As Alcard walked through the streets of Wolven Fortress, the lively atmosphere that once filled the stronghold began to wane. The market within the walls was bustling, filled with merchants shouting over one another as they advertised their wares, while soldiers moved about, their eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Children ran between the stalls, their laughter ringing through the air.
But as Alcard's presence became known, the noise gradually faded, replaced by whispers laced with suspicion and distrust.
An old merchant, stacking his goods, stole a glance at Alcard before leaning toward his companion with a wary expression. "Look at that, an Outcast. Think he's here to cause trouble?"
A young man arranging fruit on a cart scoffed, shaking his head with undisguised disdain. "Why would someone like him be allowed in here? Aren't they just killers exiled from civilized society?"
More murmurs spread throughout the gathered townsfolk. A woman carrying a basket of cloths tightened her grip on her child's hand, pulling him closer when the boy curiously tried to approach Alcard. Fear painted her face as she whispered to another woman beside her, "His eyes… red as blood. I heard only madmen dare speak to an Outcast."
Alcard heard them all.
Every hushed insult, every wary glance, every poorly concealed fear.
But he showed no reaction. His expression remained unreadable, his pace unwavering. Inwardly, he merely shook his head in quiet resignation.
"They know nothing."
"They scorn us, yet without us, they wouldn't enjoy the peace they take for granted behind these walls. They revere The Wall but despise the ones who keep it standing."
The guards stationed around the fortress were no different.
Some clutched the hilts of their swords as he passed, their bodies tensed as if expecting him to strike at any moment. He even noticed a young soldier gulp nervously, struggling to mask his unease behind a hardened expression.
Still, Alcard kept walking, his steps taking him through a narrow alleyway that connected the market to the training grounds of the fortress.
There, the clashing of swords and the sharp commands of a combat instructor filled the air. Young soldiers practiced tirelessly, swinging their blades with discipline and purpose.
Yet, as some of them caught sight of him, their movements faltered, and their eyes flicked toward him with curiosity and wariness alike.
He didn't care.
Without acknowledging their stares, he continued forward toward the keep of Wolven Fortress.
The great stone structure loomed in the center of the stronghold, its dark gray walls standing tall and unyielding. Towering battlements rose above, as if watching over every movement within the fortress walls. Unlike the opulent castles of noble families, this one had been built for war, not for beauty.
As Alcard approached the main entrance, two armored guards stood firm, their crossed spears blocking his path.
One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a hardened face, took a step forward and spoke in a voice that left no room for negotiation.
"Stop. You have no place here."
Alcard remained unshaken.
He had expected this reaction.
Without a word, he reached into his cloak and retrieved a scroll sealed with Edenvila's insignia. Calmly, he handed it to the guard.
"I am here by the order of Lady Arwen Delareu of Edenvila." His tone was level, but firm. "This letter is addressed to Lord Edmun. I have been assigned to escort Lady Arwen back to Edenvila."
The guard snatched the scroll from his grasp, roughly unrolling the parchment. As his eyes scanned the contents, the arrogance on his face wavered.
Still, his demeanor remained stubborn.
"This letter may be real," he muttered grudgingly, "but our orders are clear. No Outcast is permitted inside the keep."
The second guard, younger and with a sneering expression, chuckled.
"You can wait outside," he added, mockery dripping from his voice. "Maybe someone foolish enough will actually want to meet a monster like you."
Alcard didn't rise to the provocation.
His scarlet eyes met theirs, his gaze impassive, but carrying an unspoken warning.
When he spoke, his voice was low and laced with quiet menace.
"Lady Arwen will not be pleased to hear that I was delayed entry. My duty is to ensure her safety. If you interfere with this order, the consequences will not fall on me—they will fall on you."
The two guards exchanged uneasy glances.
Doubt flickered across their faces, but their pride held firm.
After a tense pause, the older guard exhaled heavily, waving to the sentries above the gates.
"Fine. Wait here. I'll fetch someone with the authority to decide."
He turned and disappeared into the fortress, leaving Alcard standing at the entrance.
Leaning against the cold stone wall, Alcard crossed his arms, settling in for what would likely be a long wait.
From the corners of the courtyard, new whispers rose around him.
Servants carrying supplies cast him nervous glances, their eyes darting away the moment he looked in their direction.
Patrolling soldiers stared at him with barely veiled distrust, murmuring among themselves.
"What's an Outcast doing here?"
"Can he be trusted? I heard Outcasts kill without reason."
Alcard didn't react.
There was no point in explaining himself.
He had long since stopped trying to justify his existence to those who had already condemned him.
"The longer I stand here, the clearer their hatred becomes. This world has long been broken. They see us as shadows—yet they never realize that it is these shadows that protect them from an even greater darkness."
His gaze shifted toward the fortress doors, still closed.
He waited, patient but alert.
If they tried anything suspicious, he would act without hesitation.
Because while they saw him as a monster…
He knew better than anyone that the real monsters often didn't come from the darkness—but from human themselves.
****