The border town didn't sleep; it festered.
Rot turned a profit here. Standing at the intersection of three muddy streets, the air tasted of unwashed bodies, cheap alloy, and desperation. To the left, the Refiner's District belched multi-colored chemical smoke into the night. To the right, the Auction House loomed—a fortress of greed built on the bones of bad deals.
Roeyachi pulled his hood low.
If you want… The Eternal Fragrance…
The memory of his Senior Sister's whisper cut through the noise like a knife. Clairelnayl didn't offer idle favors; she offered schematics. She hadn't just offered to kill the target; she had handed him the map.
He turned toward the Red Light District.
The Eternal Fragrance dominated the skyline.
A pagoda of red lacquer and gold leaf rose from the squalor—a poisonous flower blooming in the muck. Lanterns bathed the entrance in soft, inviting crimson, bleaching the grime from the cobblestones. Drunkards stumbled out, arms draped over women whose smiles were painted with the same lethal precision as the runes on a blade.
High above, on a balcony wreathed in shadows, smoke curled from a pipe.
The woman holding it didn't look at the drunks. Her gaze locked instantly onto the hooded figure standing still in the chaos.
"He is here."
Beside her, a servant bowed. "Shall I stop him?"
"No. Escort him to the Solar Chamber. The Moon Palace will be… disappointed."
Roeyachi stepped across the threshold.
The noise of the street died instantly, suffocated by heavy velvet curtains and the cloying scent of jasmine and opium. A servant girl materialized from the haze—silent, efficient, a ghost in silk gesturing toward the stairs.
He followed.
The hallway was a gallery of loose lips.
They passed open doors where curtains fluttered just enough to reveal the truth. In one room, a Refiner laughed too loudly, bragging to a pouring geisha about the instability of the new Western shipment. In another, an Auction House merchant whispered floor prices into a receptive ear. Blacksmiths, Enchanters, Guards—men who guarded their secrets with steel on the street were spilling them for a touch of skin in here.
Roeyachi kept his eyes forward, hand resting near the borrowed iron blade.
This wasn't a brothel. It was a confession booth.
The servant stopped at a double door of carved rosewood. She opened it, bowed, and vanished.
Roeyachi entered.
The room was vast, dominated by a balcony that overlooked the dying town. A woman sat at a low table, her silhouette framed by the moon. She didn't turn.
"It is rare to see the Young Master of the Silent Moon in a place of such… earthly delights."
Her voice was silk wrapped around a razor.
"I am here for business."
The woman turned. She was older than the girls downstairs, beauty sharpened by an intelligence that made the air feel thin.
"Clairelnayl?"
Roeyachi didn't flinch. He let the name hang between them, heavy as a coin placed on the table.
She thinks a hundred steps ahead.
His Senior Sister knew he would refuse the assassination offer. She knew he would come here. Mentioning the name wasn't a threat or a plea. It was a referral.
"I have her approval."
"That girl rarely approves of anything that breathes," the woman noted, a dry smile touching her lips. "If she sent you, you are either very desperate or very dangerous. Sit."
Roeyachi didn't sit. He reached into his sash, placing the black-sealed scroll on the table.
"A bandit. He goes by the name Bellavius."
The woman glanced at the seal. She didn't need to open it.
"I know him."
"I need a location."
"The Fragrance knows where everyone is." She picked up her pipe, taking a slow drag before exhaling a plume of violet smoke. "Bellavius is loud. He enjoys the fire too much."
"Where?"
"Information is a commodity, Young Master. I assume you did not come to rob me."
"No. I didn't come for free."
"Smart boy." She tapped the table with a manicured nail. "Three Large Fire Crystals."
Roeyachi stiffened.
The bag at his hip held raw ore—small, impure, volatile scraps. He had iron. He had intent. He did not have three large cores.
"I cannot pay that."
"Then you cannot find him."
She turned back to the balcony, the dismissal absolute.
Roeyachi did the math of the forest. Fire and wind domains. Low-level beasts. High mortality rate.
"I am going to hunt a Fire Beast," he said to her back. "I will bring you four. Tomorrow. Give me the location on credit."
"Credit?" She laughed, sharp and humorless. "I bury debts, not extend them."
Roeyachi's hand drifted to his medallion—the signet of the Silent Moon. He could leverage the Sect. He could demand the information as tribute.
A cage keeps things in.
The Master's warning rang in his skull. If you rely on the walls, you are never free.
He dropped his hand. He had accepted the blade from Veramon. He had accepted the lead from Clairelnayl. If he used the Sect's name now, he was just a child hiding behind borrowed walls.
"You must have a condition."
The woman paused. She turned back slowly, the predatory smile returning.
"I do have a matter that requires... discretion. A skilled warrior who is not on my payroll."
"What matter?"
"Bellavius is not just a bandit. He is one of the Seven Leaders," she said, leaning forward, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "He has a sister. Her name is Libinea."
She placed a finger on the scroll.
"You want his head? Fine. Take it. But before you kill him, you will find her."
"And?"
"Bring her to me. Alive."