Beneath that image, it was clearly written:
Name: Alaric Vane
Role: One of the main leaders of the rebellion
Status: Arrested three weeks ago
Additional Note: The suspect escaped from the central prison. Assistance from a third party is suspected.
Nolan looked around him. There were many posters along the street. People walked past on the road, some pausing briefly to read the posters, others only glancing quickly before moving on.
There was no panic. No commotion. As if the disappearance of a rebel leader were nothing more than ordinary news.
"It seems Alaric has escaped again," Hann said suddenly.
"He has been arrested ten times, yet he always manages to get away."
Nolan shifted his gaze toward Hann,
"What?" he furrowed his brow, "ten times? Why wasn't he just executed?"
"In the nine previous arrests, he should have been sentenced to death. Each time, the order was nearly carried out—but somehow, he always escaped before reaching the royal prison. In the tenth arrest, the authorities finally succeeded in locking him up again. But before the next transfer process could be carried out, the cell that was supposed to hold him was found empty. There were no signs of resistance. No witnesses. He had vanished—once more." Hann replied at length.
Hearing that, Nolan had a rough guess in his mind. First, Alaric was not actually a weak man who could be arrested so easily. Second, Alaric might have deliberately let the royal soldiers capture him so he could enter this territory and obtain some important information that might be useful to him.
Nolan was silent. His gaze returned to the poster on the wall, this time for longer. The man's face there looked calm, almost relaxed—showing no trace of someone who had faced the death penalty multiple times.
If his guess was correct, then Alaric Vane was not just an ordinary fugitive.
"In that case," Nolan said quietly, "he didn't escape by chance."
Hann did not immediately refute him. His gaze remained straight ahead, observing the street and the people passing by.
"The kingdom has also begun to realize that," he said finally. "That is why these posters are being put up today. Not to calm the people—but to warn certain individuals."
Nolan let out a slow breath. For some reason, an uncomfortable feeling crept into his chest.
If someone like Alaric could come and go from the royal prison as he pleased, then this place was far more fragile than it seemed.
"But," Nolan said at last, his voice low, "why is the kingdom offering a reward for someone like him? Wouldn't that just drag ordinary citizens into danger?"
If the kingdom itself already knew that Alaric was no ordinary fugitive—even capable of entering and leaving the royal prison at will—then offering a large reward was like throwing bait into a crowd. With such a sum, people would surely take risks. And people who take risks like that rarely last long.
Hann glanced at him briefly.
"Do you think the kingdom cares?" he said flatly. "Four or five deaths are a trivial price to them."
He turned his gaze back to the street, to the people passing by without knowing what was truly at stake.
"As long as those who die are not important people," he continued quietly, "then everything can still be considered normal."
Nolan raised both eyebrows. He was silent, swallowing saliva. Knowing how cheap a person's life was in this world made him a little tense.
Nolan shifted his gaze away from the poster. The street that had seemed ordinary before now felt different—every face that passed by seemed to be walking on a thin line between life and death, without realizing it.
"The reward is not for catching Alaric," Hann said again, his voice low. "It is to lure him out."
Nolan was silent for a moment, then looked at Hann.
"And the people on this street," he said quietly, "are just extra bait."
Hann did not deny it. He simply began to walk away.
"Don't stand here too long," he said shortly. "Posters like these tend to attract attention we don't want."
Nolan followed behind without saying a word. He left the poster stuck to the wall, along with all the questions and bad premonitions that had no answers yet. His steps matched Hann's, leaving the street as if there was nothing more to see—though the uncomfortable feeling continued to follow him from behind.
Hann did not immediately take Nolan anywhere. He stopped at the edge of the street and raised his hand slightly. A few seconds later, the sound of hooves was heard approaching from around the corner.
A simple carriage emerged from the thin morning mist of the street. Not luxurious, nor striking—just a black carriage with dim side lamps and a driver whose face was obscured beneath a wide-brimmed hat. The carriage stopped right in front of them.
"Get in," Hann said shortly.
Hann entered first, opening the carriage door and sitting inside without ceremony. Nolan hesitated for a moment, then followed, stepping up and sitting across from him. The door was closed again with a dull thud.
The driver flicked the reins. The carriage began to move slowly, its wooden wheels creaking softly on the cobblestones. Through the small window, Nolan watched the city slowly recede—the wanted posters, the crowds, and the morning noise left behind.
A few moments passed in silence. Only the sound of the carriage wheels and the horses' hooves filled the narrow space. Nolan finally opened his mouth, his voice low as if not wanting anyone outside to hear.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
Hann did not look at him immediately. His gaze remained straight ahead, on the wooden carriage wall that vibrated slightly with the movement.
"I need you to do something," he replied shortly.
The answer only made Nolan's chest tighten a little. He wanted to ask further, but held himself back. From Hann's tone, it was clear this was not something that could be discussed in the middle of the road.
The carriage continued onward, leaving the city center and entering a quieter area. Low buildings were slowly replaced by tall iron fences and rows of old trees. The air felt colder, more silent.
Finally, the carriage slowed and stopped in front of a large classic-style mansion—a dark stone building with tall windows, sturdy pillars at the front, and an iron gate that opened slowly. The place did not look abandoned, but it was clearly not the residence of an ordinary person.
"Get out," said Hann.
He opened the door and stepped out first. Nolan followed him, looking at the building for a moment. The mansion towered silently as if watching them through its dark windows.
They climbed a few stone steps and stopped in front of the main door. Hann knocked once—not loudly, not hesitantly. A few seconds later, the door opened from inside.
Without another word, Hann stepped inside. Nolan took a short breath, then followed him into the mansion, leaving the morning light behind his back.
The mansion's interior felt far quieter than the outside. The spacious front hall had pale marble floors that reflected light from the crystal chandelier on the high ceiling. The walls were adorned with old paintings—portraits of people with stiff gazes and formal clothing, as if watching every guest who entered.
Hann walked without hesitation, then pointed toward the living room on the left side.
"Sit here," he said.
Nolan followed and sat in one of the dark upholstered chairs. The chair was soft, yet somehow made his back feel tense. Hann sat across from him only briefly, then stood up again.
"Wait here," he said shortly.
Without further explanation, Hann turned and disappeared through a side door, his steps steady and measured. Nolan was left alone in the room. He glanced around—an old wall clock ticked slowly, thick curtains covered part of the window, and the air carried the scent of old wood and metal.
A few minutes passed before footsteps were heard again.
Hann appeared from the same direction, but this time he was not alone.
Walking beside him was a woman with pale blonde hair, neatly flowing down to her shoulders. She wore a simple light gray dress with a thin cloak that fit her body—not striking, but clearly not cheap clothing. Her face was calm, her gaze sharp and calculating as she glanced at Nolan briefly.
In Hann's hand was a small black box. The box was made of metal, its corners reinforced with iron, with a mechanical lock on the front—it looked heavy, and clearly did not contain trivial items.
Hann placed the box on the table between them with a dull thud.
"This is her," Hann said as he turned slightly toward the woman, "she will help me explain the rest."
The blonde woman sat gracefully in the chair next to Hann, then crossed her hands in her lap. Her gaze returned to Nolan, this time for longer.
"So," she said quietly, her voice calm yet cold, "this is Nolan Ashford."
Her tone was not a question—but a confirmation.
Nolan felt something tighten in his chest. The black box on the table seemed to become the focus of the room, and for the first time since that morning, he felt he had truly stepped too far into something he did not understand.
The woman shifted her gaze to the black box on the table, then back to Nolan.
"That box," she said quietly, "cannot be opened by anyone right now—except you."
Nolan frowned. "What do you mean?"
Hann leaned back in his chair. "It was made with the Ashford family's blood security system—an old seal. Even I cannot touch the lock without triggering the re-locking mechanism."
As if in response to his words, the box's surface vibrated slightly. Thin almost invisible lines appeared on its surface, forming a faint circular pattern—then faded again as if breathing.
The blonde woman retrieved a small object from behind her cloak: a flat metal container the size of a coin, with a shallow indentation in the center.
"You cannot use magic yet," she continued, her tone flat. "We know that. The night of the Ashford family massacre… you never even had the chance to learn."
The words hit Nolan harder than he had expected. But he did not deny it.
"Because of that," the woman pushed the small container toward him, "the only way to open this seal is with your blood."
The room fell silent again. Nolan stared at the container for a few seconds, then at the black box in front of him. He took a short breath, then took hold of his own fingertip. With a quick movement, he pressed his nail into his skin—a small sting appeared, followed by a drop of dark red blood.
He dripped the blood into the indentation of the container. As soon as the blood touched the metal surface, a small engraved symbol on its base glowed faintly.
Nolan handed the container to the blonde woman.
The woman stood up. She approached the table, then poured the blood slowly into the thin gap in the box's lock. As the blood touched the metal, the box reacted immediately.
Click.
A mechanical sound was heard, followed by a low hum. The faint patterns on the box's surface now glowed clearly, dark red in color. The iron seals at the corners opened one by one as if released from within.
The woman placed her palm on the box and said something very quietly—not a spell Nolan recognized, more like an old oath locked in blood.
With a heavy sound, the box lid opened.
Inside, the box's contents were neatly arranged.
A red crystal pulsed slowly, reflecting faint light as if it had a life of its own. Next to it, a silver necklace with an A-shaped pendant—simple yet clearly meaningful, the symbol of the Ashford family.
There were several small bottles containing dark and clear liquid—potions. A plain black bracelet lay in the corner, looking ordinary yet somehow feeling heavy when looked at. Beneath it was neatly folded a black robe, its fabric thick and light-absorbing. And finally, a staff—dark wood with a metal-reinforced tip, simple, without excessive ornamentation.
Nolan stared at everything without saying a word.
The blonde woman folded her hands again and stepped back one pace.
"This," she said quietly, "is what remains of the Ashford family."
Hann looked at Nolan from across the table.
"And starting today," he said calmly, "it all belongs to you again."
Nolan was silent for quite some time. His gaze alternated between the open box before him, Hann's face, and the blonde woman. His head felt full—not with emotion, but with cold and pressing confusion.
"Why… is all this being given to me?" he finally asked. His voice was low, restrained. "I don't even know what most of these items are. I never asked for them."
The blonde woman did not answer. It was Hann who let out a slow breath, then stood up.
"Because it was always meant to be this way," he said simply. "Those items never lost their owner. They just… were delayed in returning. Besides, there are still some matters that need to be resolved, and of course I need your help."
Nolan furrowed his brow. "What?"
Hann looked straight at him.
"Those items belong to your family, and I am merely returning them to you." he said.
Nolan finally understood. His gaze returned to the items.
'It seems these things have been stored in this box fora long time,' he thought.
Nolan began to take each item from the box one by one. But suddenly, curiosity arose when he picked up the red crystal inside.
The crystal emitted a faint red glow, which made him wonder, 'What kind of crystal is this?'
Before he could open his mouth again, Hann had already turned and walked toward the door.
"Take what you need. The rest will follow," he said without looking back. "Come with me."
Without truly understanding what had just happened, Nolan stood up and followed. They left the mansion without lengthy farewells. The same carriage had been waiting at the gate as if it had never moved since they arrived.
"Where to now?" asked Nolan as they sat facing each other again.
"Vamos Residence," replied Hann. "A safer place. For now."
The carriage moved again, leaving the mansion area and traveling along an even quieter road. The sky began to darken, evening light slanting down between the old buildings. Silence enveloped them again—but this time it felt heavier.
A few minutes passed.
Nolan suddenly tensed.
"Hann," he said quietly but quickly. "Something is wrong."
Hann immediately lifted his gaze. "Where?"
"To the right," Nolan replied without hesitation. "I… feel something. Dangerous."
Before Hann could respond—
BOOM.
A loud explosion shook the street. A building on the right side of the road exploded from within, its stone walls shattering apart, smoke and fire bursting into the air. Pieces of wood and stone flew everywhere, making the horses whinny in panic.
"Get away!" Hann shouted at the driver. "Now!"
The driver pulled the reins hard. The carriage turned sharply and sped away, its wheels screeching loudly on the cobblestones. They only stopped when they were far enough away, at a street corner sheltered by a row of empty buildings.
"Get out," Hann said quickly. "It's safe enough here."
They got out of the carriage. Nolan still stared toward the source of the explosion, his chest rising and falling. Black smoke billowed in the distance.
From behind the building ruins, something moved.
A large figure stepped out—four sturdy legs, a body covered in dark red fur, and jaws filled with sharp fangs that glinted in the firelight. Its eyes glowed red, staring straight toward the street as if searching for prey.
Nolan froze.
"That…" his breath caught. "What is that?"
Hann narrowed his eyes.
"Red Wolf," he said flatly.
Nolan swallowed. The creature's aura felt oppressive, wild, and clearly not something that should be roaming in the middle of the city.
"Why would a monster like that appear here?" asked Nolan quietly, more to himself than anyone else.
Hann did not answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the large figure in the distance, his expression hardening.
"That is the right question," he said finally. "And the answer will not be pleasant."