The night had taken over the narrow, labyrinth-like streets of Sorbaj. The wind howled, colliding with the stone walls and echoing through the alleys. This grim wailing resonated like hidden whispers within the night, adding an even darker meaning to the city’s abandoned atmosphere. Fog slithered along the ground like a heavy smoke, making the shadows appear even more menacing.

  Two men had silently withdrawn into the darkness of a side alley, watching a crumbling stone house. Their pitch-black cloaks blended seamlessly with the night’s deep darkness, making them nearly invisible. The only distinguishable features were their eyes—one gleamed like burning embers, while the other was as black as a bottomless pit. The masks covering their faces revealed nothing but the eerie glow of their eyes.

  The stone building looked as though it had been crushed under the weight of time and neglect. Loose stones had been haphazardly replaced with wooden planks, and parts of the roof had collapsed, exposing rotting beams. The door was old, its hinges rusted, and its dark wooden surface bore deep scratches, carrying the exhaustion of many years. A dim yellow light seeped through the windows—the only proof that someone was inside. But it was clear that the house’s inhabitants were not well-off.

  In a voice so low it almost blended with the wind’s wailing, the red-eyed man asked,

  “They’re all inside?”

  The man beside him slightly inclined his head, scanning the shadowy building once more. His eyes strained to make out the silhouettes within as the flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls.

  “Yes.” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. Narrowing his eyes in skepticism, he stepped closer, reassessing the house. The faint snores and occasional muffled grunts indicated that the men inside were in a deep sleep. He turned his head and spoke again.

  “I don’t know how so many of them fit into this tiny house, but they’re all inside, sleeping soundly.”

  The red-eyed man paused. His eyes seemed to glow even brighter in the night’s darkness. Fixing his gaze on the house, he asked,

  “You’re sure they can’t escape, right?”

  The black-eyed man fell into a brief silence before nodding with certainty.

  “Yes. The entire street is under our control.”

  Silently, the two men moved through the shadows toward the door. Their steps were nearly soundless, gliding like ghosts through the night. As they reached the door, the red-eyed man suddenly lifted his head. It was an instinctive movement—and at that very moment, he locked eyes with someone watching from the roof.

  This figure, too, had their face concealed by a black mask. Their brief exchange of glances was more powerful than words. The red-eyed man gave a slight nod to the man on the roof. The operation had begun.

  At that moment, the door silently creaked open. The black-eyed man had skillfully placed a thin lockpick into the old lock, unlocking it with a single, quiet click. His eyes were cold and resolute within the shadows. The red-eyed man pulled up the cloth covering his face, concealing even his eyes. But this thin veil did not hinder his sight. The red glow was now hidden, but his sharp vision remained unchanged.

  They slipped inside.

  The air was thick with the stench of dampness and human breath. The small, dimly lit room was packed with exhausted and disheveled bodies. More than twenty men lay here, crammed together in sleep. Most of them had no blankets, feeling the stone floor’s cold seep into their bones. Some were curled up, others sprawled out, and a few huddled in the corners. Their ages varied—some were middle-aged with beards, but others had faces so young they could barely be called men. Some had not yet reached eighteen.

  In one corner of the room sat a heavy chest. Its wood was worn from years of use, its metal edges rusted. Next to the chest lay a pile of neglected weapons—dull swords and rusted knives.

  The red-eyed man gripped the hilt of the sword on his back and slowly unsheathed it. The steel gleamed coldly in the candlelight. The blade was razor-sharp on both sides, masterfully forged. Beside him, the black-eyed man drew a dagger from his belt. Its tip was needle-sharp, its blade slender and deadly.

  Just then, an almost imperceptible creak echoed from above.

  The men on the roof had moved. They were silently prying loose the wooden planks that had been used as makeshift repairs. At any moment, they would drop in. Those below could now see parts of the ceiling opening up to the night’s darkness.

  The two men inside exchanged a brief glance. And then, the black-eyed man suddenly drove his foot into the chest of the nearest sleeping man.

  The man jolted awake, gasping for air as if all breath had been stolen from his lungs. A pained groan escaped his lips, his eyes widening in panic. He clutched his chest, struggling to sit up—but before he could comprehend what was happening, the entire room stirred awake.

  Snores turned into murmurs, then into anxious grunts. The men, torn from their sleep, first saw the masked eyes peering through the openings in the ceiling. Then they noticed the two strangers standing in the middle of the room like living shadows.

  Some could not believe their eyes. Others were still dazed by sleep. A few instinctively reached for the weapons near the chest, while others merely froze.

  Those who reached for weapons collapsed before they even knew what was happening. The warriors from the roof had descended like shadows, pouncing upon them without allowing a single scream. Apart from a few strangled gasps, the only sounds were the swift, muffled echoes of bodies falling.

  There were still eyes watching from the roof. Through the ceiling’s openings, masked faces glowed eerily in the darkness, observing the scene below like hunters ready to strike.

  Within moments, all resistance in the room was crushed. Twenty-two men were cornered, backs pressed against the walls, realizing they had no way out. Their faces were pale, their breaths unsteady. Masked warriors loomed over them, swords pointed at their chests. The slightest movement was met with immediate retribution. One man flinched—and a kick from the side sent him collapsing to the floor. The others barely dared to breathe, terrified of sharing his fate.

  A heavy silence settled over the room. Fear had seeped into every soul. But one man stood apart from the rest.

  A man in his late thirties, with dark hair streaked with gray, positioned himself protectively in front of the others. His shoulders were broad, his body strong, but it was clear he was struggling not to tremble. He clenched his lips, his eyes locking onto one of the masked men surrounding him. He was trying to understand who they were, where they had come from. He swallowed hard, as if piecing his words together with difficulty, but at last, he broke the silence:

  “What do you want from us?!”

  His voice was tense but not cowardly. Yet he spoke not in Rhazgordian, but in Adler language. His accent was so terrible that the words were nearly incomprehensible. But there was a reason for this. No known group in Rhazgord lands could have infiltrated a building like this in the dead of night. These men could not be local. They had to be foreigners. Perhaps he could negotiate with them.

  But the answer he received struck him like a hammer. A voice, clear and firm, responded in flawless Rhazgord language:

  “Now, I own your life, Ratan Lokil.”

  His eyes widened in shock.

  From the shadows, a figure stepped forward through the ranks of masked warriors. It was the black-eyed man.

  In the suffocating silence, he advanced toward Ratan with slow, deliberate steps. With each step, a faint tap echoed on the stone floor. It was as if everyone in the room understood that a single movement could seal their fate.

  Ratan still seemed unable to fully grasp the words. His eyes darted around at the men surrounding him before locking onto the black-eyed man once more. He took a deep breath, but even the air he inhaled felt heavy.

  And then, the second blow came.

  The black-eyed man tilted his head slightly and pointed at one of the younger men in the room. A tense, sharp-eyed youth who, unlike the others, was not trembling in fear.

  “Not just your life,” he continued, his voice now utterly devoid of warmth.

  “Your son’s…”

  The blood drained from the man’s face. His gaze shifted to the young man who had been pointed out. The boy’s hands were clenched, his teeth tightly pressed together. He had no intention of running, but the shadows of fear flickered in his eyes.

  The dark-eyed man clasped his hands behind his back and turned his head toward the others.

  “I own the lives of your brother, your nephew, and all these young men you’ve taken in and raised.”

  Ratan’s knees buckled. His shoulders began to tremble. His eyes were filled with the fearful, pleading gazes of the young men around him. He had to do something. But what? He fell to his knees. He looked up at the man in front of him, desperation etched across his face. Words spilled from his lips in a frantic rush.

  “My lord, please! Whatever we stole, it’s in the chest…”

  He pointed to the heavy chest sitting in the corner of the room, still unopened, its contents a mystery. Whatever was inside, surely it could be enough to save their lives, right?

  “I swear to the gods, we will never steal again!”

  His head dropped forward. His breathing quickened. In one last desperate attempt, he lifted his eyes and clung to the cold stare of the dark-eyed man.

  “And… and we will leave Sorbaj! I swear you will never see our ugly faces again.”

  The fear in his voice seemed to carve itself into the hearts of everyone in the room. Yet the masked warriors remained motionless. Did Ratan’s words hold any weight in their eyes? Or had their fate already been sealed?

  Ratan, despite feeling the cold stone beneath his knees, didn’t even realize he was trembling. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. Fear had consumed him entirely, but his eyes remained locked on the man before him, hoping his pleas would find an echo, that his life would hold some value. But the first words from the man were not what he had hoped for.

  “You’re not going anywhere, Ratan.”

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  The voice was sharp and authoritative. Each word carried the same weight as the air in the room—heavy and inescapable.

  The dark-eyed man tilted his head slightly. Though his mask concealed his expression, his eyes loomed over the kneeling man like a shadow.

  “You will remain here, in Sorbaj, in the palm of my hand.”

  Ratan swallowed hard at these words. He had been willing to leave Sorbaj to save his life, but now…

  “From now on, each of your lives belongs to me.”

  The words landed in the room like a dagger. The masked man knelt before Ratan, his eyes boring into the shrunken man’s soul. In that gaze, Ratan saw cold calculation, absolute dominance.

  “You and your little gang…”

  He paused for a moment, scanning the terrified men scattered around him.

  “Work for me now.”

  For a brief moment, Ratan’s eyes lit up with hope. There was a way out of death! And not just for himself, but for his son and all his men. His trembling lips quickly shaped into words, and his eyes shone with gratitude.

  “Anything you want, my lord!” he blurted out, his voice shaking but filled with genuine excitement.

  “You won’t find better thieves than us! Just tell us what you need! Even Sakhaar’s throne—”

  His words hadn’t even fully left his mouth before a dagger was pressed against his throat. Cold steel pressed into the side of his windpipe. His entire body went rigid. His eyes darted to the masked man who had attacked him. Beneath that mask, there were eyes burning with rage. The man with the dagger had lunged forward the moment he heard the name Sakhaar. He had moved so fast that Ratan hadn’t even had a chance to comprehend what was happening. The sharp blade had slid toward his throat like a shadow.

  But the attack was instantly halted.

  The dark-eyed man firmly grabbed the wrist of the dagger-wielding warrior, pushing it away. The sharp blade barely grazed Ratan’s skin before being withdrawn. A bead of sweat rolled down Ratan’s temple.

  The masked man, realizing his mistake, widened his eyes. He immediately stepped back, lowered his head, and silently merged back into the ranks of the other warriors. The dark-eyed man shot him a harsh glare. His gaze was filled with authority and barely restrained fury. For a few seconds, the masked warrior remained utterly still before obediently retreating.

  After that, the dark-eyed man turned back to Ratan once more. Slowly, he rose to his feet.

  “Tomorrow night, you will learn what you must do.”

  A heavy silence filled the room. As the dark-eyed man stood up, the masked warriors lifted their weapons and disappeared into the shadows. One by one, they exited the room, slipping into the darkness as silently as they had come.

  Now, only two figures remained in the room. The dark-eyed man and the other, whose face was completely covered in cloth. As they moved toward the door, the veiled man leaned in slightly and whispered a few words into the dark-eyed man’s ear.

  The dark-eyed man said nothing. However, he reached for a pouch hanging from his belt. Taking a few steps forward, he flung it onto the chest.

  Thud!

  The pouch hit the wall heavily before landing on the chest, bursting open. Gold coins spilled out, gleaming in the candlelight. Ratan’s eyes locked onto the fallen gold. His mouth hung open in shock. The dark-eyed man tilted his head slightly.

  “Your payment.”

  His voice echoed in the room. Just before opening the door, he paused for a moment. The presence of the shadowy figure still weighed on the room. Then, as he stepped out, he spoke one last time:

  “And make sure to return what you stole.”

  And with that, silence fell. The masked warriors were gone. The threat had passed. But the lingering tension remained, like an invisible hand gripping the room. The young men who had been cornered still huddled together, their frightened eyes darting around. None of them dared to move.

  Ratan’s breath was uneven. His hands trembled on his knees.

  One minute… two minutes… three minutes… No one spoke.

  Then, Ratan reached for the gold with shaking hands. He had survived. But he now knew his life no longer belonged to him. He had not only been threatened—he had been bought.

  As Ratan and his gang struggled to suppress their fear until sunrise, far beyond the streets, in the heart of a vast worksite, Zarqa sat motionless. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady. The light stones around him pulsed faintly, their dim glow casting shifting shadows around him. In the silence, his mind was completely emptied.

  However, this tranquility was suddenly disrupted by a presence.

  Corvus’s steps were nearly soundless, yet his presence hung in the air like a weighty disturbance. Zarqa was so deeply focused that he only noticed Corvus standing behind him when his shadow fell before him. When he opened his eyes, Corvus had already removed his mask. His face was pale, his expression as cold as ever.

  Zarqa, despite being interrupted, closed his eyes again, attempting to regain his focus, and asked calmly:

  “Did you take care of the thieves?”

  Corvus stood directly in front of Zarqa, his eyes studying the faint flow of Lightstone energy within him. But it was almost nonexistent—only a slight tremor, no discernible wave or movement.

  “Yes,” Corvus replied, crossing his arms.

  “We made sure they understood there was nowhere to run. I doubt they’ll cause any more trouble.”

  Zarqa took a deep breath and opened his eyes again, his expression filled with discontent. “This technique you taught me is truly strange,” he muttered, flexing his fingers slightly.

  “I can hide my Lightstone energy to a great extent, but… moving is extremely difficult.”

  Corvus tilted his head slightly. “Of course, it is,” he said with a smirk.

  “By its very nature, this technique nearly paralyzes the body. You need to find the perfect balance to move efficiently.”

  Zarqa ignored the heaviness he felt in his body and slowly stood up. He spread his arms to the sides and tried to consciously direct the Lightstone energy. But his movements were clumsy and unsteady.

  Corvus narrowed his eyes slightly.

  “I thought you understood the basics of the technique. But if you don’t practice, it’s useless.”

  Zarqa frowned.

  “When you showed me this technique, I grasped its logic, but… its application is much more complicated than I expected.”

  Corvus nodded slightly. The technique was indeed unconventional. Lightstone users typically learned to manage energy as a flow moving through their veins. But Corvus had discovered something entirely different by observing the Black Masked Ones.

  Aside from the pathways that allowed energy to circulate within the body, there were small chambers where Lightstone energy was stored. These chambers, usually unnoticed, were ignored because the energy was constantly flowing. The Black Masked Ones, however, used these chambers as a sort of storage, compressing Lightstone energy within them to make it nearly invisible. The only energy they left circulating was just enough to allow them to move quickly.

  This method provided a great advantage. Lightstone users were usually detected by the energy waves they emitted, but the energy compressed within the chambers could not be perceived from the outside. In a way, it allowed them to move unnoticed by hiding their energy. However, the greatest challenge of this technique was determining the right amount of Lightstone to leave in circulation. If too much was left, the technique lost its purpose, and the energy could be detected. If too little was left, the body became almost completely immobilized.

  Zarqa took another deep breath and looked directly into Corvus’ eyes.

  “What do I need to do to use this more efficiently?”

  Corvus smiled slightly. “First, you need to feel it,” he said softly.

  “You must consciously observe the energy flow in your body. Then, you need to slowly learn to direct and hold it in specific chambers. Once you can do that, you will instinctively understand how much energy you need to leave for movement.”

  Zarqa paused for a moment to absorb his words, then nodded with determination.

  “Then I’ll start over.”

  Corvus leaned back slowly and watched Zarqa. The young warrior repeated the basic movements of the technique without even letting his breath tremble. Learning this technique would take time and effort. However, Corvus could immediately spot even the smallest flaws in Zarqa’s movements. He could perceive every muscle movement, even the slightest change in energy flow. Eventually, Zarqa would master this technique, and in his hands, it would become a lethal weapon.

  For now, only Zarqa was learning this technique. Corvus’ other warriors had not yet consumed Lightstone. Lightstone prevented them from moving stealthily. For now, they were undergoing a slow but steady process to acclimate their bodies to Lightstone energy. When the time came, Zarqa would teach them this technique as well. But beyond all that, there was a greater truth Corvus held within him, a secret he shared with no one.

  The most fundamental part of this secret was that each person’s body had a different number of energy chambers. Corvus had discovered eighteen chambers in his own body. In Zarqa’s body, however, there were only eleven. This difference seemed minor at first glance, but in terms of power balance, it created an immense chasm.

  The second crucial piece of knowledge was that these chambers were not only for hiding energy but could also be used to store it outside of circulation. This discovery, which Corvus had made, might hold the key to overcoming Lightstone’s deadly side effects. Previously, he had only known that there was a limit to how much energy a person’s body could hold, and once that limit was exceeded, the body would collapse, leading to either disability or death. However, during his experiments, a new possibility had emerged.

  He could permanently store Lightstone energy in these strange chambers. For now, only in small amounts… But if he could develop this ability, he could increase the Lightstone flow in his body dozens of times over. If he succeeded, he could accumulate unimaginable amounts of Lightstone energy within just a few days. And if he gathered as much energy as he had in mind, then a few years of training would be enough to become as powerful as Sakhaar. Perhaps, even surpass him.

  After examining Zarqa once more, he left him alone. As Corvus headed toward Darkan’s room, he noticed the muffled and tense sound of a conversation coming from inside. He paused for a moment, trying to understand, and listened closely. Darkan’s voice was firm but measured. The other voice, however, was faint and sometimes trembled. A few minutes passed.

  Finally, the door suddenly opened, and a young warrior stepped out. When he saw Corvus, his eyes widened, and his body tensed slightly. After a brief moment of surprise, he quickly composed himself, bowed his head in embarrassment, and greeted him. His face still bore the marks of Darkan’s harsh words; he wiped the sweat from his forehead and hurried down the corridor with his head lowered.

  This young man was the one who, just a few hours ago during the raid, had succumbed to his loyalty and held a dagger to Ratan’s throat. His eyes had flared for a moment, and in an instinctive act of loyalty, he had attacked Ratan. But his action had endangered the secrecy of their mission and risked exposing their identities. That was why Darkan had been reprimanding him for a long time.

  When Darkan noticed Corvus standing at the doorway, he let out a heavy sigh before approaching him. He tilted his head slightly, gesturing toward the direction the young warrior had gone.

  “I’m sorry,” he said in a weary voice.

  “It was his first mission. Even though he made a wrong move, he proved his loyalty. Still, I gave him the punishment he deserved.”

  Corvus’ eyes briefly roamed over Darkan’s face. Then, he inclined his head slightly and stepped inside. The room was filled with papers, maps, and scrolls. The flickering light from the candelabras made the shadows dance on the walls. He sat down on the heavy oak chair in front of the desk and turned his gaze to Darkan.

  “Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he warned, his voice carrying a chilling threat.

  Darkan quickly took his place, straightening his posture. An embarrassed expression settled on his face, but the faint glimmer in his eyes showed that the first phase of the mission had gone well. And that pleased him.

  Corvus reached for the papers on the desk, picked one up, and skimmed through it. The documents consisted of reports on Ratan’s men, recent developments, and notes on the monk’s speech.

  Without lifting his eyes from the papers, he spoke:

  “Track Ratan and his men’s every move. If they run, let them go. It’s clear they’re not doing this out of love for it.”

  Darkan nodded in response. Then, as he organized the scrolls on his desk, he added:

  “I’ll assign them a few simple tasks in the first phase. I don’t want to give them anything too big before fully understanding their abilities.”

  Corvus nodded as well. He trusted Darkan, but he would test him too. While Ratan and his men were being evaluated, Darkan would also have to prove himself.

  The council had ended just a few days ago, and Corvus had been forced to deal with this task before he could even shake off his exhaustion. In reality, the council had progressed relatively smoothly after the monk’s speech. Since no one had dared to challenge Sakhaar, matters had been concluded early. But what the monk had said… Those words weighed heavily on his mind. Every syllable of that speech echoed in his brain, refusing to let him rest.

  However, before retreating for rest, there was one more thing he needed to ask. He rose from his chair, ran his fingers along the edge of the desk, and fixed his eyes on Darkan.

  “The Tiamat Guards I sent to deal with the bandit problem… Any news from them?”

  Darkan furrowed his brows, thinking for a moment before shaking his head.

  “They’ve likely just arrived in Cumaz. We should hear from them within a week at most.”

  Corvus silently nodded in acknowledgment. Without wasting any more time, he turned toward the door.

  For now, all he wanted was to close his eyes, even if only for a few hours. As he stepped into the corridor, where shadows stretched long, his mind was still filled with the monk’s words.

  But for now… He would surrender to the peace of sleep.