"Finally. Looks like we made it out." The side gate squeaked as Kurt eased it shut, his fingers still tingling from the residual mana of the Great Weaver’s venom.

He crouched low, blending his black cloak into the shadows of the estate’s outer trees. Beside him, Hope shivered as rain soaked through her oversized cloak. Tobias’ mansion loomed just ahead.

"Hope, when you were here before, which way did they take you in?"

Hope pointed a trembling finger toward the side leading to the front. "Over there, by the big doors. The ones with the gold handles. They made us wait in a line."

Kurt shook his head with a grim scowl settling on his face. "The front entrance... that won’t do. That’s like serving ourselves on a silver platter. They probably have guards posted every five feet, especially with all the ruckus my friend is kicking up at the fortress."

He looked up at the building in the distance, squinting through the downpour trying to find an opening that didn’t involve a frontal assault. He needed to catch Tobias by surprise. To strike from the shadows before the man could use the children as shields. His gaze landed on a second-story landing. A sliding glass panel stood there, slightly recessed behind a stone railing.

"What about up there," he pointed. "Do you know whose room that is? Is it Tobias’?"

Hope looked up, her brow furrowed. "I don’t know. I’ve never been inside the house parts. Only the big hall and the basement stairs."

"That’s ok. It’s our best shot in any case. Stay here, at the gate. Don’t move until I give the signal. I’m going to climb up and find something to pull you up with."

"Ok..."

With lightning-fast speed and the fluidity of a cat, Kurt ran across the field and lunged for the stone trellis. He ignored the thorns that bit into his gloves, his Strengthening Magic making the vertical climb feel like a casual stroll. He reached the landing and rolled over the stone railing, staying flat against the cold tiles.

The curtains inside were slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of light to spill onto the balcony. He could see a bed, and the silhouette of a figure lying perfectly still. He gripped the edge of the sliding glass panel and pulled.

’Well duh. Of course it’s locked.’

Kurt focused his mana into his fingertips. Using a subtle, high-pressure application of his strength, he gripped the frame and pulled. The metal rattled, but the sound was swallowed by a sudden crack of thunder. With a soft snick, the lock snapped. He slid the door open just enough to slip inside.

The air inside the room was warm, but it felt stagnant. Kurt kept his blade low, moving toward the bed to neutralize the occupant before they could scream. But as he drew closer, the fresh scent of blood hit his nose.

It wasn’t a guard. It was a woman in a tattered servant’s uniform; her clothes stained with grime and dried up... fluid. Her throat had been opened by a clean, desperate stroke. She was still clutching the fruit knife she had used to end her own nightmare.

Kurt’s heart sank. He didn’t need a detective’s intuition to know what had driven her to this. He looked at the door, then back at the balcony where Hope was waiting.

’I can’t let Hope see this.’

He moved with grim efficiency. He picked up the woman’s frail, cold body and carried her into the en-suite bathroom. He laid her gently in the tub and pulled the shower curtain shut. It was the only dignity he could offer her.

Returning to the bedroom, he stripped the heavy silk sheets from the bed and knotted them together with the practiced speed of a sailor, creating a makeshift rope. He checked for any sign of security outside and once it was safe, he tossed the end over the balcony and waved frantically for the little girl.

A few moments later, Kurt could see a small silhouette running through the rainy field. Hope ran as hard as her little legs could allow her, even tripping along the way as thunder clapped in the clouds. She steadily got back on her feet and went right back to it while keeping her hood low.

’Oh my goodness, my heart *sniff* What a little soldier she is...’

Eventually, she made it to where Kurt and grabbed the makeshift rope. Kurt pulled the rope and hauled the girl up over the railing. She clutched onto his body once she was finally safe in his arms.

"It’s ok, I got you. That was awesome, Hope. I’m so proud of you."

"Hehehe. Thank you."

When they got inside, she whispered while looking at the rumpled, empty bed. "Was somebody here?"

"Oh, no. That rope I used was part of the bed, you see. Anyways, Hope, listen to me. Do you have any idea where they keep the kids once they’re inside the house?"

"I don’t know," she said, her voice small but determined. "But I’ll find them. I can help you look."

"No," Kurt said firmly. He knelt down to her level, his lone blue eye boring into hers. "I can’t sneak effectively if I’m worried about you getting caught in the crossfire. The men in this house... they’re worse than the ones in the fortress."

Tears well up in Hope’s eyes. "Don’t leave me, Kurt. Please..."

"I am not leaving you," he promised, his hand resting on her shoulder. "I’m going to find your friends. I’m going to bring them back here, and then we’re all going to the ship. But I need you to stay here. Hide. Somewhere they won’t look."

After waiting for a minute for her to decide, Hope sniffled and nodded slowly. She hugged Kurt one last time before crawling under the heavy wooden bedframe, disappearing into the shadows. Kurt stood up, his face hardening into a mask of cold fury. He checked his black sword and switchblades then eased the bedroom door open and slipped into the hallway.

’Wow. Fancy.’

The hallway was an excess gallery of dimly lit gold-leafed wall lamps, plush crimson carpets, and high vaulted ceilings.

Kurt moved like a ghost, checking the room directly opposite. It was a vast art gallery. Easels held half-finished portraits of Tobias and Goddess Bula in various saintly poses. In the center stood a white marble statue of the Goddess, her eyes carved to look downward in a gesture of false mercy.

’Nothing.’ Kurt thought, gently closing the door behind him.

He began to move down the corridor when the sound of rhythmic footsteps and muffled laughter drifted from around a corner. He pressed himself into a deep shadow behind a decorative suit of armor and stilted his breath.

Two cultists rounded the corner. They weren’t wearing their signature hoods; their robes were loosened and faces were flushed with a sick, eager light.

"C-Come on, Brother. Hurry, haha." the taller one chuckled. "The bishop said we can finish the leftovers. That servant girl who tried to run... The bishop said he fully cleansed himself and that she’s ’surplus goods’ now."

"I know, I know. You keep repeating yourself, you drunken fool. I think I last saw her running up the stairs toward the guest wing," the second one replied, a lecherous grin splitting his face. "She looked terrified. I love it when they scramble. Makes the hunt better."

’These scum...’ Kurt felt a veil of crimson descend over his vision.

"I’m going to savor this one," the tall one said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small glass vial. "I brought an aphrodisiac. I’m not letting her rest until sunrise. We’ll take turns, yeah?"

"Aye, aye. You go left; I’ll go right. She’s hiding in one of these rooms."

Kurt didn’t move yet. He waited until they reached the doors. One to the art gallery, and the other to the bedroom where Hope was hiding.

"S-Search thoroughly, yeah? Don’t let her slip past, haha." The tall one commanded.

’Now.’ As the man entered the room Hope was hiding in, Kurt followed him in, closing the door with a silent, ghostly touch.

"I know you’re in here, little bird~ Come out, come out wherever you are–"

STAB!

He never saw Kurt.

Kurt silently shifted across the floor using his knives to drive the blade into the base of the man’s skull, severing the brain stem instantly. The cultist didn’t even have time to gasp. Kurt caught the body before it hit the floor, dragging it toward the sliding glass panel. With a grunt of exertion, he heaved the dead weight over the railing, sending it plummeting into the dark shrubbery below.

"Hope," Kurt hissed.

"I’m here," a tiny voice whispered from under the bed.

"Listen to me. Under the bed is too obvious. Get in the wardrobe and cover yourself with the coats. Don’t come out for anything but my voice."

"Is the man gone? I couldn’t see properly from under the bed who it was."

"Yes, he’s gone. Hide. Now."

He slipped back out into the hallway. The second cultist was still in the art gallery. Kurt walked to the door and closed it, but not silently this time. He let the latch click with a sharp, audible thud.

"Oh, you’re back." The cultist continued searching, not looking back. "So? Did you find her? Is she in the guest room?"

Kurt stepped into the light, pulling his hood down, his one eye glowing with a predatory, sapphire glow.

"I found something," he said in a low, vibrating growl.

"Wait?" The cultist turned around and reached for his sheath. "Who the hell are you? You’re not–"

Kurt closed the distance in a single stride, balled his fist, channeling his Strengthening Magic into his knuckles until the air around his hand distorted and delivered a brutal, straight punch directly into the center of the cultist’s face

THWACK!

CRACK!

CRASH!

The sound of the man’s nose and orbital bones shattering echoed through the gallery. The cultist flew off his feet, his body spinning in the air before crashing into an easel and collapsing in a heap of canvas and broken wood.

Kurt stood over him, lifted the dazed man up with one hand and smiled coldly. "Hey there fella. You and I are going to have a lot of fun~"