Above the entrance, the silver-coated sign of the Emberwood Inn shimmered with each sway, catching the nternlight like moonlit water. Morning had come hours ago, but that hadn’t stopped the proprietor from keeping the mps burning. High-grade oil, no less. The sweet, rich scent hung in the air, a not-so-subtle way of announcing what kind of establishment this pce was.

  Viktor climbed the recently reid stone steps, granite now, clean-cut and proper. He stopped at the fresh-cut oak door, its grain still visible beneath the soft sheen, and drew a breath.

  Brynhildr and Dagnar were now in his dungeon, being watched closely by Celeste. This was a good opportunity for him to slip into their rooms to find out what secret they were hiding. Wrapping his fingers around the cold iron handle, he opened the door and stepped inside.

  A wave of warmth embraced him, carrying with it the rich aromas of soup and tarts, of cheese and meat, of bread and butter. A passing waitress gnced toward the door, smiling in recognition when she saw him.

  “Ah, Quinn.”

  He offered a polite smile in return, while racking his brain to drag out the woman’s name from some forgotten corner of his memory.

  “Nadja. How’s your morning?”

  He had come to this inn several times before, asking around to gather information about the guests who had lodged here, so naturally, he had made acquaintances among the employees. Among them, this one was hard to miss. Especially with those freckles dancing across her cheekbones. Not nearly as many as Jeanne’s, though, whose entire face was nearly bnketed by them. Closer to Celestia’s, in truth.

  “Quiet so far. The calm before the lunch crowd arrives, I suppose.”

  “Has Azran come down yet?” Viktor asked, his gaze sweeping over the tables in the main hall. The bald man was nowhere to be found. And it looked like Cedric and Fiora hadn’t gotten here either. Good.

  “I don’t know,” Nadja said, copper ringlets shifted around her shoulders as she shook her head. “But I think he’s still in his room. He usually only comes down here when he wants to eat. Mostly to drink, actually.”

  “I’ll go and see if he’s up there.”

  Viktor made his way toward the staircase. People here had seen him at Azran’s table more than once, so even if anyone caught sight of him heading upstairs, they would not bat an eye. There was no reason to.

  He reached the second floor and pushed the door open, stepping into the hallway. The bald man’s room was near the end, the same one he had used when he came to Daelin with Lahmia. But of course, it held no interest for him today. Instead, he slowed halfway down the hall.

  Here. This was the spot. Dagnar’s room stood on the left, and Brynhildr’s was directly opposite. Both were empty now, as their owners were roaming his dungeon at the moment, under Celeste’s watchful eye. Whatever secrets they had left behind, this was the time to uncover them.

  He paused, gncing over his shoulder. There was no one. He listened. Nothing, no footsteps behind him.

  He knelt at the door to the right. Picking the lock was not a problem, since he had done it before to break into Azran’s room. A few moments, a twist of the wrist, and the bolt gave way with a soft click. As the door drifted open without a sound, he slipped through the threshold. He pulled the door shut behind him, slowly, gently, until the tch kissed the frame. Only after turning the lock from the inside did he allow himself to breathe.

  “Celeste,” Viktor whispered, calling his Dungeon Core.

  [Yes, Master?]

  “How are those two doing?”

  [They are progressing smoothly. Killed some goblins and spiders. Found some gold. I don’t think they will be leaving anytime soon.]

  “Good.”

  He could have asked for more details. About how they fought, about what kind of abilities they used. But that could wait. Once he was out of here, there would be time to go over everything properly. Besides, if all they had faced were merely goblins and spiders, he wouldn’t be able to learn much anyway.

  He wanted to throw more at them, but he feared that if he pushed them too hard, too fast, they would flee and never come back. Take it easy. No need to rush, he told himself. This was their first visit to the dungeon, after all. Let them get comfortable. Let them think this was manageable. There would be a second time, a third, and more after that. And when he had known all their tricks, understood their every strength and weakness, he was going to break them.

  “Can you keep an eye on what’s going on here while continuing to watch them?”

  [Not a problem, Master. I can perform multiple tasks simultaneously without any issues.]

  Was it just him, or had there been the faintest trace of smugness in that otherwise ft, monotonous tone?

  Viktor chuckled under his breath. “Alright, then. Inspect the room with me. Let me know if there’s anything I miss.”

  [Understood.]

  He scanned the room. It was dim, lit faintly by the thin light creeping through a curtained window. A bed, which could easily hold three of him, sat along the far wall, neatly made with a firm mattress and a wool bnket, fnked by an empty desk on the left and a wardrobe on the right. Not too different from Azran’s room, but the furniture here looked newer. Was this a better room? Or had the owner of the inn simply invested to upgrade a few things in these quarters?

  He approached the desk. There was nothing on top, and when he pulled the drawers out to check, he found them empty as well.

  Wardrobe, then.

  He untched the door and peered inside. A rge travel sack y slumped on the bottom shelf, its mouth half open. He searched through the contents. Clothes, obviously. A bnket, a rope, a sewing kit, a dented cooking pot, a knife. Typical gear for someone who spent time in the wild. Then, tools for weapon and armor maintenance: a whetstone, a vial of oil, a rag, a small hammer, leather cords. And beneath it all—

  A heavy bag of gold.

  He emptied the coins onto the desk. They clinked against each other as they spilled out, a hundred at least, all bearing the falcon insignia of the Kingdom of Arstenia.

  “At least now we know where they came from.”

  [Yes, there is no doubt. This is undeniable proof Arstenia is their kingdom of origin.]

  Viktor chuckled. “No, my dear Celeste. This is proof that they’re from Lyndor.”

  [What do you mean, Master?]

  “Carrying this much Arstenian currency means they had passed through the West,” he expined. “That fact alone narrowed it down to either Arstenia or Lyndor. Dagnar’s a descendant of one of the Six Heroes, after all, which rules out the smaller kingdoms and city-states. And since Arstenia is not an option, that leaves only Lyndor.”

  [I... don’t understand.]

  “Simple,” Viktor said, grinning with self-satisfaction. “They’re hiding who they are, and where they’re from, aren’t they? So if they were really from Arstenia, they wouldn’t have kept these coins. My theory is they fled Lyndor, with Lyndorian gold in this bag. Then, when they passed through Arstenia, they swapped the lions for the falcons to cover their trail, and quickly left before people started asking questions.”

  Of course, there was also the chance Brynhildr had exchanged her money for Arstenian currency to throw off anyone who might break into her room and find them, an attempt to mislead the intruder into believing that she hailed from the West. But Viktor doubted it. The warrior woman had cimed that she and Dagnar were Brefjordian, after all, so if she was trying to sell a Northern identity, she should have converted them into Brefjordian coins instead. But she hadn’t. Or more likely, she couldn’t. The nds she had passed through didn’t have a rge amount of Brefjordian gold, so trying to exchange it would have drawn a lot of unwanted attention. Besides, where else could one get this many Arstenian coins if not in Arstenia itself?

  But... Lyndor, huh?

  That kingdom was where he was born, where he had learned to read in Vera’s p, and where he had once believed, with all the innocence of a child, that life could remain that simple forever. His sister, working at the Guild. Her husband, an adventurer. And their little boy, calling him “uncle” even though their age didn’t differ that much.

  And then, everything was taken from him.

  Lyndor was the first kingdom he felled, a payment extracted in full for what it had done. The story could have ended there. He had had his vengeance, after putting the entire royal family upon the stakes. He could have walked away, returning to the life of a simple adventurer, or perhaps setting off to fulfill the task entrusted to him by his old master. But it was not the end. It was a beginning, the first stone id in a road paved with conquest, the making of the dreaded Dark Emperor. From there came an empire, forged by fire and ultimately undone by fire.

  To think that his first target hailed from the exact same pce. It struck him, in a strange way, that things had come full circle. To recim his power, his Thaumaturgy, the first thing he had to do was to sy a descendant of the man who had murdered his sister.

  But how... that’s the question, Viktor mused as he returned the gold coins into the bag. Discovering that Brynhildr and Dagnar had come from Lyndor was certainly helpful, an important step forward in unraveling their mystery, yet despite the progress, many questions still remained unanswered. Why did they flee? Who was pursuing them? And more importantly, what were their powers and abilities? Did they possess any Reliquaries, and if so, which ones? His goal was to kill them, after all, so he needed to know what they were capable of and how they could be undone.

  He had only one shot. If he struck and failed, they would disappear from Daelin and never come back. That was why he needed certainty. A complete picture. Only once he had everything within his grasp would he make his move and wipe them out in a single sweep.

  Suddenly—

  As Viktor was putting the gold bag back into the sack, he heard a sound. It came from the door. A faint metallic scraping.

  He held his breath, narrowing his eyes. For a second, he wondered whether his mind was pying tricks on him. But no, it was real. And it was the exact same sound he had made himself just moments ago.

  Someone—someone on the other side of the door—was trying to pick the lock.