Several nights ago, under an ink-dark sky, the wind howled softly through tents and stone walls, like a ghost's sigh. Eryx stood by the narrow window of his study, gazing at the faint glow of the distant army campfires. After a long silence, he turned and looked toward the shadows—where a man stepped forward.
The man wore a dark gray cloak with the hood drawn low, revealing only the sharp line of his jaw and a faint, cold smile at the corner of his lips. It was the mysterious figure from before.
"You finally came," Eryx said, his voice low and edged with caution. "I've set everything up as we discussed. I've made Livia and Marcellus believe we've taken the bait. We're pretending our attention is still on their region. By now, they should have noticed the changes in troop deployment around our expansion zone."
The man gave a slight nod, his tone indifferent. "Good. You've played your part well—like someone who's truly fallen for their trap. But your opponents are no fools. They won't just trust what they see. They'll have backup plans. That's when we can't afford to be careless."
Eryx's gaze sharpened as his fingers tapped the edge of the desk. "That's what I've been waiting for you to tell me—how do we confirm they've taken the bait? And how do we track down the ones sneaking into our territory? If this was just about tricking them with no payoff, I wouldn't have gone to all this trouble."
The man's smile widened slightly, as if he had been waiting for that question. He stepped up to the desk and took out a small porcelain vial. Opening the stopper, no scent escaped.
"This powder is made from a rare mountain herb—ground into a fine dust. It's colorless and odorless. Just sprinkle a thin layer outside the camp perimeter. If no one crosses it, nothing happens. But if someone breaches the set boundary and it comes into contact with their skin or clothing, it releases a faint scent."
"So faint that people won't notice? You're sure they won't catch on?" Eryx raised a brow.
"Exactly. No human can detect the smell. But it clings to clothes and skin," the man replied with a pleased nod. "And my dogs—they've been specially trained to track that scent with perfect accuracy. All you need to do is keep your men inside during the day, and only move them from designated exits at night. I'll reapply the powder during the dead of night, when no one's around. That way, any intruder will leave a trace."
He paused slightly, letting the importance of his next words sink in. He re-capped the porcelain vial, slowly running his fingers along its surface, as if toying with a finely tuned weapon.
"One more thing," he said quietly, his voice like a blade in the dark. "I won't just set the line at your camp's perimeter."
Eryx's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
The man slowly raised his gaze, eyes steady and cold. "If their scouts are experienced, they won't be foolish enough to get too close to the camp—that'd be walking straight into a trap. All they need is a far enough vantage point to observe troop movements. From there, they can still deduce whether your defense is real or staged."
"You're saying… they may never get close at all?" Eryx's tone turned grim.
"Exactly. Which is why the area I'll powder isn't just the immediate perimeter. It'll cover a wide radius." The man traced an arc in the air with his hand. "I'll calculate the terrain, wind direction, and patrol patterns. Then I'll identify the most likely observation spots—cliff edges, forest fringes, rocky ledges. That's where I'll lay the powder. Even if they only set one foot into those zones—it's enough for me to find them."
As he spoke, his lips curled with a hunter's confidence. "We're not fishing for one—this is a snare for foxes. The more cautious and clever they are, the more likely they'll step into what they think is the only 'safe zone'—which just happens to be the trap I prepared."
Eryx stared at him for a long while, eyes dark with calculation. Finally, he gave a slow nod. "Impressive. Your tactics are more ruthless than I expected."
The man simply smiled, tucking the vial back into his cloak. His tone was light, like mist. "It's not ruthlessness. It's precision. After all—these people always think they're the smartest in the room."
Eryx's eyes glinted faintly. He turned to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a glass of spirits, and downed it in one gulp. His voice carried a hint of grim approval. "Fine. I'll have my men follow your instructions. But—"
He turned back around, his tone shifting into a warning. "If someone does enter the trap, don't act on your own. Go to Will. He's the one I trust most. Take your people and coordinate with him to track the intruders. But listen—don't startle them. If they really find something important… that's when we strike."
The mysterious man let out a low chuckle, clearly aware that Eryx still didn't trust him completely.
"You still don't trust me."
Eryx gave a cold snort. "I trust no one—except victory."
"Good." The man's smile faded into something sharper. Beneath the hood, his eyes glinted like a snake's—cold, cunning, patient.
Watch all you want. Let Will keep his eye on me. In the end… I'll be the one who wins.
The night wind brushed past the window frame, lifting a corner of the map hanging in the study—a silent foreshadowing, like an unopened endgame waiting in the shadows of the board.