“Ivar, stay here, and don't open the door to anyone. I'll be making our first appearance,” Jasper whispered, adjusting the hood that concealed his unnatural features.

  The dim candlelight cast long shadows across the room, barely illuminating Ivar's concerned face. His muscular frame tensed as he stepped forward, worry etched into his brow.

  “Master, let me accompany you,” Ivar insisted, his deep voice lowered to a rumble. His broad chest rose with a deep breath as he fidgeted with the hilt of his dagger. “It's perilous to venture alone in this district, especially at this hour. The darkness hides many dangers.“

  “Now is precisely when the ghost must appear,“ Jasper replied, his voice carrying that distinctive rasp that always unsettled listeners. “Your presence would only compromise everything we've planned.“

  Ivar's wavy hair caught the faint light as he shook his head in resignation. “Just be cautious, master. These individuals are merciless and unpredictable.“

  “Be at ease,“ Jasper said, the edge of his hood casting deeper shadows across his veined face. “Even the hardest of men fear what lurks in darkness.“

  With a single gold coin tucked securely in his pocket, Jasper slipped out into the night. The air hung heavy with moisture, carrying the sour tang of refuse and the distant smoke of cooking fires. He moved with practiced stealth toward the most dangerous quarter of the district, his footfalls making no sound on the damp cobblestones.

  Jasper had chosen this moonless night with precise calculation—when darkness enveloped everything and people huddled close, sharing tales of horrors to keep their own fears at bay. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat sending aching pulses through the twisted veins that mapped his skin. Failure meant not just defeat but possibly a brutal end, beaten to death in some forgotten alleyway.

  The raucous laughter of his targets reached him before he saw them, bouncing off the narrow alley walls. Jasper followed the sound, staying within the protective embrace of the shadows. As he drew closer, he glimpsed the gang—rough men gathered around a small fire, their faces harsh and scarred in the dancing orange light.

  'I wish Azm was here now,' he thought, feeling a moment of doubt. 'No. I can do this myself.'

  Drawing a deep breath that filled his lungs with the smell of woodsmoke, Jasper edged closer through the darkness, calculating each silent step, measuring the distance between himself and the unsuspecting men.

  “Ha ha ha, surely you jest!“ bellowed a mountain of a man, his massive hands outstretched toward the meager flames. The firelight revealed a face carved by violence, with a beard that couldn't quite hide old scars. “Did he truly attempt such foolishness?“

  “Not only that,“ wheezed a corpulent man with a face as round and soft as fresh dough, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, “he tried to charm the lady as well! I retreated as soon as I saw him cross that boundary. Her guard thrashed him thoroughly for his impudence.“

  “You pig, you promised not to tell anyone!“ shouted a slender man with a face that bore the unmistakable marks of recent conflict, his voice cutting through the night air with undisguised fury.

  The group continued their boisterous exchange, completely unaware of Jasper's presence as he waited with the patience of a predator. Then, finally, the conversation shifted to tales of creatures that stalked the night—his perfect opening. With calculated movements, Jasper emerged from the darkness, his hooded figure seeming to materialize from the shadows themselves.

  “Greetings, humans,“ Jasper intoned, deliberately twisting his already unnatural voice into something that crawled along the spine like ice. The sound seemed to hang in the air, unnatural and wrong.

  Several men closest to him jumped with startled exclamations, while others whirled to face the unexpected intrusion, hands instinctively moving to weapons concealed beneath ragged clothing.

  “Who are you, you ******?“ demanded one, eyes narrowing to slits.

  “Seeking a beating, are you?“ growled another, half-rising from his seat.

  Those who had been most startled displayed immediate aggression, making Jasper's heart thunder even louder in his chest. Beneath his hood, beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead, threatening to slide down his browless face.

  “I would advise against such hostility were I in your position, humans,“ Jasper cautioned, infusing each word with chilling calm.

  “Human?“ A man with jagged scar sneered, his voice dripping with disbelief. “Human? What manner of creature speaks thus? As though you yourself are not human?“

  When they began approaching, their boots scraping against the stone, Jasper slowly raised his hands, deliberately revealing his horrific countenance in the firelight—the ghostly white skin, the writhing colored veins, the absence of hair, the unnaturally dilated eyes swimming in bloodshot whites.

  “To be human is my eternal longing,“ he breathed, allowing them to see his cracked, colorless lips twitch as he spoke. “My kin believes that consuming human flesh might one day transform us. Keh-keh-keh.“ His laughter echoed unnaturally in the narrow space, a sound like brittle bones breaking.

  Horror bloomed in their eyes, primitive and instinctual. Their lips trembled, and several took hesitant steps backward. “W-w-what are you?“ stammered one, voice cracking like a youth's.

  “Me?“ Jasper tilted his head at an unnatural angle. “Hum hum hum,“ he chuckled, the sound hollow and wrong. “My nature need not concern you. What matters is that I come to propose a deal.“

  “A deal?“ asked the apparent leader, momentarily forgetting his proximity to the flames.

  “Indeed,“ Jasper replied, pointing a pale finger. “Though you might first wish to withdraw your hands from the fire. They will be essential to our business.“

  “What?“ The man glanced down. “God!“ He yanked his hands back, blowing frantically on his reddened fingertips.

  “I offer payment in exchange for service,“ Jasper continued, watching their reactions closely.

  The leader, composure partially restored, squared his shoulders and hid his hands behind his back “Though we may be ruffians, we make no pacts with devils.“

  “How remarkable—I would never claim such a cursed title as a devil,“ Jasper replied, feigning amusement. “Even I avoid dealings with such beings. They seek only destruction—they would never offer terms beneficial to humankind. But no worries, they are not creatures that we can see anyway.“

  “Why should your words merit our trust?“ challenged a voice from behind the leader.

  “Simple—because my proposal serves your interests.“ With a practiced movement, Jasper flicked his thumb, sending a gold coin spinning through the air. As it caught the firelight, their eyes widened, following its arc until the leader snatched it from flight. “Working for me will prove lucrative. Furthermore, it carries less risk than your current endeavors. In most instances, at least. Probably.“

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  “What service do you require, if I may inquire?“ asked one gang member, curiosity overcoming apprehension.

  Jasper turned his oversized pupils toward the speaker, fixing him with an unsettling stare that sent visible tremors through the man. “Well, well, well, here stands someone of interest.“ His voice dropped to a silken whisper. “Your task would be information gathering.“

  “What manner of information?“

  “Any intelligence of value—market movements, merchant activities, especially those of dubious nature, criminal occurrences, noble scandals, unusual presences within the royal city—anything you deem significant. However,“ Jasper raised a pale finger, “absolute discretion is paramount. I shall depart now. Consider my proposal at your leisure. Should you accept, send your most literate member. If none among you possesses such skills, dispatch your most clever—someone like this eloquent guy, to the restored building in that direction.“ He gestured with a graceful sweep of his arm. “I shall instruct him in recording these observations. Now, I take my leave.“

  After several steps into the darkness, Jasper paused as if struck by a memory.

  “Oh, I nearly forgot to mention,“ he called back without turning. “Should you accept my terms, payment comes to you as a collective. Your individual earnings belong to the entire group. I require complete trust among your ranks. Any betrayer shall become my...“ he paused meaningfully, “nourishment.“

  A mixture of excitement and fear rippled through their gathering.

  “Should you decline, fear no reprisal—you shall simply forfeit opportunity. I await favorable news at our next encounter.“

  As Jasper began to withdraw—

  “Hold on!“ a gravelly voice called from behind.

  Jasper froze, fear clutching at his throat, but he didn't turn. “Is there anything else that needs explaining?“ he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.

  “Eh, no, just... Might I keep this gold coin, good sir?“ the gang leader inquired with newfound respect.

  “Gold holds little significance to me. Keep it,“ Jasper replied, exhaling silently in relief.

  He hastened away from the scene, taking care to maintain his silent gait and ensure no pursuit.

  After navigating several twisting passages, a whisper reached him from an intersecting alley.

  “Master.“

  “God's mercy!“ Jasper spun to find Ivar's broad silhouette flanked by two smaller forms. “You nearly stopped my heart! What madness brings you to this dangerous area, disobeying my orders?“

  “Precisely because it is dangerous,“ Lysandra murmured, her melodious voice barely audible in the darkness. The faint starlight caught the glossy black of her hair and the ocean blue of her eyes as she stepped forward with characteristic grace.

  “Let us return quickly before others discover our presence,“ Jasper urged, unable to suppress the relieved smile that crept across his veined features.

  “Master,“ Ivar began as they hurried through shadowed streets, “your performance was quite convincing. But, master, why pay them as a group? Men fight harder for their own coin.“

  “Indeed, I almost believed you truly a monster,“ Lysandra added, her slender form gliding silently alongside them. “Wouldn't you agree, Mina?“

  Mina, kept clinging behind Ivar, barely visible in the darkness, nodded emphatically.

  “You witnessed the entire exchange?“ Jasper groaned. “How am I to manage such willful companions? Though those villains appeared frightened, my own terror exceeded theirs tenfold. Fear often provokes violence; I feared one of them would be insane enough to start a fight out of fear.“

  He sighed deeply.

  “As for your question, Ivar, the reason shall become apparent in due course.“

  Upon returning to their new headquarters—the guild building—they collapsed onto rough wooden benches while Mina and Lysandra departed to prepare the evening meal. The savory aroma of spices soon filled the air as Jasper and Ivar remained in contemplative silence, staring at the ceiling beams and shifting uncomfortably until Jasper finally broke the quiet.

  “What would you say regarding slave purchase, Ivar?“ he asked, rubbing his hands together anxiously. “I hesitate to broach the subject, but our security concerns me. I cannot allow you to stand alone should conflict arise.“

  Ivar's broad shoulders tensed visibly before he responded.

  “Master,“ he began with a weighted sigh, “in your company, I sometimes forget I'm still a slave.“

  “As it should be, and that's how I wanted it to be,“ Jasper replied softly. “Though I direct your actions, I've never viewed you as merely property. You are more of a subordinate than a slave to me.“

  “That's precisely why I hold you in such regard,“ Ivar said, a rare smile warming his weathered features. “I would be dishonest to claim a slave wouldn't welcome your ownership, as most endure harsh existences. However,“ his expression darkened, “not all possess loyalty. We remain human, with human frailties. Many slaves harbor deep resentment toward their purchasers, no less than toward those who enslaved them initially. Given the opportunity to flee, many would seize it. Finding your wealth unguarded, they would take it without hesitation, especially those whose ownership was established through a verbal agreement. The particularly vengeful might even attempt your life.“

  Ivar leaned forward, his voice dropping lower. “Do not mistake a slave's status for trustworthiness. Yet this doesn't preclude others accepting your authority and serving faithfully if treated with dignity. Another consideration—slavery seldom produces capable fighters. You might assume their labors develop strength, but undernourishment and exhaustion eventually break the body. Nevertheless, exceptions exist, like gladiators—though they present their own risks.“

  “How so?“ Jasper inquired, genuinely curious.

  “A powerful slave who perceives weakness in his master might eliminate him and claim his assets. Such occurrences are not uncommon. Yet neither are they inevitable.“ Ivar's fingers drummed thoughtfully against his knee.

  “If my memory serves me right, didn't the gladiatorial era conclude with the empire's fall?“ Jasper asked, recalling historical books he read.

  “Indeed, yet competitions featuring slave combatants persist, with champions still bearing the gladiator title. Such fighters command exorbitant prices for their revenue-generating potential. Once illness strikes or defeats accumulate, however, they're discarded without ceremony. Such is their cruel reality.“

  Jasper nodded slowly, processing this information. “Perhaps we should attend these competitions to assess potential candidates worth purchasing.“

  “Stop talking about business in the night, master. You won't be able to sleep comfortably if you maintain this rhythm,“ Mina scolded gently as she approached, carrying a steaming pot that sent aromatic tendrils of savory herbs and spices swirling through the air. Her green eyes sparkled with concern, reflecting the candlelight of the chandelier.

  Ivar jumped to his feet in an instant, his muscular frame moving with surprising agility as he relieved his wife of her burden. The pot seemed to shrink in his hands. “Let me take that,“ he murmured, his deep voice softening whenever he addressed her.

  “You're right,“ Jasper conceded, carefully adjusting his hood to ensure his features remained partially concealed even among friends. “Thank you for your concern, Mina.“

  “Sample my special salad and you'll be spared any restless night, master,“ Lysandra interjected, approaching with a wooden bowl filled with vibrant greens adorned with colorful vegetables and drizzled with a fragrant dressing. Though she typically carried herself with the practiced poise of nobility—back straight, movements precise, expression controlled—now her ocean-blue eyes danced with mischief. This was the side of Lysandra few witnessed: the joyful spirit behind the elegant facade, spreading warmth throughout their makeshift home like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

  “I fear it might prove a sedative rather than a salad,“ Jasper chuckled,

  Lysandra's glossy black hair caught the flickering candlelight as she drew back the bowl, her lips forming an exaggerated pout. “Then no salad for you,“ she declared with feigned indignation, the corners of her mouth twitching with suppressed amusement. “Hmpf!“

  Their presence, laughter, and actions brought a warm feeling they lacked individually. The clink of wooden spoons against bowls and the rich aromas of Mina's cooking transformed their humble surroundings into something that felt remarkably like home.

  Outside, the night deepened as they talked and laughed, moonless and full of shadows like the one Jasper had emerged from. Unknown to them, on the side of the city far from their sanctuary, a solitary figure sat in silent contemplation. The young man's appearance was breathtaking despite his condition—his well-defined muscles spoke of a formidable warrior's training and discipline. Yet this impressive physique was marred by wounds that spread across his body like a cruel tapestry, telling stories of battles and suffering.

  His face, though drowned in pain and weariness, retained a haunting beauty. Most striking of all were his eyes—deep and fathomless as the sea itself, they seemed to glow with an inner light that defied the surrounding darkness; it was the light of determination. Those eyes stared unseeing into the night, bearing witness to memories desperately trying not to forget, holding secrets preventing his eyelids from closing.

  The wounded warrior remained motionless, as the door banged open. “Hey! Breeze, Come out; it's your time to fight!“

  Jasper.

  Profession: A guild master on paper.

  Coins: 9,614g 3250s 6b 0c