A magnificent sight

In the end, she said nothing.

Just gave a small nod, as if satisfied, and led him back toward the holding area where the rest of the villagers sat.

Then she drew a circle in the air with one finger.

The air shimmered. A glow erupted at her feet, weaving itself into a perfect formation around the entire group.

A containment seal. Elegant and clean. The kind used by royal battlemages when the situation didn't warrant blood—yet.

Zac's lips twitched into a smirk.

So that's what this was.

She wasn't just letting them go. She was sealing the prisoners together. Waiting. Watching.

If Nightshade came to rescue even one of them, surely the seal would record it. Leave traces. Mana impressions. A trail.

And if he didn't… if hours passed, days, and Nightshade never appeared?

Then Lisa would know.

Nightshade was one of them.

Zac folded his arms casually and sat with the others, pretending not to notice the spell glimmering beneath the dirt. But inside, he was amused. Impressed even.

Smart.

But not enough.

He glanced at the seal again, reading its structure like he was reading a book.

If he wanted to, he could break it. Not from the outside—no, that would be messy. But from the inside? Quietly? Without alerting the mage knight?

He could do it.

But he wouldn't.

Not yet.

Because right now, the best thing Nightshade could do… was sit still.

And watch. Or, he could simply walk through it, yh, that'd be much easier.

He wasn't just playing a game anymore.

He was inside theirs.

And when the time came, he'd break the board.

Though Zac wore a smirk through most of the evening, letting his body sag in feigned boredom, time crawled slowly under the magic seal. The air inside the containment circle had grown heavy with silence. A few villagers had curled up on the dirt, heads resting on their arms. Others stared blankly at the ground, whispering prayers to gods they barely believed in.

But Zac's mind was elsewhere.

Three days.

That was the limit. If he didn't show up back home within that time, his mother would be worried sick. She was no fool. The silver he brought home every other week had eased her burden, bought her rest, but not peace. She was still a mother. Still cautious. Still watching him from the kitchen doorway when she thought he wasn't looking.

Zac had been able to give her enough to survive—and a little more—but he hadn't yet given her the truth.

She didn't know her son was Nightshade.

And now, the clock ticked.

One night was already gone while he sat in prison, cultivating, something he only did when he was bored. He was always aura farming, so sitting like a monk was ideal. But then again if he did nothing he would probably fall asleep. So cultivating, while making himself look like he was just chilling was ideal.

It was a good thing his level wasn't high enough to cause a disturbance. Unlike his skill.

He let out a quiet sigh, adjusting the cuffs on his worn sleeves. The people around him might have thought it was from discomfort, but he was simply thinking.

If he didn't act tonight, that mage knight would begin to grow certain. Lisa might appear noble, even merciful—but she was a predator when it came to logic. If Nightshade didn't come for these people tonight, she'd do the math.

And the mask he wore as Zac would crack. So he had to steer her off his trail. By doing something entirely unexpected.

In any other town, in any other region, Zac, wouldn't even be suspected. The guards knew him. The market women knew him. He was the quiet boy who once worked at the stables, who shared bread with street kids, who trained with sticks behind his father's grave. He wasn't a magician. He wasn't dangerous.

Or so they thought.

But Lisa wasn't from here.

And she didn't believe in local legends.

Zac exhaled slowly, eyes rising toward the flap of the tent. Beyond it, the camp had quieted. Even the mage hadn't returned since nightfall. The torches had dimmed to embers. Guards rotated on silent patrol, their armor rustling in the wind.

A concealment seal this well-crafted should have been unbreakable for a commoner. That was the assumption. That was the trap.

And that was the flaw.

As the moon climbed high, casting a pale sheen over the tents and wagons, Zac stood.

No one noticed at first.

But when he stretched, rolling his shoulders and straightening his back, something changed. His posture, once hunched, now aligned with grace and confidence. His expression hardened. His smirk disappeared, replaced by something sharper. Colder.

Even his presence changed—less like a village boy, more like a shadow that had been waiting for nightfall.

Then his voice dropped. Not in anger. Not for performance. Just naturally.

Deeper. Heavier.

As if this was how he was always meant to sound.

He slid his hands into his pockets and walked forward—directly toward the edge of the seal.

He stepped forward, the glowing ring at the edge of the formation shimmered as if warning anyone stupid enough to approach.

A commoner should have been stopped, rejected, stunned, or worse blown to bits and pieces,

But instead Zac walked right through.

No flare. No backlash.

The seal let him pass like he wasn't even there. A magnificent sight, but sadly no one was there to appreciate the sight.

He kept walking, straight through the metal bars that made the prison. Then he moved to the middle of the prison compound. Past the sleeping guards. Past the horses tied near the campfire.

And then he reached the edge of the compound wall, where the moonlight fell strongest.

He turned his face upward, letting it catch the light. His shadow fell long behind him.

And finally, he spoke.

His voice rolled across the ground like a midnight breeze.

"What a dark night to shine justice."