SOTBW - 203

The village of inns beyond the walls of Noctis Fortress, known as Ferencia, was originally a settlement for people exiled from the main city. However, as the number of freight wagons entering the fortress increased and more merchants passed through, it naturally became a stopping point lined with inns.

After selling their goods at the fortress, merchants would come to Ferencia to rest and recover from their travels. Surprisingly, the village maintained decent public order, thanks to mercenaries with some influence from the fortress extending their reach into the area. As a result, merchants could conduct their business without fear of being ambushed and robbed of their entire fortune in the dead of night.

Because of this relative safety, people seeking to buy expensive or rare items discreetly also gravitated toward Ferencia. Most travelers passing through were like flowing water, drifting from place to place, so they paid little attention to strangers they encountered on the streets.

The blackmailer who had demanded Luna by exploiting Lucas’ weakness likely knew the atmosphere of Ferencia well.

Maurice glanced at the sack carried by his servant. Inside it was Luna. Unaware of what was happening to her, Luna had been quietly placed in the sack and brought here without resistance.

Maurice and his servant climbed the stone steps behind the inn and arrived at a shop called “Pofenti General Store.” The shop appeared to be closed for the evening, as a sign instructed visitors to return tomorrow. Maurice absentmindedly turned the locked doorknob. Whether due to a lack of customers or because it had long gone out of business, the rusted sound of the knob turning echoed eerily.

Holding up a lantern, Maurice double-checked the sign. This was indeed the Pofenti General Store mentioned by the blackmailer.

The servant, perhaps tired of carrying the sack, subtly placed it on the snow-covered ground. Maurice, preoccupied with shining his lantern around the dim surroundings, paid no attention to the servant.

The servant, who loved food as much as his large frame suggested, suddenly sniffed the air. A faint scent of cinnamon wafted from the shoulder that had been carrying the sack. Normally, such an aromatic smell would make him hungry, but for some reason, this time it gave him an unsettling feeling—as though someone had rubbed cinnamon on a dead fish pulled from icy river waters.

Shaking off the strange thought, the servant stomped his frozen feet and shook his head. He convinced himself it was just the cold winter air messing with his mind. Picking up the sack again, he dismissed his unease.

Maurice gazed down at the inn at the foot of the steep stone steps, his expression troubled. The lively noise spilling out from the inn helped alleviate some of the eerie atmosphere, but the idea of proceeding with this matter without Lucas’ knowledge still worried him.

Though he was confident he wouldn’t regret it even if Lucas later scolded him harshly, Maurice knew Lucas tended to lose his temper over anything related to Maximón. Maurice was certain Maximón was behind this scheme. At least among those in Noctis Fortress, Maximón was the only one who would go out of his way to make Lucas uncomfortable.

At that moment, the clock tower in the distant square chimed, signaling midnight. This was the appointed time to meet the blackmailer and hand over Luna.

Maurice tensed, scanning the area cautiously.

Suddenly, a flicker of light appeared in the previously silent window of the general store.

Sensing the glow from behind him, Maurice turned back toward the shop. Footsteps emerged from within the eerily quiet store, and soon the rusty door creaked open.

The ominous sound of the door made Maurice step back. Out came an elderly man whose back was so hunched that he could barely lift his head.

The old man alternated the flickering lantern light between Maurice and the servant before narrowing his eyes.

“Where is the promised slave?”

Startled by the grating voice, Maurice hesitated and glanced at the servant. The servant reluctantly lowered the sack containing Luna.

Though the old man appeared to be well over ninety, he possessed surprising strength, dragging the sack with Luna inside into the shop without effort.

Maurice looked around the cluttered interior of the shop, filled with mysterious bottles and odd objects, when the old man thrust the lantern close to his face, forcing him to retreat. The cantankerous-looking elder glared at Maurice with squinted eyes and issued a low warning:

“Tell your young master not to meddle in foolishness and to live quietly. This time, we’ll take the slave, but next time, we won’t be so forgiving.”

Without waiting for a response, the old man attempted to close the door. Maurice, irritated, blocked the door with his foot.

“Wait! So it is Maximón, isn’t it? Did Maximón send you? Where are you taking that slave?”

Frustrated by Maurice’ interference, the old man twisted his face in anger and swung the lantern, striking Maurice hard under the chin. Maurice let out a cry and collapsed onto the snowy ground.

The shocked servant rushed to support Maurice, but the young steward had already rolled his eyes back and fainted from the blow. The old man spat disdainfully at the unconscious Maurice.

“Hmph! If you want to live long, stop prying into things that don’t concern you. Just keep your heads down and live like mice! That’s the only way you and your reckless young master will survive!”

With a loud bang, the decrepit door slammed shut. The servant, unsure of what to do, hoisted Maurice over his shoulder and descended the stone steps.

The old man extinguished the lantern and watched the servant disappear into the darkness before whistling softly. In response, a massive, dust-covered cabinet rumbled and smoothly slid to the side, revealing a hidden space.

Men emerged from the secret room and glanced at the sack left by the doorway. They had been told a person was inside, but it was strange how still and quiet it remained.

One of the men boldly untied the rope binding the sack’s opening. As he opened it, his eyes met Luna’s, who was crouched inside, trembling with fear.

The old man, after carefully inspecting Luna’s face, tapped his cane on the floor and nodded.

“This is the item we’ve been waiting for. Take her quickly. The client is an impatient one, so we must hurry.”

The men retied the sack’s opening and hoisted Luna over their shoulders. One of them entered the hidden passage first and pulled down on a torch holder embedded in the wall. As the torch bent completely, a brick fell from the left wall. Reaching into the hole and pushing the wall revealed a staircase.

The men exchanged glances with the old man, signaling him to clean up behind them, then descended the dimly lit stairs with practiced ease.

This staircase was a secret escape route built in preparation for the possible fall of Noctis Fortress. It had been constructed by the Rochelle family as a precaution, but after they were exiled from Noctis, the hidden exit was lost to time.

The underground passage was so narrow it felt suffocating, and the air was much colder than above ground. The men couldn’t allow Luna to see this secret tunnel—it was an escape route that Rockbell had kept hidden from everyone, even the king, as insurance against discovery.

Relying on a single oil lamp, the men walked silently until they stopped before a staircase leading upward. One of them climbed the steps and knocked on the iron gate blocking the entrance.

“Unbreakable Noctis,” came the voice from the other side.

The man calmly responded:

“Noctis built on sacrifice.”

At the correct password, the heavy iron gate swung open with a deep groan. Warm air rushed out, thawing their frostbitten cheeks. The men, satisfied with their task, placed the heavy sack near the fireplace and quietly left the house.

The person inside the sack didn’t move an inch. Despite the suffocating conditions, she remained unnervingly still, like a corpse.

Then, the sound of the door opening echoed through the room.

The visitor firmly shut the door, brushing away the winter chill. The person inside the sack swallowed nervously.

The distinct, heavy footsteps of military boots stopped abruptly in front of the sack. The crackling of firewood in the hearth seemed unusually loud.

Without hesitation, the visitor untied the tightly bound rope at the sack’s opening. As the orange glow of the flames flickered at the edge of the sack, long, luscious platinum-blond hair spilled out.

He opened the sack wide to confirm that Rockbell had completed the task properly. The woman trapped inside looked around cautiously, trying to figure out where she had been taken, until her gaze landed on the black military boots pressing down on the edge of the sack.

Her trembling eyes shifted to the side. Through her tangled platinum locks, crimson eyes—eerily reminiscent of Najane’s—glinted faintly. Maximón slowly lowered the sack’s opening from his hand. His pupils quivered as he stared at Luna.

This… this woman…

Was she truly alive?

It wasn’t just pity for her emaciated state that made him feel this way. Maximón possessed senses far sharper and more precise than any ordinary person, allowing him to detect scents and presences others couldn’t. Though Rockbell had claimed this sack contained Najane’s younger sister, Luna Powley, what Maximón pulled out was unmistakably a corpse.

Despite blinking, breathing, and delicately moving her fingers, the being before him was undeniably dead.

Maximón’s expression hardened in shock. He looked at Luna again, hoping to deny what his instincts were telling him, but the result was the same. The stench of death mingled with an overwhelming scent of cinnamon cologne filled his nostrils.

Instinctively repulsed, Maximón furrowed his brow. Luna, unsure of what to do, lowered her gaze.

“…Are you my new master?”

She asked timidly, her nearly bare body hugged tightly by her arms. Her voice carried the chilling scent of a corpse on the verge of decay.

Instead of answering, Maximón stood and stepped back. The moment Luna spoke, he nearly unsheathed the dagger at his waist to slit her throat. But it was the dagger Najane had gifted him. To use it on Luna would be irreversible.

Calmly brushing his hair back, Maximón looked down at her. Aside from her eye color, she bore almost no resemblance to Najane. Could her different appearance be why he felt such unease?

No, that couldn’t be. Maximón’s senses had never failed him before. This was a natural revulsion—one anyone might feel upon encountering a living corpse. Of course, ordinary people wouldn’t even realize this woman was dead.

Luna, still curled up in the half-open sack, cautiously moved her numb legs while stealing glances at Maximón. Unconsciously, Maximón reached for his dagger but quickly corrected his posture. Luna looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment, trembling with such intense fear that even the slightest touch could make her faint.

Though he could find no trace of Najane in this fragile, delicate figure, the fact remained that this girl was her younger sister. Thinking of Najane, Maximón forced himself to ignore the unpleasant scent invading his nostrils.

This wasn’t what mattered right now. Najane was waiting for Luna—and only Luna. Therefore, no matter what, he had to bring Luna back to the mansion. To do that, he needed to shake off this revolting feeling as quickly as possible.

Reluctantly, Maximón tossed the cloak he had prepared earlier toward Luna. She grasped it with trembling hands and raised her head, her gaze silently asking where they were going.

Standing by the door, Maximón avoided her eyes and spoke.

“I’ll take you to your sister. Emaydis is waiting for you.”