Chapter 34: Dolph

Seeing the figure actually attempting to climb in through the window, Pelness instantly shrieked, "Ah! Get away! Don't touch here! Get off the carriage this instant! You reek!"

"Outrageous! Steward! Steward!" Even the noblewoman inside widened her eyes, betraying panic. "Quickly, remove this insolent commoner!"

A slightly plump man in steward's livery, sporting curly whiskers, promptly leaped down from the driver's perch at the front. He rushed over, grabbed Glen's trousers, and yanked with all his might.

Feeling his pants threatening to slip, Glen decided the joke was over. He let the momentum carry him down.

Landing hard on his backside, he looked up at the flustered young lady above. Clutching his stomach, Glen burst into uncontrollable laughter.

The portly steward's face flushed crimson. Seeing Glen rolling on the ground, laughing like a fool, ignited his fury. He raised his fist, ready to strike.

However, the noblewoman's voice rang out from the carriage interior. "Hopps, leave him be. Hurry home."

Obedient but resentful, the steward could only shoot a venomous glare at the commoner still chuckling on the ground. He climbed back onto the driver's seat and urged the horses onward, the carriage pulling away.

Inside the carriage, the noblewoman regained her unflappable composure. With a slight turn of her head, she glanced at her daughter, whose face was puffed up like a steamed bun and her lips jutted out in a pronounced pout. She reprimanded coolly, "Do not make such inelegant expressions, Pelness. You are nobility. You must govern your words and appearance."

"Yes, Mother," Pelness replied, forcing her features back into a semblance of order, though intense displeasure still radiated from her.

Glen laughed heartily on the ground for a good while longer before finally wiping tears from his eyes. He stood, dusted off his backside, and continued on his path.

He had barely stepped into the forest surrounding Bayek when a plume of dust rose in the distance.

A smile tugged at Glen's lips. He knew who was coming: Night Howl.

As predicted, a fierce gust of wind whipped past his face moments later, and Night Howl's single, massive eye was suddenly inches from Glen's own.

Shoving the oversized muzzle away, Glen walked past the creature. "How's the pig feeding going? Any problems?" he asked as he strode forward.

"Owoo..." Night Howl instantly puffed out his chest, a clear declaration of success.

"Good," Glen nodded. "Let's check the pig pen first."

True to Night Howl's "report," the pig pen was intact. However, fodder lay scattered haphazardly everywhere, making the place look like a chaotic mess.

Glen refrained from comment. Keeping the pigs alive and fed was accomplishment enough from Night Howl.

He moved next to a separate, isolated enclosure. Inside was the captured creature resembling an elk. Glen still hadn't settled on what to do with it.

"Hmm... It feels like a waste just to butcher you," Glen mused aloud, standing before the sturdy fence. His words seemed directed at the elk-like creature, yet also like a thought spoken into the air. "Looking at your size, you're nearly as big as a horse. Wonder how strong you are? Maybe... next time, you could pull the cart?"

The elk creature ambled closer. It nudged the fence hopefully, clearly expecting food, utterly oblivious to Glen's proposition.

Glen reached through the slats and gently patted the creature's broad head. Then he turned and walked towards the town.

Just as he entered the outskirts, Glen spotted a figure clad in drab gray robes, stooped and shuffling slowly ahead.

He recognized this particular townsfolk – or rather, his predecessor did. It was an ancient-looking crone. His predecessor had once attempted conversation, met only with utter disregard, as if he were invisible.

After that failure, his predecessor had instinctively adopted the local custom of silence towards fellow townsfolk.

Glen paused just for a heartbeat, then continued walking. As he overtook the hunched figure, the old woman's rheumy eyes suddenly flicked sideways towards him.

Glen, senses honed sharp, registered the shift instantly, but gave no outward sign. He kept walking.

That unsettling gaze remained fixed on his back, a palpable weight between his shoulder blades. It only vanished when Glen stepped across his own threshold and closed the door behind him.

Did that old hag sense something? That I'm a werewolf? Highly probable... Glen thought, rubbing his jaw as he pushed the door shut.

Chessveno Town.

Being significantly closer to the regional capital, it dwarfed Durd in both size and bustle.

Within a club dedicated to magical discourse, in a chamber adorned with arcane symbols and heavy, dark fabrics.

The old man, garbed in worn hunter's leathers, parted a heavy curtain and entered the dimly lit room.

"I've been waiting for you, Bor."

A woman, appearing perhaps in her early forties, spoke. She wore robes of exquisite craftsmanship, rich fabrics embroidered with subtle power sigils. Her demeanor was regal, her features striking. Setting aside the heavy tome she held, her voice held a resonant, almost magnetic quality.

"Good day, the Honorable Dolph," the old man intoned, giving a precise, shallow bow.

"Judging by the lines on your face... he slipped away again?" Lady Dolph asked, a hint of weary resignation in her tone.

"A needless question. Your scrying bowl surely showed you," the old man replied gruffly, settling heavily onto a plush sofa nearby. He began rummaging in his weathered pack.

"Such a pity..." Dolph murmured, her eyelids lowering slightly, veiling a flicker of profound fatigue.

The old man placed several crumpled, stained pieces of parchment on the low table before Dolph. "Your calculations. Verified and annotated. Unworkable incantations and flawed formations are marked. My notations are there."

Dolph gave the parchments the barest glance before turning her gaze towards the flickering candle on a side table. "Bor, listen to reason. It's time to lay this burden down. I grieve deeply for your loss, truly. But to chain your entire existence to this consuming hatred..."

"I choose this chain. It is my right, Mage Dolph," the old man interrupted, his voice like gravel, iron beneath it. "You, who have never felt your world ripped apart, your heart carved hollow... you can speak of letting go."

"Ah..." Dolph exhaled a long, heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of years.

"Regardless," the old man continued, his tone marginally softer, "my thanks for scrying the location. That gratitude is sincere. No disrespect intended."

"Old friends," Dolph said softly, making a small, dismissive gesture with one elegant hand. "It was the least owed."

After this, a thick silence descended, broken only by the crackle of the candle. The old man stared into the middle distance.

"He had a Grade-Four Dark Mage with him," he stated flatly, the words dropping into the quiet like stones.

"What?!"

Dolph's head snapped up. Her eyes, wide with utter disbelief, locked onto the old man's face. "A Grade-Four Dark Mage? How is that possible? Here? This..." Utterly confounded, she leaned forward slightly. "All known Grade-Four practitioners of the Dark Arts within Zen Kingdom are monitored within the Royal Precincts! What in the abyss would one be doing in such a desolate backwater?"

"That," the old man replied, meeting her intense gaze, "remains a mystery." He paused, then added the crucial detail. "Though, from the spells he cast – twisted things, but still clinging to the structures of sanctioned magic – he was likely newly Fallen. Raw power, unstable."

"Then... I must investigate the recent disappearances among the Fourth Circle," Dolph said, her expression hardening into grave lines. The implications were troubling.

Her sharp gaze returned to the old man, confusion etching her features. "Bor... encountering such a mage... how did you escape? That isn't something..." she gestured almost imperceptibly towards the worn leather vest covering his chest, "...that trinket of yours could possibly counter."

"Hah," the old man allowed a dry, humorless chuckle. "Hired myself a rather capable... enforcer."

"An enforcer capable of standing against a Grade-Four Mage?" Dolph's curiosity was palpable, tinged with professional intrigue. "Where does one find such a person in the hinterlands? The price must have beggared you?"

"An insufferable young lout," Bor grunted, a flicker of something – grudging respect? – crossing his face. "Had no inkling he wielded... hmf... not just stood against. Killed the Dark Mage."

"Killed?!" Dolph whispered the word, the shock momentarily stripping her voice of its usual resonance.

"True, the Dark Mage underestimated him, held back," the old man conceded, his own voice low with the weight of the memory. "But the boy... his raw force... I'd wager it surpasses the Fourth Grade."

Dolph simply stared. The profound shock rendered her momentarily speechless. The silence stretched, thick and taut.

"And the price..." Bor finally broke it, his voice returning to its usual gruffness, "...was twenty silver coins."