"Haa..."
Alaric exhaled softly as he stepped out of the alley, the noise of the streets slowly returning to his senses.
Then—
[Ding!]
[Side Quest: Locate Gavin Trost’s Network — Completed]
[Evaluating Rewards...]
[+180 EXP | +10 Stat Points | +150 Domination Points]
Alaric hummed faintly, lips curling as he merged into the crowd.
"You did better than I expected."
He paused mid-step as a soft voice came from the side.
Glancing to his left, he saw Sari emerged from the side street, walking casually beside him, her arms folded behind her back, gaze sharp despite the lazy smile on her lips.
Alaric simply shrugged.
That made her smirk.
No wonder you caught Lady Selene’s eye...
She didn’t say it aloud, but the amusement in her eyes made it clear.
"I’ve got some things to do," she said as they weaved past a fruit vendor. "You can head back... or stroll around if you like to."
Then, without warning, she tossed something toward him.
Clink! Clink!
He caught the small leather pouch in midair.
"Huh?"
"Don’t blow it all on something stupid," she added, already turning on her heel.
He watched her go and then tossed the pouch lightly in the air and caught it with one hand.
"Hmm... So, where should I start?"
He murmured, eyes narrowing with a half-smile as he turned the corner, disappearing back into the flow of the city.
--------
Click! Click!
Soft, deliberate footsteps echoed across the dark stone floor.
Click! Click!
A hooded figure emerged from the shadows, with a small metal bucket in their hand. Walking slowly toward the lone figure bound to a chair—head slumped, limbs slack, rope biting into their wrists.
Then—
Splash!
Cold liquid slammed into the captive’s face.
Cough! Cough!
The man coughed harshly, spitting water as his body jerked forward in the chair.
"Urgh!
He blinked rapidly, adjusting to the dim, oppressive gloom around him. The only light was the faint glow... coming from the hooded figure’s amber eyes.
His breath hitched.
"You—" he croaked, voice trembling, "W-who are you? Where... where am I?!"
The hooded figure didn’t move.
Silence stretched for a moment, before a soft, almost melodic voice broke it.
"You know why I’m here."
His eyes widened. He shook his head, lips trembling. "I-I told the boy everything! He even made a blood oath. He swore he wouldn’t speak of me! Please, I did what you wanted!"
The figure tilted her head slightly.
Then she hummed, low, almost amused.
"I’m not here for Gavin."
A pause.
"I’m here... for them."
The man froze.
Color drained from his face.
"W-what do you mean by ’them’?" he stammered. "I-I don’t understand..."
The hooded figure didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, still.
"You know exactly who I mean," she said quietly. "And I suggest you start talking."
"I don’t!" he burst out. "I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about—!"
The figure tilted her head again. Slowly.
A soft sigh left her lips.
"Wrong answer."
She set the small bucket down beside his chair. He barely had time to glance at it before—
Crack!
His head snapped sideways as her backhand struck him. Not with full strength, but with precise, nerve-rattling force. Enough to send pain lancing up his jaw.
"Loyalty," she murmured, circling him slowly. "Such a noble thing... until it becomes stupidity."
The man coughed, a string of drool hanging from his lip. "Please—"
Sssshhhh.
A gloved finger gently pressed to his lips.
Then came the click of metal.
And a small, elegant knife glinted under the faint light as she raised it.
"I’m going to ask again," she said, almost gently. "Not because I enjoy this, but because they don’t deserve your silence."
Then her hand moved, and a shallow cut formed across his forearm, not deep, but sharp and stinging.
"Argh!"
He jerked in the chair, hissing in pain.
"Tell me who gives the orders. Who you report to."
"I-I don’t—"
Slice!
This time the blade dragged a little slower across his other arm. Thin lines of blood began to bead.
"Let’s see how much of you I need to open... before the truth comes out."
-------
The market was loud, colorful and alive.
Voices rose and fell in waves, vendors shouting deals, children laughing, the scent of roasted nuts and spiced meat hanging thick in the air.
Alaric walked among them.
Breathing, just killing time.
But then he stopped.
As his gaze fell on a small stall, half-hidden between a cobbler and a glassblower.
No shouting vendor. Just rows of trinkets fluttering gently in the breeze, scarves, pendants, old tokens, nothing remarkable.
Except one.
His eyes widened slightly at a faded black scarf stitched with a simple design of red thorns along the edge.
Alaric didn’t move. His fingers had already stilled at his side.
And just like that, time seemed to shift for him.
"The candlelight flickered inside a small room.
A woman knelt in front of boy, barely six or seven.
She torn the fabric from her dress and tied it around his scraped knee.
He hissed in pain a little.
The woman ruffled his hair and then gently smiling, she tugged a red scarf stitched with a simple design of black thorns along the edge, around his shoulders.
The boy scowled and tried to shrug it off.
"I don’t need this."
"I know," she said simply, smoothing the cloth flat across his chest. "But it suits you."
She brushed the hair from his eyes, kissed his forehead, and pulled him into a quiet hug.
The boy yanked the scarf off a second later and tossed it to the floor.
"It’s ugly," he muttered, turning his face away.
She chuckled softly hugging him tighter, but something flickered in her eyes.
"Mm. So are most precious things."
A gust of wind pulled him back.
He blinked.
His hand was already reaching forward.
Then he exhaled and asked in low voice, "How much?"
The stallkeeper barely looked up. "Five copper."
Alaric nodded and paid.
He smiled faintly, running his fingers over the stitching.
A tear formed in his eye. But he wiped it away.
Then he wrapped it around his neck, letting the black fabric settle against his skin.
And without a word, he turned and walked back through the crowd.