.

"Lord Blackwood, I was totally unaware that those low-life smugglers would bring it here instead of the arena," the second man pleads. He sounds old.

Viktor's heart rate hastens as anger boils inside of him. "You'll send Isabella her porter's head along with a summons. I'll make sure that this never happens again," he grumbles.

"Yes, yes, my lord," his interlocutor answers sheepishly. "It is a good thing that Bran was on duty. But what will we do with Merek? He saw the crate."

"Burn him to ashes; I don't need a witness," Viktor orders, raising the tension of the guard escorting them.

They open the door, through which the guard previously left. As his warden glances towards the opening door, Ethan stands up. 'Strengthening, Silent steps,' he thinks before silently dashing into a nearby street.

Viktor Blackwood towers over the two guards, his imposing stature and muscular build making him appear twice their size. His expression is stern and calculating, accentuated by his slicked-back, jet-black hair. He's sharply dressed in a dark blazer, detailed with intricate crimson embroidery. His cold gaze sweeps over the bewildered guard, who frantically scans the area for Ethan.

Accompanying him is an old man, thin and crooked. His long, gray hair flows untidily, framing a face marked by burn scars. His eyes, however, gleam with a sharp cunning. As Ethan observes from his concealed spot, he sees the old man quiver slightly under Viktor's gaze.

The guard who failed to detain Ethan stammers, "Lord Blackwood, the man with the cart was just here. He couldn’t have gotten far."

Viktor's gaze sharpens, and a vein throbs at his temple. He turns to face the old man, his voice low and menacing. "Take care of this," he commands.

The old man nods before turning to the panicked guard. With a subtle motion of his right hand, he unleashes a jet of white flame. The guard has no time to scream; his flesh vaporizes in an instant, his bones and armor lingering only moments longer. The old man approaches the scorched earth, summoning a fine, gleaming green dust. Grass rapidly sprouts, restoring the patch to its former verdant state.

Turning his attention to the cart, Viktor forcefully lifts the crate's lid, ignoring the nails that secure it. He peers inside, and a window appears before his eyes. His face betrays a moment of concern as a bead of sweat forms on his forehead. He abruptly shuts the lid and steps back. "Get this to the arena," he commands the remaining guard. "This is going to be our most profitable auction."

Viktor and his mage disappear into the estate. Frightened, the guard stares at the space where his comrade was standing seconds ago. 'That's one way to get fired from your job,' Ethan internally mocks.

The guard removes his armor that bears the mark of the estate. Keeping only his cotton civilian attire, he starts pulling the cart. Ethan follows him in the city's streets, using predator's sight to track him from afar.

He guides Ethan to the outskirts of the city. The guard drags the cart inside an abandoned tavern building. Through the walls, Ethan can sense him opening a hidden door. The man soon disappears underground.

'Now that I know where the exchange, or auction, will happen, I need to get the guard to come and arrest them,' Ethan thinks. 'But I can't just warn one of the garrisons, as he has more than probably bought their senior officers.'

Ethan makes his way back to the inn where he left Russ, crossing paths with a courier office. Inside, a clerk is napping at his desk. Ethan clears his throat. "How quickly can you deliver a letter within the city?"

Startled, the clerk blinks awake. "For urgent deliveries, we dispatch immediately, costing five coppers. Otherwise, it's a copper for next-day delivery; we run routes every morning. Prices may vary with the letter's weight and volume. Delivery might take longer if the address isn’t residential," he explains hastily.

Ethan takes out eight letters. "These need to reach the names listed on them. But I’d like them delayed by a day," he suggests, sliding over eight coppers and a silver coin.

"Absolutely, Sir," the clerk responds, accepting the letters and the money. "May I have your name, just in case there’s an issue finding any recipients?" He looks up, only to see that Ethan has already disappeared.