The cobbled path that led to Dafii Tower twisted like a serpent through the forest's dying breath. Ravyn guided his horse with a firm grip, the massive beast still bearing the weight of the monster remains packed tightly in its back sack. His boots clicked rhythmically against the stones, his cloak brushing the weeds creeping through the gaps.
Before him stood the tower.
It loomed into the cloudy sky like the bone of a forgotten god—tall, cracked, ancient, and yet full of presence. Grey stone weathered by time and history. The windows were arched and dim, some lit faintly with flickers of violet light. The door—towering, oaken, and branded with arcane runes—stood sealed.
Ravyn approached it with his usual expressionless face, stepping in front of the heavy wooden frame. He raised his hand and knocked. Once. Twice. Three times. The sound echoed like drumbeats through the dead wind.
No response.
He narrowed his eyes and was about to knock again—
A hand landed lightly on his shoulder.
Ravyn turned instantly, stepping to the side and gripping the hilt of his sword in a fluid motion. His black eyes stared into the calm face of an old man.
The man wore a robe deep blue with golden etchings that shimmered as though alive. A long, ivory beard flowed down to his chest, but atop his head was a mess of healthy, dark hair. His eyes, clear and amused, twinkled behind thin lenses perched on his nose.
"Forgive me, didn't mean to startle you," the man said with a half-smile.
Ravyn relaxed slightly but didn't let go of his hilt. "Didn't hear you come."
The old man chuckled. "Not many do. I'm Dorian Alaric—this tower's keeper, Brindare's old bookworm."
Ravyn bowed his head respectfully. "Ravyn. I came to trade."
Dorian leaned to the side and peered at the horse. His nose wrinkled playfully. "Grey Goliath, I presume? By the stench."
Ravyn nodded. "Fresh. Parts in good condition."
The wizard nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "I'll buy all of it."
Ravyn blinked, caught off guard. "All?"
"Indeed." Dorian smiled and opened his palm. "How much?"
Ravyn hesitated. He glanced at the sack on his horse and did a quick mental calculation. "7,800 Volks."
Dorian snapped his fingers and vanished.
Ravyn flinched, scanning his surroundings. A breeze blew past. The wizard reappeared behind the horse in the next instant, holding a stack of paper currency bundled tightly with twine.
"Here you go," Dorian said cheerfully, tossing it to him.
Ravyn caught it with both hands, surprised by the weight. He untied the twine slightly and flipped through it. 100s, 50s, 20s... all genuine. He didn't bother counting. He slid the whole bundle into his bag.
"You are... efficient," Ravyn said.
Dorian smiled again, the kind of smile a man makes when he knows things others don't. "You are a hellspawn, are you not?"
Ravyn froze.
He slowly looked at the wizard. There was no fear or revulsion in Dorian's eyes. Just... interest.
"Yes," Ravyn replied, slowly.
Dorian raised a bushy brow. "Do you know magic?"
Ravyn adjusted his stance. "Only basic enhancement and low-tier magic. Nothing sophisticated."
"A shame," Dorian said with a tilt of his head. "But not a waste. Tell me, Ravyn... how old are you?"
"Thirty-three."
"Still young." Dorian's fingers tapped his chin. "Would you like to learn a spell I recently discovered?"
Ravyn narrowed his eyes. His voice was cautious, cold. "Why offer this to me? I'm a hellspawn. Wizards and my kind—"
Dorian laughed softly, waving a hand as if brushing away dust. "That's what you think. But I've lived long enough to know good and evil when I see it. I've always chosen the first, regardless of appearances."
That shook something in Ravyn.
He stood in silence. No one, not even those who had benefited from his blade, had spoken to him like this after knowing what he was. Suspicion brewed in his chest, but so did curiosity.
After a breath, he nodded. "Yes. I want to learn."
Dorian's grin widened. In a blink, the wizard vanished.
Ravyn blinked again and looked to the ground. There, where Dorian had stood, was a scroll sealed in silver ribbon.
He crouched, picked it up, and unraveled it. The script was intricate, foreign to his eyes. Symbols danced like ink alive. He frowned. Ravyn had never learned to read.
Still, he carefully re-tied the scroll and tucked it into his cloak.
When he turned to his horse, he paused.
The monster parts were gone.
Only the empty sacks remained, tied neatly. The smell, too, had vanished.
But the money remained, heavy in his bag. Dorian had taken everything and paid in full.
Ravyn adjusted his pack and mounted the horse. He gave the tower one final glance—its windows now dim.
"Fastest trade I've ever made," he muttered.
And he rode off.
***
The wind was dry as Ravyn rode under a slowly reddening sky. The week-long trek had been punishing. Despite his stamina as a Hellspawn, even he felt the strain, his back ached, and his legs burned with fatigue. The rhythmic clop of his horse's hooves along the dirt path had become a numbing lullaby. Trees blurred past him, and the lands seemed quieter now, distant from Brindare's stone roads and cobbled bustle.
Eventually, he came across a bar sitting alone like a scar on the landscape. It wasn't glamorous—just a sturdy structure of dark timber and copper-patched roofing—but it had horse dens built into the side and back. Clearly a resting place for travelers and drifters.
Ravyn slowed the horse and pulled the reins to the right. The animal snorted, tired but obedient. He guided it to a corner den near the bar's side, dismounted, and gave the horse a gentle pat on the neck. Then he tied the reins to a post and made sure it had water in the trough nearby.
With quiet steps, Ravyn entered the bar.
Wooden floorboards creaked faintly under his boots. Inside, it smelled of smoked meats, sweat, and old ale. The lighting was dim, with low-hanging lanterns casting flickers on the walls. Bar chatter was moderate, enough to seem alive, but not so loud that it drowned out thought. No one turned toward him. No one stared. He blended in.
Good.
He scanned the room. Men of different builds hunched over drinks and meals. A few women—likely travelers or staff—mingled in whispers. Ravyn's sharp eyes spotted an empty seat near the far window, half-shadowed. Perfect. He moved through the room silently, his cloak shifting like thick smoke behind him, and sat.
On the table was a wooden menu. He picked it up, stared at the lines, and as expected—he couldn't read it. The symbols twisted and spun in his mind like dust caught in wind. He lowered it without emotion.
A voice chimed gently beside him. "Good evening, sir. What would you like today?"
Ravyn turned.
It was a maid, perhaps in her early twenties. Her brown hair was tied into a side braid, and she wore a brown apron over a long green dress. She smiled politely, but her eyes betrayed a hint of hesitation.
He stared at her, not coldly, but flat—expressionless. "What kind of meat do you have?"
She blinked. "Ah… Ram meat, Chicken meat, Cow meat… and Fritz meat."
His gaze sharpened slightly. "Fritz?"
"Yes," she nodded. "Fritz meat. It's a monster bird, but it tastes… sort of like chicken. Only more moist, tastier, and a little sweet. Been popular lately."
He paused. He had never tried that.
"How much for Fritz?"
She raised a hand to her lips, thinking. "Fritz soup costs four Volks. Fritz Ham is seven. Hail Fritz—that's our biggest plate—is ten."
He considered. "Three orders of Fritz Ham."
Her eyes widened slightly, then she nodded and scribbled on a small notepad. She bowed. "Right away, sir." Then she turned and walked briskly away.
Ravyn leaned back and slowly pulled out the scroll from his satchel. He unrolled it and stared. His eyes narrowed as he tried to understand the symbols. Some stood out—words he had learned over the years:
"Try."
"Kill."
"Murder."
"Sword."
The rest was unreadable. Still, something about it made his skin feel tighter—like the paper vibrated faintly in his hand.
Minutes passed.
The maid returned, balancing a tray on one hand. Steam rose in elegant curls from the plate. She placed it gently on the table. "Your order—three hams of Fritz."
He nodded silently.
As she was about to leave, her eyes flicked to the scroll.
"Do you… know how to read?" she asked softly.
He blinked. Looked up.
"No."
The moment hung in the air. Then she straightened, awkwardly smiled, and walked away without another word.
Ravyn looked at the ham. It smelled… incredible.
He picked up a piece with his fingers. It was still hot, greasy but firm, and when he took the first bite, his eyes twitched just slightly. It was good. Maybe too good.
He ate in silence, the scroll beside his plate.
His mind wandered.
Not to the flavor.
But to what the scroll was hiding.