Chapter 32: Strange Encounter in the Fog

Chapter 32: An Encounter in the Mist

Silvermist Fort was the largest city on land Sylen had ever seen. He had once thought the town near Gurehan Manor was big enough, but only upon arriving at Silvermist Fort did he realize that there could be so many people, so many houses in the world—a city so vast its borders seemed beyond sight.

Fortunately, Lambert Fergus was a man of importance; otherwise, finding him would have been harder than finding a needle in a haystack.

To prevent his identity from being exposed, Sylen had been changing his appearance throughout the journey. No one would ever guess that he and the young man who entered the city were the same person.

Following the guard's advice, Sylen first went to a bakery to buy two loaves of bread. These were loaves of white bread the poor couldn't afford—warm, fragrant, with golden, crispy crusts and interiors as soft as clouds. Sylen placed one loaf into the Divine Casket to feed Xiaoqi, and broke the other in half.

He hired a street urchin as a guide, paying him with half a loaf of bread. These children spent their days begging on the streets, and knowing that guiding someone could earn them a day's meal, they all scrambled for the job. The child Sylen ultimately chose drew envious glares from the others.

The Hillside District was Silvermist Fort's wealthy quarter, where numerous beautiful residences with red-tiled roofs and white walls dotted the lush, tree-covered hills.

The street urchin led Sylen to a particularly grand mansion. It had its own garden, separated by thick hedges. Through gaps in the hedges, Sylen glimpsed what looked like a fountain and sculptures in the garden.

He gave the other half of the bread to the urchin, who departed with effusive thanks. Then Sylen slipped into a thickly wooded area nearby and changed his appearance once more.

Thanks to the perpetual fog that shrouded Silvermist Fort, he could easily hide his movements. When he emerged, he had become a plain-faced, utterly unremarkable middle-aged man.

Throughout the journey to Silvermist Fort, Sylen had been pondering how to rescue his sister. His plan was to kidnap a servant, take on their appearance to infiltrate Fergus's household, and seize an opportunity to free her.

If a slave were to escape, Fergus would surely launch a citywide search. Sylen could give his sister the Masque of the Actor Emperor to disguise herself and slip out of the city, while he figured out another way to escape. As a last resort, he could rely on his Indestructible Body to fight his way free.

But he had no idea where his sister was being held, nor what defenses Fergus's estate possessed. He planned to observe for a few days, learn Fergus's general movements, and then choose a suitable kidnapping target—someone not too important, lest the ruse be exposed, but not so insignificant that they couldn't access the inner quarters.

Before long, the gates of Fergus's mansion opened, and a carriage slowly emerged.

The carriage bore a blue-and-white shield emblem, which Sylen guessed was the Fergus family crest, as the mansion's gates displayed a banner of the same colors. Sylen memorized the carriage's appearance and followed at a brisk pace, but kept his distance, trailing far behind.

Luckily, the carriage was not fast, and Sylen could barely keep up.

The carriage departed the quiet Hillside District and arrived in the bustling Garden District. This was Silvermist Fort's commercial center, lined with shops and markets packed tightly together, bustling with activity. Fergus was a prominent merchant who owned numerous shops in the Garden District, and inspecting them was part of his daily routine.

The carriage stopped in front of a lumber yard. Sylen quickly pretended to be deeply interested in goods at a street stall, while covertly watching out of the corner of his eye.

Several clerks rushed out, beaming: "Lord Fergus! Welcome, welcome!"

Through the carriage window, Sylen saw a middle-aged man inside. He had a neatly trimmed beard, wore exquisite blue-and-white attire, had a heavy silver chain around his neck, and an ostentatious white feather adorned his hat.

The clerks respectfully opened the carriage door, but the first to step out was not Fergus—it was a figure clad entirely in black.

Even the figure's face was covered by a mask, making it impossible to tell not only their features but even their gender. The figure moved with agility and grace, first scanning the surroundings upon stepping down, confirming there was no danger, before turning to help Lord Fergus step down from the carriage.

Fergus swaggered toward the shop, with the black-clad figure following closely at his heels, never leaving his side.

Sylen thought that the black-clad figure must be Fergus's bodyguard. Given Fergus's wealth and status, hiring an expert for personal protection was perfectly natural. But the figure carried no weapons—did he rely purely on martial arts to protect his employer? Or perhaps...

Was the black-clad figure a superhuman being?

In that case, weapons would indeed be unnecessary. Superhuman powers were far more effective than any weapon.

For Sylen, this was bad news. Even if he managed to rescue his sister, he would have to face being intercepted and pursued by a superhuman. His previous battles had all been against ordinary people. He had no experience fighting superhumans, and his heart began to pound with unease.

Fergus spent some time at the lumber yard, then boarded the carriage with the black-clad figure and headed to the next location. Sylen quickly followed.

Across the street, a gray-clad man who had been examining handicrafts immediately set down what he was holding, pulled his hood low, and followed.

Next, Fergus visited two more lumber yards, a furniture shop, and a spice shop. At noon, he went to the Carpenters' Guild and stayed until mid-afternoon. Then he bought several musical instruments from a music shop and boarded the carriage back toward the Hillside District.

Throughout the day, Sylen encountered the gray-clad man several times. The first and second times, he thought it was a coincidence, but by day's end, the man seemed glued to him. Even after Sylen changed his appearance multiple times and changed his clothes, he couldn't shake the fellow.

Could Fergus have already caught on and sent someone to eliminate him?

Sylen couldn't figure out what he had done wrong. Could Fergus's people see through the Masque of the Actor Emperor?

As dusk approached, the streets filled with people heading home. As the sun set, the fog would grow thicker, becoming nearly impenetrable after nightfall, which was why Silvermist Fort's residents always returned home early.

Sylen ducked into an alley. He had walked through it that morning and remembered the layout—it was a dead end. At the far end, empty wooden crates were stacked, probably left there temporarily by some shop. Sylen stepped onto the crates, leaped up, and, like a flying fish breaching the surface, lightly landed on the rooftop.

Sure enough, moments later, the suspicious figure followed him into the alley. He wore a hood that concealed most of his face, carried a short sword at his waist, and judging by his build, was a young man.

Seeing that the alley was a dead end and empty, he stood still for a few seconds.

In that moment of hesitation, Sylen leapt down from the rooftop.

The gray-clad youth instantly sensed the killing intent from above. Unfazed, he drew his short sword to meet the attack. His target had lured him into a dead end, clearly to trap him, but the target was unarmed while he had a weapon—victory was his!

But the moment he swung his short sword, a resounding clang echoed as the blade struck steel!

The target had somehow produced a longsword from nowhere, and with a single strike, chipped his short sword.

"A Dwarven Longsword!" the youth gasped, wide-eyed. Anyone possessing such a treasure was no ordinary person—what kind of formidable figure had he provoked?!

Sylen struck again, knocking the weapon from his hand, and the blade grazed his ribs, drawing a spray of blood. The youth clutched his wound and retreated step by step, seemingly realizing he was outmatched. Without a second thought, he turned and fled.

Sylen wasn't about to give him the chance. He gave chase with the Dwarven Longsword in hand. But the youth knew the terrain better than he did. Despite his injury, he toppled street debris as he ran and deliberately wove through the labyrinthine narrow alleys, greatly hindering Sylen's pursuit.

In the end, however, superior stamina won out. Sylen gradually closed the distance, and just as he was about to grab the youth, a tall, dark figure suddenly appeared at the alley's mouth ahead.

The youth halted abruptly. The figure strolled in leisurely, each step producing a clinking sound. Sylen looked closely and saw it was a man with iron chains bound around his waist—the "Slave Hunter" he had seen at the city gates that morning!

Could it be that this youth and the Slave Hunter were partners? The youth tracked targets, and when he found Sylen too difficult to handle, he used himself as bait to lure him here for the Slave Hunter to finish the job?

The Slave Hunter seemed thoroughly pleased, letting out a chilling laugh as he swept aside his cloak, revealing a hooked claw attached to a chain.

He swung his arm, and the claw shot forth like a serpent's fang. Sylen instinctively dodged, but he saw the youth and the Slave Hunter both retreat backward simultaneously. The claw grazed the youth's cheek, not wounding him, but tearing through his hood.

Beneath the torn fabric tumbled a cascade of sea-blue curly hair, and faint scales were visible on his cheeks and jaw.

Sylen was stunned.

How could it be one of his own kind?!

Looking at the Slave Hunter, Sylen suddenly realized he had gotten it all wrong. The Slave Hunter's target wasn't him—it was this merfolk youth!

The youth had been following him for unknown reasons, and during their fight and chase, they had stumbled upon the Slave Hunter by sheer misfortune.

Though Sylen didn't understand what grudge the youth held against him, he would never allow a fellow kin to fall into the hands of a Slave Hunter.

His mind raced, and a plan formed.

"This prey is mine!" he deliberately snarled ferociously, swinging his sword at the youth's leg.

Of course, he didn't use full force. The blade sliced across the calf, leaving a deep gash. The youth cried out and collapsed to his knees, and Sylen lunged forward, pinning him firmly to the ground.

The youth had lost a great deal of blood along the way and was already weak—no match for Sylen at all. He could only stare in despair at his two enemies.

"Kill me! I'd rather die than be a slave!"

The Slave Hunter strode over. Sylen, thinking he was going to snatch the captive, raised his Dwarven Longsword to strike.

But the Slave Hunter merely tucked his hook back under his cloak and raised a hand in a "stop" gesture.

"Easy now, kid. You caught him first. I know how it works," the Slave Hunter said with a grin. "I'll let you have this slave, just split the bounty with me. Deal?"

Sylen inwardly rejoiced—this Slave Hunter indeed took him for a fellow hunter.

He kept up the act: "Friend, you've got it wrong. I'm not a professional slave hunter. I'm under orders from my master to recapture a runaway slave."

The Slave Hunter raised an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over the sword in Sylen's hand. "So you've got an employer—no wonder you're so well-equipped. And who might your master be?"

"Why ask? Trying to steal my job?"

"We all eat together, we all earn together." The Slave Hunter shrugged, unbothered. "You're young, still wet behind the ears. In this line of work, sharing intel is everything."

Sylen's eyes flickered, pretending to be convinced. "Fair enough—if you hadn't helped today, that slave would've bolted. I can't split the bounty—haven't even collected it myself—but I can buy you a drink."

The Slave Hunter laughed heartily. "I know a decent tavern. Come on."

"Now? Drinking with a slave in tow?" Sylen frowned.

"Use my chain, run it through his collarbone—he won't get far." The Slave Hunter said absently.

The youth shook hard, eyes welling up but fighting back tears.

The Slave Hunter produced an iron chain from beneath his cloak.

Sylen stepped up, and the instant his hand touched the chain, he lunged his sword forward in a blur, the razor-sharp blade punching clean through the Slave Hunter's chest.

The Slave Hunter's eyes bulged, staring in disbelief at the young man, his face frozen mid-shock. Even dead, he couldn't figure out why this guy would kill over a drink.

Sylen pulled out his sword and shoved the body aside. A flick of his wrist sent blood spraying across the ground like rain.

He sheathed his sword and turned to the youth. "You good to walk?"

The youth stared blankly, eyes glazed, totally lost from the sudden turn of events, as if all the fog of Silvermist Fort had seeped into his brain.

Sylen got annoyed at his deer-in-headlights look. "I don't know what beef you've got with me, but you've clearly got the wrong idea."

The youth's mouth opened and shut, but nothing came out, like a fish flopping on dry land. Finally, he forced out a few words: "You're not... sent by Fergus?"

Sylen was confused. "I thought you were the one Fergus sent."

The youth wasn't buying it. "Then why were you tailing me?"

Sylen was even more puzzled. "Who's tailing you? Weren't you tailing me?"

"I saw you the whole way today—don't act stupid!"

"I was tailing Fergus."

The two stared at each other, both going quiet.

After a long pause, Sylen made the first move. He reached out to help the youth up. The youth eyed him suspiciously, not budging.

Sylen remembered something. Rather than take off the Masque of the Actor Emperor, he focused and shifted back to his real face.

The youth's jaw dropped like a fish out of water. One second this guy was human, the next he was a handsome merman—his own kind!

"No, you... you're one of my people?" he stammered. "No! You can change your face—don't think you can trick me by pretending to be kin!"

"I'm Sylen from the Moontide Tribe. What tribe are you from? What's your name?" Sylen spoke in the mermen's native tongue.

The youth looked like a sunfish dragged up from the deep. "You really are...?"

He frowned, racking his brain, trying to make sense of it all. "So... we were both tailing Fergus, and that's why we ran into each other?"

"Why were you tailing Fergus?" Sylen asked.

"You first!"

Running into a fellow tribesman in a strange land should've been a reason to celebrate, but Sylen just felt annoyed for no clear reason. Why couldn't he just say what he meant? Who taught him this annoying habit of being so cagey?

"Fine, keep your secrets," he said. "Just stay out of my way, or I'll snap your tailbone."

With that, Sylen walked back to the Slave Hunter's corpse.

Staring at the blood-soaked body, he couldn't help but worry.

This wasn't some backwoods spot—it was a big city. If anyone found the body, it'd cause a huge mess.

What to do? Could he shove the body into the Divine Casket? If fish fit in there, a person should work too, right?

The youth could only see Sylen's side. Watching his furrowed brow, he figured out the problem.

The youth had shaken off his shock, put the pieces together, and realized there'd been a mix-up between him and this young tribesman. They both wanted Fergus taken care of—couldn't they team up?

He was about to say "I've got an idea" when he saw Sylen crouch, grab the body's arm, and make a motion like he was shoving it into nothing.

The body disappeared in a blink.

The youth's jaw hit the floor.

"How... how the hell did you do that?!"

A person could only have one Supernatural Ability, but Sylen had already shown two. One of them had to come from a relic.

With powers, relics, top-notch gear, and quick moves—who the hell was he?!

Seeing Sylen get up to leave, the youth shot up like a spring, ready to chase him. A sharp pain shot up his calf, and he let out a grunt, crumpling to the ground.

Sylen looked back, letting out a faint sigh. "Got somewhere to go? I can take you."

The youth nodded. "The God of Dawn church in Riverside."

Sylen didn't get why he'd be staying at a church. But he knew the Dawn Church was against slavery, so it should be safe for them. He ripped a strip of cloth from the youth's clothes, quickly wrapped the wound, then hoisted him up, shifting back to human form. The two hobbled off into the fog.

At the edge of the Garden District and Riverside, a small white church came into view. Above the main entrance hung a Sun Emblem—Sylen recognized it as the mark of the God of Dawn.

The night fog was especially thick, visibility nearly zero, darkness all around. Yet the church blazed with light, every stained-glass window glowing as if the sun itself were trapped inside.

The youth pointed to the main entrance, shook his head, then gestured to the back door. Sylen understood, guiding the youth around to the rear of the church.

There, a hidden door for church staff. Sylen was about to knock when the youth pressed his hand down, knocking himself—three quick, three slow, six knocks in total.

Moments later, the door opened. A young nun in white robes, holding a lantern, peered out cautiously from behind the door.

"Thalassa?" she said, sizing the young man up, her gaze lingering on his ribs and calf. "How did you get hurt?"

So his name was Thalassa, Sylen thought.

"It's a long story, Sister," Thalassa said with a bitter smile. "Is everyone here?"

The sister nodded silently and moved aside.

Sylen helped Thalassa squeeze through the doorway. He expected the sister to lead the way, but she just closed the door, ignored them, and headed toward the altar with her lantern.

"Forget the sister, let's go over there," Thalassa said, pointing to a corridor.

At the end of the corridor was a door leading down. After going down a steep staircase, they entered a cellar.

Sylen had figured it was a storage room for supplies, but instead he saw a long table, a few benches, a candlestick, and a parchment map covered in red ink markings. Four or five people sat around the table, deep in heated discussion.

When they saw Thalassa come in with a stranger, the discussion abruptly stopped. The group's gazes—some startled, some puzzled, some scared—all landed on Sylen at once.

Meanwhile, Sylen swept his eyes over them. These people were a mix of men and women, young and old, all dressed differently, but they had one thing in common: they were all merfolk.

Since leaving the Gurehan estate, this was the first time Sylen had seen so many of his kind together, and he didn't know whether to feel joy or fear. After a whirlwind of thoughts, joy won. These kinfolk all looked healthy and free!

"Thalassa, what happened to you!" the middle-aged woman closest to them exclaimed in shock. She had only one hand; her other sleeve was empty, tucked into her belt.

She said, "You never came back, and we were just talking about whether to go look for you! How did you get hurt? Did Fergus find you?"

Thalassa shook his head with a wry smile. "No. I ran into a slave hunter."

The one-armed middle-aged woman quickly sat him down and told someone else to grab the medical kit. She stared at Sylen and asked, "And who's this?"

"He saved me," Thalassa said quickly. "His name's Sylen. I thought maybe he could join..."

The one-armed woman studied Sylen. "Young man, thanks for saving this foolish boy. I'm Mare, sort of his caretaker."

"I'm not a boy!" Thalassa protested loudly. "And Sylen's younger than me!"

The group looked confused. Only then did Sylen remember he'd taken human form to blend in, and he hardly looked younger than Thalassa. With a flick of his mind, he shifted back to his true appearance.

Gasps echoed through the cellar.

"A superhuman...!"

They exchanged looks of delighted disbelief.

"Thalassa, where'd you find such a treasure?" Mare's voice trembled, her eyes shining.

Thalassa said, "I ran into him while trailing Fergus. He was following the same guy, and I mistook him for my target, so we fought."

"A fight? It was me beating you one-sided," Sylen said irritably.

Someone snickered. The atmosphere quickly relaxed.

Thalassa continued, "I tried to run, but then I ran into a slave hunter."

He recounted their battle with the slave hunter. When they heard the hunter had attacked with hooked claws, the group went pale, and a few instinctively clutched their arms or stomachs, as if remembering old wounds. When Thalassa described how Sylen had disguised himself as a slave hunter and taken the real one down, they all showed expressions of admiration.

"And the body? Did you get rid of it?" Mare asked nervously.

Thalassa shot Sylen an eager look, his eyes sparkling, his face practically saying, "Your turn to shine." Sylen didn't know what he was expecting, but he flicked out the Apostle Card (for some reason, this group couldn't see it), and a corpse thudded onto the floor.

The group stumbled back several steps in fright, and a few even drew their weapons. When they realized the slave hunter was long dead, their looks at Sylen turned to pure awe.

"You've got two abilities at once?" Mare said, stunned. "No, one of them must be a relic effect, right?"

In truth, one was a relic, and the other was a divine gift. Sylen's real supernatural ability, they hadn't even seen yet. But he didn't plan to correct Mare—let them keep misunderstanding.

He nodded, as if to confirm.

Mare's expression was complicated—a mix of envy and regret that they hadn't met him sooner.

"Young man, what's your beef with Fergus?"

Sylen crossed his arms in displeasure. "You've been talking among yourselves since we got here, dragging me in without telling me anything. I should be the one asking: who are you people, and what do you want?"

Mare was surprised. "Thalassa, you didn't tell him?"

Thalassa looked embarrassed. "I wanted to keep the group secret, since I didn't fully trust him yet."

Mare was even more shocked. "Young man, you came here knowing nothing? Weren't you afraid of walking into a den of thieves and getting killed?"

Sylen looked at her oddly. "Could you kill me?"

The group fell silent. This youth was young, but he spoke with an innocent arrogance—was he just naive, or did he really believe he could escape any trouble unscathed?

Mare sought the group's opinion with her eyes, and seeing no objections, she cleared her throat and said in a serious tone, "We're not really an organization, and we have no chief or hierarchy. We're all gathered here for the same purpose. If you had to give us a name, you could call us the 'Transit Station.'"

Sylen was confused. "What do you transport?"

"Freed slaves," Mare said.