'This is awkward,' Reid thought.
He was currently in Old Man Scrappy's home, for the first time in a long while, sitting on a sofa and waiting for Scrappy to finish preparing breakfast.
He had sent both Rusty and Nyx to the inventory to let them rest and recover their energy.
The old man's house was located near the exit of the Scrapyard, allowing him to quickly respond to emergencies.
Scrappy had converted an old train cart into his home, somehow managing to make all his furniture—which included two sofas, a center table, a TV, a bed at the far end separated by a sliding door, a cooking stove, and several lamps—fit perfectly without the place feeling cramped.
On the center table was a picture frame showing Old Man Scrappy carrying a little girl, no more than five years old, on his shoulders.
Her wide smile revealed a missing tooth, and Scrappy, who looked much younger, was smiling back at her.
Reid picked up the frame for a closer look.
'This wasn't here the last time,' he thought.
Just then, Old Man Scrappy spoke from behind him.
"That's my granddaughter—a large bundle of cuteness," he said fondly.
"I see. Where is she now?" Reid asked.
"With her mom. They live in the city," Scrappy answered with a light smile. "She might be around your age—or maybe a little older."
The old man paused briefly before placing two plates of pancakes on the table.
He returned with two mugs of coffee, handing one to Reid before sitting on the smaller sofa.
Reid looked impatient, clearly expecting the old man to start questioning him, and Scrappy noticed.
"Let's eat first. We'll talk later," Scrappy said.
Reid grabbed a pancake dripping with honey and took a bite. He was surprised by how good it tasted and quickly started eating faster.
"Slow down, kid. I know I'm a great cook, but you shouldn't eat that fast," Scrappy said with a chuckle.
"Thank you for the food," Reid said once they were done eating.
The old man's demeanor shifted. His face turned serious, and Reid straightened his back instinctively.
A heavy pressure suddenly descended on him, making it hard to breathe—but it vanished a moment later, as if it had never been there.
Even so, the message was clear: Do not lie to me.
"Reid, although I appreciate your help during the beast siege, when and where did you get two Silver-tier forged beasts?" Scrappy began, his tone calm but firm.
He wasn't trying to scare the boy—he just wanted to make sure Reid wasn't involved in something dangerous.
"I've had Rusty for a month now and Nyx for two weeks. I found them in the Scrapyard and fixed them," Reid answered honestly.
"Rusty?" Scrappy raised an eyebrow. "As far as I remember, Rusty was an Iron-tier forged beast, not some wolf-like creature."
"You're right. Both Rusty and Nyx were Iron-tier forged beasts, but I found a way to evolve them," Reid explained.
"Evolve? As in increasing their rank?" Scrappy asked in disbelief.
"Yes," Reid said simply.
"And I suppose you're not going to tell me how," Scrappy added.
"I'm sorry," Reid replied.
"It's alright, kid. We've all got our secrets," Scrappy said with a sigh.
"But forged beast evolution?" He leaned back in his chair, feeling a headache coming on.
Reid having the ability to evolve forged beasts was groundbreaking—but also dangerous.
If other tamers or Forgemasters found out, they'd do anything to capture Reid or steal his methods.
That was even more reason for Old Man Scrappy to follow through with his plan.
Where he intended to send the boy might not be the safest place, but at least there he'd be treated as an asset, not a tool.
"Alright, kid, I've been thinking," Scrappy said, retrieving an envelope from his pocket. "What do you think about joining the military?"
In another part of the Scrapyard, a cloaked man knelt, forehead pressed to the ground, before his master through a flickering hologram.
"I-I apologize, master. Plan B also failed, and I'll accept any punishment you see fit," he stammered, voice trembling.
"I see," the master replied calmly. "Although I am disappointed, I'll give you another chance. Finish off the old man—do not fail this time."
"Yes, master. Thank you for your generosity," the man said quickly. "I won't fail you again!"
The cloaked figure repeatedly bowed, his forehead hitting the floor in desperate gratitude.
"You'd better not," the master said, ending the holocall.
Of course, the master didn't believe the cloaked fool could kill Old Man Scrappy. After all, the man was called The Battlefield Reaper for a reason.
No, this was just a way to dispose of a now-useless pawn.
The cloaked man had already been exposed, and in the master's eyes, that made him expendable.
Back in the Scrapyard, the cloaked figure looked around to make sure no one was nearby before removing his cloak. It was the uniform of their cult—one he wore only when speaking to the master.
Underneath, he was a man in his late thirties, with sharp blue eyes and brown hair. He was about to leave when a voice called from above.
"You know, I doubted my eyes earlier, but you really are the cause of the beast siege," said Mark, perched on a nearby rooftop with his owl beside him. "Or am I wrong, John?"
"M-Mark?" John stuttered, clearly startled by his presence. "I-I have no idea what you're talking about."
Mark dropped from the rooftop, landing lightly on his feet. He adjusted his glasses and focused his sharp gaze on John.
"Oh really? But this says otherwise."
He tossed a small device toward John, who caught it instinctively.
On the screen was a video—recorded from a bird's-eye view—showing John entering the wildlands. Beasts wandered nearby, but none attacked him. They ignored him completely, as if he were invisible.
In the footage, John pulled out a strange-looking device and pressed a few buttons. The beasts froze for a moment, then turned toward him and sat obediently, proving he was controlling them.
Moments later, he ordered them toward the Scrapyard—beginning the beast siege.
John froze, gripping the device tightly. He was sure no one had noticed him. Yet this video was undeniable proof.
"It's pretty useful having a scouter and a recorder all in one," Mark said with a wry smile, patting his owl's head. The owl let out an annoyed hoot.
"Didn't you think of your family—of Mia—before doing this?" Mark asked quietly, his tone sad.
John suddenly let out a hysterical laugh, confusing Mark.
"I was chosen by my master to pass his judgment. If he wills you sinners to be punished, it's my duty to carry it out!" John shouted, his voice full of fanatic zeal.
"You found out, so what?" he continued with a sinister grin. "I'll just make sure my secret gets buried with you."
In a surprising show of agility, he lunged towards Mark with a dagger in hand
Mark barely had time to react. He dodged, but the blade grazed his cheek, just enough for John's grin to widen.
Mark froze, body locking up. He couldn't move.
"Surprised, aren't you?" John said, his smile widening. "This dagger's coated with a paralyzing poison. Two hours before it wears off, which is plenty of time to send you to the afterlife."
He walked closer, savoring the fear in Mark's eyes.
"Farewell, Mark," John said softly, raising the dagger high, ready to strike.