A ray of morning sunlight slowly rose above the rooftops of Lasthold, glinting off snow darkened by the thaw. Over the past few days, far too much had piled up—and now the white sheets were gradually sliding off the tiled roofs, forming thin rivulets of water that ran down into the drainage gutters. The city was waking up.

  The market square, though only just opening, was already beginning to fill with voices. Some were setting out their goods, some were arguing with neighboring vendors, and a few were already hard at work.

  The Swindler stood in his usual spot, rubbing his short goatee. His bald head shone in the sunlight so brightly it was as if it, too, were being offered for sale. A middle-aged man stood before him—clearly hesitating—while the Swindler, as always, gestured energetically and spread a genial, almost sickeningly sweet smile.

  “Believe me, sir!” he proclaimed with enthusiasm. “This is the best you’ll find on the market! The price—an absolute stroke of luck!”

  The man hesitated for a few seconds, then waved his hand and walked away. The smile vanished from the Swindler’s face instantly. He clicked his tongue in annoyance…

  …and then noticed Kael standing nearby.

  Kael stood with his arms crossed, eyes slightly narrowed, watching the little performance. His thoughts at that moment were calm, almost clinical:

  “I’d better wait. Otherwise he’ll start whining again that I’m scaring off his customers…”

  But the moment the Swindler caught sight of Kael’s indulgent smile, he flared up at once.

  “What are you grinning at? Get over here—and hurry up!”

  Kael didn’t waste time. He stepped forward calmly and approached the stall, ready to continue the conversation.

  The Swindler snorted demonstratively, but as usual, moved on to business quickly and deftly.

  He squatted right in front of the stall and spread a piece of cloth over the snow—wide, thick, treated with a special compound to keep it from soaking through. The snow beneath it creaked softly.

  The Swindler rubbed his palms together, focused, and swept a hand over the cloth, activating his spatial ring.

  Ingredients began to spill out at the gesture—as if someone were tipping an invisible basket directly above the fabric.

  First came neat bundles of dried herbs. Then chunks of mana ore, vials of sealed beast blood, vials of powdered reagents, stones of differing origins, resins, leaves, roots.

  It all looked chaotic, yet was laid out with the precision of an experienced merchant.

  And then Kael noticed a detail.

  One of the herb bundles was tied not with ordinary twine, but with a tight roll of parchment. The parchment looked strange—no one ever tied herbs like that.

  As if by chance, the Swindler picked up that very bundle, gave it a slight shake, and with his usual brazen grin announced:

  “All set! First-class quality!”

  His smile was professional. But in his eyes flickered something brief, barely noticeable: “You know the deal.”

  Kael also squatted down, carefully inspecting the goods laid out before him. He ran his fingers over the herbs, the ores, the vials—as though genuinely checking the quality—but his gaze immediately settled on that very bundle with the parchment tie.

  He snatched it straight out of the Swindler’s hands without ceremony.

  “Trying to skim a little off the top, were you? Heh-heh…” Kael drawled lazily.

  The Swindler’s face twisted at once.

  “Yeah, yeah, very funny,” he grumbled, tutting softly. “Pay up and get lost. Don’t waste my time.”

  Kael flicked his wrist, and all the ingredients vanished neatly, transferred into his spatial ring. Then he just as casually tossed a pouch of coins onto the counter.

  Clink!

  The pouch landed with a heavy jingle, making a row of counterfeit elixirs rattle softly.

  “Hey! Careful!” the Swindler barked, stepping forward and steadying his glass vials.

  Kael only smiled—calmly, almost good-naturedly.

  “Thanks. I’ll drop by again next week.”

  The Swindler let out a heavy sigh—as if yet another misfortune had settled onto his shoulders—and, completely ignoring Kael’s continued presence, hurried to straighten his “wares,” checking whether any of the vials had cracked.

  Kael, without even looking back, headed toward the rented alchemical laboratories.

  He walked quickly, but without urgency. Having obtained the ingredients, he planned to brew a new batch of mana elixirs today and resume his training—any delay could slow his breakthrough.

  Nothing out of the ordinary.

  But after only a few dozen steps, a different glint flickered deep within his amber eyes—focused, cold.

  He smirked inwardly, recalling the bundle of herbs tied with parchment.

  “A message, then… So… what did you scribble for me, you little thieves?” he thought, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. “And most importantly… do you have the ingredients I need.”

  And the hidden smirk widened a fraction more, though outwardly it looked like nothing more than ordinary calm.

  He turned the corner, and his figure vanished among the buildings, heading for the laboratories—and toward the secret message that now pulled at his thoughts.

  ? ? ?

  Kael quickly reached the building he was looking for. The heavy door of the alchemical laboratory clicked as it let him inside, and immediately closed behind him, cutting off the street noise. The air was thick with the scent of herbs, hot metal, and old paper.

  He went to his workstation and set the cauldron directly into the magic circle built into the floor. With a touch of his fingers, he guided a thin thread of mana into the runes.

  The circle flared softly, the lines glowing—and the cauldron began to heat up rapidly.

  Without wasting time, Kael moved to the long table by the wall. With a single motion of his hand, he activated the ring, and ingredients began to appear before him: jars, herbs, powders, ampoules, roots, and mana ore.

  And among them—that very bundle of herbs tied with a roll of parchment.

  Kael paused for half a second. Not because he hesitated—but because now he could finally learn what the message contained.

  He took the bundle, untied the parchment… and unrolled it.

  Kael let his gaze slide over the neat lines of ink—the handwriting was careful, confident, without excessive flourish. He began to read, and the words immediately echoed in his mind:

  “Greetings from the Forsaken Brotherhood.”

  “First, a brief introduction—most people call me the Black Rat.”

  “We’ve reviewed your list, along with the descriptions of the ingredients. Below is a list of the ingredients we can acquire. For some of them, we’ll have to hunt in the mountains and the southern marshes.”

  “Judging by the ingredients, I suspect they’re meant for some unusual spirit-summoning ritual—one I’m not familiar with.”

  “Understanding the specifics of your request, here’s what I suggest: review the list of materials we can provide. If it contains what you need, mark them and pass the list to Jean.”

  Kael was about to lower his gaze further, to the list itself, but caught sight of several lines at the bottom of the page—a separate block, clearly written later.

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  He skipped the ingredients and immediately read what followed:

  “If everything goes well, we will need about a month. An ideal time to meet.”

  “In exactly one month, the Day of Winter begins. In the bustle of the festivals, it will be easy to lose the Three Families’ surveillance and bring you to our den.”

  “P.S. If you’re short on funds—no problem. We can accept payment in useful information or knowledge.”

  “We have already come to understand that you have plenty to offer.”

  After reading the final lines of the letter, Kael couldn’t help but smirk. It appeared on its own—quiet, brief, yet filled with satisfaction.

  “Straight to the point… I like that,” he murmured, stroking the parchment.

  He lifted his gaze to the ingredient list the Black Rat had attached below and added in an almost whisper:

  “Payment in information? Hm… perhaps that’s even better.”

  His eyes quickly returned to the list and ran along the lines.

  At first, his expression lit up with satisfaction when he spotted rare items he truly needed. Then it dimmed slightly when he realized some ingredients were missing entirely, or that only substitutes were offered—similar in description alone.

  However, Kael read the list only once.

  That was enough.

  His perfect memory had already locked in every line. Every ingredient. Every note on the list. Even the handwriting of the one who had written it.

  He calmly set the sheet aside.

  Creak… crack…

  The cauldron began to heat more intensely—the sound of metal expanding under the heat split the silence of the laboratory.

  “Time to add the elixir base…” he murmured inwardly, all the while continuing to think about the ingredient list.

  Kael crouched down and took out a bucket of purified water, then poured beast blood into it.

  After that, he took small chunks of mana ore, tossed them into the mixture, and began to stir smoothly with his hand, guiding thin threads of mana into the mixture.

  Once the base was properly mixed, Kael stood up, grasped the bucket with both hands, and confidently poured its contents into the cauldron.

  SHHHH!

  The water hissed violently, but the steam immediately struck an invisible ceiling, curling into spirals. Nothing escaped beyond it—the cauldron only trembled slightly, absorbing the energy of the reaction.

  Kael worked on instinct. He had done this dozens of times, and his hands followed the sequence on their own.

  But his face remained furrowed—his thoughts were far from potion brewing.

  “So… the Spirit Realms of Life and Chaos are closed to me for now.”

  He took a large wooden paddle, shaped like a short oar, and slowly lowered it into the cauldron.

  “I don’t even have the necessary components for the simplest ritual…”

  He stirred the boiling base carefully, letting the ingredients dissolve into one another. The color of the base gradually deepened—from clear to a deeper blue.

  “Well… that’s not surprising,” he added to himself, slightly increasing the rotation of the paddle. “In Lasthold and its surroundings, most ingredients belong to the Realm of Elements and the Realm of Flesh.”

  Finishing the stirring, Kael pulled out the paddle, shook off the remaining thick mixture, set it aside, and stepped over to the long table. There lay the ingredients he had already arranged—herbs, powders, ores, and liquids, each with its own role in shaping the future elixir.

  He began preparing them for the next stage—purification and grinding—but his thoughts stayed several steps ahead of his hands.

  “If it comes down to choosing between the Centipede of Decay and the Sky Devourer… I’m leaning toward the latter.”

  He set aside a small stack of roots and slowly peeled the skin from the first one.

  “Abilities tied to attraction and mild spatial distortion will harmonize perfectly with my combat style. And at higher levels… spatial manipulation will become even stronger.”

  A satisfied—even slightly unsettling—smile appeared on Kael’s face.

  “It’s almost surprising that I can actually obtain the ingredients to summon a spirit from the Spirit Realm of Space…” he murmured softly.

  But then a cunning spark flashed in his gaze.

  “Since the summoning ritual is happening anyway… maybe I should consider other options as well? What other spirit could I draw from the Spirit Realm of Space with a basic ritual?”

  He froze, thinking, tilting his head slightly to the side.

  But a second later, he shook his head again, as if cutting away unnecessary branches of thought.

  “No. The Sky Devourer… is still the most efficient and rational choice,” he said more calmly, cutting off his doubts.

  He returned to work: crushing herbs, measuring powders, sorting components into the required containers. His movements were fast, precise, calibrated down to the finest detail.

  “I’ll mark the ingredients and bring the list to the Swindler today…” Kael muttered quietly, as if setting himself yet another objective.

  And his attentive and cold eyes already reflected the sequence of steps he intended to take next.

  ? ? ?

  At the same time, parallel events were unfolding within the estate of the Vengeful Thunder Family.

  It seemed that the Day of Winter had drawn the attention not only of Lasthold’s shadowy underworld, but of Zeiran himself.

  He stood before a large wall calendar, methodically crossing out another date. A foxlike grin slowly crept across the elder’s face—calm, confident, with a hint of predatory anticipation.

  “The bustle of the winter festival will be the perfect cover… But preparations must be made.”

  He lifted his gaze from the calendar and turned toward the empty hall.

  “Kanzan, I have a task for you,” he said sternly.

  And in the very next second, the center of the hall was lit by a flash of white lightning.

  ZUV!

  The electrical discharge dissipated, and in its place stood a man, kneeling on one knee. Tall, lean, yet with a body that looked as though it had been forged from steel. A rough, jagged scar ran across his entire face—from temple to chin. His hair was so short that its faint blue tint could only be seen when caught by the light.

  He bowed his head.

  “I’m listening, Elder Zeiran,” he said in a dry, rigid voice, without even a trace of doubt.

  The old man straightened smoothly, clasping his hands behind his back, and spoke in a calm yet weighty tone:

  “Arrange a change of guards at the Tenth Mine. Have one of our people assigned to protect the miners. And do it cleanly—so the replacement looks natural. If necessary, bribe the minor officials.”

  Kanzan didn’t move, only inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.

  But a second later, he narrowed his eyes and asked:

  “Why do we need this? Did they find something valuable in the Tenth Mine?”

  At that, Zeiran’s lips curled into a smirk. The smile was thin, almost gentle—yet laced with threat.

  “Someone valuable works there. A man by the name of Kasias.”

  Kanzan frowned. His gaze dimmed for a second—he sifted through the reports, rumors, and intelligence the Family had gathered over recent months. After a couple of seconds, he raised an eyebrow.

  “The father of that boy? You’ve decided to act crudely?”

  His answer came in the form of Zeiran’s cold, faintly mocking squint.

  “Crude would be abducting him personally.” The elder’s voice softened—and became all the more dangerous for it. “I intend to use leverage… and blackmail.”

  Kanzan slowly lowered his head.

  “Understood. Forgive me if I spoke out of turn.”

  He rose to his feet in a swift, nearly silent motion. In the next instant, a flash of white lightning cut through the air once more.

  ZUV!

  Kanzan’s body shattered into crackling arcs of light and vanished, as though it had never existed.

  Zeiran remained standing in the center of the hall, staring into the empty space where his enforcer had stood a moment earlier. A satisfied smile slowly—almost predatory—took shape on his face.

  He lingered in the silence of the vast hall, letting the echo of the vanished lightning fade completely from the air. His face was motionless, but his thoughts were swift, sharp, and cold.

  “Perhaps… I should delay the sacrificial ritual?” he mused, gazing into the void. “For now, I could put him to work in the secret archives.”

  The thought was logical. Practical. Kael could bring benefit to the Family even before being sacrificed.

  But a moment later, the old man sharply shook his head.

  “No…” he muttered aloud. “He’s still too young, and I’ve waited far too long for my moment already…”

  Zeiran’s lips drew into a thin line, his eyes glinting with restrained anticipation.

  “The God of Shadow’s gift… will be far more valuable. It will grant me what I desire far more quickly. And when I rule Lasthold the entire Hall of Ancient Research will answer to me.”

  He lifted his chin slightly, as if envisioning his own power growing beyond what was accessible to ordinary mages. How the Gods would take notice of him. How he would cease to be a mere family elder—and rise far higher.

  Then he pondered again, but differently now—more calculating.

  “Either way, I win,” he thought. “Even if Kael is not a Fragment… he will be useful in my secret archives.”

  And immediately, a new question arose.

  “I need to decide who to frame for Kael’s abduction.”

  He frowned, running through a chain of possibilities. It had to be elegant. Plausible. Something that wouldn’t raise suspicion among the other Families.

  And suddenly… a spark flared in Zeiran’s eyes.

  His lips stretched into a true foxlike grin.

  “Of course…” he whispered. “He does have regular dealings with that trader… from that band of wretched criminals.”

  The idea was delightfully simple. And absolutely convincing.

  “A young genius who fell in with the wrong people…” he continued, savoring every word. “And was mercilessly kidnapped and killed…”

  He tilted his head, admiring his own plan.

  “Yes… that will do nicely.”

  Straightening his shoulders with satisfaction, Zeiran cast a glance at his reflection in the enormous mirror standing by the wall. There, in the smooth surface, it was not a clan elder looking back at him—but a predator, confident in his inevitable victory.

  He slowly ran a hand along the collar of his robe, adjusted a fold, as though preparing for a ceremonial appearance, and then said aloud:

  “It will also give me a reason to deal properly with those miserable rats from the Forsaken Brotherhood. Finally find their lair… and choke them out once and for all.”

  He stepped closer to the mirror. A slight tilt of the head—and his eyes gleamed with an authoritative light in which not a trace of doubt remained.

  “In the Lasthold that I will rule…” he added quietly, the corner of his lips twitching faintly, “there will be no place for petty thieves or swindlers.”

  With those words, he turned and slowly walked toward the exit of the hall, already mentally arranging the chain of future events. Everything was coming together perfectly.