The fire crackled low in the corner of the small guest room, casting a warm orange glow on the old wooden walls. The scent of chamomile drifted from a teacup left untouched on the side table. Selena lay under a wool blanket, curled slightly, her breathing slow and peaceful. Lio sprawled across a straw mattress nearby, snoring faintly with his mouth open, boots still on.
Red sat in a wooden chair near the window, unmoving. Moonlight poured in through the slightly parted shutters, illuminating the lines on his face and the gleam of his gauntlet where the armor met his sleeve.
The night was quiet in Elmsbrook Village.
A thin mist rolled in from the nearby forest, blanketing the village in a pale silver veil. Lanterns flickered on doorsteps. Crickets sang lazily in the underbrush. Peace settled over the cobbled paths and wooden houses, at least, on the surface.
In a modest cottage near the village square, three weary adventurers slept.
Selena curled beneath a patchwork quilt, her breathing slow and steady. The herb pouch she had carefully filled earlier was hung from the bedpost, its contents dry and fragrant. A soft smile touched her lips. For once, she felt safe.
Across the room, Lio snored with his limbs sprawled in every direction, one leg dangling off the bed, one hand still gripping his satchel like a lifeline. Straw clung to his tousled red hair.
But the third bed was empty.
Red moved through the village like a shadow draped in moonlight. His heavy armor was stashed away, replaced by dark traveler's clothes and a worn, hooded cloak. No clinking. No trace of metal. Only silence.
He passed shuttered windows and sleeping livestock, his boots making no sound on the damp ground.
When he reached the village chief's home, larger than the others and positioned conveniently close to the central well, he stopped and studied it.
It was too clean.
The wooden fence had been recently repaired. The house itself bore no scorch marks, no signs of structural damage. Not a single plank was out of place.
That wasn't how a village looked after a real bandit raid.
Red reached the side wall, crouched low, and tested the window. Unlocked. He slid it open just enough and slithered inside with practiced ease.
The air inside smelled of rich spices and old smoke. Too rich.
He crouched near the shadows of a bookcase, waiting.
Minutes passed.
Then, the door creaked open.
The village chief stepped in, his rounded frame wrapped in a fine woolen cloak. He removed it carefully, revealing a velvet tunic underneath, clearly not local craftsmanship.
Red's eyes narrowed.
The man walked to a desk in the corner and lit a candle. With casual confidence, he opened a drawer. Inside were stacked gold coins, each gleaming in the low light.
Then came the real prize.
The chief pulled out a leather folder and opened it.
Red's breath slowed.
Inside were parchment scrolls, several marked with seals Red recognized too well. Symbols of known slaver guilds, stamped boldly in wax. And beside them, smaller papers, bandit contracts. Routes, dates, payment logs. Names.
Red stepped from the shadows.
Red: "You're doing well for a man who lost his village."
The chief froze.
His eyes darted to the side, but before he could shout, Red was in front of him, a knife pressed lightly, not deep, against his belly.
Red: "Scream, and I'll make sure you regret it before you die."
Chief: "W-Who… who are you?"
Red: "Wrong question. What you should ask is, 'How much pain will it take before I talk?'"
The man gulped, his hands rising.
Red: "Tell me about the girl. The one you said the bandits took."
Chief: "I-I had no choice! I didn't sell her, I made a deal to spare the village!"
Red: "That's not an answer."
Chief: "They were going to burn us down! They said… they'd only take a few! Better than the whole village dying!"
Red: "So you offered them your own people. Your own daughter."
The chief fell silent.
His face twisted, not with shame, but frustration. As if he'd been caught in a lie that only mattered because someone found out.
Red: "Where did they take her?"
Chief: "North… north of the Rellian Hills. There's an outpost near the cliffside. Hidden. They take girls there before they move them to the slave market down south. That's all I know!"
Red dropped him.
The man crumpled, sobbing.
Red: Consider your life spared,
Red said coldly.
Red stared at him for a long moment. Then he stepped back and sheathed his blade.
Red: "If you're lying, I'll come back. And you won't even have the mercy of a blade."
The chief nodded furiously, sweat running down his face.
Red took the folder, slipping it into his cloak, and vanished out the window as easily as he had come.
Then he vanished out the window.
He returned to the cottage in silence.
Lio was still snoring, sprawled across the bed like a dropped puppet. Selena had turned in her sleep, facing the wall, her breathing deep and rhythmic.
Red sat on the edge of his bed, pulled the folder out, and stared at the seal of the Midnight Pact.
His knuckles whitened.
Red: "So it's started again."
He closed the folder, slid it under his pack, and lay down without a sound.
But his eyes didn't close for a long time.
Meanwhile...
In a small wooden home across the village, the chief poured himself a cup of bitter mead, hands still shaking.
Chief: "Damn mercenaries... sticking their noses where they don't belong…"
He looked out the window at the dark horizon.
And for the first time in years, he felt something worse than guilt.
Fear.