The damp floor didn’t stop Sezor from tapping his foot repeatedly and grumbling. The twins were supposed to return with the intruder, dead or alive. If those idiots haven't come back yet, chances are they've either been caught by the patrols or the rat killed them.

The twins couldn’t have been defeated that quickly unless the enemy was very skilled! They’re Adept Sorcerers! If they truly have fallen, then I would have to find more men of the same level…

“Damn it all! I knew it was a bad idea to come here! I demand compensation for the men I lost.”

Without saying a word to Sezor, the suspicious figure turned towards the door. “I assume the little rat followed Doyle to our meeting place. No matter, I will make our time here brief, so I expect you both to stay quiet and listen like good dogs unless I request an answer. If not, I don’t mind leading the patrols here…”

Sezor scowled and motioned for them to continue. Without the twins present, the intimidation factor he was intent on displaying had diminished. With no one to match up, the figure held all the power in the palm of his hands. With just a single gesture, killing him would be as easy as ripping parchment. The unblessed have no hope of winning against sorcerers. Best to keep quiet and listen to the offer.

“Sezor, to my knowledge, a cloaked figure has killed two of your men in the town Valiedge, correct? And a black-haired boy was among them?”

“How in Yutar’s name did you find that out? Only those in Scourge should have knowledge of that information.”

“I have my own methods. It would be prudent to refrain from inquiring any further. Ignorance can be a blessing or a curse. Based on your reaction, may I assume that the information is accurate?”

Sezor’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, it’s correct alright. I sent some members of my division over and they were told a rumor. A group of kids saw the bloodshed and ran for their lives. They claimed a person draped in a cloak took the shitty kid and fled to Valier Forest. My men are still looking for them as we speak.”

“Then it’d be best to stop, Sezor. It is possible they are… long gone and have made a home elsewhere.”

“And how do you know that?” Sezor said, fiddling with the ring. “I’ve already caught heat from the higher ups of Scourge. If my men slip up again, then a royal knight from the capital might come down here and investigate!”

Doyle, who has been silent throughout, emitted a hoarse chuckle. “That’s hilarious! While I love the entertainment presented to me, when are we going to end this? A bottle of booze is waiting for me.”

The figure nodded and advanced a step. “If you’re concerned about getting caught, Sezor, you can earn a hefty amount of coin and shift their focus elsewhere. This applies to you too, Doyle.”

A glint of greed flashed across Sezor’s eyes. “Hefty, you say? Spit it out then!”

“I’ll be blunt. To transport beasts into the Wasteful Wetlands, I’ll pay you fifteen royal sil each. Doyle will be responsible for the transportation of these creatures, while Sezor’s men will lead them to the Wasteful Wetlands. The men will ensure smooth transport while providing security. Your reward for finishing the job is a bag full of coins, which you can take and go.”

Silence fell over the room after the figure spoke. Sezor and Doyle exchanged a stunned look. It was only upon closer inspection that Sezor noticed the enigma’s pair of piercing green eyes. Those twin orbs that held an air of mystique were unlike any he had encountered before. A piercing shade of green, they bore an uncanny resemblance to glimmering emeralds, vivid and intense.

Sezor’s gaze delved further into the enigma’s eyes, triggering a disquieting sensation within him. It was as if he had unwittingly stumbled upon a predator in the heart of its lair, a feeling akin to staring down the coiled menace of a horned snake poised to strike.

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He chose his next words carefully, gauging their reaction. “Why in the blazes do you want to transport beasts to the Wasteful Wetlands? Such an insane plan could only come from the mind of a demon.”

“I’ll join,” Doyle said. “Can’t refuse that much royal sil. Might be able to get my hands on Wyvern’s breath! Heard it’ll leave your stomach aflame for a few days.”

A furrow creased Sezor’s brow as he leaned forward, his fingers intertwining in a display of deep contemplation. The offer on the table, while tempting at first glance, sparked a flurry of concerns that demanded his careful consideration. Fifteen royal sil for transporting a band of beasts—undeniably an enticing sum, yet the very nature of the task raised a perplexing array of questions.

The Wasteful Wetlands, a destination fraught with mystery and perhaps danger, was an unsettling choice for such a venture. Why that dangerous place specifically, and what manner of beasts were they to transport? The implications gnawed at his mind like persistent whispers of caution.

Someone described the Wetlands in a vivid and grim way. A treacherous expanse plagued by muddy roads that threatened to swallow even the hardiest of travelers, and spongy soil that seemed to conspire against any attempt at surefooted movement. The uneven terrain, as if the land itself was resisting change, constantly challenged progress.

Sezor’s mind conjured images of beasts and man-eating plants lurking in the shadows, their presence a constant reminder of the danger that loomed in every corner. In such an environment, the line between hunter and hunted blurred, and even the most cautious traveler could find themselves prey to the cunning inhabitants of the Wetlands like the cold-blooded lizardmen tribe.

But perhaps most unnerving was the description of the thick, oppressive fog that cloaked the land. It pressed down upon everything like an immense weight, reducing visibility to a few arms length. Navigating through the fog was like traversing a world that was half-hidden, where danger may prowl beyond sight, waiting to attack like a predator sensing vulnerability.

The very air itself held a putrid quality; it was a place where discomfort clung to your garments like a persistent shadow, an environment that tested the limits of endurance and resolve.

Sezor’s thoughts unfolded like a map, laying out the potential risks and rewards of the enigmatic proposition. Although he was drawn to the allure of riches, he understood nothing was more important than his safety.

“If you’re worried about more of your men dying, then I will send a guardian, courtesy of my master,” said the figure. “Your answer, Sezor? We do not have all night. I sense dense mana approaching rapidly.”

“Dense mana? Is it a royal knight?! Damn it all… Fine, I accept! What do you want me to do?”

“Unfortunately, we’re out of time. I’ll tell you later. They’ve just arrived.”

As if a prophet, everyone’s heads snapped toward the entrance. Sezor’s shoulders slumped as he struggled to rise, but his legs felt like lead. Drops of sweat rolled down his cheeks and fell onto the unforgiving floor. Beside him, Doyle’s countenance tightened, his normally steady demeanor betraying a subtle hint of apprehension. The masked figure sighed and pointed in the opposite direction.

“I am curious as to why you’re still seated. Should you desire to perish at their hands, then you are welcome to remain. I can gather other pawns. If not, then take the escape tunnel through the sewers.”

Just like a golem coming to life, both men’s bodies stiffened and they stood up. One after the other, they scurried to the end of the warehouse and stopped at the corner. They came across a wooden plank that Sezor lifted effortlessly.

Beneath the masked figure’s directive lay a hidden passage, a gaping hole that beckoned them into its depths. It was a portal to the unknown, an invitation to traverse the labyrinthine enigma that lay beneath the surface. Doyle wasted no time, assuming the lead as he leaped into the abyss with fluid grace, disappearing from Sezor’s sight.

Sezor’s heart raced as he prepared to follow suit, his resolve steadfast. But an echoing bang that reverberated through the air like a beast’s roar abruptly halted his intentions. His attention snapped toward the source of the disturbance, his senses honed to a razor’s edge.

The air itself seemed to contract, as if drawn inward by an invisible force. And then, propelled by some unseen momentum, an object hurtled through the air, colliding with the wall in a splintering explosion. Wood shattered into fragments, a cacophony of destruction that echoed through the chamber.

“Is this the place?” a deep voice rumbled. “It reeks like a red bison’s shit... The appearance matches the stench, too. Quite a fitting grave for those foolhardy enough to disrupt the peace.”

“Fuck that,” Sezor mumbled. “Like hell I’ll stay and watch.” By grabbing the plank, he lowered himself and closed the hole. Sezor blindly extended his arms, feeling the coarse soil scrape his hands. He stamped and swore to himself, shuffling toward the sewers.