Jinrai leaned forward, his fingers tapping the rim of his cup, as he looked the group over with a sharp, unreadable gaze. His younger companion, Tharion, sat quietly beside him, his back straight, eyes low, as if calculating every detail of the room around him.
"Well," Jinrai said after a moment, "I guess if you're adventurers, we can tell you. But I have to warn you—don't repeat it to anyone in this town. Not to the chief. Not to any guards. Not even people who might seem to know something. No one."
The group grew still, the tavern noise fading to the background as Bral blinked and asked, "Huh…? Why not? What's going on?"
Jinrai glanced around the pub, narrowing his eyes toward the other tables before leaning in a bit closer. "Because it seems like someone is—"
He was cut off by the sudden appearance of the waiter, who stepped in with a cheerful, "Here's your order!"
Jinrai froze mid-sentence, then smiled tightly and nodded. "Ugh… thank you."
The waiter placed bowls and mugs down on the table, steaming stew, bread, and drinks laid out neatly. After another quick nod, he turned and walked off.
Jinrai waited for a few moments, eyes locked on the door, then sighed. "This isn't the best place to talk. Too many ears. Let's finish this at the inn."
Tharion didn't say a word, but gave a small nod in agreement.
They left not long after finishing the food. The streets of Ashvale were quiet, the heavy walls of the town looming on either side, torches lighting the stone path ahead. A few guards moved about in pairs, but none paid them much attention. Once they reached the inn, Jinrai led them up the stairs to a modest room on the second floor. He closed the door behind them and turned the lock with a quiet click.
"Alright," he said, brushing some dust off a nearby chair. "Now we're safe."
Idin crossed his arms, standing near the door. "Are you sure we're safe now? What if someone listens in?"
Jinrai chuckled, that same sharp smile playing at his lips. "You've got a good head on your shoulders. But no. These walls are thick enough to block out most sound, and…" he ran a hand casually across the wooden paneling, "I infused my mana behind in the corridor's walls. If someone uses magic, even if he's a master at concealing his mana, I'll feel it."
Pao's eyes widened as she leaned forward slightly, curiosity lighting up her face. "Wait—you can do that? That's amazing!"
Jinrai laughed again, a bit more genuinely this time. "It's not true infusion, more like... leaving traces, little threads of mana tied to the walls. As long as I don't move far and keep focus, I can maintain it. It's handy when your enemy knows how to conceal their presence. But if they're sloppy, you'll detect them even without tricks."
"That's so cool, hwo did you learn it?" Pao asked with a spark in her eyes.
Tharion groaned softly and rubbed his forehead. "Can we please stay on topic?"
Pao shrunk slightly at the tone and looked down, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "Sorry…"
Amukelo scowled, his gaze flicking to Tharion with quiet disapproval. He stepped slightly in front of Pao, not saying anything, but his body language made his point. He didn't appreciate the way Tharion spoke to her.
Jinrai noticed the tension but didn't address it directly. Instead, he cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. "Let's get back to it. We told you not to spread anything because—well—we suspect that someone from the town is sabotaging the road construction."
Bral leaned forward. "What? Why would anyone want to stop that?"
Tharion shrugged. "We don't know. It's just the assumption we came to… based on the clues."
Amukelo raised a brow. "The clues?"
Tharion glanced at Jinrai again, but his companion merely gave a small nod, a signal for him to continue. The old man leaned back in his chair and folded his arms while Tharion straightened his posture slightly and began to explain.
"Well… it started with three separate incidents. The first one happened before we got here, so we didn't see it with our own eyes. But we asked around and pieced together enough details."
He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing.
"About four months ago, one of the surveyors working on the road project fell off a cliff. At least, that's what they told everyone. He was an experienced worker, someone who had done similar terrain mapping and evaluations in other remote regions. The strange part was how they found him. His body was down at the base of a steep ridge not far from the planned construction site—face down, skull broken. It looked like a fall at first, but when they checked his belongings, something didn't add up."
Tharion leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice.
"His measuring tools were still packed up neatly in his toolbox. The hammer, the string line, the prism staff… everything stored cleanly, like he had just finished a job or hadn't started yet. But the parchment with the road markings—the document showing the projected routes through the region—was missing. That's not something a surveyor misplaces. It's the first thing they use. At first, they thought it just fell with him and was lost somewhere in the brush, but locals scouted the area and found no trace of it. No fragments, no damaged rolls… nothing."
He sat back again, face hard. "It didn't make sense. The fall might have been an accident, but the missing parchment suggested otherwise. If someone pushed him, they could've taken the scroll for themselves. But that was before our time here, and we didn't get to look at the site ourselves. All we had were the rumors."
"Then came the second event, this time after we had already settled in Ashvale. Over a month ago, the town's treasurer got sick. That one was different. At first, everyone thought it was just bad food or exhaustion. He worked long hours managing supply records, keeping tabs on what merchants brought in, and approving the allocations for the road-building effort."
He exhaled sharply.
"But when we checked on him, it wasn't anything simple. No fever, no cough, no stomach bloating, or common food sickness symptoms. He had tremors in his hands, a pale blue tint in the skin under his fingernails, and his heartbeat was rapid and uneven. His breathing was shallow. He was slipping in and out of consciousness by the time the local healer got to him."
Tharion's jaw tightened. "I've seen something like that before. It resembled the symptoms from venom-based toxins. Something you see with monsters that paralyze prey before devouring them. But here's the problem—he never left the town. And Ashvale isn't a place with cracks in the wall or gaps in security. The gate is the only way in or out, and there are patrols that walk the perimeter constantly. There's no sign, no record, of any monster attack, and certainly no traces of one getting past the guards."
He clenched his fist briefly. "That poison got into him somehow. And that means someone had access to it."
He let the weight of that linger in the room before continuing. "The third incident happened just two weeks ago. A merchant—well-known in the region, one of the few brave enough to travel regularly between Ashvale and the surrounding settlements—was attacked while returning here. He was transporting a few crates of goods, but more importantly, he was carrying letters. Written correspondence from the main settlement to Ashvale's local officials. Some of it routine, some of it confidential, especially related to the road project's continued funding and material logistics."
Tharion looked toward the window as if visualizing it again.
"The merchant survived, barely. His horse panicked and threw him off a narrow pass when a pack of monsters ambushed them. He landed hard, broke some ribs, but crawled the rest of the way to town. He was half-dead when the guards found him outside the gates."
He turned his gaze back to the group. "We investigated the site. It was a mess. His cart had gone over the side and shattered. Crates broken open, dried meat scattered everywhere, claw marks from the monsters all over the wreckage. That part made sense. Food attracts beasts. What didn't make sense was the paperwork."
"There was no sign of the letters. Not a single one. The merchant said he carried them in a leather pouch strapped to his belt. But when he fell, it must've been torn off or loosened. He doesn't remember what happened after the fall. Couldn't retrace his steps, and he was too injured to do anything but crawl. We checked both up near where his horse died, and down at the bottom where the wagon broke. The beasts had destroyed almost everything. But even shredded documents leave scraps behind. Parchment isn't edible. We should've found something. A corner. A burnt edge. Something. There was nothing."
Tharion's eyes were cold now. Focused. "That wasn't a coincidence. Someone took the letters. Or intercepted the shipment before the monsters even attacked. Either way, there's no doubt someone here is trying to stop that road from being built—and they're willing to kill for it."
The room was quiet when he finished.