Grey Oak Village was not large.
A few dirt roads intersected, lined with low wooden cabins, dilapidated stables, and a tavern with oil lamps hanging outside.
Evening was the busiest time.
Hunters, mercenaries, caravan hands, and several strangely dressed Descenders were all crowded in front of the bulletin board at the entrance of the village.
A thick sheet of parchment was newly pinned to the bulletin board.
The paper was stamped with a wax seal of a crowned silver cross, and its edges were decorated with a border of vines.
A tall, thin mercenary stood on his tiptoes, struggling to read the words on the notice:
“...The contaminated sacred relic possesses extremely strong concealment capabilities. Anyone who detects abnormal, holy mana fluctuations in any city-state, wilderness, or black market transaction, or discovers anyone using or possessing high-tier light-attribute items of unknown origin beyond their rank, shall be deemed a co-conspirator of heresy.”
The crowd began to stir.
“Abnormal, holy mana fluctuations? What does that mean? Did the royal capital lose something?”
“There's more at the bottom!”
Another mercenary squeezed forward and read aloud:
“Anyone who slays the ‘heretic’ carrying the source of contamination and retrieves all items left on their person shall be rewarded with ten thousand gold coins, and the national treasury shall be opened to allow them to select one gold-grade skill scroll.”
Immediately, everyone gasped in surprise.
“A gold-grade skill scroll... Has the royal capital gone mad this time?”
The eyes of the people nearby turned red with greed.
“Mad? This is what you call a real bounty mission! As long as we find that heretic, we won't have to take on crappy jobs like escorting merchant caravans for the rest of our lives.”
An old mercenary sneered, however.
“Keep dreaming. Do you think you lot can handle something that would make the royal capital shell out ten thousand gold and open its treasury for a skill scroll?”
“Wealth is found in danger.”
“You need to be alive to enjoy it,” the old mercenary said, tapping his pipe. “The document states it very clearly: abnormal, holy mana fluctuations, high-tier light-attribute items, contaminated sacred relics, and co-conspirators of heresy. Which of those words sounds like an ordinary bounty to you?”
The eyes of several Descenders nearby lit up as they listened.
One of them, a young man wearing new leather armor, lowered his voice and said:
“A gold-grade skill scroll. The reward for this bounty mission is really something.”
His companion immediately chimed in:
“But it says we have to bring back all the items left on their person. Does that mean all the dropped equipment has to be handed over to complete the quest? That's way too stingy.”
“Are you stupid? Kill them first, then check the loot. If there really is a high-tier light-attribute item, who would actually hand it over?”
“But it says holding a high-tier light-attribute item of unknown origin counts as being a co-conspirator of heresy.”
“Then hide it. Can the NPCs even find out?”
Hearing this, a native mercenary's face immediately darkened.
“Are you Descenders out of your minds? The royal capital's knights will set up checkpoints everywhere. Their Holy Radiance Seal can detect the aura of holy equipment and items within a hundred meters. Do you think putting it in your inventory will save you?”
The Descender sneered.
“Who are you trying to scare? You natives are just cowards. No wonder you can't get your hands on any good loot.”
The mercenary immediately gripped the hilt of his sword.
“Say that again!”
The people around them quickly stepped in to separate the two sides.
Isolde happened to be passing by behind them, and she had heard their entire conversation clearly.
Every single sentence on the bounty notice seemed to be targeted directly at her.
The royal capital did not make the Mooncrown Lock public, nor did they mention Grey Dove Monastery.
They hid the most crucial truth, only releasing a sufficiently tempting bounty and vague conditions.
This way, the entire continent would look for the person for them.
Everyone would be keeping an eye out for “light-attribute items that shouldn't appear on low-tier class holders.”
If she encountered inspections later on, she would easily be exposed.
Especially the Radiant Ring and the Corona Band.
Both of these items were related to the Holy Court. Even though she had already suppressed their aura using Soul Threads and Inverse Radiance Shadow-Folding, she couldn't guarantee she would always be safe.
If she ran into actual royal capital knights or inquisitors sent by the Holy Court, she might not be able to fool them with just disguises.
Just then, someone behind her suddenly called out hesitantly:
“...Rena?”
Isolde paused, quickly adjusting her state as she turned to look at the person who had called her. Suddenly, her tone turned furious.
“Where is Milo? I have a bone to pick with him.”
The person was startled by the anger in her eyes and subconsciously raised a hand to point toward the center of the village.
“In... in the tavern. He was still there just now...”
Isolde didn't wait for him to finish. She turned and strode toward the tavern.
She maintained her disheveled appearance, walking quickly and urgently.
Her tattered cloak was blown back by the wind, revealing the poisoned shortsword at her thigh.
The scabbard was still stained with dried, bloody mud, making her look like she had just crawled out of some extremely terrible place.
The people along the road made way for her.
Someone whispered, “Is that Rena?”
“Didn't Milo say they were all dead?”
As these voices reached Isolde's ears, the anger on her face intensified, but her heart remained completely calm.
It seemed Milo had already spread the word about Crow Candle Castle.
But it hadn't reached an uncontrollable stage yet.
Just think about it: the words of a coward who had fled from battle were naturally prone to being doubted.
Moreover, when his supposedly dead teammate appeared “alive” right in front of him,
and a more logical story was layered on top, the truth in Milo's mouth would turn into a lie.
And the “lie” of a coward carried no credibility.
Inside the tavern, Milo was sitting at the bar, clutching a wine glass, his face flushed red.
An old trade route map was spread out on the table, its corners soaked with alcohol, the ink lines smudged into a blur.
He pointed his finger fiercely at the northern part of the map.
“Right here!”
“North of the old trade route station, past two crossed withered trees, and then deep along the gravel road. There must be an illusion formation there!”
Quite a few people were gathered around.
Mercenaries, caravan guards, a few Descenders, and two black market brokers sitting by the counter pretending to drink.
In the corner, a person clad in a dark green cloak, wearing a hood and a mask, sat quietly, leaving the plain water beside them untouched.
The cloth-wrapped weapon on their back was particularly eye-catching.
Milo panted heavily and continued:
“I saw with my own eyes the grey mist parting, and there was a path inside! At the end of the path was a castle! Buck and the others went in while I kept watch outside, and then screams came from within.”
A mercenary sneered, “You were keeping watch outside? Wasn't it just because you didn't dare go in?”
Laughter erupted in the tavern.
Milo gritted his teeth. “I wasn't scared! I... I wanted to go in and save them, but there was something in the mist.”
“What was it?”
Milo's voice trembled. “I... I don't know. But I think I saw a figure... It seemed to have no face. It was just standing in the mist, watching me.”
At these words, the laughter grew even louder.
“Milo, last time you said there was a water ghoul in the ditch, but we ended up pulling out half a rotten boot.”
“And the time before that, he said the tree roots were alive, but it turned out he just tripped over a vine himself.”
“If you're a coward, just admit it. Why make up some castle?”
Milo's neck turned red with anxiety.
“I didn't make it up! I really heard them screaming!”
An old mercenary set down his cup and asked slowly:
“Did you see any corpses?”
Milo froze.
“I...”
The old mercenary asked again, “Did you see them get killed by monsters?”
Milo's lips turned pale.
He hadn't.
Because he had run away.
This fact bound him tightly, like life-claiming thorns he couldn't break free from.
The one-eyed mercenary nearby immediately laughed. “So you didn't see anything, yet you ran back to tell stories?”
Milo clenched his fists tightly.
He knew these people looked down on him, but Buck and the others really hadn't returned, and that castle truly existed.
Gritting his teeth, he suddenly raised his voice:
“If you don't believe me, I can take you there! It's best if we get more people. There must be an illusion formation there. Once we find the entrance, you'll know I'm not lying!”
These words quieted the laughter in the tavern.
Several mercenaries exchanged glances.
Buck and his crew had indeed been missing for several days.
If Milo were really just making up stories, he might not dare to offer to lead the way.
Furthermore, the northern part of the old trade route was already known to be dangerous; no one dared to approach it on their own.
The expressions of some began to waver.
The black market brokers by the counter also set down their glasses, pretending to casually look at the map.
Just then, the tavern door was violently pushed open from the outside.
The cold wind swept in, and the hinges let out a harsh creak.
Everyone turned their heads at the same time.
Upon seeing a disheveled figure appear at the doorway, the tavern fell dead silent.
The wine glass in Milo's hand fell to the ground with a shatter, shards and ale splashing all over his feet.
He stared blankly at the person at the door, fear and surprise mixing on his face, leaving him barely able to form a coherent sentence.
“Re... Rena...”
His throat bobbed.
“You... you're still alive...”
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