Only minutes passed before Karsu left the narrow alley behind him, abandoning the city’s whispers and its restless suspicion.
The tavern was close—a broad wooden door with an oil lamp hanging above it, its noise spilling into the street like a chaotic invitation.
He paused for a brief moment, adjusted his coat, then pushed the door open and entered.
Dense warmth. The scent of wine and roasted meat. Laughter untouched by fear—at least, not yet.
And at the heart of it all, Karsu stepped in quietly.
He took a seat at the edge of the tavern. A waiter approached him with courteous composure.
“What will you have, sir?”
“A cup of water. Two pieces of mutton.”
Karsu replied without expression.
With a faint smile, the waiter said, “It will be ready at once.”
Then he added, “And your drink, sir?”
Without looking away from a group seated two tables away, Karsu answered indifferently:
“I do not drink.”
A complicated look flickered across the waiter’s face.
Hmph… poorer than I expected. Usually men dressed like him are wealthy… but to refuse a drink…
He nodded to himself and left to serve another table.
---
At the central table sat a few simple hunters—men who sold beast fangs and forest herbs to earn a crust barely enough to keep them alive. They laughed and whispered with crude sarcasm.
They were loud. Obnoxious. Nearly unconscious from drink.
“How can a sane man get drunk in a world like this?” Karsu thought faintly.
“Do they not fear death? Or are they rushing toward it? Or were they born without reason at all?”
His mind had barely formed the question when the answer entered.
A broad-shouldered man stepped inside. Across his chest rested a black scarf, from which hung a dark medallion that shimmered with a faint green glow.
—A rare metal known as Veralin, granted only to Lords of the Qaz.—
An unspoken silence fell across the tavern.
The noise did not stop completely—but it lowered by one degree. As though the place had suddenly remembered it must be cautious.
The black scarf was wrapped around his neck with deliberate display, the Veralin medallion swaying with each step. Its glow was not bright.
But it was enough.
Enough to silence villagers.
Enough to lower gazes.
Enough to remind everyone of their place.
He stopped at the entrance, letting his eyes lazily sweep across the faces, as if searching for something lost… or for someone suitable to become a passing victim.
“Filthy tavern, as always.”
He did not raise his voice. Yet everyone heard.
Two hunters laughed nervously before choking the sound back down. The waiter bowed slightly without being told.
Karsu… did not move.
He sat exactly as he was, the cup of water before him, his back to the wall, eyes fixed on the central table as though the man had never entered at all.
And that was what irritated the Lord of the Qaz.
He walked slowly toward one of the drunken hunters—a thin young man in tattered clothes, old bite marks on his arm. A beast-hunter from the class that did not live long.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The Lord nudged the cup from the table with his foot. It crashed to the floor, spilling.
“Who allowed you to sit here?”
The young man lifted his head in confusion. His mouth opened. Closed.
There was no correct answer.
“Sir… I…”
The slap was not strong.
But it was humiliating.
The young man fell to the ground, his shoulder striking wood.
No one moved.
Not only from fear.
But because the scene was familiar.
“You commoners forget yourselves too quickly.”
“You think taverns are meant for you.”
The Lord bent slightly, grabbed the hunter by the hair and lifted him halfway, enough for their eyes to meet.
“Remember this well: your existence here is because we permit it.”
At that moment, a woman moved from one side of the tavern.
She had been sitting alone. Her dark gray coat was neatly fastened. A small leather book rested on the table before her, unopened.
Her black hair was tied with deliberate carelessness. Her eyes were calm.
Too calm for a place like this.
She lifted her head and watched the scene without expression.
Around her neck, barely visible, was a thin silver thread engraved with the number one—signifying First Level.
She did not speak.
She did not intervene.
But the Lord of the Qaz felt her.
He felt a gaze without fear.
Without respect.
He froze for a moment, then straightened and shoved the hunter back to the ground.
“Disappear before I change my mind.”
The hunter crawled away.
Silence remained behind.
The Lord turned, searching for the source of that irritation—
until his eyes fell on Karsu.
A quiet young man.
No badge.
No visible Qaz.
No fear.
He stared one second longer than necessary.
“And you…”
Karsu did not raise his head immediately.
He finished his water, placed the cup down gently, then lifted his eyes.
The gaze was empty. Yet deep.
Like the bottom of a well that reflected no light.
He said nothing.
And the Lord felt something wrong.
Not a threat.
A void.
As though his authority—so accustomed to silencing others—had found nothing to grip.
He clenched his teeth and turned away.
“Filthy tavern… and people who do not know their place.”
He said it louder this time, addressing the room rather than the man.
Then he walked toward the seated woman.
She closed her book slowly and glanced at him—a short, assessing look.
There was no admiration in her eyes.
No disgust.
Only awareness.
Karsu remained seated.
His hands steady.
The Jowf beneath his chest still… but awake.
He murmured softly, unheard:
“Mid-twenties… hm.”
Then he focused on the Lord’s retreating back.
“Incompetent. Incompetent—and yet, even men like him can dominate those beneath them.”
In this city.
No—in this world.
That was natural.
---
Outside, night had fully claimed dominion.
Torches fixed upon stone walls swayed with the wind, casting distorted shadows across the paved streets. The city did not sleep.
It merely pretended.
In a side alley, away from the tavern’s fading noise, a man stood before a large leather map pinned to a wooden wall.
His fingers moved across inked symbols—pausing, hesitating, then advancing with renewed certainty.
He wore neither official guard attire nor common rags. His dark coat was simple and practical, adorned only by a small metal badge engraved with the number three.
The investigator tightened his leather glove and narrowed his amber eyes at a small circle drawn near the eastern district.
“Inspection officer missing. Assistant missing. No blood. No witnesses.”
He muttered data as if solving an incomplete equation.
A subordinate approached cautiously.
“Sir Ained, the locals insist it’s a routine escape case. I’m inclined to agree. Why not rest and let the Lords of the Qaz handle it?”
The subordinate yawned.
Ained did not turn. His finger slid across the tavern’s marked location.
“People never notice small details… until they are revealed before their eyes. Then they arrogantly claim they were obvious from the start.”
He finally raised his head, looking toward the road leading to the Ear of Grain Inn.
“Seybid. Inform the captain I have seized the list of all strangers who entered the city this week.”
Then, with a sudden spark in his eyes:
“And tell him not to wait for me before tomorrow.”
He paused.
“Because I will have closed this case.”
After dispatching his subordinate, Ained walked toward the tavern.
As he approached, he sensed something unusual. At this hour, the place should have been a center of distant noise. Instead—
Silence.
“Did a fight break out? Or did a Lord of the Qaz finish off a villager?”
He favored the latter. Fights left murmured noise. Absolute silence meant something greater.
He sighed and pushed the door open.
Inside, the noise was dim. Drunkenness had turned to exhaustion.
No blood. No wreckage.
But his eyes quickly found two Lords of the Qaz seated tensely at a table. Their strained expressions betrayed the source of the atmosphere.
He scanned the room, recalling a description.
“Pitch-black hair. Dark eyes. Broad shoulders. Calm face.”
His gaze settled precisely.
“Ha… found you.”
Without permission, he pulled a chair and sat across from the man.
“Lord Karsu, is it?”
No response.
“…Lord Karsu?”
Karsu lifted his water slowly and drank.
Ained’s pleasant expression faded.
“Lord Karsu. I am speaking to you.”
Karsu’s dead eyes rose.
“Did your mother not teach you manners? Or was that part neglected?”
Ained stiffened.
But recovered quickly.
“Pardon? Would you repeat that?”
Despite his smile, humiliation edged his tone.
“You should introduce yourself before asking others for theirs.”
Ained swallowed irritation.
“Fair enough. My apologies. I am Ained.”
Without looking at him, Karsu replied:
“…Karsu.”
The waiter rushed forward nervously to serve Ained, only to be dismissed with a wave.
The waiter retreated, fuming internally.
Ained leaned forward.
“You entered the city two days ago.”
It was not a question.
“And by what right do you ask, courteous Ained?”
Is he insulting me politely now? Ained thought.
“I am not speaking as Ained. I am speaking as Investigator Ained.”
Karsu’s expression did not change.
“You arrived this morning. Coincidentally, an inspection officer and his assistant vanished.”
Karsu glanced at his empty cup.
“I suppose so… yes. I believe I arrived today.”
Ained’s mind moved rapidly.
Only one foreign footprint at the scene.
No signs of struggle.
No scream.
The assistant had possessed a Qaz capable of detecting hostile intent—yet Karsu had been registered with perfectly clean intent.
Either you killed them in a moment you yourself did not foresee…
Or killing is so natural to you that it causes no disturbance in your will.
To eliminate two First-Level Qaz Lords silently required at least peak Second Level.
And Karsu radiated restrained power.
But why?
Money? No.
Provocation? Unlikely.
Even a fragment of Sadeem from Karsu would have been enough to subdue them.
Sadeem.
The oppressive projection of will.
Ained let his tone grow light again.
“Silence can sometimes be a finer confession than words… especially when one tries to conceal power that city walls cannot contain.”
His smile widened.
Karsu observed him sidelong.
“You are wondering about my rank?”
A pause.
“What if I told you I am merely First Level?”
“First Level?”
Ained tilted his head toward the tavern.
The atmosphere had already shifted.
He had released his Sadeem into the room.
A suffocating pressure spread invisibly. Patrons collapsed one by one—some fainting mid-bite, others swaying before dropping unconscious.
Even the two Lords of the Qaz attempted to release their own Sadeem in resistance—but their force quickly crumbled. Within minutes, they too fell into deep slumber.
Karsu finished his last bite with deliberate calm.
“Very well. I am Third Level.”
Ained’s eyes flashed.
“And is it coincidence that your Qaz… is Stone Qaz?”
He had analyzed the crime scene carefully. Strange rock dust lingered despite the wind. No structure explained it.
Only one answer.
Stone Qaz.
“Yes,” Karsu said evenly.
“I am a Lord of Stone Qaz.”
Excitement trembled within Ained.
Every piece aligned.
Every deduction correct.
Now all that remained—
Was to raise the pressure of the Sadeem further…
And force the final truth into the open.
