'He knows.'
Kaelor's eyes narrowed. The Town Head hadn't asked for proof, not really. His words, the mockery, the pointed jab about his mother… they confirmed it. Ned knew exactly who he was.
And he didn't like him.
'Another hater,' Kaelor thought, breathing out slowly as he reached into his cloak. "This," he said, producing a folded parchment stamped with crimson wax, "bears the seal of Duke Leo Dravion. This town has been assigned to me. I'm not here to argue, I'm here to rule. And I could use your help."
Ned raised an unimpressed brow. "Anyone can steal a letter," he scoffed, waving a dismissive hand.
Kaelor frowned.
'So that's how it's going to be.' This wasn't about proof. Ned was antagonizing him deliberately. Perhaps Kaelor's presence threatened the little power he held in this forgotten town. 'He's stalling… maybe even hoping I'll give up and turn around.'
With a silent sigh, Kaelor reached beneath his collar, unclasping a thin silver chain. From it hung a small locket. He opened it with a flick of his thumb.
Inside was a miniature portrait, faded by time but unmistakable. A younger Kaelor, smiling awkwardly beside his noble father, and his mother, elegant even in ink.
This wasn't just jewelry. This had been the real Kaelor's only effective weapon against disbelief. A defense forged in desperation after too many taverns, too many lies, and too many accusations in dim-lit brothels. He had been scorned everywhere he went. And often, he deserved it.
Fang Yun's lip curled into a bittersmile. The man whose life he now wears… was the kind of person anyone would walk away from in disgust. And perhaps his end had been earned. But his mother… she didn't deserve what she got.
And now, carrying Kaelor's face, he would pay the price if he wasn't careful.
Ned's expression shifted the moment he saw the image. A beat of silence passed. Then the man gave a shallow, reluctant bow.
"Lord Kaelor Dravion," he said, voice suddenly formal. "Welcome to Redwood Town. As you can see, we're busy. Please… make yourself comfortable."
He turned on his heel before Kaelor could respond.
The guards hesitated, then followed suit without another word. As they passed, Kaelor heard their whispers.
"Why's he alone?"
"Obviously, no one volunteered to follow him. His mother probably didn't make it, bandits, most likely. Looks like he's been robbed blind."
Kaelor clenched his teeth. 'I am such a fool…' he thought bitterly as he stepped forward and pushed open the wooden door to the residence.
The entrance hall was dim and narrow. A single wooden chair stood atop a raised dais, symbolic of authority, though old. The floor beneath him was made of cobblestones, uneven and cracked in places.
'One misstep and I'd twist my ankle. A perfect metaphor for this entire place.' He sighed. 'Well, the real Kaelor was the fool. Couldn't he have at least hired mercenaries?'
He passed through to the back door and found a small parlour. A square table stood near the fireplace, with two chairs draped in worn fur. A faint warmth lingered in the hearth. Someone had been living here recently.
'Technically, this place is meant to remain untouched until the lord arrives,' Kaelor noted grimly. 'So why is it warm? Who's been using it?'
As if summoned by the thought, the door creaked open.
A middle-aged woman stepped in, her frame strong despite her age. She carried a basket of dead rabbits and herbs, her face drawn with fatigue. Her expression was stormy at first, until her eyes landed on him.
Then it softened.
"Lord Kaelor," she said.
He turned toward her, already bracing himself for the disgust, the judgment, the sneer that usually followed his name.
But instead, she blinked and said, without hesitation. "You stink. You need a bath."
Kaelor stood frozen.
Of all the things she could have said, that was not on the list.
As Kaelor stood there, still processing the bluntness of her words, the woman set her basket down by the table and began moving with practiced efficiency.
She didn't wait for his response, she simply crossed the room, opened a side door, and disappeared into what turned out to be a small, stone-walled bathing chamber.
He followed cautiously, stopping by the doorway as she knelt beside a tub and began filling it with water drawn from a nearby barrel.
She moved with the familiarity of someone who had done this dozens of times before, but something about her calm presence, her lack of fear or contempt, unsettled him more than any of the townsfolk's glares.
"I… don't believe I caught your name," Kaelor said.
She looked over her shoulder, her eyes cool but not unkind. "Mildred."
The name tugged something loose from the sea of Kaelor's inherited memories. He blinked, stunned. "You're that Mildred? My—my mother's childhood friend?"
She nodded. "I served Lady Emilia before you were even born. She sent me here years ago, long before your disgrace began. Said it might be the last safe place left for you, one day."
Kaelor's throat tightened. "So… she knew."
"She always knew. Your brother wasn't the one who sent you here, it was her wish to your late father." Mildred said softly, returning to the tub.
But that wasn't the only revelation waiting to shake him.
Just as Kaelor leaned against the doorway, watching in silence, Mildred extended her hand over the half-filled tub.
With a slow breath, her fingers shimmered with faint orange light.
Kaelor's eyes widened.
The water in the tub began to bubble gently, heat radiating from nowhere but her outstretched palm. Within seconds, the chill vanished, replaced by swirling warmth and steam.
'She's an Acranist!'
He hadn't expected to ever meet one, especially not out here.
Those who could harness and control mana were rare, educated, powerful, and often cloaked in mystery. Nobles hoarded them like treasures, or feared them like curses. And yet here stood Mildred, middle-aged, unassuming, and wielding heat as casually as one might light a fire with flint.
"Your eyes are wide, Lord Kaelor," she said, not turning as the water continued to warm. "Did you think all old maids were just good with rags and herbs?"
"I… I didn't expect magic," he said honestly.
She chuckled. "It takes practice. Discipline. And mana, of course. Not all of us waste our gifts drunk in brothels."
Kaelor winced but said nothing.
Mildred stood and dusted off her hands. "Now bathe. You smell like death and horse dung. And when you're done, we'll talk about this town."
She left without another word, leaving Kaelor to stare at the steaming water, confused and more curious than ever.
….
After a much-needed bath, Kaelor stood in his personal bedroom, adjusting the simple blue tunic he'd found laid out for him. It was paired with a plain black belt, modest trousers, and leather boots. They weren't capital-made, not the polished kind crafted by famed shoemakers, the ones Kaelor once threw gold at for sport. But those days and that person, were gone.
He was no longer that Kaelor.
And honestly, after thirty-two years of stretching meals and patching soles on Earth, this felt oddly natural. Comfortable, even.
When he stepped into the parlour, he found Mildred seated by the fireplace, hands clasped in her lap. Her gaze lifted to meet him the moment he entered.
"You came at the worst time, my Lord."
The words struck like a drumbeat in his chest. The weight behind them was too calm. Too certain.
Before Kaelor could ask what she meant, raised voices erupted from outside, loud, overlapping, and urgent.
Mildred's head snapped toward the window. She rose quickly, her calm demeanor gone.
Kaelor followed her outside, heart thundering.
Darkness had fallen while they were inside, and the night sky was thick with low-hanging clouds. But what truly stole his breath was the crowd, at least forty or fifty people, gathered in the compound, all holding burning torches that cast wild, flickering shadows across the walls.
In front of them, two men were supporting an older man, massive, bleeding, and barely conscious.
The man was built like a warhammer. Despite his years, Kaelor guessed mid-fifties, his chest and arms rippled with raw muscle, the kind forged through years of survival, not vanity.
But now, his white hair was matted with blood, his face shredded by what looked like claws, and one of his legs was limp, clearly broken.
Mildred went pale the moment she saw him.
But Kaelor's blood ran cold when his eyes landed on the creature being dragged by six men.
A massive gray wolf.
No ordinary beast, its shoulders stood near chest-height to a grown man. Its coat was ash-gray, with a white underbelly, and even in death, its fangs were bared. Its body was riddled with slash wounds, but even still, its sheer size spoke of something unnatural.
The kind of beast not born from any sane forest.
Before the gathered crowd stood Ned, hands clasped calmly behind his back.
His voice rang loud.
"Lord Kaelor," he said, drawing the crowd's eyes toward him. "This man is the Hound, the strongest hunter in our town. For decades, he's walked the Devil Forest and returned with beasts, hides, and food when others failed."
He gestured toward the bleeding man.
"But even he has fallen."
He stepped aside, letting everyone get a clear view of the giant wolf carcass being dragged behind.
"Now," Ned said, his voice growing harder, "we are being hunted. These savage, giant wolves from the Devil Forest are coming out more often. Tearing open our children, killing our livestock, haunting our nights. And the people are afraid."
He turned to Kaelor, eyes cold and cutting.
"Are you going to get comfortable in your warm house while we die outside?"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Faces full of fear and exhaustion. Some were bandaged. Others, young men and women alike, looked ready to explode with rage or desperation.
Kaelor stood there, stunned. The words 'Devil Forest' still echoed in his mind.
'Devil… what?!'
He had come here to escape death.
But it had only followed him into something worse.