Chapter 137
Secret meeting (2)
The man bent lower, his back curving almost painfully, his forehead angled toward the rug as if the dark pattern in the weave might swallow him from sight.
A bead of sweat rolled from his hairline, sliding in a slow, ticklish path down his temple. He dared not wipe it away. He was one of the very few who knew, without doubt, the scale of the danger that sat before him. He knew the stories—whispered warnings of what this man could do—and he had seen enough to know they were not exaggerations.
In front of him sat Hise Grave.
Hise rested his head lazily on his fist, elbow on the armrest, watching his visitor with an unreadable expression. For a moment, he simply hummed—a low, thoughtful note that seemed to vibrate through the air rather than merely fill it. His gaze drifted toward the mounted heads on the wall as if they might whisper the answer for him.
"Do you know the name of the survivor?" he asked at last, his voice unhurried, smooth enough to feel almost pleasant—until the weight behind it set in, pressing down like a stone on the man's chest.
The bowing man didn't move an inch from his position. "No, sir. Not yet. They have not released anything about the survivor at all, but… with some digging, we should be able to find them." His voice was careful, each word measured to avoid provoking irritation.
Hise's lips quirked, the faintest shadow of a smile. "Which one did the survivor come from? The Hold… or Ironclaw?"
The man hesitated. He swallowed—once, hard—feeling the saliva scrape his throat like a bitter pill. "Sir… it was a survivor from the Hold."
Silence descended.
Not the natural kind of silence, but the sort that sucks the sound out of a room until even breathing feels intrusive. The air seemed to thicken, heavy and unmoving, as if the very walls were leaning in to listen.
The man's body tensed so violently he thought his muscles might cramp. A tremor began in his knees and spread upward until it reached his arms, locked in place at his sides. The cold air clawed at his lungs and he found himself barely able to breathe.
A single thought began to burrow through his mind—fast and relentless like a train looping over itself until it became more instinct than reasoning.
Please don't kill me, please don't kill me, please don't kill me, please don't kill me, please don't kill me.
Hise broke the silence with a tone that should have been alarming but, somehow, wasn't.
"How interesting," he murmured. "The place which I personally handled… actually had a survivor."
The man's breath hitched. Hise's voice sounded… amused. Not angry nor offended. There was no sudden rise in volume—only curiosity. The tension in the visitor's shoulders eased ever so slightly. He dared to inhale deeper, the stale air filling him like a long-denied drink. For the first time since entering, he let himself be thankful for the simple fact that he was still alive.
Then Hise spoke again.
"Okay. If that's all… you can go now."
The words were almost dismissive.
The man nearly raised his head in surprise, but the survival instinct buried deep in his bones screamed, don't. He swallowed again. "But sir… shouldn't we take care of this survivor who has given away such crucial information?"
A soft chuckle rolled out of Hise's throat, the kind that made the candle flames shiver. "Actually, that's exactly the reason there is no point in killing him. If we had known this before—yes. But he has already expended his value by giving away all the information he knew. There is nothing we can do about that now. So… why bother? It's a waste of resources and time. For what exactly? Because we are feeling salty?"
The man bowed even deeper, almost folding himself in half. "Of course. How could I not have realised such a simple thing? You are right, there is no point in wasting our time."
Hise's smile widened—a sharp curling slowly like the edge of a blade. "Instead… what we should do, to be on the safe side, is distribute all who were involved in the operation to different missions. Send them far enough that they cannot be easily identified. Spread them out. Some of the higher-ranking members should take on our most important tasks. This… is the smarter option. Just in case any small problems occur. After all…" His gaze drifted toward the window. "…not everyone can afford the type of disguise I've worn these past few years."
The man's lower back screamed in protest from holding his bow for so long, but he didn't dare straighten. "Of course. How could I not think of that? It is only with your brilliant mind that such a simple and effective solution could be found."
"Now… if that's all you have to say…" Hise's voice slowed, each syllable stretching out like a cat toying with its prey.
He spun the chair back toward the window. The movement was unhurried and the leather creaking faintly. The reflection of the candlelight clung to his hair before being swallowed by the shadows beyond the glass.
Only then—only when his face was no longer visible—did the man straighten. The movement was stiff with his muscles protesting. Without another word, he turned and walked briskly to the door. He kept his eyes down until he crossed the threshold, the oppressive air of the office finally loosening its grip as the door closed behind him.
He let out a long breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. He had survived another encounter with Hise Grave.
Inside the room, silence fell like a dropped brick.
Then, from the chair by the window, Hise's voice broke it. "Could it be…"
The words trailed into a laugh.
It started soft, almost harmless, but quickly stretched into something else—warped and jagged, spilling into the corners of the room.
"Ha… ha… ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha…"
The disturbing laughter swelled, filling the space until it felt too small to contain it. The candle flames shivered as though in fear, wax quivering at the edges—then, all at once, they went out.
Darkness consumed the room.
The laughter did not stop. It came from deep within the blackness, echoing off the walls, twisting in the dark like something alive.