Clare and Geneve returned an hour later. Zark'thul had moved with Lyssa to a more secluded area—one of the many small, empty plots that dotted the residential areas of the town. The four of them now stood concealed beneath a modest cluster of trees.

"What'd you find?" Zark'thul asked, his gaze shifting between Clare and Geneve as they approached.

Clare answered, "They took two women—mother and daughter, we think—from the house, then fled into a granary near the edge of town, just beyond the crop fields. We've scouted around the building, and there doesn't seem to be anything going on nearby."

"I can confirm," Geneve added. "I took a peek through a crack in the walls and saw them open a trap door. They've got a hideout in there."

Zark'thul rubbed his chin thoughtfully, pondering their report.

The granary might be their base of operations, or at least a portion of it, hidden beneath the building. If so, what lay below? How deep did it extend? Did it lead to the forest, or somewhere else entirely?

"How well-guarded is the area around the granary?"

"We didn't see anyone guarding the place," Clare reported. "At least not at the perimeter. Not even a lookout on the roof. All quiet."

"They might feel secure enough in that." Zark'thul crossed his arms, glancing skyward as he organized his thoughts. "The town hasn't mobilized any response to the disappearances, and their Count seems preoccupied with something in the forest. Their confidence is our advantage."

"What do we do next?" Geneve asked, leaning forward on the balls of her feet, her hand hovering over the hilt of her blade.

"We're not raiding the granary, if that's what you're thinking," he responded, causing Geneve to frown and relax her stance. "The directive states that we need to uncover the source of the issue in this town. But it's too early to engage the enemy in their own den—especially when we don't know exactly what or who we're dealing with. We need more information."

Geneve's lips curled into a pout, clearly unsatisfied. However, she didn't press the matter further.

"We're going back to the inn," he announced. "When morning comes, we'll find out who owns that granary, who works there, and see if the plot of land itself is part of someone's estate. Then, we'll pursue the trail from there."

----------------------------------------

At dawn, his agents departed, continuing their investigations. Warren stayed behind to accompany Zark'thul's visits to the town's most prominent estates, where he hoped to glean information about the ownership of the granary. One of these estates belonged to Count Tarris himself.

Upon their approach to the mansion's gate, two guards stepped forward to intercept them. "Halt," one ordered. "State your name and business, stranger."

"I'm Lawrence Mycroft, an inspector sent by the Northmen Traders' Guild to investigate a number of concerning reports from a local associate. I wish to have an audience with the lord of the estate," he explained, his tone smooth and authoritative.

The piles of documents he sifted through beforehand provided him with all the necessary information, including the names and details of several important regional merchant families. Those facts, combined with the sigils and badges of authenticity that came with the documents, served as perfect props for his ruse. His AetherLink remained a handy device for those meticulous matters.

One of the guards nodded and promptly entered the premises. His companion lingered at the gatehouse, scrutinizing Zark'thul with an icy blue gaze. "Northmen, eh?" the guard said. "What's a Northman want with a trader from this part of the land?"

"The guild thrives on variety," Zark'thul replied. "Our hands deal in all manner of trade across the region. It's in our interest to have an established presence here, ensuring the smooth running of our businesses. I'm here on their behalf to ensure that."

A moment passed before the guard returned, re-emerging from the gates. He gestured towards them. "Count Tarris will see you. This way."

The guard led them into the courtyard, flanked by elaborate statues of proud figures. Towering walls encased in ivy loomed on either side, hemming them in. From there, they entered the lavish interior of the estate's primary building. Warren surveyed their surroundings with a wary expression. Zark'thul maintained a confident and measured pace as they walked through the estate's ornate foyer.

The guard guided them to an exquisitely decorated lounge adorned with plush furnishings.

Upon their entry, a tall man with well-groomed greying hair turned to greet them. A neatly trimmed beard accentuated his stern, sharp features. e was dressed in a flowing sable robe paired with a striking golden medallion around his neck.

The man's deep brown eyes settled on Zark'thul, who reciprocated the gaze, their stares locking together. The guard beside Zark'thul moved forward to announce in a clear, formal tone, "Lord Tarris, may I present to you—"

"Lawrence Mycroft, is it?" Tarris finished for the guard.

"Yes, Lord Tarris. It is an honor to be granted this audience on such short notice," Zark'thul acknowledged with a slight bow. "Your cooperation is most appreciated."

Not needing to sleep meant having more time to sift through files detailing etiquette and noble posturing. Not that the files were strictly necessary for this simple interaction—but Elspeth had messaged him about the importance of treating nobles with care.

Count Tarris offered a thin, barely perceptible smile in response. "But of course, it's always a pleasure to host associates of the Northmen Traders' Guild. Any particular reason that brings you to my home, Master Mycroft?"

Warren quietly stood at attention by the doorway, remaining out of the conversation as his gaze panned the room.

"In truth, Lord Tarris, my arrival in town is serendipitous." Zark'thul casually placed his hand on the backrest of a nearby lounge chair. "I'm actually en route to the southernmost reaches of the North and wouldn't normally make any stops at these parts. But, when a trading partner of the guild, stationed in town, sent me a series of rather unsettling letters, I felt compelled to take a look personally. As the representative of the guild, it's my duty to protect the guild's interests wherever they might be."

Tarris arched an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. "Oh?" he inquired, a note of challenge creeping into his voice. "What troubles might those be that compel a Northman to come this far south to stick his nose into business that's hardly his?"

Zark'thul tapped his finger on the backrest. "Your town is rumored to be haunted by a menacing force that has led to a string of disappearances. I can only imagine this must have a crippling effect on commerce, travel, and trade."

Tarris's features hardened. "Haunted? Superstitious drivel. No one knows for sure why people are vanishing. As we speak, I have my best men on the matter. It will be resolved in a matter of time, rest assured."

Zark'thul slowly paced around the chair. "Of that, I have no doubt, my Lord. But I hope you'll forgive me for not wanting to delay my journey any longer than necessary. My itinerary is quite strict, after all."

He paused, looking directly at Tarris. "You see, while I may trust in the competence of your men, it's simply a matter of 'the sooner, the better' for my business. If you wouldn't mind, is there any specific piece of information you could share that would hasten my departure? That way, I can assuage any concerns the guild might have. It's in both our interests, after all, to resolve this matter swiftly and get back to business as usual. Time is money, as they say."

Tarris remained still for a moment, his sharp eyes tracking Zark'thul's movements before his expression shifted subtly. He nodded, his mouth twisting into a smirk.

"Very well. You'll find the forest to the southwest of our town teeming with goblinoids. Their encampments are often well-hidden, but I believe that is where your answers lie." He motioned to the guard beside him. "You there. I have a map of the region. Fetch it for me."

"At once, my lord," the guard replied before leaving the room.

Tarris returned his gaze to Zark'thul. "However, be aware that I am leading a military operation in that same forest. Your presence may disrupt the coordination of my forces. Therefore, I ask that you withhold any ventures in that direction until our mission is complete. It will only take a day or two longer to settle the matter, then you will be free to pursue your own investigation, if needed."

"I see. Is that all you can tell me, Lord Tarris?"

"For the time being, yes."

The guard soon returned, bearing a rolled-up parchment in his hands. He handed the document to Zark'thul with a stiff bow.

"Is there anything else I can assist you with today, Master Mycroft?" Tarris inquired, his posture slightly more relaxed.

"Yes," Zark'thul responded, meeting his gaze. "A granary on the edge of town—south of the crop fields. Who owns the land and the building?"

"Those are the Beckhart lands. Baron Edgar Beckhart oversees the area," Tarris explained, his brow furrowing in apparent confusion. "If I may ask, why the sudden interest in that specific plot?"

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Nothing too important," Zark'thul said. "My local trading partner has been eyeing expansion into this region. As a favor, I was tasked with finding viable properties. Of course, this was before I became aware of the... hauntings."

Tarris seemed to accept that explanation without a hint of suspicion. "I wish you luck in your endeavors. And to you as well, Master Mycroft, wherever your path may lead."

With that, the guard escorted them from the lounge.

Once outside the gates of the estate, Warren ventured, "He doesn't know anything."

"About the cult, at least," Zark'thul murmured, his hand tracing the lapel of his overcoat. "Perhaps his authority is more limited than it seems. In any case, his people's efforts in the forest are concentrated on a 'goblinoid threat,' which means he's not aware of what we're currently dealing with in his town."

"What if he was lying about everything?" Warren offered. "This could be a way to lead us astray, you know?"

"If he had been, I would've noticed. Nonetheless, my second question to him was the real test. If he were involved, his responses would've been more evasive or aggressive. But his reaction seemed genuine, so I'm inclined to believe him."

"So, we're gonna investigate the Beckhart lands then?"

"After the others have completed their rounds. More dots are required before a line can be formed."

----------------------------------------

Returning to the tavern, Zark'thul spotted Clare, Geneve, Byron, and Lyssa already waiting for them at their usual table. An array of drinks and plates of food adorned the surface, some of them only half-finished.

"You all have something to report, I gather," Zark'thul said, taking his seat at the head of the table. Warren settled down next to him.

"Yes, sir," Byron responded. "We looked into who worked at that granary and in the crop fields. Based on what we discovered, it seems the building is managed by an estate warden—a woman named Catarina who reports back to Baron Edgar Beckhart."

"And...?" Zark'thul queried, leaning back in his chair as a barmaid placed a tankard of ale in front of him.

"I tried asking around about this Catarina, but nobody had anything to say about her," Clare added, making a small gesture with her hand. "The townspeople we asked said she just keeps to herself, mostly. Comes into town now and then to get her hands on supplies and a bit of this and that, but she's never very talkative."

Geneve chimed in, "I posed as a day laborer looking for work. I tried getting in on the crop fields, but the overseer sent me off. Apparently, only people personally endorsed by Catarina can work in the fields. Same thing went for the granary."

"What of Edgar?" Zark'thul prompted. "Any relevant information about him?"

Lyssa, who had been eating quietly during the exchange, spoke up. "He's a bit of a recluse. Doesn't have much of an affinity for people or mingling around at all. Spends most of his days holed up in his estate. A few of the folks we asked mentioned he's something of a botanist, apparently."

She cleared her throat briefly before continuing, "And one more thing: his reputation's a bit stained, from what we could gather. He had an uncle or something like that that got sentenced for heresy against the church and the nobility."

"Heresy?" Zark'thul repeated. He sat upright in his chair, hands crossed in front of him. "What were the charges?"

"Adultery, sodomy, cavorting with fiends, and insulting the sanctity of the holy vestments or something like that," she replied. "Point is, the uncle's gone, but the charges kinda tarnished the family name. Nobody likes them in the town much anymore. Not that they really did before, but now they like 'em even less."

"Is that so?" Zark'thul drummed his fingers on the wooden surface of the table. He closed his eyes to think.

Edgar. His warden, Catarina, managed the granary in question, as well as the surrounding farmlands. Given the history of his family, he might be a practitioner of the occult or, at the very least, have a favorable opinion of it. Furthermore, there were the peculiar symbols that Zark'thul had observed in the homes of the missing individuals, symbols he believed were connected to the cult in some way.

This Baron was, at the very least, a suspicious figure to him, especially since his own people seemed to keep their distance from him. To say nothing of the fact that the abductions appeared to be connected to the granary itself. The target had practically dropped itself right into his lap.

All that remained was to substantiate the link between the man and the nefarious activities occurring under his nose—or under his command.

"When you're all done eating," Zark'thul addressed, "go look into this Baron's activities. How he conducts himself, who he interacts with, and any other notable behaviors or incidents associated with him. I want you to scour the surrounding areas—every building, every possible inch of his property, if it proves necessary. I want you to dig deep. Whatever you find, report it back to me immediately."

Without wasting any time, his Agents dispersed in pairs to fulfill their new directives—only Geneve remained seated at the table with him.

"Was there something else, Agent?"

"One of us has to protect you at all times, sir," she replied, raising her tankard to take a swig.

He arched an eyebrow. "Now? Right as we are in the thick of an investigation?"

"Especially now," she insisted, setting the drink down. "You never know when trouble might show up. Gotta be ready for it."

He leaned back and looked away in thought. "It does seem unlikely that I'm in immediate danger..."

"It's no trouble, sir," she added. "You can carry on with whatever needs doing. I'll just keep watch."

Zark'thul looked her over once and then shrugged. He could carry on just the same with her nearby, and he wasn't about to waste time arguing with her about whether protection was necessary. "As you please."

----------------------------------------

While his Agents explored the Baron's lands, Zark'thul watched with his Thousand Eyes of the Dark Beyond, keeping a close watch over their progress and surroundings. The estate was located at the end of a long road, concealed behind a row of poplars and shielded by a tall wooden fence with a locked gate. The building itself was a modest stone-and-wood structure with a tiled roof and a sizable garden on the grounds.

Circling around the property, Zark'thul noted a separate timber structure—likely a barn or storage shed—standing adjacent to the house. But most importantly, the estate was secluded, the closest neighbor living at a considerable distance, well out of earshot.

With his observations concluded, the spectral eyes vanished in a puff of dark smoke.

His attention shifted to Geneve, who lay reclining on a bed in a state of apparent boredom. She busied herself by throwing a knife into the air and catching it deftly as it fell. With a sigh, she swung herself up into a sitting position, her legs dangling over the side of the bed.

"What do you do for fun, sir?" she inquired, casually toying with the knife. "You don't sleep, right? Or at least, I haven't seen you do it."

Zark'thul leveled his gaze at her, his tone deadpan. "Fun? What purpose would that serve in furthering my goals?"

She seemed taken aback by his response, her expression shifting to one of surprise and disappointment. "Well, I mean, it's for having fun? For passing the time, making moments memorable and stuff... I don't know, isn't that reason enough?"

Zark'thul maintained his disinterested look. "Frivolous pursuits aren't of interest to me. However, if you consider 'fun' to be an exploration of sensory experiences, then, I suppose, what I am currently doing counts."

Geneve tossed the knife upwards and deftly caught it between her fingers. She gave him a quizzical glance. "Uh... sensory experiences? What does that mean?"

He steepled his fingers on the table, his elbows resting on its surface. "Exploring taste, scents, touch, visual stimuli—anything that can trigger my nerves and cause them to respond, reminding me of my continued existence. Something to ensure I remain aware of my situation, especially now that I've been..." He trailed off as he searched for the right word. "Reduced, shall we say."

"Hmm, I guess that's fair enough." Geneve nodded slowly, her gaze drifting to the side. "Well, still, even that kind of fun is enjoyable, right? Having something to occupy your mind and make things entertaining..."

"For some, perhaps. For me, it is a constant reminder of what I once was. Indulging in human-like activities will do little to change that." A pause lingered before he continued, "Why the question, Geneve? What does a simulacrum need with entertainment?"

The knife slipped through Geneve's fingers and clattered on the floor. Her expression shifted, mouth thinning into a tight line as she clenched her fists in her lap. She dropped her gaze to the floor.

Zark'thul took note of her reaction. This wasn't a throwaway thought. She genuinely seemed to take issue with his statement, so much so that she visibly deflated. He didn't understand why.

REDLINEs were genetically engineered clones, designed to be an obedient fighting force, from his understanding. They share identical nearly genetic material but diverge over time in skills and personalities, suggesting they are based on an original template—much like simulacrums, which are often created as copies or duplicates.

Whatever individualism that may sprout between them came later, through conditioning, experience, and sheer circumstance.

They were, for all intents and purposes, interchangeable in nature. By design. Being addressed by the base descriptor, then—'simulacrum'—should not have offended her, from his perspective.

Still, he recently wondered why their personality and individual agency had begun to manifest so potently after receiving their new names. Did the act of naming them change something inherent within their nature, altering their purpose or state of being? Would they rebel against him over time?

Elspeth had called them "Living, breathing, and very real people who might appreciate being treated as such." Yet, was that claim genuine, or was it a fabrication meant to prevent their misuse? He doubted that she would lie to him openly, but the possibility remained.

The more he scrutinized the situation, the more confusing and muddled it became.

Even recently, the three female REDLINEs had exhibited peculiar behavior towards him. By virtue of him serving as the primary vehicle for their activation and, more importantly, their designation, did they feel the need to honor that role in some way? They had established a dynamic in which each of them was, in turn, closest to him in proximity during the evenings.

Was it some form of imprinting, perhaps? Such as hatchlings emerging from eggs would often see the first moving object in their vicinity, typically their mother, and immediately establish a lifelong connection?

He had encountered many species of intelligent and non-intelligent life throughout the stars, in the dark expanses of the void. Many followed complex hierarchical structures, social and biological dynamics, and natural behaviors that dictated the basis of their relationships with those around them. Imprinting was only one of thousands of behavioral patterns.

But even then, the mechanism underlying their strange disposition remained elusive.

Observation and experimentation were needed. He might not have any personal interest in exploring that line of inquiry, but understanding these connections would help him employ them more effectively in the field.

Geneve finally broke the silence. "Sir... even if we're simulacrums, it doesn't mean we don't appreciate fun."

He wasn't particularly inclined to have this conversation, not now, but her apparent interest in the subject compelled him. To end the conversation with simple words felt counterproductive, likely damaging her psyche to the point of reduced combat efficiency.

That won't do.

"I apologize," he stated. "I spoke out of turn."

The words sounded awkward coming from him, even to his own ears.

Awkward and utterly unremarkable. But she seemed to react to them positively; a subtle relaxation in her muscles and a returning light in her eyes betrayed the sentiment behind his words.

She slowly met his gaze, a slight hint of moisture lingering around the corners of her eyes.

"You have nothing to apologize for, sir. If anyone should, it's me. It was a stupid question. You just... gave your answer, and that's that," she said, leaning over to pick up the knife. She turned it idly between her fingers, avoiding his gaze once more.

"Hmm. If you say so," he responded, "But should the moment arise when you wish to bring any grievances or questions to my attention, I'll listen."

With a soft nod, she simply said, "Okay."