In the dim glow of night, within an ornate chamber lined with towering bookshelves, Grigori sat at his desk, fingers resting lightly against the edge of an open book, eyes steadily moving across the pages. A moment later, his gaze stalled. He exhaled quietly, eyelids lowering as his thoughts drifted back to the spy incident, severing his concentration.
After the spy's death, Grigori immediately conducted a swift assessment. He instructed his Forensic Division to secure the body for examination and ordered the Intelligence Division to inspect the spy's quarters and possessions to trace his origin. What he uncovered was both surprising and unsurprising.
"Aur…" he murmured, tapping the desk once with his finger. The traces all pointed there, one of the three great powers of the world, standing alongside Maurya. The confirmation was surprising, given Aur's status as Maurya's closest ally during the last war. And yet, it also wasn't. Grigori had already known of Aur's involvement long before he authorized his squad to move.
"The beast was right." He leaned back slightly, the chair giving a soft creak. Right after the spy had been dealt with, the beast then looked at him and calmly added that Aur was behind it all, as if reciting an obvious fact.
"Was that even logical?" Grigori frowned, lifting a hand to rub his temple. From his perspective, the beast had not only exposed a spy hidden deep within his own estate but had traced its origin in the same breath. He had never seen it move from its spot. And yet, it had achieved what would have taken him months of relentless investigation. To him, it felt as though it had simply 'seen' everything—"as if it was visible in its eyes."
As a scion of the Kalashnikov family, Grigori possessed the rare bloodline ability known as the Eyes of Discernment. For him, no tool of information gathering should have rivaled it. Now, recalling the beast's effortless perception, he let out a short, dry chuckle, shoulders sinking slightly. By comparison, his Eyes of Discernment felt almost laughable.
"So this is a nine-stroke beast," he muttered, shaking his head faintly as his gaze drifted back to the open book.
***
Under the faint light of Zlategorye, a young man with a plain face walked quietly through the streets. His posture was relaxed, arms hanging loosely at his sides, yet his gaze remained forward.
Though this was supposedly the capital city of the Maurya Empire, the surroundings appeared bleak. Cracks spidered across the road beneath his feet, some deep enough to collect stagnant water, and the dim streetlights flickered weakly overhead.
Around him stood mostly rundown buildings, neglected yet still barely functional despite their obvious decay. The road was largely deserted, littered with scraps of trash and even human waste, thinly concealed beneath sheets of newspaper that rustled faintly under his boots. Every so often, he would slow his pace, stepping around a ragged man lost to drink, slumped against a wall or sitting in the shadows, fingers twitching or heads lolling lifelessly.
This area was nothing like the Zlategorye known to the Mauryan. But this place existed, clinging to the city's far edges near its most dangerous area, the city border. Though older than much of Zlategorye itself, it had long been neglected and left to decay by the nobles. Worse still, this district and its people were deliberately hidden from the rest of Maurya, serving purposes the nobles would never speak of. This place once had a name, but now, those few who still knew its existence call it the Slum of Zlategorye.
After walking for a while, the young man came to a halt, his steps stopping abruptly. Before him loomed a massive wall, rising higher than even the tallest building in the slum. He began circling it, stopping at a seemingly unremarkable spot that looked no different from the rest. Then, with controlled rhythm, he tapped the wall several times in a precise pattern. Almost immediately, intricate lines began to trace themselves across the wall, spreading from where his fingers had tapped until they formed a faint, door-like outline.
He stepped forward, passing through the outlined wall as if it were air, the stone rippling briefly around him. He emerged on the other side.
What awaited him was a stark contrast to the world he had just left behind. The road was smooth and spotless, and the streetlights shimmered with needless opulence. In the distance, people moved past in sleek, branded attire, their accessories catching the light like fragments of glass. Some didn't even bother to walk, reclining casually as they glided by in polished vehicles that purred softly along the path.
This was the Zlategorye known to the Mauryan Noble; it was the nobility district, where grandeur itself was the standard. This was where the nobles of Maurya flaunted their wealth, each competing through the splendor of their grand estates. It was also home to the prestigious guilds, including the famed Merchant Guild and Psychologist Guild.
Strangely, this district sat directly beyond the slum, separated only by a massive wall.
Despite the stark contrast, the young man's expression did not change. He walked on with steady strides, as if this path were one he had long grown accustomed to.
After some time, he finally arrived at his destination, an estate far grander than any he had passed before. This estate was well known among the nobles, not only as the venue for their most prestigious noble gatherings but also as the residence of the Empire's most powerful figures. It was the Imperial Palace, home of the Kalashnikov family, the imperial bloodline itself.
The young man entered the estate, ascending the steps and pausing before the mansion's glamorous door. He reached out, fingers closing around the polished doorknob. On its surface, his reflection shimmered, revealing a visage different from the one he had before. His once-simple facial features had transformed: golden, lustrous straight hair framed his face, rounded cheeks softened his appearance, and a gently sloping nose gave him an almost friendly look. But his eyes were sharp golden slits, exuding a subtle but unmistakable threat.
The young man turned the knob, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
As he walked, a whisper escaped his lips, barely louder than his breath. "I'm back."