Karsu entered the city with calm steps, as though the ground itself grew heavy beneath the weight of the blood clinging to his clothes and sword. Darkness draped itself over the alleys like a dim curtain, while oil lamps bled trembling light that shimmered across the damp stones.
The scent of smoke still clung to his coat, mingling with the rusty tang of iron rising from his blade—as though the past refused to be washed away from him.
He stopped at a narrow turn and cast a glance at the passing faces—exhausted adventurers, merchants dragging their carts, children sleeping beside the pavements.
Karsu had passed through this city before, yet he retained little of its features save something vague: a fogged map in his mind, riverbanks no longer where they once were, and bathhouses whose paths he had forgotten.
With the first threads of sunlight, the chill of dawn slowly began to recede, yielding to the warmth of day.
Karsu continued walking until his eyes fell upon the same party he had seen earlier at the gate.
Their faces shone with satisfaction, laughing like those returning from a feast, not a slaughter. And yet, their laughter did nothing to hide the thick blood still clinging to their clothes, not yet dry.
Karsu watched them from afar with one half-lidded eye.
From the type of fabric they wore, and from the cheap daggers hanging at their belts, he concluded they were from the lower tier of adventurers—and that they would certainly head toward a public river, not private bathhouses.
He did not think much of it—he simply followed them in silence, like a heavy shadow slipping through the crowd.
Before long, the road opened onto a narrow river flowing behind old houses, surrounded by drowsy plants swaying with the breeze.
There, the party stopped, and the sound of water rose, mingled with intermittent feminine laughter.
Karsu took position among the dense shrubs, steady as a hunter awaiting the right moment. Even his breathing he concealed, reducing it to a thin thread of air barely reaching his lungs.
The wait stretched longer than expected—two female members of the party had begun bathing, water scattering around them.
They were five adventurers, a clichéd mixture one might see on the outskirts of any city.
At the front stood a massive dark-skinned man, his body like a boulder walking on two legs. His sword was broader than his forearms, and his laughter resembled the beating of drums. Beside him was a tall, long-haired man whose face overflowed with confidence, carrying a bow more ornate than practical.
The third was short, his hair straw-blond, eyes gleaming with a merchant's cunning rather than a warrior's. He carried twin daggers and spoke often.
As for the two women—one had short chestnut hair and gray eyes, her features sharp and composed. The other was younger, with dark black hair and honey-colored eyes, more lively and innocent, bearing a frank spontaneity unsuited to battlefields.
The three men sat behind a massive rock that shielded the river, whispering and joking after finishing their bath, while the two girls stepped into the water with soft laughter. The rock separated the genders more for modesty than anything else—but what they concealed from their companions was not hidden from another pair of eyes…
After assessing the situation from within the shrubs, Karsu identified the tallest tree in reach. He moved with the fluidity of smoke in night's darkness until he settled upon a sturdy branch overlooking the entire scene.
From there, Karsu sat in absolute silence. His sword rested against his shoulder, his black eyes following the women from behind intertwined branches. There was no desire or curiosity in his gaze—only pure coldness.
Yet, at one moment, his thoughts stilled.
For a single instant, his mind ceased its broader analysis and fixed upon the girl.
A cold flash crossed his eyes, too swift to be caught—as though something had broken the monotony before him.
"What…?" he whispered inwardly, his rigid tone tightening.
"She is… a villager? And from the common class as well? How did she sense my presence when I have concealed it completely?"
He continued staring for a longer moment at the black-haired girl—"Lina," as her companions called her—when she suddenly turned toward the trees and said sharply in a raised voice:
"You idiots, stop peeking!"
Silence fell briefly. The three men behind the rock looked startled and exchanged surprised glances. None of them had been looking at all—they had been speaking about loot and hot baths. Yet she had spoken with firm, habitual certainty.
The blond stammered,
"Lina… we weren't looking! I swear—"
The long-haired one cut him off with a low laugh.
"Strange… she's usually the one who defends us in front of the others. Her instincts are never wrong."
The short one whispered,
"Maybe she was hit in the last battle… or imagined something."
As for Karsu, he remained silent upon his high branch. His usual coldness had not changed, but his eyes no longer followed the scene—they followed her specifically.
"Even if she belonged to the Scout Qaz category… she should not be able to sense me. She cannot. I conceal my presence even from that kind."
He thought this, yet a faint trace of curiosity lingered in his mind. Not urgent desire—merely a subtle sense that something did not align with his calculations.
At last, once the party had completely departed and their footsteps faded beyond the trees, Karsu descended from the trunk.
He advanced steadily toward the nearby river. At the bank, he knelt calmly and began washing from his body the remaining blood of others with cold detachment. The water, tinted faint red by sunlight, touched his skin with gentle chill.
The sun rose slowly behind the trees, and the air carried a final remnant of cold before it would be swallowed by midday heat. He removed his jacket and washed it carefully, his gaze fixed upon the reflection of his fractured face between light and shadow.
"It is good to relax the muscles. But what of my core? I must find a place to stay and recharge it," he murmured, barely audible.
When he finished cleaning himself, he stood and walked with measured steps toward the city.
The alleys had grown crowded with people whispering in curiosity, speaking of the disappearance of the inspection officer and his assistant without a trace. The whispers were many, but what caught his attention most was the tone of unease in their voices—as though something greater than murder had occurred.
He heard certain phrases repeated:
"He must have fled outside the city…"
"The guards are searching the gates… no one will escape this time…"
Karsu looked on with a cold gaze, neither joy nor regret within it, and said inwardly:
"How amusing… their oppressive system has reshaped their minds. It has programmed them to expect betrayal and flight to such an extent that they are entirely incapable of seeing the killer standing before them."
"Even their superiors… arrogance has blinded them."
Karsu continued along the stone-paved road until he neared one of the smaller inns.
On his way, a short, bloated man drew his attention. His fat swayed with every step, sweat dripping from his brow. He held a piece of roasted meat in his thick hands, while three guards struggled to keep pace behind him.
He laughed loudly, his voice so boisterous that passersby recoiled.
"Hahaha, again? It hasn't even been a year this time and they fled! Hahaha!"
Karsu offered him only a single glance—long, calm—before continuing his steady steps toward the inn, as though the entire scene were nothing more than a minor detail in a vast painting only he could see.