The crackle of fire filled the Vanheart study, soft shadows playing along the shelves of maps and ledgers. The room was heavy with quiet until a polite knock disturbed it.
"Enter," Alaric Vanheart said, his voice low but firm.
The door creaked open, and Marcus, his long-serving assistant, stepped in with a short bow. "My lord, Commander Reinhardt has returned from the north. He carries the full report."
Alaric's sharp eyes lifted from the parchment he had been skimming. He set it aside and waved Marcus off. "Send him in. And leave us."
"Yes, my lord." Marcus bowed again and slipped out, the door shutting behind him.
Moments later, the door opened once more, this time to admit Gustav Reinhardt, commander of the Vanheart knights. His armor still bore faint scratches from battle, and his expression carried the heaviness of what he had seen. He strode in, bowed once with soldierly precision, and waited.
"Four months," Alaric said, his voice calm but edged. "Four months since the first men were sent. And now you stand before me with answers. Speak."
Gustav drew in a slow breath. "The first team was… overwhelmed. Few returned. Those who did were broken, half-dead from wounds and fear. Their words painted chaos—villages empty, monsters swarming unnaturally, and shadows of men that struck from cover. It was unclear what they faced. That is why I went myself, with a handpicked company of knights and mages."
Alaric's eyes narrowed but he said nothing, allowing Gustav to continue.
"We marched north into the outskirts. The villages we passed through had not been burned or destroyed—they were abandoned. Homes left standing, meals rotting on tables, livestock wandering untended. It was as if life itself had been scooped out."
He paused, his jaw tightening. "At first, it seemed to be the work of common bandits. But when we pressed deeper, we discovered their base."
Alaric leaned forward slightly. "And?"
"It was no bandit camp," Gustav said grimly. "It was a fortress hidden in the woods, fortified with traps and guarded by both blades and beasts. They fought hard, well beyond the skill of mere cutthroats. My men broke their line while our mages countered the monsters they unleashed. Yet the one controlling them—a tamer, perhaps a summoner—slipped away in the chaos. He vanished before we could capture him."
"Were there any villagers left?" Alaric asked sharply.
"Yes." Gustav nodded. "A few. They were bound and caged like cattle, awaiting transport. We freed them, though most were weak with hunger. From them, we learned the truth. These were no ordinary bandits. They were mercenaries, well-paid and well-armed, disguising themselves to mask their true purpose."
Alaric's gaze darkened. "And their purpose?"
"To sell human lives," Gustav said, his voice iron-hard. "The villagers were being taken east. Toward the Beast Empire. There, slavery of humans is legal. The survivors spoke of others who had already been shipped off. We were too late to save them."
For the first time, Alaric's expression cracked, a flash of cold fury flickering across his features. His fingers dug lightly into the armrest of his chair.
"So," Alaric muttered, "mercenaries masquerading as bandits. With a mage strong enough to tame or summon beasts to guard them."
Gustav inclined his head. "Exactly. And judging by the traces of mana left behind, the one who escaped had experience—perhaps even training beyond the norm. This was no hedge-wizard. He covered his retreat well."
Alaric's eyes glinted. "A summoner of beasts… or worse, a tamer skilled in binding magic. If such a man is still free, he is a threat."
"Yes," Gustav agreed. "He will resurface. Men like that rarely act alone. Which means whoever commanded him has not yet revealed their true hand."
Alaric rose from his chair and paced slowly toward the tall window. Pale winter sunlight poured across the floor, cold and sharp.
He turned, his gaze hard as steel. "Whoever lies behind this understands how to cover their tracks."
"Commander," Alaric said firmly, "we cannot fight shadows with steel alone. Hire mercenaries of our own. But not for war. For silence. I want men and women who can listen, who can slip into places our knights cannot. Whispers, not banners. No one must know Vanheart moves in this—not the court, not the nobles, not even the mercenaries themselves."
Gustav bowed. "I will see to it personally. The less attention we draw, the more we can uncover."
"Good." Alaric's tone softened, though the fire in it did not fade. "This family has already been marked once. I will not see Jason, Susan, or Lucian dragged into another man's plot. Not while I draw breath."
The silence lingered, broken only by the fire's steady crackle. Finally, Gustav tucked the rolled parchment beneath his arm and bowed once more.
"My lord."
"Go," Alaric said. "Select carefully. And keep your blade sharp for the man who calls beasts to his side. I want his name."
Gustav gave a curt nod and left the study, the heavy door closing behind him.
Alaric remained standing by the window, one hand resting on the carved crest of the Vanheart line etched into the desk. His eyes, hard as ice, pierced the horizon.
"Disappearances. Mercenaries. Slavers. Summoners. All threads to a faceless hand," he murmured. His voice was soft, but every word carried the weight of iron. "Whoever you are… you will not have my children."