A few days had passed since Paladin Theron began his mission.
And not a single day had been wasted.
His agents, scattered through the city like ghostly tendrils, had tapped into every flow of information—from guild whispers and market gossip to slumfolk chatter and mercantile suspicion. A careful web, strung through backdoors and candlelit rooms, ready to tremble the moment the name Cedric emerged.
And today… it did.
The message had come on folded linen, stained with soot from a furnace chimney. A code only his operatives would know.
"The lily glows again. Lower Slum Quarter. East of the collapsed granary."
Theron was already running before the ink dried.
His boots struck the cobbled streets with silent urgency, armored cloak billowing behind him. Slum after slum had emptied like water through cracked hands, but there were still corners left untouched, and this one had sparked with movement.
This time, he would see the man himself.
*****
