Deep in the forest, a small natural lake glimmered beside the sheer cliffs of the Red Dragon Mountains.
A natural habitat.
Ordinarily, in the dead of night, this place would be teeming with birds, beasts, or wandering magic creatures.
But now, within a radius of several dozen meters, more than ten tents stood in dense clusters. The rain tarps covering them were worn and stained with time. The ropes tangled across the muddy ground were anchored with rusted stakes, forming a loose semicircle around a few small log cabins. Torches burned at regular intervals throughout the camp, casting harsh light on the bare earth, where the grass had long since been trampled into lifeless yellow-brown mud.
The creatures had been driven out. The humans had claimed this place as their own.
Around a central bonfire stood over thirty figures, all staring in silence at a lone man seated before them.
At his feet lay a bearded brute built like a bear—twice the man's size at least. And yet, this lithe, androgynous-looking figure had slammed the larger man's head into the dirt with such force that it now remained half-buried. The brute appeared unconscious, or close to it.
"I've told you again and again... I didn't gather you here just to play at roadside banditry," the man said, his voice low and cold. "This is about that one-thousand-gold bounty. So why do I keep hearing about people pulling stunts behind my back? Secretly trying to peddle slaves to northern buyers? Is that what Night Lion entrusted us with?"
His features were refined, even delicate, but his narrow eyes radiated a dangerous sharpness. He swept his gaze slowly around the circle of thugs—none of whom dared meet his eyes.
For a long moment, silence.
Eventually, everyone's gaze drifted toward the bald man closest to him. With a deep breath and careful tone, the bald one finally spoke.
"Boss Leopard... it's just that some of the guys think maybe that Allen kid already skipped town. Sitting on our hands like this—well, it's not doing anyone any good. Nobody's seen a trace of him. That bounty's nowhere in sight, but everyone's wallets are drying up. We all dropped what we were doing when you called us in, and it's been how long now? What if Night Lion's intel is just—"
Crack!
Blood and brain matter burst open.
The bald man's eyes went wide—he looked down to see the massive brute's head had been crushed under Leopard's foot.
Leopard didn't even flinch. His blade-thin eyes narrowed as he surveyed the stunned crowd.
"Did you think I was asking?"
The outlaws stared at the corpse, faces pale and stiff. Then Leopard continued, voice now laced with open irritation.
"First of all, I can personally vouch for the intel. As for questioning Night Lion-sama—that's a line you don't cross. Let's not have this conversation again."
As he looked over the terrified faces around him, Leopard's tone softened. He sighed—voice returning to that usual eerie, almost tender softness.
"...Every one of you was pulled from a slave pen and raised up by Night Lion-sama. You know he's not the type to throw his men away. If he's given us this task, there's a reason for it. One he can't say out loud. I'll level with you—it's pressure. Serious pressure. The kind that could make or break this entire bandit crew."
At that, murmurs rose from the assembled outlaws. They whispered to one another in surprise. The tension crested—until a sudden shing of drawn steel cut through the noise.
Leopard drove his blade into the earth. The hilt vibrated with a sharp hum.
"This pressure? It's coming from the top of the capital's food chain. That means we endure. All of you—most of you are intermediate-level swordsmen, and more than a few of you are already advanced. Why do you think they pulled the elite from bandit strongholds all over the kingdom and gathered them here?"
"You think this is really just some roadside mugging gig? Use your damn heads."
He glanced over the bewildered and anxious faces, then sighed once more.
"That's enough. Get back to your posts. Keep the perimeter patrols tight."
There was a moment of stillness—then the crowd dispersed in twos and threes. Soon, only one figure remained: the bald man from earlier.
Leopard gave him a glance and gestured him closer.
"...Still no word on Black Wolf and the others?"
The bald man—Gray Hawk—was no longer flustered. He leaned in with a grim expression and whispered by Leopard's ear.
"Nothing yet. This show of force might settle them down for now, but it won't last. Guys sneak off during patrols—bet some are already back in Rigait living it up. These men aren't used to leash duty. They were top dogs at their local bases, living like kings. They won't sit still for long. Honestly, we need a real solution. That Allen brat—"
Leopard turned and fixed him with a cold stare.
"You doubt me? Think I'm just bluffing?"
Gray Hawk paused, then gave a weary sigh.
"I believe you. But the 'high pressure' from the capital... isn't that just James? He's not even officially head of the Boreas house—just a mid-tier noble under Sauros. What kind of pressure could he possibly—"
"It's not James," Leopard interrupted flatly. "He's not worth mentioning."
Gray Hawk's eyes widened.
"Then... who?"
Leopard's voice was so soft it was almost weightless. But the name he uttered made Gray Hawk pale.
"It's Darius."
"Darius?!"
Gray Hawk snapped his head around, glancing nervously at the surrounding tents. Then he leaned in even closer.
"You mean Lord Darius? High minister Darius? The First Prince's top man? That Darius?! That sick bastard's into noble girls—what, has he taken a sudden interest in little boys? He's got a death wish if he thinks he can lie in bed with Allen without getting his throat cut—"
Leopard rubbed his temple in irritation and gave Gray Hawk a sidelong glare.
"What goes on in that filthy head of yours... No, obviously that's not the reason. But the pressure he's putting on Night Lion-sama? That's real. You think James could've pulled this off? No. He doesn't have that kind of weight."
"...So if the intel is real... that means Allen Boreas Greyrat is actually hiding somewhere in the southern foothills of the Red Dragon Mountains?"
Gray Hawk frowned.
"Shouldn't we be widening the search, then? Why sit around here doing nothing? The forest is huge—how the hell are we supposed to find him just by stopping people on the road?"
Leopard furrowed his brows.
"...That's what I don't get either. But orders were clear—we stay put and wait."
"Who's there?!"
A shout rang out from the front of camp. Both men snapped to attention.
A small figure stepped into the firelight, emerging from the shadows at the tent's edge.
A boy—no, a young man, wearing glasses.
He smiled faintly, slipping his blood-streaked glasses into the pocket of his swordsman's coat, which was already soaked with crimson.
"Who are you?!"
Following the direction the now-dead scar-faced man had pointed him in, Allen raised both hands casually, palms open, like he was offering something.
"Who else?"
"I'm the one you've been looking for."