The old man strolled lazily through the market square of Kolma.

Morning had already given way to the busier hours of the day, and the town square buzzed with life. Merchants called out their wares, carts rattled across the cobblestone streets, and the scent of freshly cooked food drifted through the chilly winter air.

It was a lively scene.

And the old man walked through it like he had all the time in the world.

He had one hand tucked behind his back and the other idly rubbing his chin as he wandered between stalls.

"Hmm..."

He paused in front of a fruit stand first.

Dried apples, yellow pears, dried berries bundled in small cloth sacks. The vendor had even polished some of the apples so they shone invitingly in the pale winter sunlight.

He leaned slightly closer.

"Fruit... in winter?" he muttered to himself.

He picked up an apple, turning it around thoughtfully before placing it back down.

"It’s a bit shriveled up... not quite to my liking."

He moved on.

A few stalls down stood a butcher’s table. Thick slabs of fresh meat hung from iron hooks, and sausages were neatly lined up in rows. The rich smell of smoked pork lingered in the air.

"Maybe some meat after a long while...?"

He stared at a particularly thick cut of beef steak.

Then shook his head.

"No, no... that’s not it either."

The butcher watched him expectantly, but the old man simply waved dismissively and wandered away again.

He drifted through the market slowly, clearly enjoying the morning atmosphere more than actually committing to buying anything.

Then his eyes lit up slightly.

"Oh!"

He stopped in front of a bakery stall.

Rows of freshly baked bread were stacked neatly across wooden trays. Round loaves, sweet rolls, buttered buns, and long golden sticks dusted lightly with coarse salt.

Steam still rose faintly from some of them.

The warm smell of baked dough filled the air.

"Now this looks promising," the old man muttered approvingly.

The stall owner—a plump woman with flour dusted across her apron—smiled warmly.

"Morning, sir. Fresh out of the oven."

The old man nodded, already reaching toward a tray of long salted bread sticks.

"Morning. I’ll take a few of those salted—"

He suddenly froze.

Then abruptly smacked himself hard on the forehead.

The sharp slap echoed loud enough to startle the baker.

"That stupid brat!" the old man barked.

The baker blinked in shock.

The old man squinted his eyes and shook his head, like something was wrong.

"Don’t run that way! The wolves already cut it off, you dumb brat! Ugh... I really drew the short straw with teaching this imbecile."

The baker stared at him like he had just lost his mind.

A few nearby customers glanced over as well.

The old man slowly noticed their looks.

"...Ah."

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Apologies."

The baker blinked again.

"...Would you still like the salted sticks?"

"Yes. Three, please."

Deep in the forest, Teclos swung between trees.

A shadow tendril lashed out, coiling around a thick branch and pulling him forward. His body arced through the air as he caught the next trunk, launching himself onward once more.

He was quick and quiet.

But the pressure behind him kept growing.

"Shit..." he muttered under his breath.

The direwolves had changed their pace. Teclos could feel it through the shadows. They were closing the distance.

"They’re getting closer."

Below him, grey shapes moved through the forest like living wind.

Too fast to escape.

He swung again, landing briefly against a trunk before launching himself forward once more.

But something was wrong.

The wolves behind him were gaining ground.

What Teclos didn’t notice—

Was the ones to the side.

Two of the wolves had already broken away earlier.

They moved wide through the forest, cutting through the terrain with long, silent strides.

They had overtaken him minutes ago.

Now they simply kept pace ahead of him, maintaining distance.

Waiting.

—

Back at the market stall, the old man chewed thoughtfully on a salted stick.

Crunch.

"Why don’t you question their numbers?" he grumbled quietly to himself.

He shook his head.

"Seriously... kids these days."

Crunch.

He took another bite, clearly enjoying it.

"Mmm."

His eyes drifted upward, staring into the sky.

"This stuff is good."

Another bite.

"Maybe if some wolves disappear from your detection range..." he muttered between chews.

"...that should concern you a bit?"

He shrugged.

"No?"

Crunch.

"Just me?"

The old man stepped away from the bakery stall after he paid.

The baker still looked slightly unsettled after his earlier outburst, so he gave her a brief apology again and wandered off toward the town square.

"Best not scare the woman any further," he muttered under his breath.

Kolma’s square was as lively as ever. Merchants called out their wares, townsfolk haggled over dried meat and clothing, and hunters pushed through the crowd with dead beasts slung over their shoulders. Children darted between the stalls, weaving through the bustle with boundless energy.

The old man ignored it all.

He walked toward a simple wooden bench near the center of the square and sat down.

He stretched his legs slightly, leaned back, and finally took another bite of the salted stick.

Crunch.

The sound was satisfying.

"Mmm."

He chewed slowly, savoring the warmth of the bread against the cold winter air.

For a moment, he simply watched the square.

Then he snorted.

"That brat..."

He shook his head, taking another bite.

"All that praise. ’Best of the batch.’ ’Outstanding talent.’"

Crunch.

"Overrated, if you ask me."

He wiped a crumb from his beard.

"Can’t even think two steps ahead. Running around like a headless chicken."

He leaned back against the bench, staring lazily up at the pale winter sky.

"Should’ve known better than to listen to half the nonsense those guild instructors spout. ’Promising prodigy’ this, ’great potential’ that."

He waved a dismissive hand.

"Bah."

The salted stick was disappearing fast as he continued eating.

Still, a faint glimmer of interest lingered in his eyes.

"Though... the brat’s got a nice mana type," he admitted quietly. "If he survives long enough to use it."

Crunch.

He sighed.

"Thought I’d finally get some rest after all those years running errands for the Count."

Another bite.

"Decades doing the man’s dirty work..."

His voice lowered slightly, more thoughtful now.

"Always one job after another."

Crunch.

"And the moment I finally get a few free days..."

He glanced vaguely toward the forest beyond the town walls.

"...I end up babysitting an incompetent kid."

He shook his head again, though there was a faint hint of amusement in the gesture.

—

Deep in the forest, Teclos pushed himself to the limit.

Yet it wasn’t enough.

His breathing had grown heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly as cold air burned through his lungs.

Sweat soaked through his clothes despite the winter chill.

"They’re getting closer..."

Behind him, the pack leader was barely twenty meters away now.

Teclos could feel the beast through the web of shadows that filled the forest.

Its presence was domineering, focused, and predatory.

The direwolf moved like the wind across the forest floor, bounding silently between roots and snow with terrifying speed.

Teclos gritted his teeth.

"I need to think... think!"

The wolves still hadn’t visually spotted him yet. His darkness mana blended him well with the shifting shadows beneath the trees.

But that advantage could disappear in an instant. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

One snapped branch.

One wrong landing.

His arms burned from the constant strain of maintaining the tendrils.

Then—

Something ahead made his heart stutter.

Two more shapes appeared out of nowhere.

Two wolves were suddenly ahead of him.

Teclos’s eyes widened.

"What?"

For a moment, his mind struggled to accept what he was feeling through the shadows.

Then the realization struck him like ice down his spine. The wolves he had assumed were falling behind...

...had never been behind him at all.

They had circled around.

Cold sweat ran down his back.

They had cut off his escape and were waiting to pounce on him.

Teclos understood the danger he was in at this moment. And how terrifying those wolves truly were.

Like a net, the pack spread out wide, keeping constant pressure on their prey. One group forced the target to keep running, draining its stamina.

Meanwhile, others moved silently ahead.

Cutting off escape routes.

Waiting patiently until the prey tired and slowed. Then the pack would close in.

It was efficient, ruthless, and deadly.

Teclos’s heart hammered against his ribs.

"Damn it..."

He could end up as dog food.

Teclos’s mind raced desperately.

"I need to break their net."

And he needed to do it now.

Behind him, the pack leader was gaining ground with terrifying speed—each silent leap eating away the distance between them. Ahead, two wolves waited like shadows carved into the forest itself. To the sides, the rest of the pack adjusted their positions with eerie precision, unseen but very much present.

Every path forward ended in a fight to the death.

Every hesitation ended in him getting bitten.

He panicked, imagining countless scenarios where his head was crushed between a wolf’s jaws.

Then an idea came to mind—simple and so stupid it just might work.

Teclos stopped.

Abruptly.

A shadow tendril snapped tight around a thick branch above him, halting his momentum mid-swing with a jolt that strained his shoulders. At the same time, his other hand flicked forward with as much force as he could muster—

A loose piece of his gear he tore off shot ahead into the forest, carried by momentum.

It spun through the air, landing farther along his current path.

And then—

Teclos hugged the tree.

Standing high up on a branch—

He made himself smaller.

Darkness surged around him, thicker than before. He pulled it tight against his body, layering it like a second skin. He forced the mana to bend, exerting as much control as he was currently capable of.

His presence dimmed.

Until it was barely noticeable.

He slowed his breathing.

Forced his heartbeat to steady.

’Just pretend to be shadow among shadows.’

Back in the town square, the old man paused mid-bite.

The salted stick hovered just in front of his mouth.

His brow rose slightly.

"Well, I’ll be damned..."

A small smile appeared—a genuine one, this time.

"The brat actually did something right."

The direwolves surged forward.

The pack leader leapt through the exact space Teclos had occupied moments earlier, landing without a sound before continuing forward without pause.

The rest followed.

Their focus locked entirely onto the moving target ahead—the thrown piece of gear still carrying Teclos’s scent.

None of them noticed.

Not until it was too late.

Teclos didn’t move yet.

He clung to the branch, completely still, wrapped in dense shadow. Even the faint disturbances he had created before were gone now, swallowed by his mana.

Below him—

The last wolf passed.

Only when the final presence slipped beyond his sensing range did he move.

A tendril snapped out silently, pulling him backward across the trees. His body followed in a smooth arc as he retraced his path, his presence still mostly concealed.

Once he deemed that enough distance had formed between him and the pack, he changed direction sharply.

Cutting across the forest at a ninety-degree angle.

Half a kilometer later, he adjusted again—

A straight line now.

Toward the shed.

—

The wolves reached the gear. They slowed... then stopped.

One sniffed it, nostrils flaring.

Another circled slowly, scanning the perimeter.

The pack leader stood still.

Its brown eyes scanned the forest, and the wind shifted beneath its feet.

It scanned the area quickly... but the prey had escaped.

The wolves spread out again, searching in widening arcs, trying to find a lead again... trying to pick out his scent again.

—

Teclos didn’t stop until the shed came into view.

Only then did the tension in his body begin to ease.

Only then did he allow the shadows to loosen their tight grip around him.

His arms trembled slightly from the strain. His breathing was ragged—and heavy.

As he approached the shed carefully, his senses extended outward just in case, but he felt nothing.

He made it.

—

Back in the town square, the old man leaned back on the bench, finishing the last of his salted sticks.

"Hmmm..."

He tapped his fingers lightly against his knee.

"He needs refinement..." He closed his eyes. "But..."

A slow smile crept across his face.

"I could shape him into an assassin for the lord."

And then, for a single moment—

The air around him changed.

A suffocating wave of killing intent erupted from the old man like an invisible explosion.

The wooden bench beneath him creaked violently, fine cracks forming along its edges as if it couldn’t bear the sudden pressure.

The ground around him felt heavier—so dense that the air thickened, turning almost liquid and suffocating those nearby.

A nearby merchant dropped a crate of fruit, apples spilling across the ground as his hands trembled uncontrollably.

A woman froze mid-step, her breath hitching as her chest tightened.

A child nearby burst into tears without understanding why.

Their instincts screamed.

Danger.

It wasn’t visible, nor tangible—but it felt absolute.

The kind of presence that didn’t just threaten death—

It was death itself.

For that brief second, it felt as if a monstrous predator had stepped into the square.

Something that hunted not out of need—

But out of fun.

The old man’s smile twisted, stretching wider than it should.

Into something unnatural.

Grotesque, even.

Like a mask barely containing something far more sinister beneath.

His eyes darkened.

Cold and empty.

Then—

It vanished.

"Oops..."

Just as suddenly as it had appeared.

The pressure lifted.

The air returned.

Sound rushed back into the world.

People staggered slightly, looking around in confusion, hands clutching their chests or arms.

"What... was that...?"

"Did you feel that?!"

"Something just—"

Unexplainable fear lingered in the town square.

In the Daen church, Pella had gone completely still, his instincts screaming.

From a distance, Ezekiel turned sharply, eyes scanning the area with sudden alertness.

And within the guild hall, Gunvald slowly raised his head, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes as his presence flared in response.

All three locked onto the same direction.

Ready.

Prepared for a threat—

But it was already gone.

Back on the bench, the old man simply brushed a few crumbs from his coat and stood up—unbothered, calm.

He slowly stretched his back as if nothing had happened.

"Ahhh, tasty bread and a new toy," he muttered, satisfied.

And with that—

He walked off into the crowd, leaving nothing behind but unease.