Chapter 65: Black Sword

Just as the scar-faced man paused to take a drink of water, preparing to resume his tirade, the door was blown open by a powerful gust of wind.

Everyone was startled, turning to look.

An old gentleman stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed in a tailcoat, leaning on a cane, and wearing a black bowler hat. A fierce, jet-black bird of prey perched on his shoulder, its crimson eyes sweeping unnaturally over everyone in the room.

The scar-faced man's brow furrowed deeply upon seeing him.

"Snoke, why are you still here? Where is the Young Master's cargo?!"

The old gentleman narrowed his eyes, his voice unnaturally low, rumbling like distant thunder in the ears of others.

Snoke, the scar-faced man, wasn't particularly cowed by the question. His prolonged shouting had left his voice somewhat hoarse. "Black Sword? Shouldn't you be lurking in the shadows protecting your precious Young Master? Why come here?"

The newcomer was one of the mages Lord Pank had assigned to protect his offspring. They were dark mages who had sought refuge with powerful nobles to escape lives on the run.

"The Young Master grew impatient. He sent me to collect it. But it seems," the old gentleman's gaze swept dismissively over the room, "you've botched it, Snoke."

He tapped his cane. A gust of wind accompanied him and the dark bird as he flashed across the room, appearing directly before Snoke.

Face to face, the old gentleman's slightly clouded eyes stared impassively at Snoke.

A bead of sweat trickled down Snoke's forehead. Damn this monstrous old bastard, he cursed inwardly.

"As you can see," Snoke admitted with forced nonchalance, seeing no point in denial, "I've lost the cargo."

"Truly, you are as inferior as the scars that mar you," the old gentleman, Black Sword, sneered, his expression dripping with contempt. "Unable to handle even this simple task."

"Hmph," Snoke retorted, resorting to a crude provocation. "I doubt even you could find the bastard who took it."

"Don't presume to equate yourself with me," Black Sword scoffed. "Before the grandeur of true magic, all truths are laid bare."

Unexpectedly, the old mage seemed to rise to the bait. A murmur ran through the assembled mercenaries, instantly silenced by a vicious glare from Snoke.

Seeing Black Sword wasn't deterred, Snoke pressed on, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Talk is cheap! Show us then! Oh Great! Ma! Gi! Cian!"

The mocking tone clearly struck a nerve. Black Sword swept his cane sideways. Instantly, a violent black gale erupted within the room.

The dark bird on his shoulder let out a piercing, earsplitting shriek, flapping its wings frantically.

Mercenaries were thrown off their feet, crashing into furniture and each other. Only a few of the strongest managed to keep their balance amidst the maelstrom.

Suspended within the swirling black winds, Black Sword's lips moved rapidly in silent incantation.

After a moment, he began to float, moving slowly towards the courtyard where the empty cage still lay.

Snoke, gritting his teeth against the biting wind, gestured sharply to his men. They stumbled after him into the yard.

The black gale intensified. Razor-sharp wind blades, bone-chillingly cold, radiated outwards from Black Sword, forcing the mercenaries to shield their faces with their arms. I shouldn't have provoked him. Is this ridiculous spectacle really necessary? Does the old fool think this makes him look impressive? Snoke seethed internally.

Just as he was about to shout for Black Sword to stop, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer appeared in the air ahead. To ordinary eyes, it might have been a trick of the wind and shadow. But Snoke, a warrior honed to physical peak, could just make it out.

The spectral scene flickered briefly – indistinct shapes, a sense of movement – and then vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Simultaneously, Black Sword ceased his chanting. The unnatural gale died instantly, the oppressive silence returning as suddenly as the storm had begun. He landed smoothly back on the packed earth of the courtyard. A smug smile stretched across his face as he gently stroked the feathers of the now calm bird on his shoulder.

"You found him?" Snoke asked, though he already knew the answer.

Black Sword shot him a look of profound displeasure. "Dare to doubt me? Would you like a personal demonstration of my wind blades?"

Snoke clamped his mouth shut, waiting.

"The thief," Black Sword declared with disdain, "is utterly ignorant of magic. He covered his mundane tracks, perhaps, but left the magical residue untouched, like a child smearing mud over footprints. It required almost no effort to trace."

Hearing this, a surge of vindictive relief washed over Snoke. All the frustration and humiliation of the day coalesced into a burning, barely contained rage. "Then what are we waiting for?" he growled, his voice thick with murderous intent. "Let's go meet this bastard. I've already got plans for how to make him suffer!"

... Back in Baiyek, at Glen's house.

After Raever finished his chores and returned, Glen took charge of the kitchen himself, preparing a relatively lavish dinner. Considering the forest elf's vegetarian diet, he added several substantial vegetable dishes. He also made a savory dipping sauce; the vegetables, dipped in it, offered a surprisingly flavorful experience.

At first, the elven lady, Gotaya, regarded the spread with undisguised skepticism. She even boasted about the unparalleled cuisine of her people, describing dishes that made Raever and Tia salivate involuntarily.

However, after reluctantly dipping a piece of vegetable and tasting it, Gotaya offered a begrudging concession: "It's... barely passable. Not quite as dreadful as I imagined."

"Wow! Then your elven food must be amazing! I really want to try it!" Tia exclaimed, her face alight with genuine hope.

"Our elven fare..." Gotaya began, faltering slightly, "...is not something we casually share with humans. Don't get your hopes up." Her reply held a hint of defensiveness.

Tia visibly deflated, her enthusiasm vanishing like a popped balloon.

Raever, who had been watching Tia throughout the exchange, couldn't help but comment, a frown creasing his brow. "Tia, have you... forgotten your manners? You're behaving rather... common."

"Huh?" Tia started, looking flustered and ready to apologize.

Glen's voice cut in, cold and sharp. "Dare to put on airs under my roof? Finding the work too light? Or do you need another reminder?" His gaze fixed on Raever.

Raever instantly ducked his head, trembling like a leaf.

Glen then turned his attention to Tia, who had stiffened nervously. "Proper manners are for proper occasions. None of that nonsense is required here. How you're behaving," he stated firmly, "is perfectly fine."

Perhaps it was the absolute certainty in Glen's tone, but Tia visibly relaxed a fraction.

Beside them, Gotaya glanced subtly between Glen and Tia, her expression unreadable, thoughts churning beneath the surface.

After the meal, Glen learned from Gotaya that the Black Crow had apparently come looking for him earlier. He mentally noted this down, deciding he would pay the man a visit tomorrow. After all, they'd known each other for a while now, and Glen had never actually visited his home.

Later, Glen cleared out a room on the second floor, tidying it up to serve as Gotaya's temporary quarters. His modest two-story house now accommodated three people – Glen felt he was maximizing its utility quite efficiently. Raever, of course, didn't count, residing as he did in the storage shed.

"Hmm," Glen mused as he prepared for sleep, "there's still the cellar... could fit two more down there if needed..."

He had just closed his eyes and begun drifting towards sleep when Night Howl's distinctive howl pierced his consciousness – not through his ears, but directly into his mind.

His eyes snapped open. Glen sat bolt upright. The sensation was too vivid, too urgent to be a dream. Was that... a warning from Night Howl?!

Deciding caution was paramount, Glen didn't dismiss it. He threw open his window and leapt out into the night.

Monstrous shapes lurking in the shadows of the street scattered in alarm as he landed. Without a moment's hesitation, Glen sprinted towards the edge of town.

As he drew closer, the sounds became distinct: the thunderous crash of combat, punctuated by Night Howl's sharp, pained howls.