That answer took Glen by surprise.

  He glanced at Laville, a teasing curve at his lips. “With your temper, you mean to tell me you’ve never bullied them before? Never done anything... indecent?”

  “Never!” Laville’s face flushed crimson, his voice rising in protest like an indignant young bull. “My mother strictly forbade me from mistreating servants—or violating any woman’s dignity. Such behavior would shame a noble’s honor!”

  Well now, perhaps this family isn’t entirely beyond saving, Glen mused inwardly.

  In his previous life, most of the noble youths he’d known had blood on their hands. To bully servants or commoners was, to them, as casual as breathing.

  If not for his own wealth, the original Glen wouldn’t even have been allowed in their circle. And even then, he’d never truly belonged.

  Tia, standing nearby, looked utterly lost. She couldn’t quite understand how Glen had known what Laville was about to say before he finished.

  “What are you two talking about?” she asked curiously. “Something about hurting women? Were you saying the young master bullies us? He doesn’t!”

  Her question went completely ignored.

  “You still haven’t told us where we’re going,” Laville said, recalling the maid’s earlier concern.

  “Where else?” Glen replied. “To my home. Don’t worry—it’s not far.”

  …

  They soon returned to where the cart was hidden. Fortunately, nothing had been taken—the supplies, the wagon, even the great deer were all still there.

  The creature grazed lazily, flicking its short, tufted tail. When Glen approached, it came forward and nuzzled him affectionately.

  Laville and Tia followed, both wide-eyed with wonder. Clearly, neither had ever seen such a beast before.

  Glen re-harnessed the deer, motioned for them to climb aboard, and steered the cart toward the outer woods of Bayek.

  They hadn’t gone far before the gloomy, eerie atmosphere of the forest began to weigh upon the two young newcomers.

  “Master Laville,” Tia whispered timidly, “isn’t this like one of those haunted forests in the bard’s tales—the ones where witches live? It’s so frightening…”

  “Shut up!” Laville snapped, glaring at her.

  The girl shrank back, silenced at once.

  Glen heard their murmurs but didn’t bother to explain—he simply urged the deer faster.

  When they finally arrived at his humble dwelling, Laville stepped down and immediately made a face of disgust.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “You don’t expect me to live here, do you?!” he burst out.

  Glen shot him a sidelong glance, then pointed toward a small, ramshackle shed beside the house. “No. You’ll stay there.”

  Laville stared, aghast. The structure was barely larger than a doghouse, its walls patched with warped planks. “That… that’s a kennel!”

  “It’s a storage shed,” Glen corrected flatly.

  “What’s the difference?! I refuse to stay there! I’ll live there instead!” Laville jabbed a finger toward a luxurious villa across the way.

  Glen followed his gaze. The villa stood empty; he’d noticed the For Sale sign when passing earlier. No sign of life inside.

  Though unoccupied, he wouldn’t claim what wasn’t his. Glen had his own code, after all.

  “That’s not my house,” he said curtly. “And even if it were, you wouldn’t be sleeping in it. Complain again, and I’ll beat you senseless.”

  Laville’s body flinched. He lowered his head, silent—but his eyes burned with hatred.

  “Don’t worry, young master,” Tia hurried to comfort him, grasping his sleeve. “I’ll tidy it up for you—it’ll be clean and cozy soon!”

  But he wrenched his arm free, refusing her help.

  Before she could speak again, Glen’s cold voice cut through the air. “You will not help him. He’ll clean it himself. If it’s not done before dark—he’ll be getting a beating instead.”

  Laville clenched his fists in fury.

  “That’s not right! The young master’s never done hard labor—I must help him!” Tia protested.

  “I make the rules here,” Glen said, ending the discussion. “Now come with me.”

  He turned and entered the house without another glance.

  Tia hesitated, glancing once more at Laville before following reluctantly inside.

  Glen led her to a small, unused room. “You’ll stay here,” he said. “I’ll bring bedding later. Your duties are to keep this place clean and handle the chores. Understood?”

  “I’m here to take care of the young master, not to be your servant,” she retorted, frowning.

  “I make the rules here,” Glen repeated calmly.

  With that, he left the room.

  Outside, Laville was awkwardly cleaning the shed, every movement clumsy and resentful. Glen ignored him; results mattered more than attitude.

  Harnessing the deer again, Glen drove off toward the pig pens for his routine inspection. He unloaded the furniture, greeted the night warden, and, after a quick check confirming all was well, headed back.

  …

  Nightfall.

  A boy in plain clothes walked down the deserted streets of Dud Town. No one else was in sight.

  The wind whispered through the alleys, and he pulled his collar tight, nerves etched across his face.

  As the silence deepened, his pace quickened.

  He never noticed the tall shadow trailing him—moving like a trained predator, steps silent as mist.

  When the figure was certain the street was empty, a hand shot out, clamping over the boy’s mouth and nose.

  The boy’s eyes went wide. He thrashed wildly, kicking and twisting, but it was useless—the man was far stronger, his palm nearly covering the boy’s entire head.

  Just as he was about to be dragged into a dark alley, a gunshot split the night.

  The shadow cried out in pain, stumbling back, clutching a bleeding hand. The boy fell to the ground, then bolted without looking back.

  A squad of uniformed officers in black surged from the darkness, rushing at the attacker.

  At their head was the captain with the distinctive straight mustache.

  Seeing he was surrounded, the man gritted his teeth, drew a gleaming silver pistol from his belt, and fired wildly.

  “Take cover!” the captain shouted, voice sharp as thunder.

  The officers dove aside—one cried out, grazed by a bullet.

  The captain, however, was a seasoned fighter. Rolling forward, he closed the distance in an instant and drove a powerful punch straight into the attacker’s face.

  Blood sprayed. The man staggered and fell.

  A spark of triumph lit the captain’s eyes—at last, they might have the lead they’d been hunting for so long—

  But then, a burst of violet smoke erupted from the man’s coat, enveloping the captain’s chest.

  A dizzying shock slammed through his skull. His eyes rolled back, foam bubbling at his lips, and he collapsed to the ground unconscious.

  The assailant seized the moment—and vanished into the night.