Seth kept walking, trying not to glance over his shoulder too much. But the feeling of being followed was undeniable.
At first, he thought it was paranoia, the city gnawing at his nerves the way it always seemed to. But every time he turned a corner, every time he wove into a denser crowd, the same silhouettes appeared again.
Cloaks pulled low, faces hidden in shadow. Too deliberate. Too consistent. 'They're not just following me. They're tracking me and they're brazen enough to show it.'
The market's chaos pressed around him—vendors yelling, coins clinking, the smell of roasted meat and sour ale thick in the air. He ducked toward a stall selling bright, crystalline trinkets and pretended to haggle.
The vendor barked out prices in a guttural tone, eyes narrowed at Seth's nervous fumbling.
Out of the corner of his eye, Seth caught one of the cloaked figures stop a few paces away, pretending to browse another stall. The angle of their head never shifted from him.
Seth forced a shaky laugh, waved off the vendor, and moved on.
He slipped into a narrow alley that twisted between warped stone walls, hoping to lose them. The shadows there were thicker, quieter. His boots echoed faintly as he pushed deeper. At the far end, sunlight glimmered—another street, another chance to blend in.
But when he emerged, his stomach dropped.
The same cloaked figure was waiting across the street. And another stood on the corner, leaning casually against a post.
'They knew. They knew I'd come out here.' Seth's chest tightened, breath quickening. He turned sharply, weaving back into the crowd, pushing past strangers who grunted and swore at him.
Everywhere he went, the cloaked figures were just behind him, not rushing, not running. Just… herding.
His paranoia spiked, twisting into panic. They're pushing me somewhere. They're controlling where I go.
He looped around a square, trying to throw them off, but when he came back around, one was already there, waiting, as if they'd anticipated his every move.
Sweat slid down his spine. I can't shake them. No matter where I go… they're already ahead of me.
His frantic weaving brought him too close to a group of mercenaries clustered around a weapons stall. They were rough-looking—scarred, armored in mismatched pieces, their swords humming faintly with unstable enchantments.
Seth brushed shoulders with one as he tried to slip past.
The man whirled. "Oi. Watch yourself."
Seth's hands went up instinctively. "S-sorry, I didn't mean—"
Another mercenary, broader and with a jagged axe strapped to his back, sneered. "Sorry? You think you can just shove into us like that? You lookin' for trouble, boy?"
The group turned their full attention on him, half amusement, half menace. Their presence alone made the market air thicken. People nearby quickly gave the mercenaries space, muttering under their breaths.
Seth's heart hammered. 'No, no, this is bad. This is exactly what they want.'
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them—two of the cloaked figures lingering just beyond the circle of onlookers.
Watching.
Waiting.
One even tilted their head slightly, as though curious how Seth would handle this.
The mercenary with the axe stepped closer, towering over him. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? You bump into us and now you don't have the guts to speak?"
Seth's mouth went dry. He tried to edge backward, words tumbling out. "I didn't mean to—I was just—look, I'll—"
The mercenary's hand shot out, gripping Seth's collar. "Sounds like an insult to me."
Seth stumbled, hands clawing at the man's grip. The crowd murmured louder, some jeering, others pitying. The cloaked figures hadn't moved closer, but one of them shifted—slipping a hand beneath their cloak, as though ready to reach for something.
Seth's chest heaved, vision narrowing. They're not going to step in. They're going to let this spiral until I'm too tangled to escape.
The System flared suddenly, its cold overlay bursting across his vision.
[Warning: Combat Scenario Detected.]
[Fight or Flee—choose immediately.]
His pulse spiked. 'I can't fight. I can't fight these guys!'
The mercenary jerked him forward, snarling, "Answer me when I'm talking to you, runt!"
Seth's body trembled. His mind screamed for escape, for some way out before the cloaked figures closed in. He could almost feel their eyes on him, waiting for him to collapse under the pressure.
The mercenary drew back a fist, ready to smash it across Seth's jaw—
And then a calm, cutting voice slipped through the tension.
"That's enough."
The mercenary froze, his fist suspended midair. The crowd's murmurs hushed instantly.
Seth's head whipped toward the voice. Relief and disbelief collided in his chest.
B stood there, as if he'd been walking the whole time and simply decided to appear. His masked face tilted toward the mercenaries, his posture loose but radiating a quiet authority that weighed heavier than any blade.
The mercenary's fist hovered in the air, but he didn't swing. His glare flicked to the man in the mask. The shift in the air was felt by everyone present. It was like the moment before a storm breaks.
B didn't move closer. He didn't reach for a weapon. He simply existed, and the tension bled out of the space.
"Pick another target," B said, his voice as calm as water over stone.
The mercenary with the axe bristled. "Who the hell are you to—"
B's head tilted, almost lazily, but the slight gesture froze the words in the man's throat. It wasn't the tone, or the words themselves—it was the weight behind them.
The mercenaries felt it too. They weren't cowards, but they weren't fools either.
The one gripping Seth's collar shoved him back with a grunt. "Not worth it," he spat. "Keep your runt, masked freak."
They stalked off, muttering curses, their boots thudding against the warped cobbles. The crowd quickly dispersed as well, uninterested now that the tension had broken.
Seth staggered, clutching his chest where the mercenary had grabbed him. His knees threatened to buckle.
But his eyes darted to the cloaked figures.
They lingered still, just beyond the thinning crowd. Watching. Still watching. One hand shifted beneath a cloak, but then froze.
Slowly, as if they hadn't been caught at all, the figures turned away, melting into the flow of Draemhollow's streets. Within moments, they were gone, swallowed by the city.
B stepped closer, his presence a shield Seth hadn't realized he needed so badly until it was gone. "You handled that poorly," he said flatly.
Seth bristled. "I was trying to— they— I couldn't—"
"You panicked." There was no judgment in B's tone, only bluntness. "And Draemhollow eats panic."
Seth swallowed hard, shame burning under his skin. He'd thought he could handle this. He'd thought blending into the crowd, making a purchase, even surviving a day alone meant he was adapting.
All it took was a shove in the wrong direction, and he'd almost been torn apart—if not by the mercenaries, then by the shadows circling him.
"Why are they after me?" Seth asked, his voice low, desperate. "I didn't do anything."
B started walking, and Seth hurried to match his pace. The masked man didn't look at him when he answered. "You exist."
Seth blinked. "That's it?"
"Here, that's enough. Fresh blood. A new face. Someone without ties, without protection. That's opportunity. To some, you look like prey. To others, you look like profit. Either way, you're not invisible. Not here."
The words sank like stones in Seth's gut. He tried to imagine himself from their perspective—a stranger stumbling through their twisted city, without a clue, without allies. Of course he'd drawn attention.
I'm a walking target.
The walk back to the inn stretched longer than it should have. Every creak of the warped stone, every shadow between the crooked buildings felt alive, watching. But no cloaked figures appeared again.
No mercenaries blocked their path. With B beside him, the city seemed to fold back, retreating like a predator unwilling to strike.
They reached the crooked alley, the tavern's glowing sign pulsing faintly in the dimming light. Seth exhaled, realizing he'd been holding his breath since the market.
Inside, the inn's strange heartbeat-hum was a comfort he never thought he'd appreciate. They climbed to the private room, where the distorted sounds of the city muffled behind runed walls.
Only then did B turn to him fully. The mask gave nothing away, but the weight of his gaze pressed against Seth all the same.
"Draemhollow doesn't forgive the unprepared," B said evenly. "Consider today your warning."
Seth wanted to argue, to defend himself, but the words died on his tongue. B was right. If he'd been alone another five minutes, he'd either be dead or enslaved.
Before he could respond, the System flared to life before his eyes.
[Side Mission Complete: Survive until you return to the inn.]
[Reward: +150 EXP.]
[Current EXP: 350.]
[Stat Points Available: +4.]
Seth stared at the glowing text, his throat dry. The System rewarded him for surviving. Not winning. Not fighting. Just… scraping by.
It was a brutal reminder of what this world expected of him.
He closed the panel, hands trembling slightly, and sank onto the edge of the bed. Relief, shame, and exhaustion warred inside him. He'd thought the city itself would be the challenge—its bizarre rules, its alien customs. But Draemhollow wasn't just strange.
It was predatory. Every glance, every whisper, every cloaked figure in the corner was a reminder.
He looked at B, still standing, still unreadable.
'Who are you, really?'
He didn't ask. Not yet. But one thing was clear—B wasn't just another masked wanderer. He was someone Draemhollow respected… or feared. Enough to keep both mercenaries and hunters at bay with only a word.
And that made him more dangerous—and more influential—than Seth had first thought.
Seth leaned back, staring at the warped ceiling, and realized two truths. He couldn't afford to move blindly anymore. And he couldn't afford to underestimate B.