The morning of his departure arrived too soon.
Before boarding the carriage, Sylene bid farewell to Miranda and the cook's family. Food bag was packed with dried food—jerky from the inn, skewers to eat along the way, and his precious ice rose. He had no idea what awaited him on the road. If necessary, he could always hunt.
The problem was the ghouls.
They were drawn to the scent of blood. If he only hunted small animals in small quantities, perhaps he wouldn't attract too much trouble. Right?
While walking through the streets, Sylene came to an abrupt stop at a street corner. A chill crept down his spine.
A sharp turn of the head followed, black hair swaying with the motion.
Someone was following him.
Not the first time.
The presence had been lingering since yesterday afternoon. Now, once again, he felt it—silent, just out of reach.
Who?
It couldn't be Rosencraft's army… could it?
Pulse quickening, Sylene picked up his pace—but the moment he did, the presence vanished.
Had he walked too fast...?
Sylene scanned the street outside the carriage service entrance, searching for anything unusual. Nothing. Just the usual morning bustle. And a familiar figure—a man helping at the same shop where he had bought his cloak.
"Yo, kid! Ready to march?"
The rough, familiar voice of Bryent cut through his thoughts.
Sylene turned to see the mercenary loading gear onto another carriage, broad frame moving with effortless strength.
Still on guard, Sylene eyed him warily. "How did you know it was me?"
It wasn't just Bryent. Miranda, the inn's people, even random passersby had recognized him after just two days.
Sylene tightened the cloak around his head, fingers gripping the fabric as he cast another glance over his shoulder. The presence was gone.
Why?
Why was it so easy for people to recognize him, even when he covered himself? Where was the flaw in his disguise? Did humans have some kind of recognition ability he didn't understand?
Before any further thought could form, Bryent gave him a long, dumbfounded look. Then, suddenly, loud laughter burst from his mouth.
"Are you serious, boy!? Really?! Hahaha!"
The other mercenaries in his group turned, catching on, and within moments, their laughter joined his.
Sylene stiffened. Embarrassment curled in his gut. A quick glance down at himself—outfit intact. Nothing seemed wrong.
Why laugh at him? Was something off?
Bryent wiped a tear from the corner of one eye, still chuckling.
The boy really had no idea.
"You don't know? You really have no clue, huh?" Bryent shook his head, studying him more closely.
The kid had to be some rich runaway. But why that cloak? Had he been scammed by some shady merchant?
With a smirk, he decided to spell it out.
"First of all, that thing you're wearing is the cheapest, poorest-quality cloak I've ever seen. It doesn't actually hide your face—not from experienced humans like us, skilled hybrids, or some individuals who've lived in a border city. And definitely not from a veteran mercenary like me. Sure, it covers your hair and clothes, gives you warmth against the winter, but your face? To me—and to our group—it's clear as day. And you've got one that's way too eye-catching to ignore."
"Second, your eyes."
Sylene blinked.
"Green eyes are kinda rare among humans. Among hybrids, they're not unheard of, but they're still highly sought after—especially rare breed hybrids. Those with striking, exotic features like yours are in high demand, beloved by nobles for their beauty. And let's not forget your height and the amount of money you carry around." Bryent folded his arms.
"There aren't many young, rich ones traveling alone in a city like this. So you've either got noble blood or you're a strong hybrid who isn't afraid to wander dangerous places."
Sylene frowned slightly, absorbing the information.
So that was it. His eyes. His face. His height. The cloak had been useless from the start...
Luckily, it still covered his hair when he had no potion to change the color yet.
Then he would have to find a better way to blend in. And a better cloak. Embarrassment burned his face, twisting his stomach with unease. All his hatred went to the man who had charged a gold coin for a cheap, useless rag. Frustration surged so intensely that the nearly healed crack on his thumb split open again.
"There aren't many people your height walking around with money like a rich noble in this part of town." Bryent hefted a sack of potatoes onto his shoulder before dropping it beside the carriage with a dull thud. Sharp eyes flickered over Sylene's face, studying him with quiet curiosity.
"So, what's your story? Were you kept by some noble and decided to run away? Or are you out here rebelling against your family?"
He stopped in front of Sylene, his gaze probing, as if he could unravel the truth just by looking at him.
Sylene stiffened, feeling the weight of suspicion in those words. His green eyes darkened, sharpening like a blade as he locked eyes with the mercenary—a silent warning.
But Bryent only chuckled and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"Relax, kid. You'll be safe with my team until we reach Luen." His tone was casual, but something unreadable lurked beneath his words.
"After all, I owe you for helping me rent these horses. Our group isn't some ungrateful bunch." A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Just don't forget to put in a good word for us with your rich connections. Maybe we can strike a long-term business deal."
Then, just like that, he turned away, resuming his work as if the conversation had never happened.
Sylene remained still, narrowed eyes tracking Bryent's every movement. Tense muscles finally eased as a quiet sigh slipped past his lips.
It was impossible to get used to people like this—those who were good with words, who spoke with double meanings tucked into casual remarks.
There was always something unpredictable about them. Sentences layered, intentions hidden beneath smooth voices and easy smiles. Sylene had always been honest—direct in thought and action. But others? Some spoke in riddles, twisting meaning behind carefully chosen words.
He didn't like it. The way they did it so effortlessly, manipulating others to think and act exactly how they wanted.
Sylene had never been that good at reading between the lines. He had never needed to be.
After all, growing up in the hands of those scientists, with little to no interaction with people his age or other vampires, made normal social nuances a foreign language to him. The question went one way, and Sylene's scream was the answer. And now, surrounded by strangers in an unpredictable world, it was even more difficult.
His gaze shifted upward.
The first light of dawn had begun spilling over the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of purple and orange. The colors blended like the strokes of an artist's brush—delicate yet breathtaking.
Today, he would leave for Luen.
He could only hope the journey would be a smooth one.