The next morning.
The group gathered again in the main hall. The air was no less chaotic than yesterday: Gronn and Shun were still bickering loudly, each blaming the other for losing track of the thief. Meanwhile, Lauren and Holland were wrapped up in discussing how to spend the reward money, their laughter and chatter filling the room.
Only Willin was apart, his face thoughtful. He ignored the noise of the others and quietly made his way toward the kitchen, where the fake "detective" was being kept.
From outside, he could already hear the chef's furious voice:
— "You dared to steal my Pig?! That pig is my treasure, you hear?!"
The mustached man—the thief—kept his head bowed, saying nothing.
Willin stopped at the doorway, arms crossed. A whirl of questions filled his mind:
"If he truly wanted to steal a chicken, why didn't he escape in the confusion? Why go so far as to pretend to be a detective, only to expose himself? Something doesn't add up…"
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The chef turned in surprise, and the thief flinched slightly. Willin approached, crouching down to meet the man's eyes. His voice was calm but firm:
— "What's your name?"
The man lifted his head, tired eyes staring back. After a pause, he muttered:
— "… Healwe."
— "And your family name?" Willin pressed, gaze unwavering.
Healwe pressed his lips together, silent. The room grew heavy with tension, the only sound the crackling fire in the stove.
Then came the sound of footsteps from the hallway—slow, deliberate, heavy.
The door creaked open.
Hollombo entered. His face was cold as ice, eyes razor-sharp as they locked onto Healwe. The air in the room thickened instantly, suffocating.
Healwe trembled at once, his complexion paling.
Hollombo's voice rumbled low and steady, yet chilling:
— "The reason… you had to steal food. What is it?"
Their gazes clashed. One side, restless and evasive. The other, piercing straight through, leaving no space to hide.
Healwe parted his lips, but only stammered weakly. His whole body shook violently… yet no words escaped.
Watching this, a fierce suspicion rose inside Willin:
"He's hiding something. But why… is he so terrified of Hollombo?"
Suddenly—CRASH!
Two small figures leapt in through the kitchen window.
The cook, busy stirring a pot of soup, nearly dropped the whole thing in shock.
— "What the hell?!" he roared, face flushed red as he scrambled to steady the pots and pans that almost toppled over.
Before everyone's eyes stood two strange children.
One with bright golden hair, a scowling face, and eyes burning with fury, as if he bore a grudge against the world itself.
The other, black-haired and smaller, his gaze restless, darting around with fear and unease. Both were panting hard, as though they'd run a long way without rest.
The cook, still rattled, quickly flew into a rage:
— "Where did you brats crawl out from?! Who gave you permission to storm into my kitchen and make a mess of things?!"
But before he could grab them—
In an instant, the black-haired boy spun forward, hooking one leg low.
THUD!
The heavy cook went sprawling onto his back, the crash rattling the tables around him.
— "What…?!" — Willin's eyes widened, caught completely off guard.
At that moment, the golden-haired boy darted over, seized Healwe by the arm, his face flashing with fierce determination.
— "Come on! Let's go!"
Healwe jolted, eyes wide with shock, but allowed himself to be dragged along.
In the blink of an eye, the three figures — two children and the fake detective — scrambled out the window, leaving behind muddy footprints on the frame and the whistle of wind in their wake.
— "Damn it!" — Willin cursed, rushing to help the cook back to his feet.
— "Are you alright?!"
— "Alright? Alright?! Does this look alright to you?! Damn brats, if I ever get my hands on them—!"
The cook's round face burned red as he sputtered curses, pointing in every direction as though he wanted to chase them. But his heavy body betrayed him; his legs barely budged.
Willin, however, wasted no more time. After settling the cook back down, he spun around and sprinted out the door, refusing to let the three escape.
The clamor of clattering pots and pans still echoed through the kitchen from the earlier crash.
And through it all, Hollombo stood motionless.
Silent. Still as a statue. His sharp gaze fixed on the empty window frame where the fugitives had disappeared.
Not a word, not a movement. Only those icy eyes, gleaming with a mysterious glint, impossible to read — as though he already knew something the others didn't.
Meanwhile, as Willin ran, thoughts raced through his mind:
Healwe was rescued. But… who were those two children? And why… why didn't Hollombo look surprised at all? Why didn't he even try to stop them?
Willin darted forward like a gust of wind, his cloak tearing through the dim alleys behind the inn. By day, this market was silent—abandoned stalls draped with tarps, a few wooden crates left to rot. Now, only his footsteps echoed through the maze of narrow streets.
Ahead of him, three figures split apart—Healwe and the two children scattered in different directions, as if it had all been prearranged.
An ordinary pursuer would hesitate, unsure of whom to chase.
But not Willin.
He scooped up three small stones at his feet, rolling them smoothly in his palm. In the blink of an eye—swish! swish! swish!
The stones shot forth like arrows, impossibly precise, each aimed squarely at the backs of the fleeing figures.
— "Got you." — Willin murmured.
But then…
Healwe's figure suddenly blurred, like smoke dissolving into mist. And in the next instant, he vanished before Willin's eyes.
— "What…?!" — Willin froze, eyes wide in disbelief.
Whoosh!
The sharp hiss of air tore from behind. Willin spun on instinct—an arrow was plummeting straight for his head.
At the brink of death, his hand snapped up, fingers clamping tight around the arrow's shaft—just inches from his forehead.
His eyes glinted, but before he could react, a shadow leapt into view on the rooftop in the distance.
A stranger stood there, a massive bow in hand. The man moved with inhuman speed, bounding across rooftops as though gliding through air—too fast for Willin to track.
Click—
The sound of a gun being cocked rang out behind him.
Willin twisted halfway around. Another man stood there, cold and still, a pistol leveled squarely at his back.
Cornered. Both sides.
Willin's brow furrowed. Then, with a faint exhale, he slowly lowered the hand still gripping the arrow.
He raised both arms above his head, voice low and rough:
— "Alright… I surrender."
In the grand hall, Shun suddenly realized that it had been a while and he still hadn't seen Willin anywhere.
He frowned, temporarily letting Gronn off the hook, and turned to ask Holland. But Holland was being scolded non-stop by Lauren for spending money on "completely useless stuff" lately, utterly impractical.
Seeing Shun approach, both Holland and Lauren fell silent, looking at him, then shook their heads helplessly—no one knew where Willin had gone.
As for Gronn, his stomach was growling like crazy; he couldn't care less, muttering under his breath as he trudged toward the kitchen to find something to fill his stomach.
Inside the kitchen, the scene made Gronn pause for a few seconds. The burly head chef was chopping vegetables while… hugging a photo of his beloved pig, tears streaming down his face like a child who had just lost a toy. The sobbing mixed with the rhythmic thumping of the knife on the cutting board, leaving Gronn to just sigh and shake his head.
"Unbelievable…" he thought.
Gronn asked the chef straight out:
— "Hey, have you seen Willin this morning?"
The chef jumped, quickly wiped his tears, and stammered that he'd vaguely overheard someone say that Willin was chasing the chicken thief from yesterday… a certain Healwe.
The hunger in Gronn's stomach instantly disappeared. He straightened his face, then spun around and dashed out to find Shun. He ran so fast that, just as he turned a corridor corner, BAM!—he and Shun collided head-on.
Both of them fell flat, rolling on the ground, holding their heads, hurting and frustrated at the same time.
— "How do you even walk like that, you idiot?!" Shun snapped.
— "Are your eyes blind or what?! I'm in a hurry!" Gronn barked back, the tops of their foreheads still red and numb.
Meanwhile, down in the market, Holland and Lauren were walking along the deserted stalls, thinking about whether they could buy anything. Suddenly, Holland froze.
He bent down, his fingers touching a fresh streak of blood, still wet.
Lauren quickly stepped closer, her eyes sharp, whispering:
— "This blood… it's fresh. Something just happened ..."
Holland's grip tightened on the handle of his weapon.
The two exchanged a meaningful look.
Whatever had happened, it was far from simple.
Somewhere else…
Willin was dragged away by a group of four strangers, with Healwe among them, silent and expressionless. At last, they stopped in front of an abandoned house, its walls covered in moss and its wooden door creaking under the wind. The air was so still it felt suffocating.
The door groaned open, and Willin was shoved inside.
At the center of the dim room stood a single, worn wooden chair. Sitting on it was a man, motionless, his face hidden in the shadows. The only thing Willin could see clearly… were his eyes. Cold, gleaming eyes, like a predator studying trapped prey.
Healwe lowered his head, his voice low and heavy:
— "We've brought him back."
The man tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving Willin. A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips.
— "Good. You all did well… Now, get out."
His words rang out like an undeniable command.
The four bowed and withdrew toward the door. The wooden panels closed with a dull thud, leaving Willin alone in the room, his hands bound tightly behind his back, his breath uneven.
The man on the chair slowly leaned forward, revealing his face under the pale light filtering in.
Willin's eyes widened. His whole body tensed, a bead of cold sweat rolling down his cheek.
— "You… You're…"
His lips trembled before finally spitting out the name in shock and fury:
— "Grakk!!"