In the shadows,
After watching the farcical execution unfold, Feng Si quietly left. He climbed into the old, weathered pickup truck, traversing a road so rough it could rattle the very soul.
The sky had not yet brightened, and a dull grayness filled the heavens, a mix of blowing sand and the faint mist before dawn.
The road stretched on endlessly, flanked by an unchanging landscape of yellow sands and crumbling houses.
Watching the hidden figures along the way, Feng Si knew this was never a peaceful land. Given weapons, the people here would gladly drag down a noble lord without hesitation.
The mire was vast, capable of swallowing many, its unseen hands constantly reaching for opportunities. Bloodshed was the very theme of this land under the rule of Count Malobik.
Since the defiant cries of Delta-Quece, those who were inspired by his spirit still lurked in the shadows, ceaselessly plotting, though whether they sought equality or an opportunity to join the nobility, only time would reveal.
As the saying goes in the East: "The thief who steals a hook is executed, but the thief who steals a kingdom becomes a prince."
Feng Si gazed at the sun hidden behind dark clouds and knew that he was near the crumbling castle once more—a place where even light dared not tread.
Feeling the broken finger in his pocket, Feng Si murmured to himself, "Delta-Quece, a man both failed and yet successful."
But soon, the memories of five hundred years ago would resurface again.
Speaking of which, the tavern at Delta-Ciros should still be closed today.
A pity, he thought, for there was no drink to be had.
Beep—Beep—
"The nameless city is here. Get off quickly."
Feng Si nimbly exited the truck and entered the nameless city—named so because places like this were too many, and so it bore no name.
Passing by the Delta-Ciros tavern, as expected, its door was shut.
Feng Si sauntered towards the dilapidated castle.
Rustle—
The wind stirred, kicking up some dust.
The crows on the trees cawed incessantly.
Feng Si furrowed his brow and quickened his pace until the broken castle appeared before him.
Pushing open the heavy door, he descended into the basement, pulled the black cloth off the projector, and poured himself a glass of red wine.
He set the glass beside the projector, then placed Delta-Quece's severed finger on the tray.
Screech—
The sound of the machine whirring to life filled the air.
Feng Si returned to the old red leather sofa, sitting back as the only light from the projector began to cast a dim glow on the wall. Slowly, an image began to take shape as the whirring of the machine continued.
——
In the darkened room, a lone candle flickered.
The back door opened, and the cold wind swept in with Delta-Quece.
"Father, the rat has been slain by a knight, killed under the holy silver sword."
"Oh, I see. Your face tells me it's because the Kexi scroll was taken, doesn't it?"
"Yes, Father, that greedy knight is truly hypocritical."
Delta-Quece's face twisted with indignation. The wine had been taken, the money stolen—such a loss had never been seen in their black market dealings.
"Quece, we've obtained what we wanted. Even if it's just the leg of a mosquito, it's still meat."
The old butler remained calm, his tone indifferent. He had known the nature of these knights for many years, from his time as the steward at the Trocksy Duke's castle. Greedy and hypocritical, yet loyal, they were kept by the Duke. A well-behaved dog was hard to come by, but two-legged men were everywhere.
"Father, I'll go investigate where Bokem took the wine. That's a significant initial fund."
Just as Delta-Quece was about to leave, the old butler, Delta-Kevin, spoke cryptically.
"Remember to take care of your tracks. You've got too much snow on you. If it melts, that cloak is useless."
Delta-Quece shuddered slightly, lowering his head. "I know, Father."
Creak—
The basement fell silent, leaving only the old butler in the dark. The candlelight cast a grim shadow on his wrinkled face, filled with cruelty.
"Hunting requires humility; too much arrogance can lead to the prey turning the tables. And now, Quece, you've grown too prideful."
Their goals had always been dangerous. One wrong step, and it would lead to ruin.
Even his own son would not be spared.
Leaving the warmth of the house and stepping into the biting snow, Delta-Quece muttered under his breath, his face twisted with resentment.
"Father, you've grown old, too timid. This isn't the man I used to know. It's time for you to retire."
In Delta-Quece's heart, a hunter must be confident. He must toy with his prey, ensuring they never see him coming, and that they die without realizing they were hunted. How could he not be confident? Even the so-called Duke's knights had become his hunting dogs.
But his father's words weren't without merit—snow must never melt on one's own body.
With determination, Delta-Quece ventured into the dark snowstorm, certain that he would uncover the origins of the wine, given Bokem's connections.
In the darkness, a person always needs multiple identities to survive.
Identity is like clothing: if it becomes stained, discard it and change into something new. After all, in a place like this, even the god of mercy worshipped in churches wouldn't care.
The tavern was a place Bokem frequented.
Delta-Quece entered, found a spot, and after a few drinks of the finest "liquor," he was ready to leave.
But before he could reach the door, two burly thugs blocked his way.
The bartender, calm as ever, wiped a glass and said, "Sir, you haven't paid yet. I trust you don't want to leave without settling your bill. If that's the case, you'll be the third man today to have his legs broken and thrown out."
Delta-Quece remained unruffled, a sly smile curling beneath his cloak.
[Hooked.]
"Ridiculous. I simply forgot my money. You'd better step aside. Ever heard of the black market? I'm a valued guest there!"
The bartender, intrigued, pointed to the patrons inside.
"They all claim to be valued guests of the black market."
The patrons burst into laughter.
"Ha! Don't scare our little darling into running home to his mommy."
"Hahaha."
Hearing the mocking laughter, Delta-Quece only feigned greater arrogance.
"Hmph, I suppose you've never met the old butler? I've spoken to him personally, and my auction items were personally handled by him!"
The atmosphere in the tavern shifted, becoming tense.
One of the patrons stood up, eyeing Delta-Quece suspiciously.
"Are you Bokem?"
In an instant, the tavern fell silent, all eyes fixed on Delta-Quece, who was now blocked at the door.
The bartender fixed his gaze on him.
"Bokem? I don't know him!"
"Stop lying. I recognize your cloak. You were drinking here yesterday."
Whispers began to spread.
"Bokem? Isn't he the thief? I heard he's one of Edson's petty thieves."
"Wait, where's Edson? Isn't he known for never leaving empty-handed?"
The quiet murmur grew louder and clearer.