Eleres cast the burly man a calm glance, voice even as still water. "For the road."
The man's grin widened, revealing a mouthful of crooked, yellowed teeth. At first glance it was the smile of a simple trader, but in the depths of his eyes glinted something far less innocent. "Brother," he said, voice warm and familiar, "you're not gonna like the junk they're peddling here. I've got good leather at home—northern snow wolf hide. Warm in the winter, cool in the summer. Suits your… style."
Eleres tilted his head slightly, feigning the hesitation of a man caught between frugality and temptation. "How much?"
The burly man waved the question away as though brushing dust from his sleeve, stepping half a pace closer. His grin softened into the false intimacy of a long-lost friend. "Talking money ruins friendships. You look like you've been on the road for some time. I'll give you a pair—for free. Let's call it… making a friend."
Around them, a few stall owners exchanged furtive glances. One man's mouth opened as if to speak, but he shut it again, busying himself with arranging a pile of rusted scrap. Another shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking toward Eleres before dropping to the ground.
Inside Eleres's mind, the Black Seal System stirred awake.
[undead's eyes]—Scanning target…[System Notification]: Hostility detected: 71/100.
His gaze lowered, the faintest curve touching his lips. Outwardly, it was the smile of someone who had taken the bait; inwardly, every step of the coming encounter was already mapped.
They left the market behind. The air grew heavier, the shouts of vendors replaced by the drip of unseen water. Narrow stone alleys wound like veins through the outskirts of town, damp moss clinging to the walls. Water seeped between bricks and pooled in hollows worn by countless feet. In the gutter, foul black water slid past the bloated corpse of a long-dead rat, the stench of rot clinging to the back of the throat.
The burly man led him to a hut that looked ready to collapse. Its walls were cracked like old parchment, roof tiles missing in ragged gaps. The door hung crookedly from a single hinge, swaying faintly as if a strong wind might rip it free.
Eleres's expression remained unchanged, but his fingers flexed inside his sleeve. A ribbon of darkness—black as fresh ink—unfurled along the ground, slipping ahead like a hunting serpent. It rounded the hut's corner, seeped through the crooked door, and vanished inside.
It was the only undead he could currently summon—the Third Prince. In life, a commander of men, blade in hand, leading cavalry charges into the heart of enemy lines. In death, a silent shadow bound to Eleres's will—patient, watchful, and utterly lethal.
The burly man pushed the door inward with a creak. "Careful," he said over his shoulder, "light's a bit dim inside."
Through the Third Prince's eyes, Eleres saw the interior as clearly as if he stood there: A dim oil lamp swayed from a bent nail in the ceiling, shadows crawling along damp, mildewed walls. The air reeked of rust and rotting meat. In the front left corner, two thickset men stood with short clubs, feet planted, knuckles white around their grips. Behind the door, a tall figure waited with a rough burlap sack in his hands, his grin full of jagged teeth. By the window crouched a thin man, long knife glinting in the half-light, its blade still crusted with dark, dried blood.
Four predators in position. One step inside, and the trap would close.
Eleres's gaze skimmed over the burly man's back without change. Every enemy, every angle, every route of escape was already marked in his mind.
He stepped across the threshold. The Third Prince rose from the shadows like a living shadow and took his place behind the sack-wielder.
The door slammed shut. Wood groaned. Four figures lunged.
The sack came first, flaring wide. Eleres's hand moved in a blur—iron fingers clamped the attacker's wrist. Bone ground under the pressure, joints popping like dry twigs. The man gasped, shock freezing his grin. Eleres drove his elbow into the man's chest with bone-breaking precision. Ribs cracked beneath the blow; air and spittle burst from his mouth. He crumpled, the sack falling limp.
From the left, a club whistled toward Eleres's neck. Without looking, Eleres's arm shot up, catching the weapon mid-swing. The man's eyes went wide as his strike froze midair. With a twist and a wrench, the club was his. The counterblow was brutal, the wood smashing into the attacker's cheek with a wet crack. Blood and teeth sprayed the wall.
The second club-wielder roared and charged from the side—only to halt abruptly as the Third Prince's sword swept up, edge resting coldly against his throat. A quick pivot, and the hilt slammed into his jaw, dropping him like a puppet with its strings cut.
By the window, the knife-man lunged. Eleres closed the distance in two strides. One hand caught the attacker's wrist, twisting until tendon and bone gave way with a sharp snap. The knife clattered to the floorboards. A knee strike followed—short, sharp, and merciless. The man's head snapped back, blood spraying from his mouth before he collapsed, limbs twitching.
The burly man had finally drawn his blade, a jagged length of steel with a chipped edge. But Eleres was already moving. He stepped in, pivoted, and drove his boot into the man's gut with the force of a battering ram. Air burst from his lungs in a choked grunt as his body was hurled backward into the table. Wood shattered in an explosion of splinters; crockery and rusted tools clattered to the floor.
For a heartbeat, only the oil lamp's sway marked the passing of time.
Eleres walked through the wreckage, boots crunching on broken wood and glass. He reached down, picked up the wolfhide gloves from the debris, and brushed away the dust. Sliding them onto his hands, he fastened each clasp with care. The pale, blood-veined marks on his skin vanished from sight.
He looked down at the burly man, who lay gasping amid the splinters, and spoke with quiet finality: "Thank you for your generosity. They fit perfectly."