Due to an auspicious exchange, the tavern's young lady spent an unprecedented night within its walls, and the following day, she remained downstairs, flitting in and out of the establishment with a demeanor that, though still somewhat languid, exuded a newfound vivacity. She engaged in conversation and laughter, blending seamlessly into the tavern's ambiance.

This transformation surprised Old Damon and some of the longstanding employees. Their spirits soared, for in the past decade, the atmosphere within the tavern had never been as lively as these past few days. Consequently, their admiration for Panny reached new heights.

With Black Horse and Pale Moon no longer involved in innkeeping, the tavern's business flourished. Profits soared, netting four or five belens a day—turning losses into gains was merely a matter of time.

Occasionally, Panny would sit atop a high stool at the front desk, idly listening to the ballads and verses—nothing more than tales of knights rescuing damsels and heroes battling dragons, which suited the tastes of Ferren's populace. Unable to immerse themselves in the delicate nuances of nobility, the common folk preferred such simple narratives. It was akin to how melodramatic soap operas often outshone art films in popularity, much to the chagrin of intellectuals. In truth, Panny was just an ordinary man who couldn't stomach convoluted plots. As he listened to the minstrels' tales, he entertained whimsical fantasies, pondering whether he would spend the rest of his days in this little tavern, sipping on wine, engaging in banter with patrons and passing adventurers, occasionally playing as a musician. He would forget his identity as a traveler, forget his eight-year apprenticeship.

Wouldn't that be quite delightful?

Panny whistled absentmindedly, then suddenly noticed someone peering in. The individual, a boy of fifteen or sixteen with small eyes, a flat nose, and straw-colored hair, cautiously asked, "Is Hikol here?"

"Who might you be?" Panny furrowed his brow. Ever since this person entered, a sense of foreboding had crept upon him. Hearing him mention Hikol only deepened this feeling, prompting Panny to engage in some subtle probing.

"Yes, I am Gomi, a friend of Hikol's. She didn't attend our dance last night, so I've come to look for her," Gomi replied amiably. Despite his courteous demeanor, Panny remained vigilant, as the negative premonitions within him grew stronger with this person's approach.

"A dance, you say? I haven't heard of any dance gatherings near Dehumi," Panny inquired with a smile.

"Well, it's just a small group of youngsters amusing ourselves. Nothing noteworthy," Gomi shook his head. However, Panny keenly detected a hint of unease in his expression. Just then, Hikol emerged from the backstage carrying a tray of dishes. "Hey, Gomi, sorry for bailing on you last night," she greeted.

"Um... no problem. But, tonight's party is important. Come with me quickly," Gomi insisted.

"Sure, just a moment," Hikol set down the tray, dusted off her hands, and smiled at Panny. "Panny, I'll be going out tonight, so no need to prepare dinner."

Hearing Hikol's words, Panny's sense of foreboding intensified. He knew that the premonitions he'd been sensing the past few days seemed poised to come to fruition today. However, he maintained his composure and simply nodded. "Alright, have a good time."

Deep down, he understood that his relationship with Hikol hadn't reached a point where he could freely meddle in her private affairs. Trying to intervene would likely be futile, potentially leading to a rift with the stubborn young woman. Instead, he discreetly cast a secret spell upon Hikol: "Come back early."

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"Indeed, have a restful evening," Hikol winked at Panny, clearly indicating that the young man held a certain place in her esteem.

Panny poured himself a glass of juice and downed it in one gulp, then approached a table where a group of burly mercenaries often frequented. Among them were several formidable warriors, renowned in the vicinity for their prowess. The moniker "Thorn of the Bald Eagle" was widely circulated in the area, and they had become regular patrons at the tavern, where they had also become acquainted with the generous proprietor.

In dealing with such a formidable band of mercenaries, Panny's generosity bordered on excess. Discounts and complimentary services were a common occurrence, and lodging fees were often waived. He understood well the benefits of maintaining good relations with such a group, and now presented an opportunity to leverage their assistance. "Hello, Uncle Flosen, do you happen to know of any established gathering organizations nearby?"

"I haven't heard of any, but the followers of Bane often gather to engage in their tedious displays of violence," Flosen Gangtol, the leader of the mercenary band, responded. He was a renowned berserker from the northern lands, said to hail from a berserker camp in Latheman. His strength in moments of fury was said to be such that he could tear apart iron plates with his bare hands. In the city of Dehumi, he enjoyed a modest reputation. "Why inquire about such matters?"

"Well, I am considering employing your services," Panny said earnestly.

The weight of impending darkness in the omens made him quite nervous, knowing that success would be difficult to achieve solely with his own abilities.

After all, he was just a young mage who had recently entered the magical world.

The group of warriors burst into laughter. "Boss, we've been lamenting the lack of a place to stretch our muscles," one of them chimed in.

"However, we hope our efforts and sweat will fetch a good price," Flosen remarked. "My friend, while we are familiar with each other, there are protocols to be observed in the mercenary trade..."

"My remuneration will assuredly meet your satisfaction," Panny declared. With a hearty shout from Flosen, more than a dozen burly men armed with axes and crossbows followed Panny out of the tavern.

The location of the arcane mark was neither too close nor too far from Panny, approximately three to four hundred feet away. Due to his unique perceptual abilities, he could sense that the distance at which he had cast the arcane mark was much farther than that of an ordinary mage, almost equivalent to the spell-tracking abilities of high-level magical creatures. The group traced their way northward from the city, walking about a mile from the city walls until they reached the ruins of an ancient Muirholland, now bathed in darkness. From within the ruins drifted haunting melodies, their eerie tones portending ill omens.

"Is this where the dance is to be held? By the gods, this music is truly unpleasant," remarked one of the mercenaries.

"I do not fancy this place," Flosen frowned.

"Could we perhaps infiltrate stealthily?" Panny observed the atmosphere of silence mixed with chaos and made his suggestion.

"For safety's sake, it's best if Malk and you go in together. We'll lie in wait a bit further away. If you need us to attack, Malk knows how to signal," Flosen commanded. As seasoned mercenaries accustomed to various situations, even though Panny hadn't been entirely clear in his instructions, Flosen had a good idea of what Panny wanted them to do. With his order given, a tall, slender figure dressed in tight black clothing stepped forward. Panny easily sensed the deeply concealed aura of this individual; evidently, he was a skilled wandering scout. Panny nodded in agreement, and together with this Malk, he ventured into the dim recesses of the ruins.

As they stepped into the ruins, the heaviness of the darkness weighed even more heavily on Panny, almost suffocating him.

His mood grew even darker; this trouble was no small matter. He should have known better than to let that Gomi live when he was still at the tavern. Even if it led to a falling out, he should have extracted the truth from Hikol's lips.

"What sort of trouble has this blasted girl gotten herself into?" Panny muttered as he observed the scene before him.

The walls before them seemed to stack upon each other endlessly, with countless portals opening unbidden before the two intruders, yet each doorway appeared to devour the surrounding light.

Malk drew in a sharp breath of cold air.