"We need some information," Ceremus said curtly.
The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. "Information? What kind of information would you fine sirs be looking for?"
Atilla stepped forward to answer. "We are looking for someone we believe lives in these parts. We were wondering if you or anyone here would be familiar with him." As he spoke, the door behind the shopkeeper opened, revealing a younger man who bore a similar resemblance to the older man.
He looked momentarily startled to see them, particularly when he took in Ceremus' appearance, before regaining his composure.
"I see," the man responded as he took a cup from the tray next to him and wiped it dry. "Who is this man you are looking for?"
Atilla glanced at Ceremus as if asking for permission to answer, and the king nodded. The shopkeeper noted this slight interaction and wore a pensive expression.
"His name is Tiresias."
The old man froze, his fingers tightening around the cloth he had been wiping.
"Tiresias?" he repeated. "That old coot who lives in the mountains?"
The pair looked at him in surprise, and Atilla couldn't contain his excitement as he leaped over the counter, his gaze locked on the old man. "You know who he is?!"
Atilla's outburst startled the shopkeeper, but he nodded. "Yes, I know who he is, but finding him is a whole other matter," he said.
The young knight frowned. "How so?"
The old man sighed, glancing around the empty shop. "No one knows his exact location, but there have been some rumors." He lowered his voice. "To find him, you would have to go to the place where even the sun cannot reach. Once there, you will find a tall mountain. But to get there, you must cross the waters of death, if you dare that is."
"The waters of death?" Atilla repeated in disbelief.
Ceremus turned to look at him. From his expression, it seemed that Atilla knew what the shopkeeper was talking about. "What is this 'waters of death' you keep referring to?" he asked the young knight.
"Oh, well, it's actually called the Kalamma River. Though it seems normal on the surface, the river is said to have caused many deaths. People have drowned on multiple occasions, making others anxious to use it," Atilla explained with a stony face.
The old man nodded in agreement, staring at Atilla intently.
"A bit of a misnomer, don't you think?" Ceremus remarked.
The shopkeeper blinked before laughing. "Well, tranquility can be synonymous with death to some people. But I can see how the name can be confusing," he said. He then turned towards the younger man, who shrugged in response.
"Two things can be true at once," he concluded.
"Anyway, he is quite the elusive fellow. He only comes around here once a year and then disappears without a trace," the shopkeeper said.
"When was the last time you saw him?" Ceremus asked.
The man tilted his head as he stroked his bearded chin. "I believe it's been about three months now?"
Three months? Ceremus thought to himself. That's a long time to go without seeing someone. More importantly, it's a long time for a person to be away from others.
"How is he able to sustain himself for that long? Just how many supplies and provisions does he buy to keep himself alive?" Atilla asked, cutting through Ceremus' thoughts.
The shopkeeper let out a belly laugh that resounded through the shop. The young knight furrowed his brows, wondering what he had said to make the man laugh.
The shopkeeper's brown eyes twinkled with delight as he regarded Atilla. "Normally, we don't go around talking about other people's business here, especially not old man Tiresias," he told them.
"This is a shop, is it not? Aren't you also tasked with providing information?" Ceremus asked.
In Trojas, besides providing food and supplies, there were a few shops that also provided patrons with whatever information they needed. Since they welcomed people from all walks of life and heard everything, they often investigated matters. People called these shops the eyes and ears of Trojas.
This information seemed to surprise the shopkeeper, who then gave him a knowing smile. "I suppose that would be the case where you come from, sir, but out here, people are quite conservative and keep to themselves. Spreading information isn't something we normally do, but for you valued guests, I don't mind sharing a few things—for a price," he said.
Atilla scoffed. "Finally showing your true colors, I see?"
The old man shrugged. "I am a business owner, am I not? I need money to keep things afloat. 'Tis the way of life, my boy."
Atilla was about to protest, but before he could, Ceremus reached into his cloak and tossed a bag of the finest silk onto the counter with a heavy thud.
The young knight paused, and the three glanced between the bag and the king, who wore an expressionless look on his face.
~*~
No one said anything for a while until the shopkeeper, giving Ceremus a cautious look, tentatively reached for the bag.
He carefully opened it and peered inside. A gasp escaped his lips. The younger man beside him leaned down to take a look as well, his eyes widening in shock. The bag was filled with enough silver to keep both his family and business secure for months to come.
"S-Sir, is this... have you made a mistake?" he stammered.
"That should be enough to cover the information you've given us so far—and whatever else you've been keeping to yourself," Ceremus said nonchalantly.
"O-Of course, sir! Whatever you wish to know, I'll do my best to answer."
Atilla glanced between the two men, his brows furrowing. Finally, he looked down to see what all the fuss was about. The moment he saw the heaps of silver inside the bag, he scoffed. Well, that certainly changed his tune quickly.
As promised, the old shopkeeper—who introduced himself as Giro—and his son, Chiro, shared what they knew about Tiresias.
Contrary to expectations, Tiresias didn't purchase many provisions or supplies. Some believed him to be a monk or a priest associated with the god of virility or eternal youth. Despite his older age, he appeared to be a man still in his prime.
He wasn't originally from these parts either. Many speculated that he came from the warmer regions, as he had the complexion of someone blessed by the sun.
Though quiet and reserved, he was kind but also dismissive.
"He's like the wind," Giro said as he served the pair a warm cup of cider. "A calm and healing presence, but hard to understand—and even harder to catch. He comes and goes as he pleases."
"Like the wind..." Ceremus murmured with a frown.
Giro smiled. "Yes. Like the wind. You will understand what I mean once you see him."
The pair soon left the shop, instructed by the shopkeeper to stay at a nearby inn for the night, as a storm was approaching. Heeding his advice, they settled in at the inn. Meanwhile, the chief and his men had just arrived in the little town.
"Looks like we'll be able to reach Yuri's base before the storm hits," Orion said.
"Yes, we made it just in the nick of time."
Wasting no time, the group moved in the opposite direction from where Ceremus and Atilla had gone. Soon, they spotted a beautifully built hut at the center of the village.
"Looks like Yuri is keeping the place up nicely," Kishar remarked as he surveyed the property.
Nestled at the heart of the snow-covered village, the hut stood sturdier than the surrounding dwellings. It was clear that it had been built for long-term habitation, designed to withstand the brutal northern winters of Yamasu.
Unlike the hastily constructed homes of the neighboring villagers, Yuri's base was made from thick, dark logs stacked tightly together. Between the logs, a mixture of packed earth and dried moss acted as insulation, sealing out the biting cold. The hut's sloping roof was weighed down by layers of animal pelts and thick thatch, all covered by a heavy cap of fresh snow and icicles.
The broad door swung open, revealing a towering six-foot-tall man with sparkling gray eyes and a rugged yet kind face. His lips stretched into a wide smile at the sight of them.
"Chief! It's a pleasure to see you after so long!" he exclaimed, beckoning them inside as the storm rapidly approached.
Warmth, mingled with the scent of burning firewood, greeted the men instantly, bringing much-needed relief. They gathered around roughly hewn benches and furs strewn across the floor, neatly placing their weapons against one side of the hut.
"To what do I owe this sudden visit, Chief?" Yuri asked once they were comfortably seated.
Kishar didn't waste time and got straight to the point. "There's a man we're looking for, and we believe he might be living in the village. We were wondering if you or any of your men might have seen him."
Yuri raised his brows in surprise. Kishar was not one to concern himself with outsiders, so for someone to have caught his attention was highly unusual. Sensing his confusion, Orion took it upon himself to explain.
As Orion spoke, Yuri's gaze briefly flickered toward Bukara, who sat with his head bowed in shame, before returning to the chief. "I see. He is quite the impressive man indeed," Yuri said, stroking the thick beard he had grown to keep himself warm. It made him look much older than usual, but he didn't mind. Even as an adult, he'd always had a youthful face, and he figured the beard would help people take him more seriously as third-in-command.
"Well, I haven't seen any newcomers myself, as I've been indoors preparing for the snowstorm. But perhaps my men have?" He turned toward a young man who had a habit of wandering the village, and something flickered in his eyes.
"Shion?" Yuri called.
The young man stepped forward.
"Did you see anyone fitting the vice-chief's description?" Yuri asked, watching his reaction closely.
"U-Uh, yes. As a matter of fact, I saw two men—one of whom matched the description—making their way through the village. They went straight to the tavern, the one run by that old man and his son."
"The shop?"
Shion nodded.
"I see. So he really is here..." Kishar said thoughtfully, a pensive look crossing his face.
That expression made Yuri uneasy.
"Chief... you're not thinking of engaging this man in battle, are you?" Yuri finally voiced the question on everyone's mind. The clan members sat in tense anticipation, awaiting Kishar's response. From what they had seen and heard, this man was a formidable foe—one they weren't sure they could defeat.
"If you ask me," Yuri continued, "I believe this man's origins aren't simple. He could be one of those half-bloods our parents used to tell us about when we were younger—the ones from the East, born with divine abilities."
The room fell deathly silent as they processed Yuri's words. No one spoke until Orion cleared his throat, breaking the heavy atmosphere. "Those were just stories we were told as children. That doesn't mean they hold any truth."
Even as he said it, no one looked convinced—especially Bukara, who had witnessed Ceremus fight firsthand. Even without weapons, the man was a monster. With his battle experience and warrior instincts, Bukara could tell that Ceremus hadn't even been fighting at full strength. His power was terrifying, capable of mass destruction.
Silence once again settled over the hut. The men were now more afraid than ever that their chief would order them to fight this man. Kishar noted their unease and offered a half-hearted smile.
He wasn't pleased with the predicament they were in. He wanted nothing more than to make that foreign traveler pay for the humiliation they had suffered. Here, in these lands, they were the rulers, leading the people to believe they held ultimate power. But Ceremus' sudden arrival threatened to shatter that illusion.
And what's more—he had no idea what this "impressive man" wanted.
Why was he here? What was his purpose?
These were the questions that plagued Kishar's mind. And the more he thought about them, the more uneasy he became.
If Ceremus was truly one of the legendary half-bloods, then meeting him might not be a choice—it might be a dangerous inevitability.