In the southern part of Moran lay a region separated from the other districts. It stood at the farthest edge, beyond a valley stretching for dozens of kilometers, surrounded by great rivers and facing an endless expanse of sea. That region was called Caestevil.
Officially, Caestevil was supposed to be part of Moran, but it had long been neglected. Its reputation was known only among commoners, not the elite.
In practice, however, the area was controlled and governed by a Count named Eldric Afanaheda.
His power and influence could not compare to those of Counts who ruled strategic territories. Even so, the region was capable of sustaining its population independently, without relying on other areas.
In Nourder Viss, the center of Caestevil, precisely at 18 Vaesti Street, two people walked side by side. One of them placed a hand on the other's shoulder. Their steps were uneven, as if one of them was struggling to suppress an indescribable anxiety.
"The target… is gone," he whispered, his voice trembling with panic.
He paused for a moment, swallowed hard, then continued in a low voice, as though speaking to himself.
"Where is he now? I want him to free Nawai immediately."
Calvert realized that his companion was not truly listening. Yet the anxiety remained, pressing outward uncontrollably. After passing through the crowded roadside, Calvert caught fragments of gossip about an incident occurring in a major district of Moran, but he did not care.
His current objective was singular: to meet their other associate and file a protest regarding the information they had been given. The information was wrong. The target, described as an ordinary human, was in fact capable of wielding mid-level abilities with remarkable proficiency.
At the center of the room stood a long table with rough carvings. Its surface was covered in fine scratches, marks of time and prolonged use, as though it had witnessed more secrets than it should have. Around it were several chairs with thin cushions and fabric-covered backs that had aged, yet remained comfortable enough for long बैठings.
Tall bookshelves lined part of the walls. Old books were packed tightly together, some tilted, others seemingly untouched for years. Their titles were nearly unreadable, obscured by dust and cobwebs that swayed faintly, as if suggesting that the knowledge within was not meant for just anyone.
The floor was covered by a thick carpet with faded patterns, its dark color absorbing footsteps until sound nearly vanished. In the corners of the room, metal accessories and small ornaments hung without any clear arrangement, foreign symbols, markers of secret gatherings, or perhaps reminders that this was no ordinary place.
The room was silent, heavy, and enclosed. Not a place for just anyone to enter. Only those who knew, or those who were chosen, could come here.
"How did it go?" asked a brown-haired woman in a calm tone, a faint cynical smile forming on her lips. "Have you killed your target?"
On the right side of the room, near the wall, stood a long sofa where a woman named Sena sat. Its dark fabric was slightly worn but well-maintained. The sofa faced the table directly, as if intended for someone who preferred observing rather than participating.
Calvert turned his head. A possibility crossed his mind that the woman already knew of his failure, or worse, understood how cunning the opponent he had just faced truly was.
He exhaled. "Leave," he said coldly.
He stepped forward and placed Nawai onto a cushioned chair with simple carvings at the corner of the room.
She still cannot see or hear, just like before.
Then he turned. "There is something I want to ask you, Miss Sena."
Sena, who had been sitting on the sofa, immediately stood and approached. Each step, concealed beneath her brown boots, sounded steady, as if carrying an unspoken certainty.
"So," she said with a faint smile, "what is it you want to ask?"
Hearing that, Calvert pulled a cushioned chair. Its backrest was torn in several places, but still sufficient to support him as he sat.
"About Nawai," he said. "She cannot see or hear. What kind of ability could cause this?"
Is this a second-tier spell? Or worse, the effect of a first-tier spell?
"I don't know," Sena replied flatly.
Is she lying, or is there something she is deliberately hiding?
After a brief silence, he spoke again. This time his voice changed, lower, almost like a child pleading for something desperately needed.
"Tell me what you know," he said. "I will give you anything you want. Believe me."
Sena looked into those brown eyes, glimmering yet filled with gloom and depth. But she was not easily convinced.
Isn't he not the type of person to act like this? Is he planning to use me after getting what he wants?
Her gaze turned cold. Then it shifted to Nawai beside her, someone who, in her view, had never given a bad impression since joining this organization.
After a moment of consideration, she took a breath before finally speaking.
"Fine," she said softly. "But… it seems they will be arriving soon. Including the Captain."
She then turned and walked back to the sofa where she had been sitting.
Calvert continued to stare at Nawai.
Should I tell the Captain directly?
He then sat, crossed his arms, and placed one hand on his forehead while recalling his knowledge of supernatural matters.
Could this be from a Disturber ability at its second tier? But that's impossible. Such an ability is not this simple and requires activation before affecting a target.
Preference? That is very likely. But could it still be a Disturber, one capable of altering perception and erasing auditory senses?
He glanced at Nawai again, thinking deeper, yet still finding no definite answer.
Calvert looked to the side. Briefly, he saw Sena clearly staring at him with a cynical smile.
He clicked his tongue in irritation.
Damn it. I have always hated arrogant women like her. And how did she even get into Eistender? Did the Captain personally allow it?
He turned his face away, waiting for them to arrive.
A few minutes later, the sound of heavy footsteps and the scraping of shoes echoed through the corridor, seeping into the room through the tightly shut iron door, as though even the air was not allowed to escape.
Not long after, the large door was opened by an elderly man with a curved mustache, dressed like a servant. Ten people entered right behind him. Six men stepped in first, wearing black coats that reached their knees, adorned with gold and gray patterns along the sides, clean white shirts underneath, and neatly tied ties at their collars. Their appearance exuded a cold and measured charisma, like individuals accustomed to giving or receiving orders without unnecessary words.
Behind them, two women followed. Their orange dresses with white patterns contrasted sharply with the dim lighting of the room. Their expressions were serious, their gazes empty, as if their minds were burdened by something too heavy to express.
"They have arrived," both of them said almost simultaneously, their voices low, nearly swallowed by the atmosphere.
The room fell silent again, heavy and enclosed after they entered, as though the air itself was trapped within. Not a place for just anyone. Only those who knew, or those who were summoned, could be present here.
Not long after everyone took their seats around the table, the mustached man moved to close the door from outside, but stopped when he heard a cold voice directed at him.
"Hey," the voice said coldly, "why are you closing it?"
He turned slowly, gave a brief bow, then spoke in a professional tone.
"My apologies for my rudeness, sir."
A bearded man, his hands covered in white gloves, touched the iron door and pushed it open again.
"Please," said the mustached man as he bowed.
A man in a worn white shirt turned his head, wearing thin black-framed glasses. He smiled faintly, then stepped inside while leaning on the shoulder of his companion, whose condition was the same as Nawai's.
"Hmm. Strange," the mustached man muttered in confusion before closing the door again and standing guard outside until the meeting ended.
Inside the room, at the center, was the long table, and a chair with a thin cushion. Seated there was a man known to all of them by a single title: the Captain.
Before him, seven men and two women had taken their seats, facing the old wooden table. No one spoke. Their gazes were fixed forward, waiting for the discussion to begin.
"How did the two of you end up like this?" the Captain asked casually, his eyes sweeping across the room. He paused briefly before continuing. "And I apologize if Rhevan, who accepted the contract from the clients and passed it on to you… and after further investigation, it turns out Finiscya is the one behind all of this. Is that correct, Sena?"
Sena simply nodded, then fell silent again.
"I suspected as much," said a man in seat number one, his voice low but sharp. "We were used as scapegoats by that damned sect, Captain."
Perhaps they will start a war soon.
A man with straight hair and pale blue eyes, seated across from him, responded calmly.
"That line of thinking is foolish," he said flatly, yet piercing. "Those from the heretical sect devoted to Goddess Camilla must harbor resentment toward someone who disrupted their plans, and—"
Before he could finish, Calvert cut in.
"In the end, they were the ones who sent the five of us to carry out that hunt."
"Correct," said the blue-eyed man at seat number four with a faint smile.
"And not only that, it seems unrest will soon occur in that useless major city," added the man seated beside number one, seat number three, casually.
All eyes turned simultaneously toward the Captain, awaiting his decision.
But the Captain's thoughts were different. Though he was merely an ordinary human, he was in truth a conman who held an important position. Even at rank three, every move and plan he made was carefully calculated to avoid endangering the organization or losing reliable allies.
The Captain cleared his throat while tapping the table lightly with his fingertips. The two sounds were enough to restore silence to the room.
"Proceed as usual," he said. "I will handle the rest myself. Including those damned Receivers or Hollows."
Sena's eyes widened slightly upon hearing that statement.
This man truly does not know fear.
They then continued discussing various organizations, including their own, as well as strange incidents in the capital, Sanerva, and the heretical sects that continued to violate the law.
Several hours passed just like that. The sudden meeting came to an end. One by one, they left the room, including the mustached servant.
Not long after they all exited together, the building suddenly vanished as if swallowed by the earth. Only high-level supernatural power could create such a phenomenon.