"Is it inside here?"

"Yes, Commander, it's inside."

Kelser looked up, frowning at the dark, foul-smelling alleyway before him. The stench drifting from the depths of the alley was enough to make his stomach turn.

"Damn it, these rats always have to hide in places like this." Kelser cursed under his breath. "And they make themselves stink to high heaven too. Revolting."

"Well, sir, if you don't like it, perhaps we should go in for you while you wait outside?"

Kelser actually considered the offer for a moment—he really didn't want the stench clinging to him. But remembering who had assigned this mission, he sighed and shook his head. "No, this is a direct order from the Bishop himself. I need to be the one to catch them."

He pulled out a bright red handkerchief, holding it over his nose, and reluctantly stepped into the alleyway, his expression one of clear distaste.

The alley was crowded with people—most of them sitting slumped against the walls. Their faces were gaunt, hollowed by hunger. When they heard footsteps approaching, a few still strong enough raised their heads, their eyes filled with hope, while those who lacked the strength simply lay there, caught somewhere between life and death.

"A tragic sight," Kelser muttered, disgust evident in his eyes. Still, he pressed on until he stopped in front of a man who looked alert enough to listen. Kelser squatted down in front of him and spoke in a cold voice. "I am the Commander of the Third Knights of Rhyo. I act under my lord's will. You must—can you even understand me?"

Seeing the half-dead man staring blankly, Kelser gestured to his subordinate, who handed him a piece of bread. He dangled it in front of the man's face.

The man's eyes instantly lit up, a hunger sparking to life.

"Answer my questions, and you get the bread," Kelser said coldly. "Do you understand?"

The man nodded eagerly.

"Have you seen a black market dealer around here?"

"Black market... dealer?"

"Yes. A guy named Jonso," Kelser explained. "You know what a black market dealer is, don't you? Someone who sells contraband. Dresses in dark robes, easy to spot."

The man racked his brain, then shook his head.

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Kelser clicked his tongue in irritation, using his hands to illustrate. "Alright, how about a box? Have you seen a box about this size? Engraved with some sigils... okay, maybe you don't know what those are. Just tell me if you've seen a box this size."

The man tried to remember, then shook his head again. "No, haven't seen anything like that."

The man quickly shifted his gaze to the bread, speaking in a pleading voice. "Commander, sir, I've answered your question. Could I—could I please..."

His words trailed off, his eyes widening in shock.

Kelser had snapped his neck before he could even scream. The man's body went limp, crumpling back down against the alley wall—just one more lost soul among many, with no one paying the slightest bit of attention.

Kelser stood up slowly, his eyes filled with disdain. "Useless trash. Couldn't even answer properly and still wanted food." Shaking his head, he moved on to the next person. "Answer my question, and the bread is yours. Have you seen a black market dealer named Jonso?"

One after another, he questioned the people in the alley. All said they hadn't seen any dealer and knew nothing about a box or a severed finger.

Kelser's patience was wearing thin. But just as he was about to give up, one of the men hesitated before nodding.

"I don't know his name, but there was someone here selling strange things. He could be the guy you're talking about."

Kelser's eyes lit up. "Where did he go?"

"I... don't know," the man admitted, shaking his head with a wry smile. "He stayed here for a couple of days, trying to sell us stuff, but who has money around here? And he wasn't selling food, so no one cared. Except... one person bought something from him."

"Who?" Kelser pressed.

"I don't know who he was," the man said hesitantly, then quickly added, seeing Kelser's rising irritation, "But he wasn't like us—he was dressed clean."

"Clean?" At first, Kelser didn't understand, but after looking around at the ragged, filthy survivors huddled in the alley, he got it.

Someone not affected by the famine. Someone well-off.

In a place stricken by famine, where hunger gripped everyone, anyone who could afford to buy something nonessential from a black market dealer was bound to stand out.

Kelser nodded thoughtfully, then asked, "What did he buy?"

The man seemed unsure. "I think... it was a box."

Kelser's eyes narrowed. "A box? What kind of box?"

"I... don't know how to describe it," the man replied, struggling. "And I was far away, couldn't see clearly."

"Just tell me this," Kelser said calmly, "Was it a box that could hold... a severed finger?"

The man blinked, then seemed to have a sudden realization. He nodded slowly. "Yes, yes. It was a box... just the size to hold a finger."

Moments later, Kelser emerged from the alley, wiping his bloodstained hands with the handkerchief.

"Commander," one of his subordinates called, quickly falling in step beside him.

"That black market dealer, Jonso," Kelser ordered. "He's probably moved on to the next town, but don't let up. Find him. Figure out what he sold and to whom."

"Understood, sir!"

"And as for the buyer, our priority now is finding him—a man with decent means, not worried about food. Find him, but most importantly, we need to locate that box."

"Yes, sir!" the subordinate hesitated, then asked, "Commander, what exactly is in that box? Why would the Bishop send all of us just to find it?"

"Heh," Kelser smirked. "Just the last remnant of a long-dead spirit—its final trace in this world." He finished wiping the blood from his hands and tossed the soiled handkerchief aside. Glancing back at the alley, he added coldly, "No one can know what we're searching for. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

As Kelser walked away, two knights turned back, drawing their swords, and headed back into the alley.