Chapter 7 — The Law of the Good Host (4)

THWACK!

A sharp, solid sound.

Flesh against flesh.

"HEY!" Mei Lin protested, stepping forward, eyes wide. "What the hell was that for?!"

Edward and Lena muttered almost in unison, both startled, brows furrowed, eyes locked on the scene.

Ezra was there.

Alive.

Breathing hard, face smeared with dust and sweat.

But more noticeable than anything… the red imprint blazing across his left cheek.

He raised a hand slowly, fingers spread like someone surrendering. The gesture was a little theatrical, but his gaze was tired — nearly broken.

"No. It's fine," he murmured, voice hoarse and shaky. "Satisfied?"

"No," Bastian replied flatly, without a second's pause.

THWACK!

Another punch.

Heavier. More solid.

Ezra staggered back a step, gasping. The impact echoed faintly in the thick air.

"Now I am," Bastian said, exhaling a trembling breath as he wiped his knuckles with his other palm.

A half-smile formed — bitter and relieved all at once. "I was dying from worry about you…"

There was a brief silence before Dorian's rasping, sarcastic voice cut through, still seated, eyes barely open: "Literally."

The line was dry, but the pain behind it was plain.

Everyone understood.

Everyone… except Ezra.

He just rubbed his cheek with a scratchy sigh — part bitter laugh, part pained wince. "Okay… I guess I deserved that."

Edward stepped forward without a word. No grand gesture — just placed a firm hand on Ezra's shoulder. "Just… don't vanish again."

He paused, then added over his shoulder, already turning away: "Or at least give a heads-up… Lena and Kael nearly killed me with their glares because of you."

Ezra gave a faint nod, still weighed down by exhaustion.

Kael, stepping closer, got straight to the point. "We don't have much time, Ezra. How did you survive?" Short and direct, as always.

Ezra raised an eyebrow, folding his arms, clearly trying to regain control of the moment. "First off, you all owe me an explanation, don't you think?" he replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Who was the genius that broke the Law of the Good Host?"

The silence that followed said it all.

No one answered.

Not with words.

But their eyes said enough.

Dorian — eyes now fully open — shot a glance toward Nyra and Lena.

Ezra followed the look… and got it.

'Had to be those two. They hate mannequins with a passion.'

He sighed. "Forget it… doesn't matter now."

Nyra and Lena exhaled at the same time.

Bastian too — the last thing he wanted was to reopen that mess.

Ezra went on, his tone calmer. "The point is, I didn't break the rule. And that's why they ignored me.

The Law of the Good Host is still in effect. As long as you don't attack… you're just a guest.

And guests are left alone."

He spoke gently, but the words landed like a hammer.

The others exchanged glances. It was obvious. Everyone there knew the rule — it was one of the first any explorer learned when venturing into arcane-bound places.

But hearing it from Ezra, at that moment, in that tone… hurt.

Because it was true.

And because spelling out the obvious forced them to face their own mistakes.

Ezra tilted his chin toward Mei Lin. "She didn't attack either. The law doesn't see her as a threat. It's that simple."

Dorian drew a slow breath, eyes staring off into nothing. "'Tell me who you walk with, and I'll tell you who you are'… doesn't apply here." His voice was low, and a crooked, resigned smirk tugged at his lips — ironic and tired.

"And what's that supposed to mean, Mr. Obvious?" Nyra snapped, arms crossed, visibly annoyed. Her fresh wound didn't stop her tongue from staying sharp.

Ezra raised an eyebrow, his shoulders relaxing as if savoring the shift in dynamic. "It means… all you have to do is stop acting like invaders and start behaving like guests."

He blinked.

"Duh."

The air thickened instantly. Everyone froze for a second — as if Ezra's arrogance had landed harder than any mannequin ever could.

"AND YOU THINK WE WOULDN'T HAVE DONE THAT IF WE KNEW?!" Nyra exploded, fists clenched so tightly her knuckles went white. She stepped forward, eyes blazing.

"You think we're idiots?!"

Ezra lifted an eyebrow, unmoving. "Not all of you… just some." He said it with a cold honesty that hit far harder than the moment allowed.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop.

Nyra was already swinging her arm back to punch — but Bastian moved first. With his forearm, he blocked the hit mid-air.

"Enough," he said. Low voice. Heavy with authority.

Nyra gritted her teeth, her gaze darting between Bastian and Ezra. But she didn't fight the block.

Mei Lin stepped forward, her eyes pressing into Ezra with a bone-deep exhaustion — almost maternal. "Ezra… explain. Properly. No more jabs. Everyone's at their limit."

Ezra let out a long, dragging sigh and raised his hands in a peace-offering gesture. "Alright, alright. My bad. I wasn't trying to be cruel. Just… listen."

He turned to face them all, his eyes now calmer. "Put the weapons down. Sit. Breathe."

"Huh?" The reaction was unanimous — almost in sync. Confused looks, furrowed brows, tense bodies.

Ezra nodded, fully aware of how insane he must sound. "It's simple. Just let them pass. Don't react. Stay still. And they'll… just leave."

Bastian narrowed his eyes, his frown tight with uncertainty — and a sliver of hope. "Ezra, are you sure about this? I'm not risking anyone's life on a guess."

Ezra met his gaze dead-on. "Do you trust me?" The question landed firm. No hesitation.

Kael was already moving. Saying nothing, he placed a hand briefly on Bastian's shoulder and strode off toward Rurik.

"Kael!" Nyra called out, wide-eyed. "You're really going to trust him?!"

"These mannequins are merciless, Ezra…" Lena added, her voice not raised, but laced with fear disguised as concern.

Kael didn't stop. He just gestured with his hand — a wordless enough — for her to hold back.

Bastian looked around — at the tired faces, wounded bodies, eyes teetering on despair.

Then he spoke, voice thick with weight: "Ezra's our guide for a reason."

He turned slowly to the others, eyes still fixed on Nyra and Lena. "I don't want to die here either. Do you?"

He paused, the vein at his temple visibly pulsing. "But if any of you want to keep bashing your heads against endless dolls — be my guest. Me? I'd rather try to live."

In the back, Rurik rose slowly. His shoulders hung heavy — from exhaustion, yes, but also from the weight of the responsibility he was now letting go.

The massive axe trembled slightly in his hands. He lifted it… and then drove it back into the ground.

The stone plate — the heart of the shield — detached from the axe and began to dissolve.

First, thin cracks appeared across its surface like dull veins of light. Then, small fragments started to fall away, turning to dust. Finally, the entire plate crumbled into smoke, as if it had never existed. And with it… the protection vanished.

The remaining seven — now vulnerable — let their weapons fall.

Reluctantly.

Fearfully.

Their eyes scanning every corner, as if death might sprout from the shadows at any moment.

Beatriz slowly released her grip on the spear, gaze fixed ahead, holding her breath.

Edward lowered his pistols, fingers still twitching with the urge to pull the trigger by instinct.

Lena hesitated longer, the whip still coiled around her wrist — until she let it drop with a breath that bordered on despair.

Dorian remained seated, his breath steady, eyes once again closed.

Kael mirrored him.

They were exposed.

Unarmed.

Alive… for now.

Ezra stood farther back, beside Mei Lin. Both of them still. Both calm — or at least pretending with perfection.

And then, they came.

The mannequins surged forward like a sea of bone and twisted joints. Their dry, almost rhythmic steps echoed across the hall like war drums. Their eyes — if they had any — were void.

Their focus? The eight intruders.

Bastian felt something move just millimeters from his face — a cold draft, a near-touch. But he didn't flinch. Didn't even breathe.

Lena clenched her teeth as several bodies brushed past her shoulders and waist. The sound of creaking joints almost made her snap. She shut her eyes tight. Pretended she couldn't feel the cold crawling down her spine.

The mannequins seemed to be toying with them. Testing them. Circling, brushing against them, scratching the floor nearby — but not striking.

Waiting.

For a reaction.

Any reaction.

But none of the eight gave in.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Every second stretched into eternity.

Their eyes burned from not blinking.

Their hands itched to move.

The tension was a thread pulled to its breaking point.

And then… The unexpected.

The mannequins began to retreat.

No warning.

No sound.

No hesitation.

As if… nothing had happened.

The grotesque tide turned and melted back into the misty depths of the structure, disappearing into the shadows at the far end of the hall. As though their purpose had simply been to test the resolve of those who dared enter.

The group remained frozen. In disbelief. Breathing freely again — some with silent tears. Others laughing, trembling with sheer nervous relief.

And then, with all the calm in the world, Ezra strolled past them. Hands in his pockets. Steps slow.

He turned his head over his shoulder, lips tugging into a tired — and slightly smug — half-smile.

"Told you."