The previous scene fades with Ethan and Ashley making their final preparations for the exam while keeping a watchful eye over Peachy's whereabouts fearing he would have another one of his his escapades.

We momentarily pan out from Ethan and Ashley's point of view and delve deep within the damp and cramp location of Aetherland's prison. Usually bustling with the chatter of prisoners and the occasional screams of torment—the place is now shrouded with indescribable silence, almost as if, something sinister is afoot.

The stench of wet earth and stagnant water hung in the air as the last of the cell doors clanged open. A small group of poachers, hunched and ragged from weeks of confinement, walked out into the dimly lit subterranean hall. Their faces, lined with the hard marks of a life lived at the edge of law and survival, has vengeance written all over it.

"Wild Rose, you'll pay for this," says a burly man while changed into a freshly tailored black and white suit.

"Don't forget about the guy she's with, boss. I'll cut that son of a bitch and make a smoothie out of his gut," one of his cronies said.

"The Chaos Observer sends its regards," came the terse statement from the man who had opened the cells—a tall, gaunt figure hunching over them, his face barely noticeable under the dark hood, save for the scar that traced down his jaw. He wiped his hands on his coat, the faint gleam of steel at his waist catching the low light. "Consider yourselves free. You belong to him now."

The contradicting statement hung in the air like an omen.

"To who?" asked another crony, a woman with short-cropped hair and a face that had seen too many cruel days. She rubbed at her wrists, raw from the shackles, casting a wary glance around the underground hall.

He didn't answer right away, as if the question itself was beneath him. Instead, he moved to a heavy wooden cabinet where several stacks of grimy papers were piled. He rifled through them for a moment, then casually slid some documents in his trench coat. Finally, he gazed back at them, his eyes gleaming with a cold understanding. "Parallax. You owe him a lifetime of servitude."

Before the poachers could negotiate, a fresh stench assailed their senses, putting them on the verge of puking. Looking around, they noticed where the smell came frome—a warden slumped over a chair who's skin is abnormally pale, with a face caved in and barely identifiable. On the pathway next to him two more bodies lay mangled uncharacteristically, visible hand marks suggests they were violently and forcefully twisted.

"The terror of crimson peaks? I thought he never leaves his domain? What does he want with us? We're not some kind of high-class assassins or thieves. We're poachers. Simple folk."

The gaunt man's lips twitched into something like a smile, though his hardened cheeks prevented the curve from touching his eyes. "You'll be surprised how much someone will pay for the things you do. But first, you're going to prove yourselves. Make no mistake, you're his now. And the only way out is in pieces."

The group of poachers shuddered as the looked back at the warden's lifeless corpse.

The woman spoke again, her voice more shaky this time, though it barely cracked the tension in the room. "You said free. You said we're free. How is this free?"

There was a long pause before the gaunt man answered. "Little girl, freedom is a social construct, no one is truly free. As long as one lives one is always a slave to something. Besides, you're not a working for him persé, not really. You're working to save your life. If you're lucky, you'll survive long enough to experience what I can do when I want something," the man's voice now breathy, likened to a predator seeing meat for the first time,"If you're unlucky—"

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Stop," the burly man interjected, his voice rising. "We've heard enough. Just tell us what we're doing."

The gaunt man exhaled sharply and nodded, his hands moving swiftly to a map spread across the table. "Golden Vale will be holding a practical exam for adventurers soon, that is when you'll plant these."

A bag of a thousand gold and a stack of papers with strange intricate magical glyphs was handed to them.

The gaunt man grins as he issues a challenge, "You can of course, decide to run away with the money, OR you can get this initial payment and enjoy being in the front seat of what's about to go down. The choice is yours."

"What's so important about these bronze adventurers?"

"A bunch of newbies has seen what Parallax can do, he wants to nip them in the bud while they're still weak. If things go south, you can drink this potion," the gaunt man hands them a vial of lime liquid each– a lively tentacle squirmed ominously inside.

The poachers were hesitant to receive the unsightly vial of green ooze, the gaunt man smirk then sweetens the deal, "I heard that an adventurer who goes by the name of wild rose will be participating. Ring any bells?"

"We'll do it," the burly man grabs the potion, now bearing a stout and resolute expression. Determined to exact their revenge, the cronies have expressed their commitment as well.

The gaunt man's grin widens as the burly man grabs the potion. There's a gleam in his eyes, something that dances like a predator sizing up prey, his fingers tapping the vial lightly. "Good," he murmurs, his voice sounded as dominant as his frame.

The poachers exchange uneasy glances, but their resolve doesn't waver. The gold and the promise of revenge outweigh the fear and worry gnawing at the deep recesses of their heart.

"We'll take care of the bronze adventurers" the burly man says, his voice low and confident, though a slight tremor betrays his unease. His eyes narrow in thought as he glances down at the vial. "But what's this really about? Why not just deal with these so-called 'bronze adventurers' on your own, if they're such a threat?"

The gaunt man's expression shifts, just for a moment—like he's had to answer this question many times before. His eyes flicker with impatience, but he remains calm, composed. "Because the boss has bigger things on his plate than chasing down every weakling who thinks they can change the world. You can handle the mess before it becomes a problem."

The poachers have heard of Parallax—no one in their business hasn't. A name whispered with both fear and admiration. A creature who manipulates outcomes from the shadows, pulling strings that no one even knows were there.

The poachers exchange another look, this one more deliberate. Everyone wants power, as insignificant as the poachers are, they too, wanted to take a swig from the metaphorical chalice that this villain so readily offers, but the real question is whether they're willing to pay the price for it.

"And if we fail?" The burly man asks, his brow. He might be resolute, but he isn't stupid. He knows that with Parallax involved, failure could come at a steep cost.

"Stupid question, say sorry before I run out of patience," the gaunt man replies, his voice lowering, a shadow crossing his face.

"Uhm... we're sorry?" the burly man replied.

"Good. I was about you pull you apart. Hmmmn... But in off chance you somehow manage to screw this up, well, Parallax has a reliable method of making people… disappear." He lets the threat hang between them for a moment before continuing. "But I'm sure you won't fail, pftt! Come on, with your life on the line, how could you?"

His tone shifts again, almost patronizing. "That's why I'm giving you a head start. A chance to take out the weak ones first before Parallax steps in personally."

The poachers were uncertain whether to trust this man or not. One thing is for certain, between the choice of dying at the hands of this terrifying man or dying later, the choice has already been decided even before they made up their minds. Even if there was no way out, at the very least, there was a way forward.

"Let's get this over with," the burly man says, his voice firm. "No more waiting around. We go now."

The gaunt man watches them go, his smile never faltering. As the door swings shut behind them, he takes a slow breath and exhales through his nose. This was only the beginning. What would happen next, he wasn't sure. He taps on a magical transceiver and a dark voice responds from the other end:

"Have we managed to procure the pawns?" the dark voice impatiently inquired.

"Things are progressing just as you predicted boss," the gaunt man replied. There was a moment of silence before a maniacal laugh echoed from the other end of the transceiver. The gaunt man patiently waited the laughter to subside before he continued, "Shall we proceed to phase 2?"

"Very well. The pawns are on the move, its time to plant the mole," the dark voice trails off, ending the correspondence.