The inn's low gate swung open with a thud against the fence post.
An elderly man stepped inside—stooped and white-haired, leaning heavily on an intricately carved cane. It was the same man they had met earlier, the one who had introduced himself as a former academy instructor.
His entrance silenced everything.
"So, this is where you were," the old man said, his voice rough like worn parchment.
The innkeeper visibly flinched at the sound of his voice. Her shoulders curled inward, and she lowered her head at once, wringing her hands as if she had done something terribly wrong.
Genie turned toward the old man, her expression calm but wary.
"How did you know we were here?"
He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth twisting into something between amusement and calculation.
"Where else would strangers stay in this village, if not here?" he replied smoothly.
Then, shifting his gaze, he fixed a long, penetrating stare on the innkeeper. The air between them seemed to tighten.
"Please treat our guests from out of town with care today," he said, his words slow and deliberate.
"Y-yes, of course… O-of course, Sir…" The innkeeper's voice trembled like brittle glass.
Her hands, clenched before her apron, trembled just the same.
The old man didn't respond. He merely offered her a long, unreadable glance, the kind that carried more weight than words ever could. Then, with a slow lift of his weathered hand, he gestured silently.
"I'll be going now," he said with an eerie calmness.
His footsteps echoed against the stone path—heavy, deliberate, like each step carried a memory no one else could bear to know. As he disappeared through the gate, the iron hinges groaned before the gate creaked shut behind him.
Silence fell, thick and strange.
Genie turned first, her eyes narrowing at the innkeeper, whose expression had shifted from fear to full-blown panic. Her face had gone pale, and her lips parted slightly as if she were holding in a scream.
Jade stepped forward, standing protectively by Genie's side.
"What was that about?" he asked, though his voice remained calm. Controlled.
Genie leaned slightly toward the woman and whispered, "What's going on?"
The innkeeper flinched as if struck by the question. Her wide eyes darted between them like a cornered animal's. She shook her head so violently that her hairpins nearly flew loose.
"N-nothing's going on. There's nothing. Absolutely nothing," she blurted out, her voice high-pitched and forced. "Please, just go into the room!"
She spun around abruptly, skirts rustling, and almost ran ahead of them. Reaching the far-left cottage, she pushed open the creaky wooden door with hurried hands.
Inside was a small, modest room—bare except for a pair of straw mats, a wooden chest in the corner, and a single lantern swaying slightly from the ceiling beam.
Genie hesitated at the threshold.
"Are there no other rooms available?" she asked, her eyes drifting to the two other cottages—the ones in the middle and to the right. Both stood dark and untouched.
The woman shook her head so fast it looked unnatural.
"There are no other rooms… Th-those two are not for guests…" The innkeeper's voice quivered like a loose shutter in the wind.
Her eyes flicked nervously toward the middle and right cottages, as though even mentioning them invited something unwelcome.
Genie glanced up at Jade, her brows subtly knitting together. She didn't speak, but her eyes were questioning—uncertain.
'If we ask for separate rooms now, Jade thought, they might start questioning whether we're really a married couple… That could complicate things.'
He gave a small nod, then turned to the innkeeper with quiet resolve.
"All right. We'll take this room."
The woman's shoulders sagged with visible relief.
"Y-yes, of course. Then I'll leave you now!"
Without waiting for another word, she backed away, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste, and vanished into the narrow side door that seemed to lead into a kitchen adjoining the middle cottage. The door thudded shut behind her.
Genie frowned, her voice a hushed breathe.
"Jade. The innkeeper also seems suspicious…"
Jade's reply came just as quietly. "Something definitely feels off here."
With a cautious glance at the other two dark cottages, Genie tilted her head slightly and stepped into the room. The wooden floor beneath her feet was biting cold—like stepping onto a slab of stone that hadn't seen sunlight in weeks.
"It's so cold…" she muttered, her shoulders drawing in.
She gave a playful shiver and crouched to set down the small bundle she'd been carrying, her breath briefly fogging in the air.
"Brr… It's colder than I expected."
Jade followed close behind, ducking slightly under the low beam as he entered. He placed his travel bag beside hers, then stood awkwardly in the silence that followed. For a moment, he became acutely aware of the fact that he was alone in a room—with Queen Genie. The thought struck him unexpectedly, and to brush it aside, he turned and began pretending to inspect the room's bare walls.
It didn't take long. There wasn't much to see.
Genie rose and looked around, frowning slightly.
"How can there not be a single bedding set in a guest room?" she muttered, eyes scanning the dusty corners.
Jade folded his arms.
"It seems like guests rarely stay here."
"Rarely?" she repeated, glancing at him.
He nodded.
"Yes. The furniture looks untouched. And the air—musty. Like it hasn't been lived in for a long time."
Genie walked over to the wide-open door and stared out into the inn's quiet courtyard. The sky had faded into a dusky indigo, and the few lanterns outside flickered weakly in the wind. Her voice was low, reflective. "Then why did everyone lead us here?"
Jade stepped beside her.
"It must be because this is the only inn in the village."
Genie didn't reply right away. The silence that stretched between them was filled with a strange weight, as if the building itself was holding its breath.
Then, slowly, she returned to her bundle, crouched again, and drew out a small, sheathed dagger. Its polished hilt gleamed faintly in the lanternlight.
"I think I'll have to carry this with me during our investigation," she said, slipping it discreetly into the hidden pocket of her skirt.
Jade raised a brow.
"You brought a dagger?"
Genie looked up and smiled with quiet pride. "You never know what might happen on a covert mission. Bringing a bow would've been too conspicuous… so I prepared this instead."
His surprise lingered. "You know how to use a dagger too?"
"A little," she admitted. "Do-han taught me. He said that if I ever find myself unable to use a bow, I should fall back on a blade. I wasn't born with much strength, so a longsword wouldn't suit me—but he said a dagger's perfect for someone with my build."
Jade studied her silently, the flickering light casting soft shadows across her determined face.
'So Her Majesty has trained not only in archery… but in dagger combat as well.'
A quiet admiration rose in him—one he didn't voice, but couldn't quite hide either.
Prepared. Resourceful. And always thinking ahead.
By noon, a haze of dry heat shimmered over the rooftops as Genie and Jade made their way through the village's central marketplace. It should have been lively—the heart of any village often was—but here, there was no clamor of bargaining voices, no laughter, no scent of sizzling food in the air.
Only silence. And eyes.
Villagers passed by them in silence, their footsteps dragging, eyes unfocused. Some stared straight ahead as if walking in a trance; others looked down at the dirt as if even the ground held no meaning.
Genie slowed her pace, unsettled by what she was seeing.
She leaned slightly toward Jade, her voice hushed. "Jade… don't the villagers' eyes seem strange to you?"
Jade's jaw tightened.
"I was thinking the same thing," he replied in a low voice. "They all look completely dazed. Like they're not really here."
Just then, a young boy—no older than eight—passed by, holding the hand of a tall man who seemed to be his father. His small feet barely kept up, but what made Genie stop wasn't his pace. It was his eyes.
Lifeless. Empty. Hollow, like a doll's.
Genie's breath caught.
"Did you see that child's eyes?" she whispered, turning quickly to Jade.
"Yes," he said grimly. "I saw them."
And then—
Thud.
The unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground came from behind.
Startled, they turned in unison.
It was the boy.
He had collapsed right there on the dusty path, face down, limbs limp like a puppet with its strings cut. Genie's eyes flew wide in alarm.
But what chilled her even more was the reaction—or lack thereof—of the man beside him.
Not a flicker of panic crossed his face. He didn't call out, didn't kneel, didn't even check if the child was breathing. He simply reached down, grabbed the boy roughly by the forearm, and lifted him upright in one swift motion.
The boy's head lolled, still unconscious, as his body dangled like dead weight in the man's grip.