Glenn cast his gaze around and soon spotted a small settlement not far ahead. It was nothing like Dood or Bayek—closer to a village than a town in both size and atmosphere.

  The old man folded the map in his hands and slipped it into his coat pocket. “Let’s rest here for the night,” he said flatly. “We’ll continue tomorrow. I’ll make sure we get a more comfortable carriage next time.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Glenn replied with faint relief.

  They jumped down from the wagon and made their way toward the settlement. The uneven dirt road reeked faintly of livestock and decay—a reminder that this was a place untouched by refinement.

  Do they even have an inn here? Glenn wondered silently.

  Reality answered him soon enough. Not only was there an inn, but it was surprisingly large, standing proudly at the village center, its entrance adorned with the skull of a horned beast—a savage, almost primal display. Strange shouts and laughter echoed from within, stirring Glenn’s curiosity.

  “Try not to cause trouble inside,” the old man warned without turning.

  “And if trouble comes to me?” Glenn asked casually.

  A low, humorless chuckle escaped the old man. “Then deal with it yourself.”

  “No problem.”

  The heavy door creaked open under the old man’s broad arm, and a wave of sharp, intoxicating alcohol hit Glenn’s nose. Though acrid, he merely fanned it away.

  Inside, the tavern was alive with murmurs and tension. The patrons were a rough-looking lot, each radiating a dangerous kind of confidence. Sharp eyes followed them briefly before turning away. Among the crowd sat not only humans, but dwarves and beastfolk—the latter emitting strange, guttural sounds that filled the air.

  “The woman in the back,” the old man murmured under his breath, “is a witch. A master of dark, forbidden magic. Stay away from her. The big man guzzling ale is a wandering swordsman—strong, volatile. And those others—”

  His voice trailed into a whisper. Had Glenn not possessed exceptional hearing, he would have thought the man was muttering to himself. Glenn’s only response was a curious glance at the people mentioned—eyes bright with intrigue rather than caution.

  The old man fell silent as they approached the bar.

  Just then, three towering beastfolk blocked their path. The leader, a hulking bear-headed brute, bellowed in greeting, “Old Boer! Been a long time. How’ve you been, eh?”

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  “Fine,” the old man replied coolly. “No need for your concern.”

  “You haven’t changed a bit,” the bear laughed, unfazed. Spotting Glenn behind him, his grin widened. “Ha! Look at this! The old man brought a pup with him! What is he, your son? Hahaha!”

  The others joined in the laughter, the sound grating and coarse.

  A sudden thud shattered the mockery.

  The bear-headed brute crashed into the far wall, clutching his ribs and howling in pain.

  “With a voice that loud, I expected more than soft fluff,” Glenn said, retracting his foot with a smirk. “What exactly were you so proud of?”

  The remaining beastfolk glared, low growls rumbling in their throats. Glenn rolled his shoulders, eyes gleaming with readiness.

  “Have your fun,” the old man said, not even glancing back as he approached the bar to arrange rooms. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised.

  But the beastfolk hesitated. After helping their fallen leader up, they fled out the door without another word.

  Glenn sighed. Cowards.

  Around them, the tavern’s patrons exchanged curious, amused, or calculating looks.

  The old man returned and tossed Glenn a key. “This is your room. I’m going to rest. Do as you like.”

  Memorizing the number engraved on the tag, Glenn pocketed it and watched the old man disappear upstairs. Then, turning his gaze toward the back, he strode straight to the witch’s table.

  “Do you really know magic?” he asked bluntly.

  The woman hadn’t moved since their arrival. Her gaze was distant—until her pale lips parted. “If you value your life, boy, you’ll stay away from me.”

  “I only want to learn. I can pay—or trade for whatever you need.” Glenn’s tone was calm, resolute.

  The witch slowly turned her head. Her features were strikingly symmetrical, even beautiful, but her eyes were pure white—chilling and otherworldly.

  “Little one,” she murmured, her voice like silk over a blade. “Ignorance will be your ruin.”

  “Then tell me,” Glenn countered softly. “Have you already been ruined?”

  A faint smile curved her lips. Propping her chin on one hand, she regarded him with sudden amusement. “All witches are ruined beyond salvation.”

  “Then perhaps I’ll be the exception.”

  Her smile faded. “Enough, foolish child. Black magic and witchcraft are not toys for your kind. Abandon this thought.”

  Her voice grew cold—so cold that Glenn felt the words freeze in his throat. Before he could respond, her body dissolved into black mist and vanished.

  “…She’s gone,” he muttered, staring at the empty seat before letting out a resigned sigh.

  Later, he ordered nearly every drink the inn offered—putting all the charges, of course, on the old man’s tab.

  After sampling them one by one, he grimaced. Apart from the fruit juice, everything else tasted vile. How do these people drink this stuff for fun?

  Finding no further amusement, Glenn finally headed upstairs to rest.

  —

  Morning came with the sound of clattering trays and a waitress’s voice calling through his door.

  Gnawing on a piece of rock-hard bread, Glenn descended to the common room to find the old man already awake, calmly sipping from a mug.

  “Let’s go,” the old man said, setting it down and rising to his feet.

  “Uh… sure.” Glenn followed, a little puzzled by his urgency, though he wasn’t one to complain—finishing the job sooner suited him fine.

  This time, the carriage was covered and cushioned—far more comfortable.

  “Will we arrive today?” Glenn asked.

  “If nothing goes wrong,” the old man replied, eyes closed, voice low and steady.

  I wonder if Nighthowl’s remembered to feed the pigs… Glenn leaned back, letting his mind drift.

  —

  Elsewhere, inside a dimly lit house, three figures cloaked in dark robes and pointed hats stood over a lifeless corpse. Arcane energy pulsed from their hands, thick and ominous.

  In a corner of the room, two boys—no older than seven—huddled together, trembling as they watched in silent terror.