Chapter Twenty-One
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The night in the valley was darker than expected.
Karsu stood at the edge of the black lake, his oil lamp casting faint halos of light that danced upon the stagnant surface.
Sweat still dripped from his brow, but it was no longer gray—only salt and exhaustion.
The poison was waiting. And the serpent was asleep.
He looked at the large rock where the black serpent remained coiled, its scales faintly glimmering each time it breathed in its sleep.
Not a beast. Just a snake. Large, venomous—but still just a snake.
He carefully placed the lamp on the ground and drew a small knife from his belt. It was not his sword. He did not need a sword for this.
He stepped forward. Then another.
The gravel beneath his feet made a faint sound. He froze. The serpent did not move.
Its sleep is deep. The night is cold. Good.
—
A few meters from the rock, Karsu stood observing the serpent.
He could see it clearly now: over three meters long, its glossy black body hiding its details within shadow, its triangular head resting at the center of that tight spiral.
The Spiral Serpent… its venom coagulates blood within minutes. But its antidote lies in its glands, just behind the eyes.
He remembered his many experiments in what he had once called the Manuscripts of the Science of Death, back when he studied chemistry before moving on to mathematics and physics.
The venom gland of the Spiral Serpent differs from that of other snakes.
Both venom and antidote come from the same gland, yet they are separate—like oil and water. If you know how to separate them…
He slowly reached toward his belt and took out a small leather pouch containing thin glass ampoules.
He always carried them—or rather, he used to. The ones he had now… he had "picked up" from a passing hunter by chance along the way.
Now… how do we wake it quietly?
—
He did not need to wake it.
He decided to move first.
He bent down slowly.
His exhausted body ached with every motion, but he ignored the pain. He stepped cautiously onto the rock. Smooth. Polished. Slightly slanted.
The serpent shifted in its sleep. Its tongue flicked out briefly, trembled in the air, then withdrew.
Karsu froze. Its heart was beating—but he did not fear. He simply waited.
One second. Two. Three.
The serpent settled again.
Its nocturnal senses function even in sleep. But it does not sense danger… not yet.
He took another step. Now he was only two meters away.
He could see the details of its head: the closed eyes, the small scales around its mouth, the faint pulse beneath the skin behind the right eye—there, where the gland lay.
If I strike it in its sleep, it may die before I extract the gland. The venom will coagulate inside its body. Useless.
If I wake it, it will attack. And the poison in my veins cannot endure another bite.
So…
He pulled a glass ampoule from the pouch. It was empty, clean, sterilized. He placed it between his teeth.
His right hand tightened around the knife.
His left hand—the one that had been dead just hours ago—extended slowly toward the serpent's head.
One moment. One precise instant.
—
His fingers touched the scales of its head.
Cold. Smooth. Alive.
The serpent jolted.
In an instant, its eyes snapped open—yellow, with vertical pupils, staring at him from mere centimeters away.
Its mouth opened. Two long fangs revealed themselves like small daggers.
But Karsu was faster.
His right hand struck with the knife—not to stab, but to slice the air behind its head in a swift, sudden motion. The blade never touched it, but the movement startled it, frightened it, forcing its head to turn left.
In that instant, his left hand—still touching its head—pressed two fingers just behind its right eye.
The serpent hissed. A slight pain. A muscle beneath the skin contracted.
And a drop emerged.
A small drop of clear liquid seeped from a tiny pore beneath the skin. Karsu wasted no time. The glass ampoule in his mouth—he brought it close and drew the drop inside.
One drop. No more. No less.
Then he retreated.
He leapt back, landed on the ground, rolled, and rose again.
The serpent had fully uncoiled now, its head moving left and right, searching for the enemy. But it did not attack. It merely took a defensive posture, its tail trembling, its yellow eyes scanning the area.
Karsu stood five meters away, the ampoule in his hand, breathing heavily.
He looked at it. It looked at him.
Then—it slowly slid off the rock and disappeared into the shadows of the valley, leaving behind nothing but a faint trace upon the sand.
—
Karsu raised the ampoule before his eyes. The clear liquid shimmered under the moonlight.
The Spiral gland… its antidote in its purest form.
He smiled.
A fleeting smile. Brief. Rare.
Then he carefully placed the ampoule back into his pouch and turned toward the forest.
Now… the antidote.
—
On the other side of the valley, where the rocks rose higher and the darkness deepened, two men stood.
One of them was the Lord of Mist. A faint mist surrounded him as always, and his silver eyes gleamed in the darkness.
The other… had no face.
Not in the literal sense—but in the sense that anyone who saw him—if they saw him at all—would forget his features after a single glance. An utterly ordinary man, nothing about him worth remembering. Even his voice was plain, flat, without tone.
They stood on the edge of a rocky cliff overlooking the valley from afar. Below them, Karsu was nothing more than a small moving point among the rocks.
"The journey was difficult," said the Lord of Mist calmly.
"Mountain paths always are," the other replied.
Silence.
"But you arrived."
"I arrived."
The Lord of Mist looked downward. At Karsu.
"What do you think of him?"
"I saw nothing worth mentioning."
"You're lying."
"You know I do not lie. I simply do not say everything."
Another silence. Longer.
Then the ordinary man spoke:
"The market next week. Prices haven't changed."
"But the goods have."
"The goods always change. The price remains."
The Lord of Mist looked at him.
"And if I wanted to buy something… bigger?"
The ordinary man looked at the sky.
"The sky is clear tonight. Suitable for travel."
"Travel requires provisions."
"The provisions exist. Just… prepare the road."
—
The ordinary man turned and walked away. After only a few steps, he vanished among the rocks. No sound. No trace. As if he had never been there.
The Lord of Mist stood alone on the cliff, his silver eyes fixed on the distant Karsu.
He whispered, barely audible:
"Prepare the road… very well."
---
"The report!"
Sabed stood straight, gave a military salute, then began reporting without preamble:
"This evening, the reconnaissance teams moved to the forest indicated by the commander—the one whose location we obtained from the Lord of Shadow.
The information appears accurate.
We found traces of blood on the trees, and it seems the killer has advanced deep into the forest."
Sabed flipped the first page of his report, but before he could begin the second, Ained interrupted:
"I understand from the commander that the Lord of Threads is poisoned. The Lord of Shadow did not specify the type of poison, but—"
Ained's gaze shifted toward his commander. Vargas understood immediately.
"The commander means that our initial analysis may be wrong.
How could the Lord of Shadow—who cooperated with the Lord of Threads—not provide him with the antidote to the poison he himself used?
There are only two possibilities: either our analysis is entirely wrong, or the poison used by the Lord of Shadow has no antidote—either because he is not its maker, or because the antidote's components are not currently available.
In both cases, the Lord of Shadow is neither able nor obligated to help anyone merely for some money or energy stones."
Vargas's analysis matched exactly what Ained had just deduced.
Sabed paused for a moment, then continued:
"While following the blood trail… our scouts found a suspended corpse.
Metallic threads held it, hanging between the branches of a giant tree.
The body was like a dead animal, waiting for its blood to dry before being cooked… that was the description given by those who saw it."
He raised his head and looked at them.
"It was the corpse of the Lord of Concealment!"
"!"
"!"
---
Ained and Vargas exchanged a quick glance. Then Ained looked at his commander, as if seeking permission to begin his analysis. Vargas nodded.
"This changes the equation."
Ained stood upright, his voice more focused:
"The Lord of Concealment is dead. Without a doubt.
He fell into a prearranged trap.
According to witness descriptions, there were no signs of battle.
Therefore… either the Lord of Concealment was visibly exposed—which is unlikely—or the Lord of Threads anticipated being tracked and set a one-sided trap."
Sabed nodded and continued:
"That is not all. The blood trail and the location of the corpse pointed deeper into the forest, toward the right.
Following the path, we found another body discarded by the roadside. A common hunter."
Vargas shook his head coldly:
"Do not give us useless information. Commoners die every day—hunters especially.
The forest may not be dangerous for Qaz Lords, but it is dangerous for common people. Their deaths are natural."
Sabed replied calmly:
"Yes, sir. But I would not report something so obvious. Even if the Lord of Threads killed him—or any Qaz Lord—it would not matter. The lives of commoners are no different from animals in these calculations."
He paused briefly, then continued:
"But what drew the scouts' attention was something unusual: the hunter was there in the afternoon, yet he carried no oil lamp—despite hunters always carrying one.
Nor did he have even a simple dagger in his sleeve—though that is their habit. Field investigators concluded that the killer took these items for a reason… most likely to survive the forest at night."
"!" "!"
Vargas and Ained's eyes widened at the same moment. The idea completed itself in both their minds.
Ained stood and began analyzing rapidly:
"The Lord of Shadow poisoned the Lord of Threads. The Lord of Threads later cooperated with him and asked for the antidote.
The Lord of Shadow refused—or did not possess it. Then the Lord of Shadow—or perhaps the Lord of Concealment—suggested that the Lord of Threads head deeper into the forest to hunt something… most likely a serpent, or to extract the antidote components himself."
He paused to catch his breath, then continued:
"The Lord of Threads went there. He noticed the Lord of Concealment was watching him. He set a precise trap and killed him.
Then he continued searching. But night fell. He encountered a common hunter, killed him, and took his lamp and dagger. Then he continued deeper… at night."
He looked at Vargas.
"This means only one thing: his condition is extremely severe. If he were not on the brink of death, he would not risk staying in the forest at night in such an exposed state. It seems that if he does not find the antidote soon… he will die."
Vargas did not disagree. His analysis matched.
He silently gestured for Sabed to continue.
Sabed looked at his commander, then said:
"Sir… the reconnaissance operation continued. We advanced deeper. We used the standard 'Val' search method."
He explained quickly:
"Five groups. Each group has five members: four elite common soldiers, and the fifth a reconnaissance-type Qaz Lord.
The area was fully covered. Thanks to the distribution, if any of them fell into trouble, the others would know immediately."
He paused, then added in a lower voice:
"But strangely… we found nothing. No obstacles. No new clues.
The bleeding stopped completely. And the Lord of Threads… disappeared. As if the earth swallowed him."
He raised his head.
"At the moment I deliver this report, the reconnaissance teams have reversed direction.
They are now heading toward the left side of the deep forest."
—
Silence.
A long, heavy silence filled the room.
Vargas did not move. His blue eyes were fixed on the map hanging on the wall. Ained watched him quietly. Sabed stood upright, waiting.
Then—slowly—Vargas turned toward Sabed. He did not raise his voice. He showed no emotion.
But his eyes—those piercing blue eyes—darkened for a brief moment.
He spoke calmly, decisively, leaving no room for argument:
"Stop the operation. Immediately."
—