Looking around, he found two ways to enter the mansion: firstly, through the door, and secondly, through the window. He wouldn't have considered the window because of how high it was, but luckily, there were barrels of some kind just under the window. He calculated his chances and, in the end, decided to use the window.
He waited for the perfect opportunity, and then it happened—the guards started arguing about something. Lin took the chance; he had no interest in knowing what they were arguing about. He walked close to the wall, using the shadows as cover, and finally reached the window. He jumped onto the barrel and then climbed inside through the window.
The place was enormous, all marble floors and gold trim, with chandeliers glittering overhead. Paintings lined the walls, humans in elaborate robes, a few with animals at their feet. Lin's nose twitched. The air was thick with perfume and something else, fear, maybe, or anticipation.
Where are the goats? He wondered. He scanned the hall, but saw nothing, no pens, no cages, not even a stray tuft of fur. Just humans, bustling about, setting up tables and arranging flowers. Lin's stomach twisted. Did I come all this way for nothing?
Suddenly, footsteps echoed down the corridor. Lin's ears shot up. He darted behind a massive pillar, pressing himself flat against the cold stone. The footsteps grew louder, closer. He could hear voices, sharp, authoritative, not the lazy chatter of servants.
A moment later, the main doors burst open. Lin risked a glance.
A ship-no, a floating vessel descended from the sky outside, its hull gleaming with runes and strange engines humming beneath. It hovered above the estate, casting a long shadow over the hall. Humans rushed to the windows, pointing and whispering.
Soon, the doors swung open wide. The farm owner, Barnaby Clay, short, round-bellied, with a nervous sheen of sweat on his forehead, stepped out first, straightening his patched vest and glancing back as if to make sure everything was in order. He barely took two steps before a few other figures entered.
At the front, among the figures, was a young man dressed in regal attire. His hair was a striking silver-blue, and his eyes were cold and sharp as winter. Flanking him was a striking mix of guards and attendants: a hulking man with a muscular build and a massive sword strapped across his back; a woman whose face was hidden beneath a delicate veil, with a short dagger glinting at her waist; two figures in nun-like robes, their hands folded and their faces unreadable; and at the rear, an old man, stooped with a mane of white hair, one eye closed as if in permanent suspicion.
Barnaby dropped into a deep bow, hands cupped.
"Welcome, Sir Caelum Draven. The estate is at your command, sir."
"Barnaby, it's been too long. Spare the theatrics," Draven replied in a cold tone. ''We don't have much time. If you have anything to report, say it now."
Barnaby's expression grew hurried. "The artifacts given by the prince are nearly depleted, especially the offensive and defensive ones. Several of the defensive illusion-type items have stopped working, so I suspect we might soon be under attack from magical beasts in that area."
Draven remained silent and listened. "I see. The detection arrays are working, right?"
"Yes," answered Bernaby
"What else is the problem?"
"The villagers say we are short of awakened ones."
"I understand. I will convey your message to the prince. But you must show me the growth he desires. It has been years since you presented any noticeable improvements."
"I am doing my best, sir. This time, I have gathered the best specimens possible."
"Hmm. Where is the doctor?" Draven asked.
"No idea, sir. He never discloses his whereabouts. It has been two months since he left," Barnaby replied softly.
Caelum Draven nodded, as if he had expected this. "Fine. Bring me the goats."
Barnaby nodded rapidly. "Please follow me, sir." He pressed a hidden switch, and a section of the wall slid aside, revealing a narrow door.
A sharp pulse of dread fluttered behind Barnaby's practiced smile—he pictured his stable-hands still outside, and for one guilty breath wondered if they'd find shelter before the prince's envoy judged his failures.
Lin's eyes widened. So that is where they are keeping them.
Just as Caelum Draven and his entourage moved toward the door, one of the black-armored guards stiffened. He turned, scanning the shadows, toward Lin's hiding place.
Lin, who was peeking, felt his heartbeat increase threefold. Fuck. I have been discovered. He thought rapidly, trying to figure out what to do, but at that moment, a shout reached his ears.
"Enemy attack!" old Wen in white robes shouted, his voice echoing through the hall.
Caelum Draven spun, eyes narrowing. "Assassins!"
Chaos erupted. Guards rushed to the windows, raising rods and staves. A barrage of spells shot skyward—bolts of fire, arcs of lightning, spheres of crackling energy. The roof exploded in a shower of stone and glass as enemy spells slammed into the estate. Screams rang out as servants dove for cover. The farm owner, Barnaby, dropped to his knees, crying out in despair. "My tapestries! The crystal chandelier!"
Caelum Draven's lips curled in a cold smile, completely ignoring Barnaby. "Mercenaries. Disposable tools." He nodded to his guards. "Take care of them."
Caelum Draven's entourage rapidly rose into the sky, leaving Old Wen in white robes on the ground, chanting as violet chains emerged from the earth to trap shadowy figures on broken rafters. One assassin shouted as his platform collapsed.
Above the fray, the night sky became a battlefield itself. Hooded figures floated on runic discs, launching torrents of icy shards and acidic orbs, their onslaught relentless and merciless. Draven's guards moved like liquid shadows—silent, precise, and deadly—as they countered every strike.
The veiled woman carved runes that swallowed ice blasts. The muscular swordsman deflected acid orbs in a whirlwind of steel. The two nuns chanted, strengthening Caelum's shimmering dome.