The Greywood Mists were as silent as a forgotten grave. The dismantling of the siege camp was conducted with the Black Arrows' signature, unnerving efficiency. Tents were struck, anchor pylons were uprooted, and magical wards were dispelled without a single wasted motion or spoken command. Yet, the silence was different now. It was not the quiet of disciplined confidence, but the grim, hollow silence of shame. Every hunter moved with a mechanical precision that failed to mask the crushing weight of their collective failure.
Inside the command tent, Captain Graves stood over a large tactical map of the continent, but his eyes were not on the terrain. He was staring through the parchment, replaying the last ten days in his mind, dissecting every decision, every assumption. He had followed protocol. He had used the correct strategy. He had been patient. He had been flawless. And he had been made into a fool.
A shadow fell across the entrance of the tent. It was his second-in-command, Vex, a tall, gaunt woman whose face was a roadmap of old scars. Her helmet was off, revealing sharp eyes that held a deep, weary respect for her captain.
"The camp is dismantled, Captain," Vex reported, her voice low. "The men are… quiet. They await your orders."
Graves didn't turn. "Quiet is the proper response to humiliation, Lieutenant," he said, his voice a low, cold monotone. "We came here as the world's most feared hunters. We leave as watchmen who lost track of the house they were supposed to be guarding."
"No one could have predicted this, sir," Vex offered, a rare note of consolation in her voice. "Dimensional shifting on that scale… it's not magic; it's mythology."
"That was my mistake," Graves said, finally turning from the map. His face, usually a mask of detached professionalism, was hard as granite. "I prepared for a fortress, and I found a phantom. I prepared for a cornered beast, and I found a trickster. I assessed my target's power, but I failed to assess their nature. An unacceptable oversight."
He was not making excuses. He was performing an autopsy on his own failure, identifying the point of infection so it could never happen again. He walked over to a communications pedestal in the center of the tent, where a flawless crystal orb rested. He placed his hand upon it.
"The benefactor must be informed," Vex stated.
"He will be," Graves replied. He closed his eyes, and the orb flared with a deep crimson light. He was initiating a secure, high-priority magical message. His report was not the rambling excuse of a defeated man, but the cold, precise update of a professional recalibrating a project.
"To Lord Volkov," Graves's voice was clear, devoid of emotion. "Contract regarding the Azure Dragon Lord: Unfulfilled. Primary target and all associated life-signs have vacated their known dimensional anchor point. Method of transit is presumed to be a form of controlled spatial relocation of unprecedented scale and sophistication."
He paused, letting the weight of that impossible statement settle.
"Current whereabouts are unknown. The target's operational capabilities have been severely underestimated. Standard tracking methods are obsolete. I am shifting the operation from a tactical siege to a global intelligence initiative. I will require access to the All-Seeing Eye network and authorization to activate all deep-cover Guild assets. The hunt continues. Graves out."
The red light in the orb faded, leaving the tent once more in shadow. He had admitted failure without a single word of apology, and in the same breath, demanded more resources. It was the only way he knew.
He turned to Vex, his eyes now holding a new, chilling focus. The frustration was gone, burned away and reforged into something much harder and more dangerous: resolve.
"Lieutenant, issue my new orders," he commanded. "The company is to be broken down. Disperse Black Arrow cells to every major information hub on the continent. Zahar, the Imperial City, Port Magnus, even the floating markets of Aerthos. I want ears everywhere."
Vex's eyes widened slightly. This was a massive shift in strategy, turning his entire elite company from hunters into spies.
"Your orders, Captain?"
"Their mission is no longer to engage," Graves continued, his voice dropping. "It is to listen. They are to hunt for whispers. Rumors of a strange group: a disgraced knight, a cat-folk thief, a gruff dwarf, a young alchemist. Most importantly, they are to hunt for any mention of a building that appears where it shouldn't, or a manager who trades in sanctuary. We are no longer hunting just the dragon."
His gaze became distant, cold, and intensely personal.
"We are hunting the landlord. Find the trickster, Vex, and he will lead us back to the prize."
He walked to the tent's exit, looking out at the last of his soldiers packing away the remnants of their failed siege. The humiliation still stung, a fresh wound on his perfect record. But beneath it, a new fire was kindling. This was no longer just a contract to be fulfilled. It was a score to be settled.
"Tell the men," Graves said, his voice a low promise of future violence that carried across the misty air. "The hunt has just begun."