Two days after the Shrouded Bazaar, Caelan stood in Albrecht Manor's training room, carefully executing the advanced Nullcraft forms Aldric had shown him.
His body still protested, muscles not yet accustomed to the precise movements required, but he was improving.
Each day brought slightly more strength, slightly more control.
"Your progress is remarkable, my lord," Aldric observed from the doorway.
"Most practitioners take years to master those sequences."
Caelan lowered his arms, breathing evenly despite the exertion.
"Marcus Chen spent decades perfecting body control. That knowledge remains, even if this body lacks the conditioning."
He had told Aldric everything about the Bazaar – the Spider's information, the rare Nullcraft components, the mysterious Whisper, and most importantly, the Cipher with his too-perfect movements and modern combat stance.
"You believe this Cipher is like you?" Aldric asked, handing Caelan a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow.
"The possibility exists," Caelan replied cautiously.
"His movements were... unmistakable. Military precision. Modern techniques."
"A dangerous complication," Aldric noted.
"Or a valuable ally, if his interests align with ours."
Their conversation was interrupted by a soft knock at the main door downstairs.
Caelan glanced at the window – twilight was falling, an unusual hour for visitors.
"See who it is," he instructed.
"I'll make myself presentable in case it's someone I need to meet."
While Aldric went to answer the door, Caelan quickly donned the loose-fitting clothes of a sickly nobleman, arranging his features into the mask of weakness he presented to the world.
He had just settled into a chair in the study, a blanket across his legs despite the room's warmth, when Aldric returned.
The old servant's face was uncharacteristically tense.
"My lord, there's a... situation. A messenger awaits outside, refusing to come in. He says he has a private communication for the 'Raven's Ghost.'"
Caelan's mind raced. Few knew of his connection to that name – the Spider, the Whisper, and now possibly the Cipher.
"Did he identify who sent him?"
"No, my lord. But he wears no house colours, and his accent isn't local."
"Arm yourself and watch from the window," Caelan decided.
"I'll speak with him briefly. If anything seems amiss, alert me immediately."
Outside, Caelan found a slender man in nondescript travelling clothes, mounted on a horse that seemed too fine for a simple messenger.
The man's face betrayed no emotion as Caelan approached.
"I have a message for the one they call the Raven's Ghost," the messenger stated without preamble.
"I've heard tales of such a spectre," Caelan replied carefully.
"Folk stories to frighten children."
The messenger studied him intently, then dismounted with a fluid grace that immediately put Caelan on alert.
His movements were too smooth, too controlled for an ordinary courier.
"Your footwork betrays you, friend. No one in Velderra moves like that... except me."
Caelan felt a chill run down his spine. The voice was different, but the words were unmistakable – a direct challenge, an acknowledgement of what no ordinary person in this world would notice.
"I don't know what you mean," Caelan said, maintaining his façade of ignorance.
The messenger – if that's what he truly was – smiled thinly.
Then, without warning, he executed a precise series of movements that left Caelan momentarily speechless.
They weren't random gestures but specific close-quarters combat techniques – modern military CQC forms that Marcus Chen had learned during his special forces training.
"I think you do," the man said quietly.
"Just as I recognised your stance at the Bazaar.
The weight distribution is all wrong for Velderra's fighting styles.
Too efficient.
Too... modern."
It was a trap, then. Caelan maintained his blank expression, but his mind calculated escape routes, weapon options, and the distance to the manor where Aldric watched.
"The Cipher, I presume?"
"Korrin, actually," the man corrected.
"The Cipher is merely a professional title. One of several I've used since arriving in this... fascinating world."
Caelan said nothing, waiting for the other man to show his hand.
"I'm not here to expose you," Korrin continued, his voice lowering.
"Quite the opposite. I think we might have much to discuss – two outsiders in a realm that shouldn't exist for us."
"You believe I'm an outsider?" Caelan asked, still not confirming anything.
"I know you are." Korrin's eyes hardened slightly.
"The question is what you were before. Military? Special operations? Private contractor? Your techniques suggest formal training, but with adaptations typical of someone who's operated outside standard protocols."
The assessment was disturbingly accurate.
Marcus Chen had indeed started in special forces before becoming an independent assassin.
"Assuming what you suggest is true," Caelan said carefully, "why approach me now?
Why not at the Bazaar?"
"Too many eyes, too many ears. The Whisper's domain isn't the place for this particular conversation."
Korrin glanced toward the manor.
"And your watchdog at the window would make any observer suspicious."
He knew Aldric was watching.
Either he had exceptional situational awareness, or he'd scouted the manor before approaching. Neither option was comforting.
"What do you want?" Caelan asked directly.
"An alliance, perhaps. There are others like us in Velderra. Not many, but enough to notice patterns."
"Others?"
The possibility had never occurred to Caelan.
"How many?"
"I've confirmed three. Suspect perhaps five more."
Korrin's expression became unreadable.
"We didn't all arrive at the same time. Some have been here for years, adapting, building new lives. Others, like you, seem more... recent."
The implications were staggering. Not an isolated incident then, but something more systematic.
People from Earth are being transported to this medieval fantasy world.
But why?
How?
Caelan considered his next words carefully. Confirming his nature as a transmigrator would make him vulnerable, but denying it at this point seemed pointless. Korrin knew.
"If what you're suggesting is true, what would an alliance between us accomplish?"
"Survival, for starters. This world has dangers our original one didn't. Magic. Cults. Entities like the Black Seraph."
Caelan's breath caught.
"You know about the Seraph?"
"I make it my business to know things. Especially things that might kill me."
Korrin's expression hardened.
"The Black Halo, for instance."
"The Black Halo?"
"An assassin guild. Elite. Expensive. Led by someone like us – someone from Earth who arrived perhaps ten years ago.
He's built quite an operation by combining modern tactical knowledge with this world's magic."
"And this concerns me, how?"
"Because the Black Halo has contracts with House Fenn. And recently, they've been asking questions about a certain 'Raven's Ghost' with unusual fighting techniques."
The warning was clear.
Caelan was being hunted by professionals who might understand his capabilities better than anyone else in this world.
Caelan neither confirmed nor denied Korrin's implications, buying time to assess this new threat.
"You seem well-informed about my affairs."
"Information keeps me alive," Korrin replied simply.
"As it will you, if you're wise."
"And in exchange for this warning, you want...?"
"Consider it professional courtesy for now. Though I suspect our paths will cross again, perhaps when our interests align more concretely."
Korrin mounted his horse with the same fluid grace he'd displayed earlier.
"One last thing. The Whisper wants to meet you. Tonight. Don't keep her waiting."
"Her?"
Caelan repeated, surprised by the pronoun.
The Whisper's voice at the Bazaar had been deliberately ambiguous.
"Oh yes, quite definitely her, though few know it."
Korrin smiled thinly.
"A meeting room has been prepared at the Crescent Tavern in the eastern district.
Midnight. Come alone, armed if you wish, though it won't help if she decides you're a problem."
With that cryptic warning, Korrin turned his mount and rode away, leaving Caelan standing in the gathering darkness with more questions than answers.
When Aldric joined him, the old servant's face was grave.
"My lord? What did he want?"
"To deliver several messages," Caelan replied, his mind racing with implications.
"Some explicit, others less so."
He explained what had transpired, watching Aldric's expression grow increasingly troubled.
"The Black Halo," the servant murmured.
"I've heard whispers, but thought them exaggerations. If they truly exist and are led by someone with your... unique perspective..."
"Then I face an enemy who understands my capabilities and limitations better than anyone else in this world," Caelan finished.
"Someone who combines modern tactical knowledge with years of experience in Velderra's magical environment."
"And this meeting with the Whisper?"
Caelan considered his options.
The Whisper clearly held significant power within the criminal underworld.
Ignoring the summons would make an enemy he couldn't afford; attending might walk him into a trap.
"I'll go," he decided.
"But I'll prepare thoroughly. The Whisper may be powerful, but she's not the only one with resources."
As they returned to the manor to prepare, Caelan reflected on how quickly his world had expanded.
Just days ago, he believed himself unique – the only soul from Earth trapped in this medieval fantasy.
Now he knew of others, some potential allies, others definite threats.
The game had changed fundamentally.
No longer was it simply House Albrecht against House Fenn, or even against the Eclipsed Order.
Now it included people like himself – transmigrators who brought dangerous modern knowledge to a world of swords and sorcery.
When worlds collide, trust becomes currency – and Caelan had precious little to spend.
"Prepare my equipment," he told Aldric.