In an unknown location, a dimly lit passage snaked through an ancient stone tunnel. A cloaked figure, shrouded from head to toe in dark, linen-like garments, navigated the passage with a sense of purpose. Nothing could be seen nor recognized about this figure.

A dark brown box, emblazoned with arcane runes, was clutched tightly in their hands. The figure handled it with utmost care, as if a single misstep could unleash dire consequences.

The figure stopped at an old dusty door. Knocking in a firm rhythm, the figure spoke. "Open up," his deep voice hinted at a masculine presence. The dusty door creaked open on its own in response to the knocking, allowing the figure to enter.

The room inside was bathed in a faint emerald light, as a result of the light coming from the white crystal suspended from the ceiling, filtering through the tremendous amount of glass tubes of different shapes and sizes filled with various things floating in a strange green liquid.

The man in black stood in the eerie glow of the emerald-lit chamber, waiting. His eyes kept scanning the tubes, noting in disgust the hideous things floating inside: severed heads, limbs, organs, and other unrecognizable body parts, torn away from various creatures. Some belonged to humans, elves, and other humanoid races. Others were from animals, specifically ravens.

As for the other things, the man was unable to recognize what creatures they came from, and he had no desire to learn. Simply being in this unsettling chamber made his stomach... Well, let's just say a hearty meal wouldn't be on the menu any time soon.

Cough! Cough!

Coughing valiantly, a figure emerged from the shadows, its form shrouded in a long, gray cloak. Its face was hidden beneath a deep hood. The figure's presence filled the room with an air of mystery and power. Following behind him were two dog-like creatures, their form skinny and hairless as if they were infected by scabies.

"You have something for me?" the cloaked figure asked, its voice deep and gravelly, carrying an air of authority.

The man in black nodded, his eyes never leaving the tubes. "Yes, I have new orders from his majesty."

Cough!

The cloaked figure coughed before replying in a firm tone, "You have a 'Request,' not 'Orders,' my friend. I do not work for 'Your Majesty'. Now, what does His Majesty request? More of the… parasite?"

The man in black cleared his throat, his eyes narrowing slightly. "No, His Majesty orde—...Request that you find a way to create more of this," he said, presenting the dark brown box to the cloaked figure.

The cloaked figure's eyes widened slightly, and a spark of excitement seemed to flash in the depths of the hood. "Ah, I see. His Majesty is interested in... this?" The figure reached out a gloved hand and carefully took the box, running a finger over the magical runes. "Tell me, what is it exactly that he wishes to create more of?

The man in black took a step back, his eyes never leaving the cloaked figure. "The Watchers' awakening potion."

"!!!" The cloaked figure froze, their eyes widening in shock. They forgot to blink, breathe, or speak. Their gaze remained fixed on the box.

Cough!.

Only a harsh cough managed to jolt him out of his stupor. "How the hell did he manage to get this?" he rasped, unable to contain his shock.

The man in black smirked, a hint of satisfaction crossing his features. "His Majesty has his ways. Ways that are beyond the reach of most. Now, are you willing to assist us in creating more of this potion, or shall I take my business elsewhere?"

The cloaked figure shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "No, no... of course not. I just... I am surprised, that is all. I never thought that the secret of the legendary watchers was in a potion."

The man in black inclined his head. "His Majesty has many resources at his disposal. And he is willing to pay handsomely for your assistance. Considering your last work was…effective"

The cloaked figure's eyes narrowed, a hint of satisfaction creeping into their expression. "Effective, you say?... So, he was pleased with my parasite. Excellent news."

The man in black offered another nod. "His Majesty wants this request to be your top priority," he said, handing over the brown box. "In a month, he wants you to make enough potions for his personal army."

The cloaked figure smiled, taking the box and handling it with care as if it were the most valuable thing in the world. "I'll see what I can do, but I make no promise Alright?"

"His Majesty understands" The man in black replied before swiftly turning and leaving the room.

When he left, the cloaked figure retreated to the back of the room, placing the brown box on a wide table. He lifted his gaze up, staring at what appeared to be a massive scroll made from some kind of flesh.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

"Soon," the figure said, running his hand on the magical inscriptions written on it with blood, lingering at what appeared to be a symbol of a black bird. A Raven.

"Soon… Secrets will be mine."

Meanwhile, outside the room, the man in black exhaled a heavy sigh. He shook his head, trying to calm his nerves and his stomach. "

Brr… That place is creepy and that man is the creepiest," he mumbled.

Looking left and right, scanning his surroundings, he pulled out from a hidden pocket on his belt a small bracelet adorned with a round blue crystal. He slipped it onto his left wrist and brought it close to his lips.

"This is Agent Number 15 calling headquarters. I request an urgent meeting," his voice completely unrecognizable from before, transformed into a crisp, professional tone. "I repeat, Agent Number 15 is requesting a meeting with the higher Numbers. I possess red-level information."

…

Back in the Frostguard Keep, a certain individual was having a really bad day.

A pale man taller than most, with smooth shoulder-length dark hair, glowing crimson eyes, a perfect muscular build, and even more perfect features. But now, the look on his face was... well, everyone wanted to be as far away from him at the moment.

Sigh.

Aron exhaled deeply, massaging his temples as a burgeoning headache threatened to overwhelm him.

Sigh.

He sighed once more, attempting to gather himself, but the recollection of what had transpired to the caravan only exacerbated his frustration.

CRACK! BOOM!

He snapped, slamming his fist into the solid stone wall on the right side of the gate, leaving a fracture.

"!!!" Everyone jumped at the sound, their eyes widening in fear. The caravan's second-in-command and his soldiers swallowed hard, fearing that their end would be in the same manner as their captain

'Sigh!... Let's just calm down, I need to solve this immediately,' Aron muttered inwardly, extracting his fist from the wall.

He cast a few more glances at the caravan before barking orders to his men. "Escort everyone inside, treat their injuries, and have something warm cooked."

"Yes, my lord!" Eamon and the watchers pounded their fists to their chests in a bow.

As the watchers moved carrying out his orders, Aron shifted his gaze to the caravan's second-in-command. The man had just finished delivering a detailed report on the journey and the orc raid on the caravan.

Upon hearing the account, Aron deeply regretted ending the captain's life so hastily. The man's feet literally didn't touch the ground during the entire journey. He was constantly mounted on his horse, and when that horse grew weary, he simply requested another, leaping from saddle to saddle with practiced ease.

He consumed better food than everyone else and slept in the most opulent tent on the softest bed. Throughout the journey, he treated himself better than a king. And when the orc raid struck, he was the first to flee, abandoning the caravan and his men.

"Fucking cowards… What I hate the most," Aron growled.

As for the orc raid, that was the thing that got under Aron's skin. He couldn't help but think that the orcs were really trying to piss him off. From the supplies they stole to the people they captured, everything taken was of critical importance to Aron.

Food, clothing, and medicine. Essential and valuable to everyone, everywhere, and always. Nothing is more deadly than an empty stomach, exposed skin in a harsh climate, or an untreated wound or illness. Aron wasn't surprised that the orcs specifically targeted these supplies.

'They need them to survive as well,' was Aron's initial thought, and the types of people they abducted further solidified his belief that the orcs were in a desperate situation.

They kidnapped most of the healers and a few female soldiers, leaving the slaves untouched. According to the report, the orcs ambushed the caravan as it traversed a dirt road through a dense forest. The attack was swift and precise; they knew precisely what they wanted and where it was located.

They emerged from one side, launching their attack and seizing the healers, female soldiers. The orcs literally picked up the supply wagons along with the horse before vanishing on the opposite side.

"Hmm... interesting. They didn't kill anyone," Aron mused aloud, his keen eyes examining the wounded soldiers.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your perspective, the orc raid resulted in zero fatalities. For some reason, the orcs refrained from killing anyone, and even the wounds they inflicted on the soldiers were not fatal. They were inflicted with blunt instruments, like a hammer or club, or a hard-hitting fist.

"Strange," Aron thought.

The man standing beside him, the second-in-command, mistook Aron's statement for a question and hastily responded with what he knew.

"M-My Lord, these orcs are strange. For some reason, whenever they raid a caravan or village, they don't kill anyone."

"Really?"

"Yes, they just steal some supplies and kidnap a few people."

"What about the people they kidnapped?" Aron inquired, curious.

"That's the most peculiar aspect of these orcs. They don't kill them; instead, they ransom them back to their families or the city."

Aron raised his eyebrows, surprised. "They ransom them? And what do they ask for in return?"

The second-in-command shifted uncomfortably. "More supplies, primarily food."

"Interesting," Aron muttered, contemplating the new information. 'For big, dumb savage orcs, these ones are actually very smart.'

"So?... What are we going to do now?"

"Huh?"

A voice suddenly came from the side, without warning, startling Aron. He whirled around to see a young man with messy silver hair and red eyes. When Aron saw this young man, he felt an urge to smack his head, so he did.

SMACK!

"Ouch! What was that for?" Leo yelped, clutching his head.

Aron's eyes narrowed, his expression cold. "I don't know, I just felt you deserve it. Now, get lost. I'm busy."

Leo rubbed his head, a mix of anger and confusion on his face. "But I just got here! And what do you mean 'you deserve it'? I did nothing!"

"Exactly," Aron returned to manipulating his templates before addressing the second-in-command, ordering him. "Go take a break and grab something to eat. In thirty minutes, you'll guide me to the ambush site."

"Yes sir," he acknowledged hastily and retreated to the courtyard.

Aron then shifted his gaze back to Leo.

"..."

SMACK!

And he smacked his head again.

"Oyy! Stop hitting me," Leo exclaimed, sensing that his smack was more potent than the previous one.

"Get ready. You're accompanying me as well." Aron didn't allow him to protest before sending him back to the courtyard with another smack.

Lyra," he bellowed, and in an instant...

BOOM!

A silver-haired woman, clad in heavy steel plate armor with a wolf cloak, just dropped in front of him from the wall.

"At your service, my lord!" Lyra immediately dropped on one knee to her lord.

"Prepare yourself, we're departing."