“That was because they were cunning! There were three mages—three! They joined forces to capture me!” Gotaia stamped her foot in indignation.

  Glen gave a dry chuckle, then suddenly swung his fist forward, stopping it midair before it struck the startled elf girl. The gust from his punch ruffled her hair, and her pupils trembled.

  “Let me tell you something,” he said evenly. “Those three mages are already dead by my hand. And last night, the mercenary group that appeared nearby met the same fate—including a third-tier dark mage.”

  He patted Gotaia’s shoulder lightly. “That’s all.”

  After that, the elf girl made no further objections to his assignments. Whatever Glen said, she listened intently.

  Once both had understood their tasks, Glen took Laville with him, riding the deer-drawn cart to the tavern he had purchased in Dood Town. He handed the curly-haired young noble a key. “Your task today is recruitment.”

  “Recruitment?”

  “Yes. I’ll put a hiring notice at the door. People looking for work will come in for an interview, and you’ll be the one selecting the right candidates.”

  He briefly outlined the hiring standards—no disabled, elderly, or frail applicants. Once Laville appeared to understand, Glen added, “I’ll come by this evening to review your results. Don’t mess it up.”

  Laville nodded quickly.

  Glen then found a wooden board of suitable size in the tavern and carved a simple notice into it with his wolf claws. Feeling it too plain, he bought some paint from the market to decorate it until he was satisfied.

  The unique, claw-carved sign quickly drew attention—mostly from children aged ten to fifteen, fascinated by the playful little drawings Glen had added.

  “There are a lot of kids out today,” he murmured. “Is it another school holiday?”

  The Kingdom of Zehn subsidized education, so any family with a modest income could send their children to school. Glen found the policy admirable.

  After observing for a while, he returned to the tavern. No one had yet stepped inside. Laville sat at a table, chin resting on his hand, waiting.

  “By the way,” Glen said, pausing at the door, “if anyone causes trouble, or something happens, go to the constabulary. The sheriff there knows me. And don’t act like a noble—if you get punched, you’ll have deserved it.”

  “I understand…” Laville muttered, nodding again.

  Leaving the tavern, Glen walked to the deer cart, shooing away a few children who were teasing the animal. Just as he was about to depart, a familiar scent caught his attention.

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  He turned—and spotted a man and woman hastily turning their backs to him.

  Recognizing them immediately, Glen froze for a heartbeat, then approached.

  “If you wish to go inside and take a look,” he said evenly from behind them, “go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

  The pair stiffened, their shoulders twitching. Slowly, they turned around—both dressed in plain clothes, faces wrapped tightly in scarves, only their eyes visible.

  “Lord Charnis. Lady Sophia,” Glen greeted lightly, his tone edged with amusement. “What a surprise to see you again.”

  “How did you—? No, never mind,” Lord Charnis replied cautiously. “We only wished to see our son. We meant no offense.”

  “Yes, yes, none at all!” Lady Sophia echoed quickly.

  Glen smiled faintly. “As I said, go in if you wish. I won’t interfere. But don’t make trouble—I don’t have much fondness for nobles like you, and my patience has limits. Understood?”

  Both hurriedly waved their hands. “Of course not! We swear it—on our family’s honor!”

  “Then, by all means.”

  Turning away, Glen climbed onto the cart and drove off. The couple exchanged a nervous glance, and once the terrifying commoner was gone, they slipped into the crowd without hesitation.

  ———

  Back home, Glen informed Tia briefly, then picked up a box of cake he had bought earlier and headed toward the deeper part of town.

  “The Black Raven’s scent is faint… Is it because of the fog?” he murmured as he walked down an unfamiliar path, eyes scanning the quiet surroundings.

  Occasionally, he glimpsed silhouettes behind windows. Some watched him curiously; others merely glanced before turning away.

  He continued on until the scent trail led him to an old, moss-grey house.

  “So this is where the Black Raven lives? Quite… distinctive.”

  Muttering to himself, Glen knocked gently on the weathered wooden door.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Creak—

  The door opened, revealing the impassive face of the Black Raven. “You came, my friend. Please, come in.”

  “Sorry to intrude. This is a small token of courtesy.”

  Glen offered the cake box. The Black Raven took it in one hand and stepped aside to let him enter.

  The interior was dilapidated—walls and furniture worn by years of neglect. The wooden floor groaned beneath their steps. A dim lamp hanging from the ceiling provided the only light in the room.

  Glen brushed some dust from a long bench and sat down.

  The Black Raven fetched a glass, poured it full of liquor, and handed it to him.

  “Thank you.” Glen raised the glass, sniffed it slightly. “What kind of drink is this?”

  “Bought it in town. For you. I don’t know what it is,” came the curt reply.

  “Fair enough.” Glen nodded and took a sip. The taste was weak, but tolerable.

  “I recall you mentioning a wife. Is she not here?”

  Before the Black Raven could respond, a frail, aged female voice called from another room, “Dear, who is it?”

  “It’s Mr. Glen. He’s come to visit,” the Black Raven answered, his tone uncharacteristically warm.

  He turned back to Glen. “My wife… cannot move easily.”

  “I see,” Glen said softly.

  Then the voice from inside spoke again, “Ah, it’s him. Mr. Glen, would you mind coming in so I can see you?”

  Glen glanced at the Black Raven. The man nodded. “If you don’t mind.”

  Without a word, Glen gestured for him to lead the way.

  They entered the dimly lit room one after another— And even though Glen had steeled himself for anything, his eyelid twitched involuntarily at the sight before him.

  A woman lay on the bed, her body grotesquely contorted, twisted like the gnarled roots of a dead tree. It was impossible to tell where her limbs began or ended—they tangled together in a chaotic knot. A small lamp on the bedside table illuminated everything except her face, which was hidden beneath a curtain of long, dark hair.

  “I must look quite the spectacle, honored guest,” she said wryly, her tone laced with bitter humor.

  Glen snapped from his shock and bowed slightly. “The fault is mine, madam. Please forgive my rudeness.”