A thin mist cloaked the village of Ezzera that morning, drifting low between the trees like the breath of some ancient beast asleep in the woods. Dew clung to wild leaves, dripping slowly onto damp earth untouched by the sun. Beside the old kitchen hut, two figures sat side by side on a worn wooden bench—Reno, still as a shadow, and Mother Yarra, whose eyes had watched the world decay for far too long.
The quiet clink of boiling water in a dented pot marked the slow passage of time.
"Mother," Reno finally spoke, voice low. "Have you ever heard of the name... Aurelien?"
Yarra didn't answer immediately. She turned to him, her gaze piercing, as if peeling back invisible layers behind the question. When she finally spoke, her voice was rough—older than her years.
"An old house from the north. One of the Seven Pillars. Back then… they handled Noctera." She paused for a breath. "Why?"
Reno didn't reply right away. He stirred the hot water with a twig, eyes fixed on the ripples spiraling like miniature whirlpools.
"Our supplies used to come through V.A. Noctera, didn't they?"
Yarra hesitated, reluctant, then answered like someone confessing a curse.
"Now everything comes from a new merchant line… owned by Berond's nephew. That's why prices soared. Quality dropped. But who would dare speak up?"
Reno watched the final ripple fade into stillness. In his silence, gears began to turn.
Days later.
Darel—a young guard with a faint bruise on his left cheek—looked away as he spoke to Reno.
"The Captain… he took part of the harvest. Said it was for the city." His voice was barely above a whisper. "But… I was the one who delivered it. Stopped at the fork. After that... he told me to turn back. There was no city."
Reno didn't respond. He listened. Absorbed. Not a word wasted. Not a command issued. Yet slowly, quietly, the bruises of the guards found a new home in the pouch of trust that hung from Reno's presence.
And from these hushed exchanges, Reno began to sow seeds of doubt.
Not with leaflets. Not with speeches. But through small talk while helping dry fish, coiling ropes behind the kitchen, or sorting out rotten potatoes from the incoming stock.
"You know? Goods from V.A. Noctera used to last longer."
"Actually... they were cheaper too, back when we used the old route."
His words were never direct. But like poisonous fungus beneath a tree, they spread. Quietly. Into conversations between villagers, into the ears of the guards, and eventually to the dinner table of Chief Berond.
And when the name Aurelien started surfacing again... Berond grew restless. But said nothing. Meanwhile, Captain Korr—the loyal hound with bloodstained hands—began to sense the shifting winds.
Then came the order.
That night, Korr was summoned. The message was simple:
"Remind that boy who owns this village."
But Reno had already prepared the stage for death.
He wasn't a fighter. Had no muscle. No magic. But he possessed a rare skill:
Killing without touching.
For two weeks, Reno had been sabotaging the old warehouse on the village's eastern edge. Its wood was already rotting. Beneath it lay an ancient storage well, abandoned for decades. The mud below was thick and foul—like the belly of something long dead, still hungry.
He doused the floor beams with saltwater, breaking them down from within. On top of the weakening boards, he placed several crates marked with the seal of House Aurelien. Fake witnesses. Carefully planted bait.
The lure was sent the night before.
A letter, unsigned, tucked into a barter parcel carried by a passing merchant:
To House Aurelien,
Ezzera has been severed from the Noctera route by Chief Berond.
Captain Korr tortures villagers and sabotages supply lines.
Evidence secured. This village may fall.
If Aurelien still cares for its territory, come.
— An Observer
With the message sent, only one thing remained: for Korr to be foolish enough to come.
And he did.
That night, Reno sat alone in the kitchen hut. Mother Yarra had been sent home early. The fire in the stove crackled low, dancing weakly atop dwindling wood.
The door slammed open.
Korr entered like death in human form.
"You little bastard," he growled. "You think you run the trade in this place, huh?!"
Reno didn't flinch. Just stared—an empty stare, like a well with no bottom.
"There's evidence," he said calmly. "Crates from V.A. Noctera. In the old warehouse. If you care."
Korr's fists clenched, veins twitching with rage.
"You think evidence matters?"
Reno lifted his chin—not in defiance, but like a man watching a wild beast walk into a trap.
"People are talking, Captain. Even your own men."
Nothing more needed to be said. Reno knew Korr would go. Not here. There.
To the warehouse.
The night grew thick with mist.
Reno crouched behind dark brush, far enough from the decrepit building barely visible in the fog. He wrapped his arms around himself—not from fear, but from cold that pierced to the bone.
Heavy footsteps approached.
Korr's silhouette emerged, a small torch in hand. His shadow danced across the warped wood.
The door creaked open.
Step.
Step.
CRRRAAAACK—
The sound of breaking wood. A choked scream. A large body plunged through the floor. The torch flew from his hand, extinguished in the fall.
The mud below welcomed him like a starving god begging for sacrifice.
Then... silence.
No screaming. No splash of blood.
Just death—working in silence.
Reno waited half an hour. No sound. No movement.
He didn't feel regret. But he noted, quietly, the way death without a scream felt... still.
That night, Ezzera lost a monster.
The next morning.
The village buzzed with rumors. The guard at the gate looked around, confused.
Captain Korr had vanished.
Tomas gave no search order. Mother Yarra said nothing. And the villagers? Some smiled a little more freely.
And Reno?
He carried one crate, marked with Aurelien's seal, to the village square. He said little. Just placed it atop a large stone.
"A part of our village's history," he said plainly.
But for those sharp enough to listen, the message was clear:
"Those who were supposed to protect us became oppressors. But even oppressors can vanish—without a sound."