The room was filled with soft evening light streaming through the wide windows of the study. The sturdy desk where Elizabeth sat was covered with papers, reports, and cups of still-warm tea. Opposite her sat Alex and Count Astarion, who calmly continued the conversation, his hands folded in front of him.
"Now, let's move on to the most important part," the count said evenly. "Over the past few days, about two hundred bandits, bounty hunters, and all kinds of rabble have arrived at Lorenzo's gambling house. What his purpose for gathering them is—I cannot say."
Alex crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes slightly.
"About two hundred…" he repeated thoughtfully. "That's far too many for simple security."
"Quite so," the count agreed. "Especially considering he already has seventeen personal guards, each at least level fifty. On top of that, around a hundred more people work for him permanently. That's more than enough to keep both himself and the building secure."
"Maybe he's just preparing to host some… special guests?" Elizabeth interjected, putting emphasis on the last two words.
Alex turned his gaze to her.
"You mean someone might try to kill him?"
"Judging from Astarion's information," she replied, "that's the most logical assumption."
"By the way," the count spoke again, "the celebration begins in three days. And this… 'crowd' is still arriving. So that number of two hundred may grow."
Alex smiled.
"No matter how many there are, if their quality is average, breaking through them won't be a problem. Even if some are around level seventy, I can still handle it—it'll just take a bit more time."
Astarion smiled back.
"I had no doubt I'd hear something like that. But please, be careful. We still don't know what else Lorenzo is capable of."
"Don't worry. I'll do everything quickly and cleanly," Alex assured him.
The count nodded and opened his inventory, producing a roll of parchment. Unrolling it on the desk, he revealed the floor plan of the gambling house.
"First and second floor layout," he explained. "Nothing particularly interesting, but there's one thing…"
He pointed to a small room deep in the second floor.
"Here—a magical teleportation circle that leads to the dungeon beneath the building. We don't have a map of the dungeon, but perhaps this will be of some use."
"In this business, every little detail can be useful," Alex said, tearing his gaze from the map to look at the count. "Once I'm there, I'll find my way."
"Wise words," Astarion smiled.
"This is all very impressive, but how did you even get a map of the duke's entire building?" Elizabeth asked, her tone a mix of suspicion and admiration.
"I didn't just sit around doing nothing," the count replied with a hint of pride. "While Lorenzo was recruiting his people, I sent one of mine in. He drew this layout at my request."
"Well done," Elizabeth said with a satisfied smile. "That's actually quite clever."
"Thank you for the compliment."
"But there's still the matter of how Alex will get to the second floor," she added. "It's closed to guests, and guarded everywhere."
"I've taken care of that," the count said. "That same agent will lead him to the teleportation room when the right moment comes. He'll be in a completely brown suit, with a red shirt and a silver mask. In any case, he'll find you himself."
Alex nodded slowly.
"Then it's settled. The plan is clear, I know the landmarks. Now it's just a matter of waiting—and starting the hunt for yet another rotten aristocrat."
The voice came from somewhere at the edge of consciousness. Repeating… once, then again.
"Alex… Alex?" Familiar. Firm. Female.
The young man seemed to snap out of deep thought and glanced to the side. To his left, across the gaming table, sat Elizabeth. She leaned forward slightly, tapping her fingers on the table in an attempt to catch his attention.
"Everything all right?" she asked, raising one eyebrow slightly.
Alex rubbed the back of his head guiltily, then a soft smile crossed his face.
"Just got lost in thought…" he muttered. "So, where were we?"
"At your turn, darling," said the woman in black with a touch of playfulness, slowly taking a drag from her cigarette.
Alex lowered his gaze to the cards in his hands. Ace of hearts and jack of hearts. Then—a quick glance at the face-up cards on the table: king of hearts, ace of spades, three of clubs. He exhaled quietly. It begins…
"Sorry for the distraction," Alex said. "What's the current maximum bet?"
"One hundred gold," Rogan replied from his seat to the right.
"Thanks." Alex added forty gold to his existing sixty. "I call."
"And me," Rogan added, immediately placing his gold on the table.
The lady in emerald silently matched the bet, nodding to the dealer.
"Bets are placed," the girl said with a soft smile, drawing the next card from the deck. Ten of hearts.
Alex smiled inwardly. "Royal flush, if the queen comes next…" But at that moment, he spoke mentally:
"Sirena, anything interesting?"
Her voice came almost immediately—calm and even:
"Everything remains unchanged. Guests are drinking, playing, laughing. The guards are sticking to protocol—no unnecessary movements."
"I see…" Alex murmured in thought.
"Are you getting caught up in the game again?" Sirena asked with mild irony.
"No," Alex replied. "This time I was running our plan through my head. Making sure I haven't forgotten anything."
"Don't worry, my Lord. Everything will go exactly according to plan. As always."
"I'm not expecting any other outcome," Alex sighed, "but… Waiting for the real action to begin is already getting tiresome."
"I think your thoughts have been heard," Sirena replied with a smile. "Look ahead."
Alex lifted his gaze… and froze for a moment. Standing directly opposite him, just behind the dealer, was Duke Lorenzo de Carvalho—smiling, refined, cold. Beside him was the same man in a black suit who had introduced him to the public.
"Miss Cassandra," Lorenzo said, bowing to the lady in black. "It is an honor to see you here."
"The honor was mine to receive an invitation to such a luxurious celebration," Cassandra replied with a thin smile. "My husband, unfortunately, could not come, but he sends his regards."
"A pleasure. I hope one day I will have the chance to host you both in my estate."
"I'll pass your words to him," she nodded. "We will be sure to visit."
Lorenzo turned his gaze to Elizabeth, holding it on her longer than was proper.
"Miss Elizabeth…" he said at last, inclining his head in a bow—this time less deep. "I never imagined I would one day have the honor of hosting one of the Seven Directors in my humble gambling house."
"When I learned that Duke Carvalho was hosting such an evening," Elizabeth replied softly, "I couldn't resist. And I do adore games of chance—especially in the company of worthy players."
"Your words are like honey to my soul. I hope this is not our last meeting. I would be most interested to hear how things are going at the finest Academy on the continent," the duke said, giving her a small nod.
"I will certainly consider such an offer," Elizabeth replied with a faint smile.
At last, his gaze shifted to Alex.
"And you are…?" he began, but—
Alex didn't hear him.
His entire world had narrowed to a single figure—a woman in black, calmly smoking a cigarette. The lady noticed his gaze and, tilting her head slightly, asked:
"Are you all right? You look as though you've drifted off into thought again."
Alex finally tore his eyes away and, a little embarrassed, replied:
"Your name… Did I hear it correctly?"
Cassandra laughed softly, covering her lips with the tips of her fingers.
"Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. It's just that, usually, when people hear my name, I get exactly the sort of reaction you're having now. Yes, you heard correctly. Cassandra. Cassandra Valmont."
She paused, then added just as lightly:
"You probably don't know much about me… but judging by your look, you've heard something about my husband. Or perhaps… you even know him personally?"
"Unfortunately, I am not personally acquainted with the great Mr. Octavian Valmont," Alex said quickly, awkwardly turning his head. "But it is an absolute pleasure to meet you, Miss Cassandra."
"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Alex," she replied with a charming smile, taking a deep drag from her cigarette.
Lorenzo rejoined the conversation.
"By the way, I've heard that one of our players already managed to win a rather large sum tonight. And judging by the words of other guests—this lucky man is you," the duke said, smiling at Alex.
"That's true. And thank you for this celebration, Your Grace. The atmosphere is simply incredible," Alex replied, inclining his head slightly.
"Glad to hear it," Lorenzo nodded. "Very glad indeed."
"By the way, Your Grace," Cassandra interjected, "perhaps you would care to join us?"
"With pleasure," Lorenzo replied. "However, you're already in the middle of a game."
"But we're already at the final stage," she noted with a smile. "You'll be able to join the next one quickly."
"If no one minds…" Lorenzo paused briefly, slowly glancing around the table.
When no objections came, the duke leisurely took the empty seat between Cassandra and the lady in the emerald dress. All eyes turned to the young female dealer.
"Please, place your final bets," she said calmly.
Cassandra moved first. She looked at her cards, took a slow drag from her cigarette, then lightly—almost playfully—tossed another hundred gold into the pot.
"Raise by one hundred."
"Call," Elizabeth added at once, not even glancing at her cards, with the quiet confidence she always carried.
"Call," Alex said, matching the bet.
"Fold," Rogan muttered, setting his cards aside.
"I fold as well," the lady in emerald said with a light smile.
"Bets are placed," the dealer announced. "Final card."
She turned it over—the queen of hearts.
"Show your cards, please," she said to the players.
The emerald lady spoke first.
"Not my night, it seems," she said, revealing the two of clubs and the six of diamonds. "Better luck next time."
Rogan shrugged, revealing the ten of spades and the ace of clubs.
Cassandra took her turn next. She calmly took another drag, then laid down the two of hearts and the four of hearts.
"Flush," Lorenzo said respectfully. "It seems victory is yours, Lady Cassandra."
"Don't be so hasty, Your Grace," she smiled, raising an eyebrow slyly. "We still haven't seen Mr. Alex's and Miss Elizabeth's cards."
"I think the duke may be right," Elizabeth said with a smile, revealing the king of clubs and the king of diamonds.
"Once again, the most interesting part is up to you," the lady in emerald remarked, turning her gaze to Alex.
Alex gave a faint smile, then slowly, in a single motion, revealed his cards—the ace of hearts and the jack of hearts.
"Royal flush," the dealer said calmly. "We have a winner."
"It seems Lady Luck is clinging exclusively to your shoulder tonight," Cassandra commented with graceful irony, leaning back in her chair.
"It would seem so," Alex replied, smiling back at her.
"Congratulations on yet another victory," Lorenzo said, then turned to the man in the black suit standing behind him. "I'll stay here for another round. You may go."
The man nodded, gave a small bow, turned, and silently vanished into the crowd.
"Well then, may we have a fine game," the duke said to all present.
The next round began. The dealer, with the same calm, confident motion, dealt two cards to each player. Alex automatically picked up his and glanced at them: the two of spades and the nine of diamonds. A rather weak hand—but that didn't bother him much now. His gaze drifted once more toward Cassandra, who was smiling as she said something to Lorenzo.
Inwardly, Alex gave a faint smile. Memories crept in on their own. "How many times I heard Octavian tell stories about his wife… Back then, it all seemed too idealized—typical behavior of a man in love. And who could have guessed I'd meet her. And here, of all places—in the lair of one of the most rotten aristocrats on the continent."
"Octavian has always been a fan of gambling. And if we are to believe Mr. Valmont himself, he got that passion from his wife. So I can hardly imagine a more fitting place for you two to meet," Sirena noted calmly.
"Perhaps you're right," Alex replied silently, without taking his eyes off Cassandra.
His gaze slowly traveled over her—from the perfectly styled dark hair to the slender fingers holding the cigarette holder. Then, for a moment, it drifted to her neckline—before he sharply turned it away. A smile crossed his lips again, this time tinged with irony.
"I take back everything I said to Octavian about exaggerating," he admitted. "When he said his wife was objectively the most beautiful woman on the continent, I thought he was just blindly in love. But… now I see—he wasn't exaggerating."
"I would advise you to stop filling your head with such thoughts," Sirena said dryly. "You'd better focus on the main thing."
"I am focused," Alex replied playfully. "Just… got a little distracted. Anyway, nothing special is happening. All that's left is to wait. Again."
He glanced up at the luxurious ceiling of the hall.
"I should visit an old friend. It'll be interesting to see how he's living in peaceful times."
"I'm almost certain Octavian is sitting in his garden right now—the one he often mentioned—with a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. Complaining that it's too quiet around," Sirena remarked.
"That's a nice image. But Cassandra said he's busy with work. So, I think right now he's either in a dungeon or giving consultations to his helpless clients."
"I admit, your version sounds more realistic," Sirena agreed with a faint smile. "And, by the way, it's your turn."
Alex surfaced from his thoughts and quickly looked over the table. Lorenzo, Cassandra, and Elizabeth had already placed their bets. Without hesitation, he matched the bet of seventy gold coins, gently pushing them forward.
"After a big win, the next rounds don't bring as much satisfaction," Alex thought.
"The problem isn't the game," Sirena replied. "It's that you can't wait to start your 'rotten aristocrat hunt,' as you yourself called it."
Alex smirked inwardly.
"Now your version sounds more plausible."
His gaze slid again toward Lorenzo. The duke was speaking to a lady in emerald—something gallant and absurdly charming. Alex leaned back in his chair.
"What irritates me even more is that this bastard is sitting right in front of me, and I have to pretend I enjoy his company," he thought bitterly.
"I understand your frustration," Sirena said. "But keep yourself in check. Remember what's at stake."
For a moment, Mireya's image flashed before Alex's eyes.
"I remember," he whispered inwardly.
Alex's gaze shifted to Rogan. He sat quietly, almost motionless. His eyes wandered between his own cards and some abstract spot on the table. Everything in his posture screamed one thing—he was doing his best not to meet Lorenzo's eyes.
Alex pressed his lips together unconsciously.
"Still, it's hardest for Rogan right now. Outwardly, he's calm, his magical aura stable, without spikes or tension, but I can feel the ocean of restrained emotions boiling somewhere deep inside. And keeping that under control isn't easy, even if he's trying not to kill Lorenzo right now."
"For him, all this… is much more personal than it is for you, so it's understandable," Sirena said calmly. "You did the right thing by letting Rogan be here to help in case of unforeseen circumstances."
"I hope I did," Alex replied inwardly. "But that's only because Elizabeth is here, always keeping an eye on him. If she weren't, I'm not sure I'd have agreed."
"You need to stop treating your friends like children who require constant supervision," Sirena said, a little more seriously. "That goes not only for Rogan. It goes for all your close ones."
Alex didn't answer right away. He sighed inwardly, watching the duke speak to the lady in emerald, and finally replied heavily:
"I've never treated them like children. It's just… I've seen some of them die. I've held their cold hands in mine. I've seen the light fade from eyes that just moments ago were full of fire. And after that…"—his fingers clenched on his knee under the table—"…how can I calmly watch them walk into danger with me again?"
A pause. Then a new confession escaped him almost unexpectedly.
"Sometimes I just want to gather everyone I love, everyone I care about… in one place. Lock it with a thousand locks. Hide it away from this world. Until I deal with everything. And then… when it's safe… let them out."
"I hope you realize how unrealistic that sounds?" Sirena said quietly.
"I do. But that doesn't make it easier." His mental voice sounded dull.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
"You know, Sirena. You know better than anyone. Since the moment I came back to the past, this anxiety has been in me every single day. Every damn day. Four months ago, it seemed to fade. I thought I'd overcome it… that I'd grown mentally stronger. But after what happened in the dungeon with my family—it came back. And now it feels twice as strong."
Alex shrugged slightly.
"I'm getting stronger every day, that's true. But I can't be everywhere at once. I can't protect both the Academy with my friends and the new estate with my family… And that's what irritates me the most."
"I've felt this for a long time," Sirena said gently. "And I've tried to help you as best I could. But maybe you should talk to someone else. To Elizabeth. To Adam. They know your past. Or to Elyria—she'll always support you. She'll find the words even I can't always say."
"It's… pointless," Alex replied wearily. "I know what each of them would say. 'You're not alone, Alex. We're here. You can rely on us.' And I understand them. I'd say the same if I were in their place. But I…"—he lowered his head slightly—"I can't allow any of them to truly help me. Because the moment I do—that's when I put them in danger again. And maybe I'll once again witness their deaths."
A pause. A breath.
"Maybe it's selfish. But I can't help it."
"I understand…" Sirena replied softly. Her voice was almost a whisper, but it carried a deep, genuine warmth. "I truly understand, my Lord. But I also worry about you. I just don't want you to take on too much. More than you can bear. I know you're strong, but even you have limits."
Alex smiled faintly and ran his fingers over his cards without looking at them.
"Thank you, Sirena." His thoughts sounded sincere. "For caring. And for simply being there. You're always here. Always ready to listen. That… means a lot."
"It's my job, my Lord," she replied gently.
"Don't worry about me, all right?" Alex said softly. "I'll manage. Maybe I'm not ready to share this burden with others yet, but… I'm working on it. When I can get rid of my selfishness, when I can help each of them become stronger—only then… will I be able to truly rely on them. Without the fear of loss."
"I'm glad to hear that."
After a short pause, filled with calm and warmth, she added with a barely perceptible smile:
"And now, my Lord, it's your turn again."
Alex returned to reality and looked at the table, where three cards were already face-up—a three of hearts, a jack of spades, and an ace of clubs. His gaze slid over the faces around the table before briefly pausing on Cassandra.
"You've been drifting off in thought this whole game," she remarked playfully, taking a drag from her cigarette. "Have the first two victories tired you out so much that you can't even try to focus now? Or perhaps those wins have made you a little too confident?"
Alex smiled lightly.
"Just thinking… about how much time it must have taken to build such an exquisite gaming house. The architecture, the interior—it's all impressive."
Lorenzo straightened proudly, as if he had been waiting for this comment all evening.
"It took only two months to build," he declared with a smile. "I hired the best magical builders on the continent, as well as designers renowned for their refined tastes. They helped make this house into what you see now."
"From the great Duke Lorenzo, one could hardly expect anything less," Alex replied with feigned admiration.
"You flatter me, but…" Lorenzo inclined his head. "Thank you, Mister Alex. I'm pleased to hear you've truly felt the grandeur of this hall. I'd be delighted to personally give you a tour sometime, so you can see everything."
"I'll be sure to take that opportunity," Alex replied, not taking his eyes off the man.
Suddenly, the duke turned his gaze to Rogan.
"And you, young mister… you've been quiet tonight. Are you feeling unwell? It would be dreadful if one of my guests felt sick at my celebration."
Rogan raised his head. His face remained impassive, but his eyes were focused and cold. He answered in an even, calm tone, though there was a faint note of respect in it:
"I'm fine, thank you. It's just… the grandeur of this place, and being surrounded by such distinguished guests… it takes my breath away. I don't always know what to say."
The duke laughed—loudly, theatrically.
"Oh, I'm glad to hear you're all right. The comfort of my guests is my highest priority."
Alex nodded inwardly. "Well done, Rogan. Nice save."
Aloud, he spoke calmly, placing his coins in front of him:
"I'll raise three hundred gold."
The bet was called in turn: by Rogan, the lady in emerald, and of course, by Lorenzo himself. The dealer, with her usual composure, announced:
"Bets are in."
She then drew the fourth card and placed it gently beside the other three. The two of hearts.
With a practiced, fluid gesture, the dealer swept her gaze over the players and spoke softly:
"Last bet."
Elizabeth was the first to act. She straightened in her chair, radiating confidence, and with the proud smile Alex had seen only a few times, she said:
"I'll raise five hundred gold."
The number cracked through the air like a gunshot. Cassandra's eyes, along with those of the lady in emerald and Lorenzo himself, flashed—as if each of them had been struck in some personal way. Some with excitement, some with suspicion, and others with challenge.
Alex was just about to make his move when a familiar man in a black suit approached their table—the same one who always stood behind the duke. Without delay, he leaned toward Lorenzo and whispered something in his ear. The duke's expression changed abruptly—the smile vanished, replaced by a shadow of worry. He quickly composed himself, trying to put on his usual mask of nonchalance, and said:
"Excuse me, I must leave you for a short while."
Cassandra's smile turned sly, her voice sweet yet sharp:
"Trouble, Your Grace?"
"None at all," Lorenzo replied with flawless courtesy. "Just a matter… requiring my attention."
"A shame," Cassandra said with feigned regret. "I hope you return soon to play another round."
"Certainly," the duke gave a brief nod.
He bowed to everyone at the table and followed his companion, disappearing into the crowd beneath the dim light of crystal chandeliers. Alex caught a brief, silent glance from Elizabeth, and the same understanding flickered in both their eyes: it had begun.
Lorenzo had barely vanished from sight when a new guest approached the table—a man in a brown suit, red shirt, and silver mask. Stopping beside them, he gave a polite bow.
"Good evening. I apologize for the intrusion, but might I borrow you for a few minutes, Mister Alex?"
Alex calmly glanced at his cards—a two of spades and a nine of diamonds—and with a faint smile said:
"I think another win isn't in the cards for me tonight. I'll fold."
He set his cards aside and rose from the table. Bowing to the players, he added:
"I hope I'm not leaving you for long. Perhaps there will still be a chance to play another round. With the duke."
"Are you leaving us as well?" sighed the lady in emerald. "Without you, the game won't be as exciting."
"You're too kind," Alex smiled easily. "I hope you won't be too bored without me."
Exchanging quick, subtle glances with Rogan and Elizabeth, Alex stepped back, ready to follow his escort, when a familiar melodic voice spoke behind him:
"I don't know what you plan to do," Cassandra said, slowly exhaling a stream of smoke, "but I do hope Lady Luck will stay with you this time as well."
Alex turned, met her gaze, and bowed slightly with a smile.
"Thank you, Miss Cassandra. I hope she doesn't let me down."
With that, he and the man in the silver mask vanished into the crowd. Elizabeth watched him for a few seconds longer before quietly—only in her thoughts—whispering:
Good luck, Alex.
Alex walked in silence beside the man in the silver mask, his gaze drifting over the faces of the many guests. Around them rang laughter, the clink of glasses, music—the celebration was still in full swing. But for him, it was already over.
When they reached the massive staircase leading to the second floor, four guards appeared in their path. One of them gave a short nod to Alex's escort, asking no questions, and the two of them ascended the stairs without incident.
The second floor seemed almost empty. Only from time to time did they pass silent guards who didn't even pause to glance their way. Everything was quiet, restrained, even oppressive.
"There are already about four hundred bandits in the dungeon, along with roughly seventy of Lorenzo's guards," the escort broke the silence first, his pace never slowing.
"Four hundred…" Alex repeated almost under his breath. "A bit much for mere security."
"Indeed," the man nodded. "All I know is that someone has entered the dungeon and is slowly but surely making their way toward the duke himself. And… judging by the tension these past few days—Lorenzo is terrified of this someone."
"I see," Alex replied curtly, while inwardly thinking: "I hope this stranger's goal is the same as ours. Otherwise, we could have a problem."
The corridors of the second floor remained empty, and the silence made every step noticeable. At last, they stopped before an unremarkable door, beside which stood only a single guard. The man in the brown suit gave him a silent nod, and the guard moved on down the hallway.
"Beyond this door is a room with a magic circle," the guide said quietly. "It will transport you to one of the tunnels of the dungeon. The lighting there is dim, but you needn't worry—there are no traps. And it's unlikely you'll meet anyone right away. Once you leave the tunnel, you'll find yourself in a corridor where there may already be bandits. If you're lucky, you might get one of them to tell you the way to the duke. Because the dungeon… sometimes it truly twists and turns like old mines. You could get stuck there for a long time."
Alex nodded silently.
"Thank you for the advice."
He stepped forward, his hand already on the doorknob, when he heard a voice behind him.
"Good luck to you."
Alex turned. The guide stood with his hands clasped behind his back, silent but sincere in his wish. The young man simply gave him a nod in return and, without another word, stepped inside.
The room was completely empty except for the magic circle carved into the center of the floor. Its outlines glowed faintly with a silvery light.
Alex stepped confidently into the middle. For a moment he held his breath. Silence wrapped around his entire body. And a few seconds later, he vanished, dissolving in a flash of light.
Darkness greeted Alex the instant his body was transported into the dungeon. Rough stone walls, meager torches on either side—the faint yellowish light only partly drove back the shadows that swallowed the space around him. He took a few cautious steps forward, and while his eyes adjusted to the gloom, his thoughts stirred.
"Even the deepest dungeons have better lighting than this. Could Lorenzo really have been too stingy to spare even a dozen more torches?"
"The duke is unlikely to ever walk these corridors himself," Sirena's voice replied in his mind. "He must have guards capable of teleportation magic. Why would he bother strolling through dark tunnels?"
Alex was about to answer, but suddenly stopped. There was a presence in the air—someone ahead. Several faint magical auras, mixed with two or three much stronger ones. A faint smile touched the corners of his lips.
"Finally, some company," he said aloud, and rushed forward.
Within minutes, muffled voices reached his ears. The closer he came, the clearer the figures became—about two dozen men were moving ahead, talking animatedly. Some carried flames in their hands, serving as makeshift torches.
"Hey, you!" one of the bandits shouted, turning toward Alex. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
The rest all turned sharply. Tension instantly hung in the air.
"I'm just lost," Alex replied with a slight smile. "Looking for the way out."
"Yeah, right," another voice rang out—harsh and mocking. "Don't take us for idiots, brat."
Alex laughed.
"Pretty loud words for someone so weak," he said, nodding toward the speaker. "Your aura's like that of a newborn child."
The bandit's irritation turned to rage. He instantly formed a glowing blue magic ring, and in the next moment, a water arrow shot from it. Alex, his hands clasped behind his back, took a step to the side. The magical attack sliced through the air just inches from his face.
"Really? That's all? Boring."
Without waiting for an answer, he began to advance slowly toward the men. In response, three bandits with swords charged at him, followed by five mages hurling fire and water projectiles.
Alex stopped. Behind him, darkness thickened. In an instant, a scythe appeared in his right hand—black as night. With a swift slash, every magical projectile shattered in the air like dust. A heartbeat later, he lunged forward, cutting through space.
One strike—and the first swordsman fell. The second had no time to react before the dark blade tore across his chest. The third tried to retreat, but a blow with the hilt to his temple knocked him to the ground, and a moment later, his head rolled free.
Alex turned to the rest, his eyes burning with a cold fire.
"Is that all?"
A few of the nearest bandits stepped back. But then a new voice rang out from the crowd—rough, hoarse, edged with metal.
"This is just a punk who's forgotten his place!" shouted a man with a scar down half his face. "Lorenzo promised us a generous reward! Kill him!"
A magic ring flared around his arm, and three ice spears flew toward Alex. At the signal, the rest of the mages joined the attack, while several sword-wielders charged again.
Alex sighed.
"Idiots."
Before him, long spears of darkness formed—and like arrows, they shot forward, tearing the magical projectiles apart in midair. With a predator's smile and a glint in his eyes, Alex dashed forward again.
The scythe in his hands sliced through the air with a deadly whistle, leaving behind only shadows and the groans of the dying. He moved like a phantom—unseen, unstoppable. One blow—and a bandit's body hit the cold stone, cleaved in half. A sharp turn—and the scythe bit into another's side, cutting off his last breath.
Magical orbs lit the darkness—blue, red, white—but not a single one touched its target. Alex moved among them with inhuman precision, ducking, sliding, pushing off the walls. His eyes glowed with cold focus, every motion perfect—like a warrior who had fought through dozens of battles.
When the attacks became too many, he raised his left hand and conjured dark projectiles. They shot forward as sharpened arrows, tearing through enemy barriers as if they were paper. Protective spheres shattered like glass, and in the next instant, the mages fell, chests pierced clean through.
By now, of the original twenty bandits, no more than a quarter remained standing. Those who did trembled and darted about, unsure whether to run or make a final, desperate attempt to kill the young man who looked like death in human form.
Among them was the scarred man, the gash running from brow to chin. He clung to the wall, watching the fight, and the closer Alex came, the more fear clouded his eyes.
"Were we… all hired just to kill him?" flashed through his mind. "They told us he was strong. But not this strong…"
His hands shook. With every swing of the scythe, fear gave way to the raw instinct for survival. He clenched his teeth. "Fine. Soon comes the corridor. There are about thirty more of my men there. Even if this brat survives, he'll be exhausted. We'll finish him off then. Yes, that's it… I won't die here. Not at the hands of some freak!"
He spun around and bolted forward at full speed.
The corridor was close now—like a light at the end of a dark tunnel. The lighting there was stronger, the yellow glow of the torches reflecting off the stone walls, painting sinister shadows.
"Just a little more… just a little more…"
And he made it. But…
His confident smile vanished instantly. Before him, lying on the stone floor, were bodies—dozens of them. All his men. Forming a bloody carpet, they bled onto the stone.
"What…" he whispered, stepping back. "What the hell happened here…"
His gaze darted to the right—and there, by the wall, he saw a silhouette.
A man.
The man was holding someone by the neck, lifting them into the air with one hand as if they were a toy. Slowly, he turned his head toward the newcomer.
The scarred man froze. His eyes widened. That gaze… it wasn't hostile. It was calm, indifferent—like a predator who had already eaten, but was still deciding whether to finish off one more victim.
"How… how is this possible…" the bandit muttered, taking a step back. "Who… are you…"
Behind him, a voice rang out—cold, slyly condescending.
"Oh, and who do we have here? Didn't you just recently shout something about how you'd finish me off?" The footsteps drew closer. "And after such a fiery speech—you run from the battlefield? Not a good look."
The bandit spun around sharply. Alex stood a few steps behind him, his figure still spattered with drops of other people's blood. Calmly, he wiped the blade of his scythe with his sleeve, his eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction.
The scarred man's gaze darted between Alex and the mysterious stranger. His mouth opened and closed—he couldn't utter a single word. Fear consumed him entirely.
Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, his body still trembling from the terror he had endured.
"I… I'll tell you everything! Hear me? Absolutely everything you want to know!" His voice cracked, his eyes pleading as they looked at Alex. "About Lorenzo's people, his hideouts, his plans—everything! Just… just don't kill me…"
Alex kept walking toward him, a smile curling his lips.
"Oh, now that's a different conversation," he said calmly, placing the scythe behind his back. "Why didn't we start with that?"
He stepped out of the dark tunnel into a wider, better-lit corridor. The stone walls drank in the shadows from the torches, but Alex's gaze stopped not on the bloody bodies scattered around, nor even on the kneeling man—but on someone else.
A man by the wall. The same one who was still holding a body that showed faint signs of life, in one hand.
Their eyes met—and the stranger… smiled.
Broadly, sincerely. As if greeting an old friend.
"Well, it seems the evening promises to be delightfully interesting," he said with a cheerful note. "I never could have guessed our next meeting would take place here, Alex."
Alex smiled in return, though far less sincerely.
"You won't believe it, but I didn't expect to meet you under these circumstances either, Jester."