As they pushed back from the table, Kaiser let out a satisfied exhale, adjusting his seat. "Alright," he muttered, rubbing his stomach. "I’ll give her this. The woman might be a walking god complex, but she can cook."

  Aria stretched her arms over her head with a small yawn. "Told you. Now, let’s get a room before I fall asleep on the floor. I’m so not in the mood to wake up with someone’s boot on my face."

  "Doesn’t sound like such a bad thing," Kaiser said as he stood, cracking his neck.

  "Yeah? Well, if I’m sleep-deprived, you’re the one I’ll be talking to all night," she shot back with a grin.

  Kaiser scoffed but didn’t argue. He was already heading toward the front counter, where Krava stood like a perfectly sculpted statue. She was broad-shouldered, her arms were crossed, and she held an expression that suggested she was both unimpressed and uninterested in their existence.

  Kaiser slowed slightly as they approached, once again struggling to process what he was looking at. It was Glunko, but… in a maid outfit. A well-pressed, black-and-white ensemble that looked like it had been made specifically for someone built like a blacksmith. The beard. The thick eyebrows. The sheer absurdity of it all.

  Aria leaned toward him, whispering, "Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"

  Kaiser muttered back, "That is not normal."

  Aria blinked at him, confused. Then she turned toward Krava and gave her a once-over before looking back at Kaiser. "She looks normal for a Grounded." He could only stare at her, mind spinning as he kept the name in his head. Grounded? He made a mental note to pry about that later.

  Krava, meanwhile, had watched the entire exchange in silence before finally speaking in a flat tone. "Rooms?"

  Aria nodded, straightening. "Yeah. One room, two beds."

  Krava reached beneath the counter, lazily retrieving a small, glass-like tablet. "How will you be paying?" Aria pulled a leather pouch from her belt and gave it a small shake. A clinking sound rang out, crisp and metallic. She untied the string and turned the pouch over, letting a pile of gold coins spill onto the counter. Krava’s face barely shifted, but Kaiser swore he saw her nostrils flare slightly in disgust. She stared at the gold like it had personally insulted her, her thick brows furrowing.

  "Gold coins," she muttered. A sigh, long and drawn out. "Of course."

  Aria hesitated. "What? Is there something wrong?"

  "Nothing," Krava cut her off, snatching a single gold coin and sliding the rest back across the counter. She reached beneath the desk again, this time pulling out a sleek, rectangular card. "Room 19. Second floor."

  Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed Aria’s wrist. "Come on," he muttered, leading her toward the stairs.

  "What—hey," Aria protested, stumbling slightly. "I can walk, you know." But just as they turned around from the counter, the doors slammed open so hard they nearly bounced back, making every conversation in the inn falter. The warm, low hum of chatter and clinking tankards died a swift death as three figures stepped inside, silhouetted against the dim lantern light from the street.

  They walked in like they owned the place. The first was a short, round man stuffed into a suit that barely fit him. His bald head gleamed under the light, and his many golden rings clinked together as he scratched his stomach lazily. The air around him carried the faint scent of sweat, cheap cologne, and something fried.

  The second was a wiry, long-limbed man wrapped in layers of ragged cloth, his eyes darting around the room like a rat searching for an escape. His fingers twitched constantly, as if itching to snatch something. He had the look of someone who’d gone without food for too long, yet his movements were full of energy, jittery and unpredictable.

  The last was the biggest, broad shoulders, thick arms, and a rough, unkempt beard that looked like it had been growing for years without a plan. His ragged clothes stretched against his muscular frame, and unlike the other two, his expression was relaxed, almost lazy, like a man who had never needed to rush for anything in his life.

  Then, the skinny one spoke, his voice high-pitched and far too loud for comfort. “The Right Fist is back in town baby!” He spread his arms wide as if expecting applause. “Fresh off another brutal journey, and we got work to do!”

  The reaction was immediate. People averted their eyes. Some shifted in their seats, suddenly engrossed in their drinks. Others tensed, jaws tightening, fingers curling into fists. Even Krava, the ever-stoic woman behind the counter, didn’t quite manage to hide her discomfort. Her arms folded over her chest, her thick fingers digging into her biceps. And yet, the three men walked forward like kings returning from war.

  Their path through the inn was slow and deliberate, their hands moving with precise confidence, snatching bread rolls from plates, tearing into hunks of meat, and lifting half-finished tankards of ale straight from under people’s noses. One man, a grizzled-looking mercenary, visibly tensed as the fat one took a whole drumstick off his plate. His grip tightened on the handle of his knife. His breath came in slow, controlled exhales. Then, he glanced at the trio again, the look in his eyes changing. His hand relaxed, and his shoulders dropped.

  The fat one took a loud, obnoxious bite, grease dribbling down his chin as he smirked. “Good man.”

  The three made their way toward the counter, passing directly by Kaiser and Aria.

  His beady eyes lingered on Aria but for her, it was for far too long. His lips curled, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to say something, making Aria’s expression turn ice-cold. Kaiser, however, was completely unaware. Because at that exact moment, his gaze had locked onto something far more urgent. A wanted poster, pinned up near the door, slightly curled at the edges, ink faded but still legible.

  The fat man leaned against the counter, his thick fingers drumming lazily against the wood. His smirk was wide, but his eyes weren’t smiling.

  "Oi, Krava. Erya in today?"

  Krava’s expression remained stone cold. “Yes.”

  The wiry man let out a dry chuckle, his lips stretching too wide over yellowed teeth. He leaned forward, the stench of stale sweat clinging to his ragged clothes. "Yeah? Then why don’t I see her?"

  Krava didn’t blink. "She’s busy."

  The fat one let out a slow, dramatic sigh. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course she is.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “Busy doin’ what, exactly? ’Cause unless she’s in the back scrubbin’ floors, I don’t see much worth doin’ in a place like this.”

  Krava’s arms stayed at her sides, her posture unshaken. “That’s Erya’s business.”

  The fat man let out a low, amused hum.

  The wiry one grinned. “Bit rude, that. Not answerin’ a simple question.”

  Krava didn’t respond, she just stared at them, unmoving and unreadable. For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the occasional clink of glass in the background, the muffled voices of nervous patrons trying too hard to act like they weren’t listening.

  The big man who was silent until now, cracked his knuckles slowly, like the sound was meant to fill the space where words couldn’t. The fat one’s smirk grew. “…Tch. Ain’t it funny?" he said, almost lazily. "How you always get all stiff when we come around?"

  The wiry one nodded, his grin stretching wider. "Like she’s got somethin’ to hide."

  Krava met his gaze, unwavering. "I don’t hide anything."

  The wiry one’s grin twitched. "That right?" He let out a breathy laugh. “Then why does it feel like you’re trying real hard to make us leave?”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Krava finally moved. Just a little. A shift in her stance. A slow inhale. Not fear. Not hesitation. But restraint, and the fat one saw it.

  He slapped a heavy hand against the counter, making the wood creak. “Ahh, but I ain’t here to start trouble, Krava. We’re friendly folk, y’know?” His smirk widened, eyes gleaming with mock sincerity. “And friendly folk deserve a warm welcome. Like, say… a hot meal. On the house.”

  The wiry one leaned in, voice dropping to something just above a whisper. “We gonna have a problem, Krava?”

  The big man behind them cracked his knuckles again. A slow, deliberate sound. Krava’s gaze flickered toward the kitchen. Then, with calm precision, she turned around and disappeared behind the counter.

  The fat one grinned, exhaling through his nose. “That’s a good girl.”

  The three men turned away from the counter, smugness oozing off them like grease from an overcooked meal. The fat one scanned the room, eyes flicking between tables with a predatory gleam before he latched onto Kaiser and Aria.

  “Hah! Ain’t that a sight, boys? Couple of fresh faces.” His grin stretched wide as he grabbed his companions by their ragged sleeves and dragged them along, making a direct path toward the two. Kaiser didn’t react. He stood there, still frozen in place, his gaze locked onto the wall where the wanted poster hung. Aria tugged at his sleeve again, whispering, “Kaiser, let’s just go.”

  He didn’t move, and the men were in front of them now. The fat one clapped a greasy hand against his own chest and gave them a mock-friendly smile. "Name’s Ollo. Ollo Garr. Maybe ya heard of me?" He let the question hang in the air like a bad joke, then laughed at it himself. "No? Ah, well, no harm done. Ain’t everybody got an eye for greatness."

  The wiry one gave a slow, lazy bow, his stringy hair falling over his face. His smile was wider than ever, but his eyes were sharp. “And me? Name’s Devlin. Just Devlin. You can call me whatever you like, though. Ain’t that right, Ollo?”

  Ollo chuckled, rubbing at the rolls of his chin. "S’right. Man’s got all kinds of names in all kinds of places.”

  Then, as if presenting a prize, he threw out an arm toward the towering figure beside them. The man was broad, with thick shoulders and corded muscle stretching under his ragged tunic. Unlike the other two, he wasn’t smiling. His face was blank, save for a simmering irritation.

  “And this fella right here?” Ollo grinned, voice practically dripping with self-satisfaction. “This here is our friend Crost. Y’know, a Liberator.”

  Aria stiffened at the word Liberator. It wasn’t just a term. Liberators were enforcers, warriors who had earned their name through strength alone. Some were mercenaries,some were adventurers, some were bodyguards, some were executioners.... But almost all of them were dangerous.

  Ollo smirked, clearly expecting a reaction. Maybe fear. Maybe awe, but in reality, he got neither.

  Kaiser didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. His eyes remained fixed past them, staring dead ahead at the wall behind them. Aria tugged at his arm again, more urgent this time. “Kaiser, let’s go.”

  And that was what set them off.

  Devlin’s grin twitched, turning sharp. “Oi now, what’s the rush? Ain’t we havin’ a nice talk?”

  Ollo folded his arms, his smugness curdling into something meaner. "Real rude, turnin’ your back on friendly folk.”

  Crost, who had remained silent up until now, took a step forward, his expression darkening. His voice was low and gravelly. "You deaf or just stupid?"

  Still, nothing from Kaiser. Just that blank, hollow stare into the distance. But in that instant, Crost saw it. Not what he was staring at. Not the wanted poster, but his eyes, and something in Crost’s chest seized.

  It was like staring into the abyss… Into something wrong. Those weren’t the eyes of a man. They weren’t the eyes of prey, or even a predator. They were empty, like a corpse. Like something that had died a long time ago but just hadn’t realized it yet.

  A chill crawled up Crost’s spine, squeezing his lungs. His fingers twitched, his instincts screaming at him.

  'Move. Step back. Get away.'

  His mouth went dry. His body locked up. He had fought monsters, men twice his size, things that should not exist. And yet, standing before this motionless man, staring into those lifeless eyes… He had never felt this kind of fear.

  Ollo’s beady eyes squinted as he sized Kaiser up, licking his lips like a merchant seeing fresh coin. "Well, ain't this a sight? You got the look of money, friend. A real fine uniform, leather boots—real proper. Didn't know a new slave merchant came through town."

  Devlin chuckled, tilting his head toward Aria with a smug, toothy grin. "And bringin' a cutie like this, too. Tsk, tsk, didn’t think Arkhold was worth the trouble. Guess a pleasure slave like her must fetch a mighty price, eh?”

  Aria's fingers dug into Kaiser's arm. Hard. Yet Kaiser didn’t react, not at first. But very soon after his eyes snapped to them. Crost, the towering, battle-hardened Liberator felt his blood turn to ice. His muscles locked. His breath hitched. His body screamed for him to run. To do anything to escape this moment. But he couldn’t.

  Kaiser’s gaze held him in place like a noose tightening around his throat. It wasn’t fury. It wasn’t hate.

  It was nothing.

  Something that had seen death. Lived through it. Dragged itself out of its grave and walked on, uncaring.

  ‘He’s going to kill me.’

  Crost didn’t even hear what Ollo and Devlin were saying anymore. His mind went blank. His instincts, his years of fighting, his honed experience—none of it mattered. He was certain he was going to die.

  Then he felt the temperature around them plummet as a thin frost curled across the wooden floor beneath Kaiser’s feet. The wooden beams above creaked as moisture in the air froze. Ice traced up the table legs, climbing like skeletal fingers.

  Aria’s grip on Kaiser’s hand tightened. She wasn’t pulling anymore, she was holding on. Holding on as something inside him shifted.

  Ollo, oblivious to the weight pressing down on them, was still grinning. “What? That touchy about your property? Relax, friend, ain't no shame in—”

  SMACK.

  Crost’s massive hand crashed down on both Ollo and Devlin’s heads.

  “SHUT THE HELL UP!”

  The force of it nearly sent Ollo to his knees, and Devlin stumbled, yelping. “Oi! What was that fo—”

  “Apologies!” Crost bowed. Deeply. His voice shook. He didn’t care how much he embarrassed himself. Didn’t care how stupid he looked. All he cared about was one thing, and that was his survival.

  “I—I meant no offense, sir! Please, forgive their stupidity!” Devlin rubbed the lump forming on his skull, blinking. "Wait, what?" Ollo scowled. “The hell’s gotten into you, Crost? It’s just—”

  Then Ollo saw it too. Kaiser’s face, and his bravado shriveled in an instant. For the first time since they had walked into the inn, Ollo shut his mouth. Crost fumbled into his coat, hands trembling, and yanked out a card—a sleek, engraved thing of dark metal, laced with gold. He held it out toward Kaiser with both hands, like a peace offering to a beast.

  "S-Sir... I—I would like to extend an invitation!" His voice cracked. “To the auction! Two days from now! P-Please, come as my personal guest! I’ll even make sure you get a discount on any… on… on…”

  Kaiser didn’t move a muscle.

  Crost gulped.

  With no other choice, he pressed the card against Kaiser’s chest. It lingered there for a moment before falling to the ground. The card hit the floor with a soft clink, but the sound may as well have been a hammer falling in the silence that followed.

  Crost still hadn’t moved. His hands were frozen in midair, like he didn’t dare retrieve the card, didn’t dare shift even a muscle in front of the thing standing before him. Ollo and Devlin weren’t much better.

  Devlin, who was usually the first to laugh things off, was now stone-faced, his mouth slightly open like he was trying to form a thought but had lost the ability to think. Ollo, on the other hand, was glaring at Crost like the big man had suddenly gone insane.

  “The hell was that!?” Ollo hissed, rubbing the spot where Crost had struck him. “You grovelin’ to some no-name like a whipped dog!? I should—”

  Crost whirled on him. “Shut. Up.” His voice was low, but the weight in it made Ollo flinch.

  Ollo looked between Crost and Kaiser, truly looked. His piggish eyes darted to the ice still creeping along the floorboards, to Aria’s clenched fists, to the soulless abyss of Kaiser’s gaze, and something inside him twitched. His instincts, dulled as they were, finally started to scream.

  But Ollo was nothing if not a man too stupid to listen.

  He forced out a laugh, straightening his suit, trying to regain his arrogance. “Bah. You’re scared of this guy? You think he’s some kinda threat?” He thumbed toward Kaiser. “He’s got some powers, sure, but—”

  Devlin elbowed him in the ribs, extremely hard. Ollo winced, turning to snap at him, only to see Devlin’s face was pale as death. The thin man barely breathed the words, but the fear in them was real.

  “Leave. It.”

  Ollo opened his mouth. Then shut it.

  Crost, still too afraid to turn back to Kaiser, cleared his throat and forced himself to speak. “Well, sir, the invitation stands. The auction will be held in two days. If you choose to attend, we will welcome you.” His words were quick, forced, like he needed to get them out before his lungs collapsed.

  Kaiser didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge them, didn’t even react.

  Crost grabbed Devlin by the sleeve and tugged him toward an empty table. Ollo followed, not before spitting on the floor near Kaiser’s feet.

  "Bastard.”

  Aria twitched. Her hand flew to the dagger at her hip, but Ollo was already turning away. She clenched her jaw, inhaled sharply through her nose, and forced herself to exhale.

  Ollo and Devlin slumped into their chairs, and Crost took the farthest seat possible, rubbing his arms as if trying to get rid of an unseen chill.

  Aria let out a shaky breath, finally releasing Kaiser’s arm, but only so she could turn on him. “Are you kidding me!?” she hissed, keeping her voice low but sharp.

  Kaiser didn’t respond, as his eyes and full attention were fixed somewhere else. Aria followed his line of sight and saw a wanted poster, tacked onto the wooden pillar near the door.

  Kaiser started walking toward it.

  Aria clenched her fists. “You didn’t say a word! They insulted you! Insulted me! And you just—” She groaned, dragging a hand through her hair. “If you let every scumbag walk all over you, people will think you’re weak, Kaiser.”

  Kaiser stopped in front of the wanted poster, his expression unreadable.

  Aria sighed. “You’re not even listening, are you—”

  Then she saw the name. Her breath caught and her pulse spiked.

  The image on the poster was burned into the parchment with magical ink, shifting slightly as if the man in the picture was breathing.

  Wild, untamed white hair, eyes filled with pure malice and a grin that seemed to mock the world itself.

  Sabel Stoorm.

  Aria’s mind barely caught up with her body as she staggered closer, eyes locked onto the poster. The bounty beneath the name was obscene, but none of that mattered to her right now. Slowly, she turned to Kaiser, her anger completely evaporated, her voice quiet, almost… hesitant.

  “Kaiser...”