The crowing of roosters signaled the arrival of dawn. Canis awoke quietly, his eyes drifting toward the two beds beside him—Easton and Aron still lay fast asleep. He didn't intend to wake them. Instead, he rose from his bed, slipped on his dark cloak, and silently made his way downstairs to the tavern on the first floor.
A few early risers were already seated, chatting in low voices over warm cups of coffee. Canis walked to the bartender and ordered a cup of black coffee. He chose to sit at one of the stools lining the counter—opting not to take a full table for himself, as that felt too selfish for someone alone.
He pulled out a cigarette, lit it with steady fingers, and took a long, quiet drag. The smoke curled in the air around him as he exhaled with a heavy calm. His mind, however, was far from quiet.
Thoughts swirled.
Will this journey take longer than I expect?
Can I truly end this quickly?
The Bloodminers were unpredictable—erratic, even. Their movements didn't follow a pattern, which made them all the more dangerous. Bringing Easton, with his talent for sensing energy, was only useful if the Bloodminers revealed themselves. Until then, they were chasing shadows.
But one thing Canis knew for sure:
No matter what happens... I can't let Mariposa do as she pleases.
Because if she did, it would mean he had lost. Not in battle, but in something deeper.
In their quiet war of ideals.
The bartender, a stocky man with a neatly combed beard and a calm voice, eventually spoke up as he cleaned a glass behind the counter.
"Not from around here, are you?"
Canis offered a polite smile. "No, I'm not. I'm from the northern borderlands."
The bartender's eyes widened slightly. "That far, huh? What brings you all the way to the capital?"
Canis took a sip of his coffee, then answered with the same calm tone, "Just on vacation... while hunting rats."
The bartender blinked, confused. "Rats?"
Canis nodded with a straight face. "Yeah. Rats."
Of course, the "rats" he meant were Bloodminers—but the bartender couldn't possibly grasp that. He tilted his head slightly, clearly puzzled.
"Strange kind of vacation," the man muttered with a chuckle, "hunting rats in the capital."
Canis chuckled softly and nodded. "Absurd, isn't it?"
The bartender gave him a long look, then chuckled too. "Well, to each their own, I guess."
A brief silence followed as Canis took another drag from his cigarette. Then, the bartender spoke again—this time more curiously.
"Say... your eyes. Golden, aren't they? I feel like I heard something about golden eyes when I was a kid. Some old story maybe. Can't recall exactly."
Canis inwardly cursed himself for forgetting to wear his sunglasses. His golden eyes had a tendency to draw attention—exactly what he didn't need right now.
He tapped the side of his head and grinned. "These eyes make me look cool, don't they?"
The bartender gave a light laugh. "Yeah, can't argue with that. Definitely got the mysterious traveler vibe down."
Canis returned the smile, though his mind remained elsewhere—still turning over plans, names, and possible Bloodminer movements.
Canis exhaled a thin trail of smoke, eyes still fixed on the steaming cup before him. Then, in a tone so casual it could almost be mistaken for boredom, he asked:
"Ever heard of any Bloodminer activity around here?"
The bartender paused, setting down the glass he was polishing. "Not around this district," he said. "At least not recently."
"Why not?"
"Well," the bartender leaned a little closer, lowering his voice a notch, "probably because Captain Mariposa frequents this area."
Canis's expression didn't change, but his ears perked up slightly.
"They say the Bloodminers are terrified of her," the bartender continued. "The Frost Queen, right? Cold-hearted, beautiful, and deadly. Every criminal knows better than to cross her."
Canis nodded slowly, lips twitching into a faint smirk. "I've heard of her."
"Oh, then maybe you read it in the papers a few days ago," the bartender added enthusiastically. "She took down one of those terrorist bastards. People say it was brutal—didn't even give the terrorist a chance to scream."
"I know," Canis replied calmly.
If what the bartender said was true, then the chance of a Bloodminer appearing in this district was next to nothing. He'd have to move—search another district in the capital where Mariposa's shadow didn't loom so heavily.
Just as he was considering his next steps, the bartender added, "To be honest, around here, we're more worried about the activities of Hamburg's company than terrorists."
Canis lifted an eyebrow. "Hamburg?"
"Yeah," the bartender leaned in again. "He's a mafia boss. Operates in multiple districts, including this one. Causes a lot of trouble for the locals—harassment, extortion, disappearances. But no one dares oppose him."
"Why not?"
"Because he's protected. Backed by a noble."
Canis leaned back in his chair, mildly disappointed. Not what he was looking for. The name Hamburg was new to him, but it didn't trigger the urgency he was chasing. He took another drag from his cigarette, exhaled slowly, and glanced out the window.
So... no Bloodminers here. Just another rotting corner of the capital ruled by men with too much money and too little conscience.
{Chapter 26 end}