“Ludwig,” Van Dijk spoke, his voice carrying its usual authority, though his eyes betrayed the weight of the situation at hand.
“Yes, master,” Ludwig replied without hesitation, his tone brisk.
“Go and meet up with your friends. I’m still needed here,” Van Dijk instructed, his gaze sweeping across the area, scrutinizing every detail of the outer carnage left behind.
The djinns must have put up a fight against the forces of the old man. But nothing but bodies remained… if you can call them bodies.
“Oh, is the Black Tower Master staying to help us uncover this ritual?” the old man nearby interjected, his voice a mix of awe and intrigue. His hunched form leaned forward, revealing a face lined with decades of experience, yet still keen with curiosity.
“Yes,” Van Dijk replied evenly. “This type of dark magic falls squarely under my expertise.”
With a nod of acknowledgment, Ludwig excused himself and began retracing his steps, heading toward the Last Adventure Inn.
The streets were quieter now, with much of the city no longer engrossed in either the festival or the confusion of the earlier chaos. Ludwig’s boots tapped against the cobblestones as he navigated the alleyways, his mind running through everything he had just experienced. The ritual, the Sheikh, the freed souls—all of it was a blur of danger and cryptic revelations.
As he entered a particularly dimly lit pathway that served as a shortcut to the inns, Ludwig’s pace slowed. Something about the silence felt…off. It was the kind of silence that weighed heavy in the air, like the calm before a storm.
His instincts were proven correct when six figures emerged from the shadows, their movements precise and deliberate. Three blocked the path ahead, while the remaining three cut off his escape route from behind.
Ludwig immediately tensed, his thumb brushing against the storage ring on his finger. Though no hostile notification appeared, he wasn’t about to take any chances. He could sense their intent wasn’t friendly, even if it wasn’t outright malicious.
The figure in the center of the trio blocking his way stepped forward, her smaller frame and deliberate movements drawing Ludwig’s attention. Slowly, she raised her hands and pulled back her hood, revealing her face.
Ludwig’s eyes narrowed slightly. It was the elf woman from that morning.
“Seems like you recognize me,” she said, her tone calm but laden with curiosity.
“And what are you going to do about it?” Ludwig retorted sharply. “Since you’re waiting for me here, I’m guessing you knew I’d come this way. Did you have someone tail me?”
She smiled faintly, the gesture not reaching her eyes. “Quite sharp for someone so young,” she replied, tilting her head slightly as if appraising him.
Ludwig’s gaze hardened. “Then you must know who my master is if you’ve been following me.”
“We do,” she confirmed simply, as though the knowledge was of little consequence.
Ludwig’s grip on his ring tightened. If they knew Van Dijk was his master and still chose to intercept him, it could only mean one of two things: either they were reckless beyond reason, or they were confident enough to handle whatever came their way.
“You don’t need to be so tense,” she said, her voice taking on a soothing tone. “I just want to ask you a question—how did you recognize me as an elf? And why didn’t you report it?”
Ludwig frowned, his mind working quickly to gauge her intent.
“First, I have a special set of eyes,” he replied curtly. “Illusions don’t work on me.”
The elf’s composure faltered for a fraction of a second. She didn’t appear entirely convinced, but she couldn’t refute his claim either.
“And second,” Ludwig continued, “why would I report you? What does it gain me to do that?” He shrugged, feigning indifference.
The group exchanged uncertain glances, their body language betraying a mixture of confusion and suspicion.
“You mean…you don’t care that we’re elves?” she asked, her voice tinged with genuine surprise.
Ludwig let out a short, humorless laugh. “What difference does it make? Whether you’re elves, demons, or angels, it’s none of my business. Besides,” he gestured to the wolf mask hanging from her belt, “you look like someone who just wanted to enjoy the Mage Masquerade without drawing attention. Though…” his voice trailed off as his eyes sharpened, “you’re probably here for something more serious. The ritual, perhaps?”
The elf’s expression stiffened, a subtle tension creeping into her posture. Before she could respond, a small figure leaped from her shoulder and zipped toward Ludwig’s face.
It was a tiny creature, no larger than his hand, with a form that defied conventional description. Its humanoid body was adorned with eight translucent wings fluttering at dizzying speeds, and its large, beady eyes sparkled with mischief. Its oversized mouth revealed rows of sharp, shark-like teeth, adding an unsettling edge to its otherwise playful demeanor.
“I like him!” the creature chirped, its high-pitched voice echoing in the narrow alleyway. It flitted around Ludwig’s head, examining him from every angle. “He’s very smart! And oh, what an interesting smell!”
“Smell?” Ludwig muttered, his gaze following the erratic movements of the strange being.
“Yes! He smells like the Dead—but not the rotting kind. No, this is something…divine!”
“And what exactly are you?” Ludwig asked, his tone more curious than alarmed, and also more interested in changing the subject.
“I’m Lipsi! A Wind Spirit!” it declared, puffing out its chest proudly as it perched atop Ludwig’s head.
“I see,” Ludwig said, brushing his hair back into place. He reached up and gently pinched the spirit between his fingers, lifting it off his head. Lipsi struggled playfully, her tiny limbs flailing as she let out an indignant squeak.
“She’s the one who camouflaged your appearance,” Ludwig deduced, shifting his attention back to the elf.
“You catch on quickly,” Lipsi said with a satisfied nod.
“So, what’s next?” Ludwig asked, his tone steady.
The elf hesitated before replying. “Our business here is finished. We’ll be leaving Lufondal tonight. I only asked my companions to intercept you because I had one last question.”
“Sure thing, princess,” Ludwig replied with a smirk.
The atmosphere shifted in an instant.
[You are in a Hostile Environment]
“What the hell?” Ludwig uttered as the elf’s companions drew their silver swords, the tension palpable.
“Your Highness,” one of the guards growled, his voice low and menacing. “He knows. He must die.”
Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “You honestly think I just figured it out now?” he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “If I wanted to report you, I had all day to expose you. Stop being stupid and put those swords away.”
Mana began pooling in Ludwig’s hand, his body tensing as he prepared to activate [Self-Immolation]. If things escalated, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.
“Calm down!” the elf woman commanded, her voice sharp. “He clearly means no harm. He’s right—we’d already be exposed if he intended to report us.” She turned to Ludwig. “What’s your name?”
“Ludwig,” he replied curtly.
“My name is Floran Alsa,” she said.
“That’s a lie,” Ludwig shot back without hesitation.
The guards tightened their grips on their swords, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a blade.
“How would you know that?” the elf demanded, her voice unsteady.
“I told you—I have special eyes,” Ludwig said, his gaze piercing. “And those eyes see the lies, Miss Lorina.”
The name struck like a thunderclap, sending ripples of unease through the group.