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Chapter - 45
In the southern reaches of Moran lay a region separated from the other districts. It stood at the farthest edge, beyond a valley stretching for kilometers, bordered by great rivers, and facing a vast ocean that seemed endless. This region was called Caestevil.
Officially, Caestevil was a territory that should have been part of Moran but was neglected. Its reputation was known among the common people, not the elite.
In practice, however, the region was controlled and ruled by a Viscount named Eldric Afanaheda.
His power and fame could not compare to the Counts who governed strategic territories. Even so, this region was self-sufficient in providing the basic necessities of daily life.
In Corder Viss, the central area of Caestevil, precisely at Vaesti Street No. 18—
Two people walked side by side. One of them had an arm draped over the other’s shoulder. Their steps were uneven, as if one of them was struggling to suppress an indescribable anxiety.
“The target… has left,” he whispered, his voice trembling with panic.
He paused, swallowed hard, then continued in a low voice, as if speaking to himself.
“Where is he now? I want him to free Nawai right now.”
Calvert realized his companion was not listening to his words. Still, the anxiety remained, forcing itself outward.
After the two of them passed through a crowd of people coming and going, Calvert briefly caught fragments of gossip about an incident unfolding in the large district of Moran.
He did not care.
His goal now was only one: to meet their other associate and lodge a protest regarding the information that had been given. That information was false. The target said to be an ordinary human had, in reality, demonstrated excellent control over a third-tier ability.
At the center of the room stood a long table carved roughly. Its surface was filled with fine scratches, marks left by time and long use, as if the table had witnessed more secrets than it should ever have known. Around it were several chairs with thin cushions and fabric backrests that had begun to tear, still comfortable enough to sit on for long periods, long enough to wait, or to interrogate.
Tall bookshelves filled part of the walls. Old books were packed tightly together, some leaning, others looking as though they were rarely touched. Their titles were nearly illegible, hidden beneath dust and shadow, giving the impression that the knowledge within was not meant for just anyone.
The floor was covered with a thick carpet bearing faded patterns, its dark color absorbing footsteps until sound nearly vanished. In the corners of the room, metal accessories and small ornaments hung without any clear order, foreign symbols, markers of secret meetings, or simply reminders that this was no ordinary space.
The room was silent, heavy, and enclosed. Not a place just anyone could enter. Only those who knew, or those who were chosen, could come here.
“How did it go?” asked a brown-haired woman in a calm tone, giving him a sardonic smile. “Did you manage to kill your target?”
At the side of the room, near the wall, was a long sofa where Sena, a brown-haired woman, was seated. The upholstery was dark, slightly dull, yet well maintained. The sofa faced directly toward the table, as if prepared for someone who preferred to observe rather than take part directly.
Calvert turned his head. In his mind passed the possibility that the woman already knew of his failure, or worse, that she knew the truth about how cunning the person he had just faced truly was.
“Get lost,” he said coldly.
He continued forward and placed Nawai on a cushioned chair with simple carvings in the corner of the room.
“He still can’t hear or see like before,” he murmured softly, then looked back. “Huh, there’s something I want to ask you, Sena.”
Sena, who had been sitting on the long sofa near the door, immediately stood up. She took the initiative to approach them. Each step of her feet, hidden beneath brown boots, sounded firm, as if carrying certainty that needed no announcement.
“So,” she said, smiling faintly. “What do you want to ask?”
Hearing that, Calvert pulled over a cushioned chair. Its backrest was torn in several places, but it was still comfortable enough to support his back as he sat down.
“About Nawai,” he said. “He can’t see or hear. And also, what kind of ability could influence all of this?”
“I don’t know,” Sena answered briefly, flatly, without hesitation.
Calvert clicked his tongue.
Damn it. I don’t know whether that woman is lying, or if there’s another intention she’s deliberately hiding.
After falling silent for a moment, he spoke again. This time his voice changed, lower, almost like a child begging for something he needed.
“Tell me what you know,” he said. “I’ll give you anything you want. Trust me.”
Sena looked into those brown eyes, gleaming yet wrapped in a gloomy expression. But she did not believe him so easily.
Wasn’t he not like this before? Is he trying to use me now that he’s gotten the information he wanted?
Sena’s gaze turned cold. Her eyes then shifted to Nawai, someone who, in her view, left no bad impression at all.
After considering it for a moment, she took a deep breath. Her chest felt heavy as she finally spoke.
“Alright,” she said softly. “But it seems they’ll be arriving here soon. Including the captain.”
She then turned around and walked back toward the sofa where she had been sitting before.
Calvert was still staring intently at Nawai, then sat down, crossed his arms, and placed a hand on his forehead while recalling his previous knowledge of supernatural abilities.
“Is it from a second-tier shaman ability? But that’s impossible. That ability isn’t that simple and requires activation before launching an attack on its target.
“Detention? That’s very possible. But could it be a Disturber, one that can alter perception and strip away the sense of hearing?”
He glanced again at Nawai and thought further, but still could not find a definite answer.
Calvert glanced sideways. At a glance, he could clearly see Sena wearing a sardonic smile as she looked at him.
He clicked his tongue in irritation and spoke in a low voice. “Damn bitch. I’ve hated arrogant women like her for a long time, and how did she even get into Xlender? Did the captain himself let her in?” He turned his gaze away, waiting for the other members to arrive.
A few minutes later, the sound of heavy footsteps scraping against the rough floor and boots echoed rhythmically down the corridor, piercing the room beyond the large closed iron door.
Moments after the large door was opened by an elderly man with a curled mustache, dressed like a servant, ten people entered right behind him.
Six men stepped inside, each wearing matching attire, knee-length black coats, clean white shirts beneath, and neat ties wrapped around their necks. Their appearance gave off a charismatic impression at first glance, cold and measured, like people accustomed to commanding or being commanded without much talk.
Behind them, two women followed. Their orange dresses with white patterns along the sides stood in contrast to the surrounding darkness. Both of their faces were serious, their gazes empty, as if their minds were filled with something too heavy to voice.
“They came as well,” the two of them said almost simultaneously, their voices low, nearly swallowed by the atmosphere.
Old books were packed tightly together, some leaning, others appearing rarely touched. Their titles were nearly unreadable, covered in dust and shadow, giving the impression that the knowledge within was not meant for just anyone.
The floor was covered with a thick carpet bearing faded patterns, its dark color absorbing footsteps until sound nearly vanished. In the corners of the room, metal accessories and small ornaments hung without any clear order, foreign symbols, markers of secret meetings, or simply reminders that this was no ordinary space.
The room suddenly grew silent, heavy, and sealed once they entered, as if the air itself had been trapped. Not a place just anyone could enter. Only those who knew, or those who were summoned, would arrive here.
Not long after seeing them all enter and take seats around the table, the mustached man took the initiative to close the door from outside, but stopped when he heard a cold, piercing voice aimed at his shoulder.
“Hey… why are you closing it?”
He turned slowly, gave a brief salute, then spoke in a professional tone. “Forgive my impudence, sir.”
The bearded man’s hand, hidden beneath a white glove, touched the iron door, then pushed it forward with all his strength.
“Please,” the man said, bowing while placing one hand on his chest.
The man wearing a worn white shirt turned his head, gave a faint smile, then stepped into the room while supporting himself on the shoulder of his companion, whose condition was the same as Nawai’s.
“Hm. Something’s strange,” the servant muttered in confusion, then closed the iron door again and stood guard outside until the meeting inside was finished.
Inside the room, at the end of the long table, there was a chair with a thin cushion. Sitting there was a man, a figure known to all of them by a single title: the Captain.
In front of him, seven men and two women had already taken their seats, sitting directly facing the old wooden table. No one spoke. Their gazes were fixed, waiting.
“Why did the two of them end up like this?” the Captain asked in a relaxed tone, his eyes sweeping across the room. He paused briefly before continuing. “And I apologize if Rhevan, the one who received the contract from those kleins and passed it on to you, after further investigation, turns out that Finiscya is the mastermind behind all of this. Isn’t that right, Sena?”
Sena simply nodded, then returned to listening in silence.
“I figured as much,” replied a man seated in chair number one, his voice low yet sharp. “We’ve been made scapegoats by that bastard sect, Captain.”
A man with straight hair and pale blue eyes, seated directly opposite chair number one, responded calmly.
“Huh. A strange way of thinking,” he said flatly. “Those from the sect that worships Goddess Camilla must be harboring a grudge against someone who ruined their plans, and”
Before he could finish, Calvert cut in, speaking while drawing a deep breath, as if holding back something that threw his thoughts into chaos.
“They were the ones who ordered the two of us to carry out that hunt.”
“Exactly,” said the blue-eyed man, a faint smile lifting the corner of his lips.
“And not only that, it seems unrest will break out in that useless large city out there,” said the man sitting beside chair number one casually, as if it were a trivial matter.
Their gazes shifted in unison, all directed at the Captain, waiting for a decisive judgment.
The Captain’s thoughts were different. Though he was an ordinary human and held an important position, even if only third in rank, every step and plan was carefully considered so as not to endanger the organization’s existence or lose reliable comrades.
The Captain cleared his throat. That single sound was enough to plunge the room back into silence.
“Proceed as usual,” he finally said. “I’ll handle the rest myself. Including those damn Receivers or Hollows.”
Sena’s eyes widened upon hearing that statement. “Huh, that man really doesn’t seem to know fear.”
They then continued discussing other matters concerning the existence of various organizations, including their own, as well as the strange occurrences in the capital and the heretical sects that continued to violate the law.
Several hours passed just like that. The sudden meeting came to an end. One by one, they all left the room, including the servant. Moments after they exited, the building suddenly vanished, as if swallowed by the earth. Only a third-tier spell could create such a phenomenon.
