Wayla's knees gave out, her whole body shaking like a leaf in a storm. This time, it wasn't Ethan who terrified her.
The moment the boy left, her mind was dragged back to that night—a memory buried deep but never forgotten. The night a man in black armor walked into their home, cold and silent like death itself.
His voice was deep and menacing, the kind that left scars in the mind.
"Remember this—if the pup dies before he turns fifteen, I'll know. And I'll cook you for dinner."
Wayla had never forgotten. She couldn't.
"I don't want to see that monster again," she muttered to herself, stumbling toward the door. "I don't want to be his food. I don't want to die."
She stepped outside, leaving the door wide open, whispering frantically, "There has to be something we can do... Stanley. Where's Stanley? He might have a solution."
Still mumbling, "What to do, what to do…" she walked quickly toward the usual meeting spot.
Meanwhile, on Stanley's end, the mood had shifted dangerously.
The moment the words Black Scimitar were spoken, Vekir froze mid-smile. His face turned stony, and for several long seconds, he said nothing at all.
Finally, he wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and spoke quietly.
"Well... that's a problem. But it might not be the end. With the royal army marching this way, the Scimitar might decide to cut their losses. But if they stay…" He shook his head. "Then I'm afraid I'll have to move operations elsewhere."
He paced a few times before stopping abruptly, as if reaching a decision.
"I'm sorry, old friend, but I have to look out for myself. You're on your own now."
He sighed. "Let's wrap up this last deal. I need to vanish before someone notices I was ever here."
Stanley hesitated. He didn't know how to bring up the new demand—but there was no choice. He swallowed his nerves and said in a dry tone,
"Because of recent events, my employer wants gold instead of food."
Vekir raised an eyebrow. Before he could speak, Stanley added quickly,
"He said there won't be a deal at all if you don't agree."
Stanley braced for a firm refusal—but it didn't come.
"In normal circumstances, you know I'd cancel the deal before changing the terms," Vekir said flatly. "But today's no normal day. And I want to get the hell out of here."
He pulled a small pouch from his belt, counted out three gold coins, and tossed them into Stanley's hand.
"This is all you're getting. Don't even think about asking for more."
Then he turned and gestured to his men. They immediately began loading the bags of herbs onto the carriage, even leaving behind the insect repellent to make room.
The deal was done. But for Stanley and his people, this was only the start of a very long day.
Before Stanley could begin planning his next move, he saw Wayla running toward him, panic all over her face. She was out of breath and trying to speak, but the words came out jumbled. Stanley slapped her—not hard, but sharp enough to snap her back to her senses.
She gasped, steadied herself, and finally said,
"Stanley, we're in big trouble. The kid's leaving!"
Stanley's eyes went wide.
"God damn it. Black Scimitar, the royal army, and now the runt's running off?"
He turned to Bull.
"Go catch him. Lock him up somewhere safe."
Bull nodded and turned to go—but Wayla grabbed his arm.
"No—wait. The kid came to me himself. He said he's leaving, and that this time, we can't stop him. He's going with the same people who burned the farm!"
Stanley went pale. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck. Like Wayla, he remembered.
He remembered him—the beast-man. The one who haunted his nightmares.
In one dream, he was on the ground, bleeding, while the panther-man sat calmly in a chair, legs crossed, chewing on one of Stanley's severed arms like it was a snack.
The others around them didn't understand. They saw the kid leaving as a blessing in disguise. The royal army was already on its way—they were all dead men walking anyway. At least now they had time to flee.
But they didn't know the truth.
If he came… the beast-man… then the royal army would be the least of their worries.
Stanley didn't say anything. He just turned and started walking, face pale, mind racing.
Every time I fix one problem, another one pops up. I need a solution. Fast.
And then it hit him—a memory, faint but vital.
Months after the beast-man's visit, the strange little creatures who brought the medicine had left something behind. A small wooden box, and a note:
"If a problem arises that you truly can't solve, use this to contact me. And make sure it's a real problem—or else."
Back then, Stanley swore he'd never use it. The last thing he wanted was to ever see that creature again. All he'd wanted was to forget—but that was never really an option.
How the hell did I forget something that important?
Wayla said the Black Scimitar were leaving. That meant things were really bad. Bad enough that even they didn't want to stick around.
This is it, Stanley thought. I can hit two birds with one stone.
He broke into a run, pushing past confused bystanders. Bull peeled away to deliver the gold to Diggen. The rest followed out of morbid curiosity.
Stanley reached his home and immediately started tearing through drawers, boxes, and shelves.
"Where the fuck is that box?" he muttered, tossing things onto the floor. "Please don't tell me I threw it out…"
Then—salvation.
"Stanley… are you looking for this?" Wayla's voice came from behind.
He spun around, and his face lit up. She held the box.
He snatched it from her, rushed to the table, and opened it. Inside was a small pendant with a circular hole in the center, and a bead that fit perfectly.
With trembling fingers, Stanley placed the bead into the hole.
The moment it clicked, the pendant lit up with a sharp green glow.
A voice echoed from it—deep, harsh, unmistakable. Stanley and Wayla froze in place.
"What do you want, you pig? You'd better have a damn good reason for waking me up."