On the second floor, Glen walked through the mansion’s dimly lit corridors, his handheld lantern casting wavering light.

  He ran a hand through his unkempt brown hair and yawned, the weariness of too many sleepless nights etched on his face.

  “Shit… just one big score.”

  He wasn’t greedy by nature, but if an opportunity presented itself, he wouldn't hesitate to seize it.

  ‘This place is empty.’

  Glen frowned slightly, moving through a room and into the next, careful not to step too close to the walls. Or, more specifically, not to approach the oil lamps mounted on them.

  He had noticed they weren’t normal lamps, and though he could take them to sell for the band, caution screamed at him to leave them be, lest something unexpected happen.

  To him, this mansion felt unusual. It wasn't that Glen often visited such opulent places, but a quick glance was enough to tell him something was deeply wrong here.

  He swept the lantern slowly across the space. Despite being clean and exquisitely decorated, the mansion felt hollow, devoid of life. It was as if no living soul had truly lived here.

  On the walls hung gilded frames, yet all of them were empty, blank voids where paintings should have been. Flowerpots stood in the corners, but without plants. An oppressive silence seemed to cling to everything.

  Well, it made sense. There was only one occupant, and he was likely already arrested by the Church. So no one should be here. Or, perhaps one or two kidnapped victims were held here, but that wasn’t his concern.

  He walked through the hallway and approached one of the most exquisite-looking doors. Unlike the others, this one was carved with intricate floral motifs and reinforced with brass trimmings.

  ‘This room looks important.’

  Glen placed his hand on the brass doorknob and rotated it.

  *Click*

  ‘?’

  It was locked. That’s fair, he thought. This room should hold some secrets.

  Instantly, his eyes flashed red, his muscles tightened beneath his shirt, tendons shifted visibly under his skin. He redirected all his strength into his leg and kicked the door open.

  *Bang*

  Splinters fell under his boot. The sound reverberated through the hallway; dust fell from the frame as the wood groaned.

  ‘Hmm, not bad,’ Glen lowered his leg and muttered, as if the feat were a mere trifle.

  The man stifled a yawn with his hand, then sauntered into the room and scanned the surroundings, alert for potential traps.

  ‘Study room.’

  It was a study dressed in finery.

  The room was decorated stylishly, with wooden bookshelves flanking two sides, each laden with old books. Bottles of wine sat in a wine cabinet whose glass reflected the faint moonlight that leaked through wine-colored curtains.

  The floor was draped with a patterned floorcloth, soft beneath his boots. A small chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a dim glow.

  Small picture frames adorned the walls, but each was empty. Against one wall stood a cheval mirror, ornate with wooden frames carved with curling motifs.

  In front of him, positioned beneath the window, was a study table with several drawers. On it sat an expensive-looking quill pen beside an inkwell, a gas lamp, an orange-capped bottle, and a familiar-looking statue.

  ‘What?’

  A sudden shiver traced Glen’s spine as his eyes fell upon the statue. It was the statue with two crossed blades forming an X and a skull set at the center, horns sweeping back like a crown.

  He knew this statue; it was familiar to him.

  “The Demon of Dispute Order?”

  His thoughts raced. The Order was notorious in the underworld. They were involved in every conceivable crime: human trafficking, cannibalism, murder, theft, burglary, arson, embezzlement, drug dealing, and even war crimes.

  Over his years in human trading, Glen had already more or less deduced the old bone’s identity, but seeing the statue solidified his conviction.

  That’s more of the reason they needed to be exceedingly careful in this mansion.

  He approached the orange-capped bottle on the table; a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Still, it’s worth it.’

  This orange-capped bottle was extremely precious, even to him. They were expensive and could only be found in the corners of the black market. The fact that it had fallen into his grasp so easily meant how lucky he was, and how worthwhile his decision to explore the mansion had been.

  ‘With this money, I could treat her when I get home.’

  A flicker of paternal love softening his otherwise hardened expression. Glen imagined the healing the coin could buy, the medicines, and the respite for his wife and little girl.

  Without any more time to waste, he set about plundering the room, emptying the drawers and the table of their contents.

  After clearing the drawers and sweeping the table clean, Glen let the last handful of trinkets fall into his bag.

  He exhaled, ready to leave, as the cheval mirror at the edge of his vision caught his attention. It stood elegantly in the corner. The surface was dim, yet it still reflected the room, and him, with unsettling clarity.

  He turned toward it, the soft light following his movement. A man stared back at him from the glass.

  It was his own reflection, distorted slightly by the dim light. For a brief moment, Glen didn’t recognize the reflection.

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  The man in the mirror had a wicked, almost feral smile. His hair was wild and greasy, clinging to his temples. Deep shadows pooled under his eyes, making his face look haggard. He looked like some lowlife plunderer, a desperate beggar.

  Glen brought a hand to his face, feeling the stretch of his jaw, the dirty grin reflected back at him.

  Was this him?

  It was so unrecognizable he almost mistook himself for someone else. Was he always this dirty, this despicable?

  Glen admitted the jobs he carried out were vile and inhuman, but he also had standards. Stooping so low as to become a common plunderer, was he any different from the despicable Order he had just badmouthed?

  ‘This wasn’t like me,’ a cold dread seeping into his conscience.

  When did this start? He traced it back: it was when Jack persuaded him into this plunder.

  Why had they so easily presumed the old bone was caught? He hadn’t even questioned it, simply accepting Jack’s words as if they had already been verified!

  Glen’s pulse quickened. His face hardened as he spun back toward the desk, eyes darting across the items scattered there. His gaze landed on the orange-capped bottle.

  Glen snatched and uncorked it, then took a deep sniff.

  A violent breeze hit his senses, like rusted iron mixed with honey.

  The heat crawled up his sinuses. He widened his eyes, his irises flared red for a heartbeat as the breeze cleared the fog from his mind.

  ‘Shit!’

  As soon as his head felt clean, he suddenly understood the true nature of this whole situation.

  This was a trap! They had been unknowingly lured here, their greed had been tampered with!

  “AHHHHHH!”

  Before he could fully recover from this shocking revelation, a familiar scream echoed through the mansion, tearing through the quiet with raw terror.

  ‘This was Arnold’s voice!’

  Glen immediately sprang into action. He grabbed his lantern, left his loot bag behind, and bolted toward the hallway, leaping down the staircase and sprinting toward the source of the scream.

  “ARNOLD!”

  ‘Please be safe!’

  Within just a few seconds, Glen had already arrived at the source of the scream: the dining room. The room was dark and quiet, the only light filtering faintly through the lace curtains, casting eerie shadows.

  Upon entering, he immediately noticed Arnold lying on the ground. Something was happening here, just as he had expected.

  Glen promptly approached Arnold, crouching down to check if he was still alive. But before he could even touch him, Arnold’s eyes snapped open. His eyes were unfocused at first, before locking on Glen with bewilderment.

  “Brother?” Arnold mumbled with a dazed face.

  “Arnold, are you alright? What happened?” Glen kneeled beside him as he reached to steady the boy, concern etched onto his face.

  Arnold sat up slowly, rubbing his scalp. “I’m not sure, I think… something hit me.”

  ‘What?’ Glen knitted his eyebrows. The fact the boy was still alive bothered him more than this. Was this a warning?

  “Do you know who did it?”

  “I’m… not sure.” Arnold shook his head, grimacing in pain.

  “Were you the one who just screamed?” Glen questioned the boy, trying to piece together the events. He found this entire situation was ridiculous, but could not be sure what was wrong with it.

  “Ah, I think I did that. Thank you for coming, Brother,” Arnold nervously looked around, whispering sheepishly, “Brother, I think something’s wrong in this mansion.”

  ‘Ah, this was Arnold, alright,’ Glen sighed inwardly. Still as cowardly as ever, but at least he was still breathing, and actually knew when to be scared, unlike that narrow-eyed guy.

  “Leave your bag. We’re going now.” Glen stated firmly as he helped Arnold to his feet. He stood up, scanning the empty dining room. There was nothing out of place.

  They headed back toward the foyer together.

  “Did you see where Jack went?” Glen asked while running down the hallway; the moonlight that filtered through the high windows painted it in pale light.

  “I didn’t, brother. I think… he’s still somewhere on the opposite side,” Arnold replied with a trembling voice while keeping pace with him.

  “Shit,” Glen said exasperatedly under his breath. That guy, despite boasting to be the only brain in this group, was the first one to fall into temptation!

  ‘If we get back out, I swear, I will cut off his wage!’

  “JACK!” Glen roared, his voice echoing through the mansion. They took a turn toward the main foyer, beginning their search for their missing mate.

  However, as soon as they took a turn in the dark hall, they found themselves facing an obscured figure.

  A human silhouette stood ahead, drowned in the corridor’s gloom. The faint gold of Glen’s lantern caught only the edges. He halted his steps, his arm flung out to stop Arnold behind him.

  The temperature in the air felt heavier.

  Glen took a cautious step forward. He lifted the lantern higher, the illumination crawled slowly over the stranger until the outline became flesh.

  It was a man draped in a simple gray robe. Both of his hands were clasped behind his back with composure, as though he had been waiting for them all along. The most eerie part was his head, entirely covered in bandages, with only a single slit cut across where one eye stared through.

  Yet, despite the grotesque disguise, his figure was undeniably familiar.

  It was their client, Benjamin.

  ‘He didn’t get caught. Then…’ Glen’s mind raced, his previous assumption about the old man’s capture was wrong, as expected.

  He lowered the lantern slightly, keeping his voice even. He didn't expect this cruel old man to let them go, but it was worth a try.

  “Old bone, look, I apologize for breaking into your mansion at this hour. We’ll be gone immediately as soon as I fetch my mates. No harm meant, eh? Just… let this transgression go.”

  The old man didn’t answer. He only gazed at them with his visible, expressionless eye. It didn’t even seem alive, just fixed on him like a nail through flesh.

  “Listen, old bone,” Glen pressed, trying to inject authority into his voice, “I’m also a Bless. You know what that means, right? There’s no need to make things ugly. Let’s both walk away and–”

  Before he finished his sentence, the old bone let out a soft snicker.

  ‘Did he just… sneer?’ Glen’s anger soared. He clenched his fists, gripping his hands tightly to force his rage down.

  Fighting on this old man’s turf wasn't part of his plan, so for now, his priority was to call for reinforcements.

  “Arnold. I’ll hold him. You run outside and fetch Rudolph,” Glen whispered secretly to Arnold, his eyes never leaving Benjamin’s figure.

  He took a cautious stance before the old man. If Benjamin was truly involved with the Order, his speed would likely be comparable to Glen’s own. In this darkness, losing track of him indicated trouble.

  The boy swallowed hard, then nodded. He began edging backward and slowly backed away behind Glen.

  Arnold continued to retreat. The lantern’s light flickered against the walls, and Glen’s eyes caught something in that flicker. A strange shadowy movement created by the lantern light in the corner of his eyes.

  *Swoosh*

  “?!”

  His instincts screamed. Glen jerked his arm up to guard his head.

  *Thunk!*

  Pain lanced through his hand. A short knife buried itself clean through his palm.

  Before he could even process the agony, a second burning sensation erupted in his gut. Something else had pierced through his abdomen.

  Instinct took over. He flailed his arm violently behind him, flinging his wounded arm backward in a wide arc, dropping the handheld lantern in the process.

  He felt the impact of a body colliding with his blow, then heard the dull thud of someone being thrown back.

  The hallway plunged into darkness, broken only by faint moonlight, shone on that figure.

  “Arnold?!”