In a long hall paved with stone tiles, the sharp click of heels echoed against the floor. Thin, cheap, dusty rugs did little to muffle the sound made by the visitor’s heavy steps—clack-clack-clack. Long shadows cast by rows of candles fixed to the walls trembled restlessly in the draft. It seemed as though the very walls and roof could barely contain the aura of the man who had just crossed this house’s threshold for the first time.

  Pausing before an intricately carved door, the guest listened to the sounds and voices coming from inside the room. A fierce argument was underway, and none of the speakers showed any willingness to yield. The words themselves were indistinct, but their motives were clear from the tone alone: denial, doubt, bargaining, and accusation. Each participant was trying to pin the blame on the others—and this might have gone on until morning had they not been interrupted.

  “Snorting and hissing,” the guest thought to himself as he swung open the door separating the corridor from the estate’s central study with a single sharp motion. A warm scent of burning forest logs from the fireplace struck him full in the face.

  “You’re late!” were the first words to greet him. “We’ve been waiting for you for ages! Things are getting worse by the minute. Do you even understand what this means? Everything could be exposed! What are we supposed to do? I even sent one of my men—but he never came back. He took such a high advance payment and vanished along with his crew. Damn thieves and brigands! How dare they?!”

  “Calm down,” a quiet voice cut in, silencing the master of the mansion. “Clearly, something has happened. Today, everything is going awry. I believe we must think carefully and make a measured decision. Tell us—do you have any suggestions?”

  “Explain exactly what occurred,” said a firm, controlled voice that perfectly matched the rhythm of the guest’s footsteps. The man—nearly two meters tall—crossed the study and opened the transparent door of a liquor cabinet. Pouring himself a glass of whiskey older than the estate itself, he listened intently to the homeowner’s explanation.

  “One of those mongrels sent worthless trash to investigate the recent disappearances in the villages. They dispatched a team that’s already picked up the trail—and even dared to enter Quiet Forest. They’ll find out everything! What are we to do? This is all your fault! Your son caused this mess! Couldn’t you keep him under control?!”

  As he listened to the incoherent babbling and frantic accusations, the guest studied the homeowner. He was no longer truly a man—or at least, he could no longer be considered one. His bloated body sat wedged into a specially widened armchair supported by seven legs instead of the usual four. “Apparently even six weren’t enough, so the carpenter added a seventh just in case,” the guest mused, finishing his whiskey and grateful that, at least, they hadn’t skimped on the alcohol.

  “So—you couldn’t deal with a single adventuring party? Not with bribes, threats, or blackmail?”

  “We tried, but it didn’t work. They’re too strong and well-known. Coincidence or not, ordinary methods don’t work on people like them,” replied an old man seated beside the head of the household. He was far too old to still be among the living, and his voice rasped with every word. Beneath the deep, uneven wrinkles of his face, one could almost glimpse features that had once been handsome. His eyes weren’t merely green—they were phthalo green, with pinpoint pupils.

  “I even hired a mercenary—at great expense—to deal with them! But he disappeared! They’ll uncover us! They’ll expose us all!”

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  “Stay calm. Just recently, I considered sending my own people—but then word arrived: the leader of that group is the Sleeper.”

  “The Sleeper? I assumed someone of his caliber wouldn’t bother interfering in something so trivial. That’s unfortunate,” the guest said, placing his empty glass back behind the glass cabinet door. It pained him to leave such fine whiskey in the hands of this swollen swine—but clear thinking and swift decisions were needed now more than ever.

  “What should we do, then? We don’t have anyone of his level! Surely we can’t send an entire army? Although… if we corner them somewhere in the fields and surround them, no vermin will slip through. Yes! That’s exactly what we’ll do. I’ll dispatch five hundred of my soldiers immediately!”

  “Sit down.” The guest’s voice was stern. “The Sleeper isn’t the kind of man you can stop with a thousand warriors. Rumors say he’s capable of handling five thousand. Is it wise to test him—especially on your own fertile lands?”

  “But that’s impossible! How can one man fight hundreds?! It’s nonsense! Lies! I’ll send them right now—” He didn’t finish. The guest’s sharp voice cut him off.

  “No. He’s right. No matter how many soldiers you send, it won’t stop someone like him. And worse—you’ll create a commotion that the Radiant Capital will surely notice.”

  “But what can we do? If they’ve already learned something, they might send His Eyes! Can you imagine what that would mean?!” At these words, the already breathless man’s face turned deep blue from his prolonged outburst. Raw animal terror filled his eyes, and the coat meant to serve as a jacket was soaked through with sweat.

  “Just a little more, and he’ll start squealing like a pig,” the guest thought with silent amusement. “But he’s right. Under no circumstances can we let His Eyes turn their attention toward us. They’ll dig up the truth—even if they have to hang every living soul and every animal that might have seen or known anything.”

  No longer listening to the fat man’s ramblings, the guest walked over to the fireplace and stared into the dying embers. Their heat didn’t scorch his face, yet still filled the room with gentle warmth and a faint freshness. Rare sparks rose on the updrafts, glowed briefly, and vanished without a trace. The decision was already made—it only needed to be spoken.

  “I’ll send my people. Everything will be concealed. However, one of your settlements will have to be erased, dear Baron Groul. You understand why?” the man said after a brief pause.

  “What? Uh… yes! I’m willing to sacrifice those pesky flies if it stops the investigation. Too much is at stake for me,” the baron blurted out without thinking.

  “Tell us—who are they? Are they strong?” the old man asked.

  “Yes. Extremely strong. You needn’t worry, esteemed Baron Carlos. Did you understand the order?” the man addressed the empty doorway.

  “Yes~,” a woman’s voice sang softly from the darkness, “We’ll kill the adventurers, the village, and every living thing in that area. Don’t worry, dear Count.”

  Both the fat man and the elder turned sharply toward the exit—but saw no one. Not a sound, not a whisper, not even a creak. The corridor remained exactly as it had been a second before. A cold shiver ran down Baron Groul’s sweaty, flabby back as he realized someone might be lurking there. Even the old man’s icy eyes flickered with surprise and doubt—had he imagined it? But when he glanced at the Count, he knew the sweet voice from the shadows had been real.

  “My danger amulet didn’t react at all. Nothing. The metal neither warmed nor cooled. There should’ve been a signal if they intended harm—but there was nothing. Absolute monsters…” The old man rubbed the iron ring on his finger, though he gave no outward sign, remaining perfectly still in the plush chair provided by the corpulent baron.

  “I believe our problem is now resolved, and I won’t stay any longer—lest I arouse unnecessary suspicion,” the Count said, turning toward the door. But as he grasped the handle, he paused without looking back and added, “If even those two fail, then no one can succeed. And if that happens, we’ll have no choice but to kill each other. Anything is better than falling into the hands of His Eyes…”