Chapter 275: Setia's Map

Usagi stood up, gently brushing the dust off her pants. Her gaze was calm and distant as she looked toward the horizon. Under the soft sunlight, her profile appeared so delicate that it seemed like she might vanish into the breeze at any moment. Yet her voice fell clearly into Hayado's ears:

"I have to go. Stop following me. My world is dangerous."

Hayado raised an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed by this farewell. A faint, unreadable smile curved at the corner of his lips as he spoke with quiet certainty:

"Don't worry. When we meet again, it'll be my turn to protect you. And I'll find Setia—and return the necklace to you."

Usagi didn't reply. She only smiled faintly, that smile as subtle as moonlight—impossible to decipher. Then, without hesitation, she turned and walked toward the darkness, her steps light and soundless, as though she had left no trace of her existence on this land.

Hayado remained standing, watching her slender figure disappear. A strange feeling surfaced in his chest, but he quickly suppressed it. He too turned and stepped onto the path toward finding Setia.

That search lasted for years.

Yet Setia seemed to exist only as a legend. No matter how hard he searched, he couldn't find any solid leads. It was as if Setia were a phantom—anyone who spoke of it did so vaguely, leaving him to wonder if anyone had actually seen it.

Finally, in an unremarkable tavern, he caught a break.

The air reeked of cheap alcohol and low-grade tobacco. Dim light flickered over the clash of glasses and the hum of lively chatter. Hayado instinctively leaned against a shadowed corner, his gaze sweeping lazily across the room. Then, from a nearby table, he caught a fragment of conversation that instantly sharpened his focus—

"…I found Setia's map."

Hayado's hand tightened around his glass, though his posture remained relaxed. His attention honed in on the conversation.

Sitting across the table was a man in a white robe, his collar loose enough to reveal faint scars along his neck. His deep voice was calm and measured—like a doctor's—but carried an undertone of danger.

"How much?" the white-robed man asked. "Name your price."

The map's owner sneered. His tone was laced with mockery.

"Setia isn't something you can buy with money. I want one thing—the head of anyone from the Aka Clan."

Hayado's brows furrowed sharply. The Aka Clan…

The man in white paused for a moment before replying evenly,

"Fine. But you'll give me half of the map as a deposit first."

The map's owner narrowed his eyes as if calculating the risk. Finally, he reached into his coat and pulled out a carefully folded piece of parchment. Slowly, he slid it across the table.

Hayado's eyes locked onto the map's edge, catching the faint marks drawn along its surface. His breath slowed imperceptibly as he leaned forward, trying to absorb more details from their exchange.

But that's when it happened—

A sudden chill slashed through the air. A predator's gaze fixed on him.

Hayado's instincts kicked in. He turned his head—and met the sharp, blade-like gaze of the white-robed man.

The look in those eyes was unmistakable—a hunter eyeing his prey.

Damn it—he's been made.

In a flash, Hayado shot to his feet. But before he could take a step, a wave of intense dizziness slammed into his mind. His vision blurred, limbs freezing as if nailed to the floor. He reached for his dagger, but his fingers had already lost all feeling.

Poison?!

He bit down hard, forcing himself to stay conscious. But the darkness was already closing in. The last thing he heard was the white-robed man's cold voice, tinged with a chilling smile—

"Looks like we'll need to have this conversation elsewhere."

Then the world plunged into darkness.

When Hayado regained consciousness, the air was thick with the scent of rot and dampness. Echoing footsteps resounded off stone walls, the sound of metal scraping against rock cutting through the silence. His wrists and ankles were shackled in cold iron chains. His head throbbed painfully, but his mind had cleared.

Darkness. Dampness. The stench of death.

Hayado's senses adjusted to his surroundings. Bloodstains darkened the stone walls, old streaks of crimson seeping into the cracks. In the corner, a rat gnawed at a chunk of rotting flesh—whether human or animal, he couldn't tell. The wet chewing sound made his stomach churn.

He moved his wrist. The iron chains immediately tightened, cutting into his skin and drawing fresh blood. His ankles were similarly bound, the metal digging into the flesh as he struggled. Blood pooled beneath his feet, dark and sticky against the floor.

Hayado narrowed his eyes, his mind sharpening through the pain.