The wagon moved steadily along the southern road.
Wood creaked with each turn of the wheels, and the rhythm of hooves echoed softly against the dry earth. Outside, the land slowly changed—green fading into dust, trees thinning into scattered silhouettes.
Inside the wagon—
The air felt heavier.
Eason Leonhart sat comfortably on one side, both hands resting over the curved handle of his cane. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, as if he were on a casual trip instead of marching toward war.
But his eyes—sharp and focused.
Locked on the figure sitting across from him.
A man cloaked in black.
No—
Something wrapped in black.
Eason had seen many things in his life. Monsters. Kings. Men who pretended to be gods.
But this—
This was different.
No matter how long he stared, no matter how carefully he observed—
There was nothing.
No face nor detail.
Only darkness.
Endless, swallowing darkness.
Yet the presence was there.
Heavy and pressing. Like something ancient breathing quietly in a small space.
The horses outside shifted uneasily from time to time as the presence fluctuated.
Eason smiled.
"Fascinating," he said, voice calm and refined. "This presence… it carries a weight most peculiar. For a fleeting moment, I was almost reminded of something… ancient. Like one of the high demon warriors I fought in my prime."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Pray tell, what manner of artifact is that cloak? My vision, despite its experience, finds itself… utterly denied."
The figure didn't move much.
"It's called Cloak of Nothing," the man said, voice deep and hollow. "Got it from a demon I killed."
Eason nodded slowly.
"I see," he said. "A rather fortunate acquisition. Perhaps god's blessing."
He tapped his cane lightly against the wooden floor.
"I must commend you," he added, amused. "Your little performance earlier—quite effective."
A faint chuckle escaped him.
"I daresay a number of our companions nearly lost control of their composure… in more ways than one."
The figure turned his head slightly toward the window.
"Are you done watching?" Klaus said beneath the cloak. "Or are you still enjoying it?"
Eason's smile widened.
"On the contrary," he said. "I suspect you have only just begun."
A pause.
Then—
"Tell me, Slouch," Eason continued, voice softer now. "Whom are you impersonating today?"
The figure remained still.
"You already know," Klaus said. "You just want me to say it."
Eason tapped his cane again.
"Confirmation," he said. "Is a habit I find difficult to abandon."
A moment passed.
Then—
Klaus raised his hand.
Slowly.
The hood came off.
And the darkness—
Peeled away.
Like smoke being pulled back by an unseen force.
Revealing—
A face that not his.
Eason's eyes widened.
Just slightly.
Then—
He smiled.
"…How delightfully reckless," he said.
The face staring back at him—
Cold, familiar—and dead.
Hevert Alkantel.
"The hound of Hallosbell," Eason murmured. "And yet… here he sits."
Klaus leaned back slightly.
"This is the fun part," he said. "Imagine Sebas' face when he hears his loyal dog is walking in light again."
Eason exhaled softly.
"You tread upon exceedingly dangerous ground, young man," he said. "The dead are expected to remain… obediently deceased."
He studied Klaus carefully.
"If that illusion reaches the wrong ears and passes to the Warhogs, you will not be hunted."
A pause.
"You will be erased."
Klaus shrugged lightly.
"That's only if they know it's me," he said. "You planning to tell them?"
Eason let out a quiet laugh.
"I would never endanger my future grandson-in-law so carelessly."
Klaus pulled the hood back on.
Darkness swallowed the face again.
"I didn't agree to that," he said.
Eason leaned back.
"Nor did my dear Lillas," he admitted. "However, time has a curious way of… persuading people."
Klaus clicked his tongue.
"They say she rules with an iron hand," he said. "Stacks slaves like collections."
Eason sighed softly.
"She possesses a… different perspective," he said. "Not entirely agreeable, I admit. But she is not without merit."
He looked at Klaus.
"She is simply inexperienced."
Klaus shook his head.
"Inexperienced or not," he said, "I don't like how she does things."
Eason's smile returned.
"Then perhaps," he said, "she requires guidance."
He tapped his cane lightly.
"From someone who understands what she does not."
Klaus snorted quietly.
"Stop selling her to me," he said. "I'm not ready to handle a duchess."
Eason chuckled.
"Very well," he said. "Let us discuss something more… persuasive."
A pause.
"Would you reconsider," he continued, "if I offered you something of value?"
Klaus tilted his head slightly.
"…Like what?"
Eason's eyes sharpened.
"Information."
Silence.
The wagon creaked.
Outside, the wind brushed against the window canvas.
"About the remnants of House De Vedre," Eason added. "Specifically…the traitor's second wife. And the daughter."
Klaus didn't move.
But the air changed.
Slightly heavier.
"…You know where they are?" he asked.
Eason shook his head.
"Not yet."
A short pause.
"Then we talk later," Klaus said.
Eason nodded.
"As you wish."
Then—
"I, too, have a confession."
Klaus leaned back.
"Go on."
Eason's tone remained calm.
"Within two days—perhaps sooner—the remaining Keepers will arrive. Alongside them… soldiers from Solrien."
A pause.
"And a hundred slaves."
The air—
Dropped.
The presence inside the wagon surged. Heavy and sharp.
The shadow threatened to shadow the light around them.
The horses outside panicked, their hooves stumbling as the wagon shook violently.
Eason raised his hand slightly.
"Easy now," he said. "Direct your displeasure appropriately. The decision was not mine."
Klaus's voice lowered.
"I thought we had an agreement."
"We do," Eason replied. "However, the Duke of Solrien proved… insistent."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"He threatened withdrawal from the campaign should I refuse."
The wagon steadied, but the tension remained.
"I suspect," Eason added, "that unseen hands are at work."
Klaus went silent.
Thinking.
Then—
A memory surfaced.
A message.
ACCEPT THE OFFER.
"…That bastard," Klaus muttered. "He's playing me."
Eason glanced at him.
"And who might that be?"
Klaus exhaled slowly.
"…No one."
He leaned back, the darkness around him settling again.
"I can't back out now," he said. "I'll adjust."
Eason smiled.
"Well said," he replied. "Adaptability is a most valuable trait."
He looked outside the window and closed his eyes with a sigh of relief.