Aldric wasn't completely certain of his accusation, but deep down, he knew there was a good chance he was right.
He wasn't guessing — he was connecting clues.
Clue no. 1:
Adrian had always seemed detached from the group. Quiet, calm, and withdrawn. That alone didn't mean much — but looking back, Aldric realized that it wasn't the calm of someone composed. It was the silence of someone waiting.
Clue no. 2:
On the first day they met, Aldric had noticed Adrian's armor. It was old — worn and scarred with marks that couldn't be polished away. A stark contrast to the rest of them. Clet's blue fish-scale armor shimmered like a newly minted relic. Lionel's golden robes glowed faintly with enchantments. Aldric himself had newly acquired equipment. But Adrian's? It looked ancient. Used.
That detail didn't seem important at the time. Now it felt critical.
None of them were strong enough to cross the Blood Fang Region alone.
So why was Adrian's gear so old — like he had been fighting here far longer than the rest of them?
The Blood Fang Region had become a hotspot in recent months. Rumor spoke of a Grandmaster's inheritance buried somewhere in these cursed mountains — an inheritance powerful enough to elevate an Expert rank arcanist to Master rank.
That rumor had drawn countless people, strong and weak alike. Bands of arcanists, mercenaries, adventurers — all came chasing power or fortune.
Low-rankers like them usually gave up when they realized the danger was too great. They didn't fight. They didn't struggle.
So their gear should have stayed intact.
Adrian's didn't.
Which meant… he had fought here before. Alone.
And then came the biggest clue — right before the attack.
Just before the caravan was destroyed, Lionel had asked Adrian for a bottle of water. Adrian tossed it to him without a word. Lionel drank from it.
Moments later, the explosion happened.
Their carriage was blasted high into the air.
Aldric had been disoriented, but when things settled, Lionel was the most heavily injured. Nearly dead on the spot. The others were bruised, shaken, but nowhere near as bad.
At the time, Aldric assumed Lionel was just unlucky.
Now, he wasn't so sure.
And then there was the look in Lionel's eyes before he died — that deep, burning hatred. Hatred that wasn't directed at Aldric. No, it had been aimed elsewhere.
Aldric had assumed it was directed at the monstrous moth that destroyed their caravan.
But what if it wasn't?
What if Lionel's last look of hatred was for Adrian?
Then there was the moment Lionel bit his own hand and drank his own blood before dying — a desperate act that, now that Aldric thought about it, might have been an attempt to counter a poison. A poison hidden in that bottle of water.
Everything clicked together.
Why Adrian had killed Lionel first.
Why he'd been so quick to "save" Aldric when the vile spawn attacked — maybe not out of kindness, but because he didn't want Aldric dying before he could be used.
Why he'd shouted "That bastard…" after killing the creature — maybe Lionel's lingering illusion or curse had still been affecting him. After all Lionel was an illusion path arcanist.
Piece by piece, the picture formed.
And yet… it was still a guess. There was no solid proof. But Aldric trusted his instincts, and his instincts were screaming one thing — Adrian was the enemy.
The rain had stopped outside the cave. The storm clouds drifted, leaving only the cold mountain wind.
Adrian stood at the cave entrance, the dim light of dawn painting his armor in a dull sheen. His platinum hair fluttered slightly as he turned around.
His eyes met Aldric's.
Neither spoke.
For a long moment, the world seemed frozen.
Aldric's dark hair moved with the same wind that tugged at Adrian's cape. The silence between them felt heavier than any shout.
Then Adrian sighed — a deep, tired sound. His voice came low, filled with genuine weariness.
"Your death could have been painless."
Aldric didn't even have time to reply.
Adrian raised his hand, and a dark crystal appeared — pitch black, etched with countless glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat.
He pressed his mana into it.
The air twisted.
A sound — faint at first, then sharp and piercing — filled the mountains. It was a sound that clawed at the mind, neither a scream nor a cry but something in between.
Aldric's pupils shrank.
That sound — he knew it.
He would never forget it.
A shadow loomed across the mouth of the cave, blocking the dim light of dawn.
A massive, dark wing spread open. The gust it brought carried the scent of death and rot.
And in the next moment, the monstrous moth — the abomination with the woman's head and the eyeless larvae-filled face — appeared before them once again.
Adrian's face was calm, almost peaceful.
The black crystal dissapeared in his hand, turning into ash.