Karte had just finished arranging the last porcelain plate when the knock came.
It was not polite and it was not hesitant. It was a violent pounding that shook the wooden door on its hinges. The small house quickly fell silent.
At the outside, the murmurs had already begun spreading through the district since afternoon.
Karte's earlier display of lavish purchases had drawn too many eyes. A servant known for counting coins had suddenly walked through the market by carrying imported drink, sugared pastries, and roasted meat that were wrapped in cloth.
People had noticed and some people had calculated.
In a district where most struggled to survive quietly, the sudden abundance was suspicious. The wealth did not bloom here without roots. It was either inherited, stolen, or protected by someone stronger.
Karte had unknowingly sent a message and not just to the curious one but also to those who measured the opportunity.
The shadows lingered longer near the alley corners that evening. Several conversations stopped when Baston passed earlier and a pair of unfamiliar faces had been seen asking subtle questions in the market.
"Who is that boy?"
"Where did the servant get the money?"
"Does he have a backing?"
The wrong answer to that question could decide life or death because in places like this, the backing meant that someone could not be disturbed.
Tonight, several people had come to verify who Baston truly was. Whether he was strong or not, the choice would be decided right now.
The pounding came again and it was harder this time.
"Open up! Do you want me to destroy the door?"
The voice was loud enough for the entire street to hear. Karte froze and Baston who had just lifted a fork slowly put it down.
The atmosphere outside felt wrong. It was not the restless curiosity of townsfolk since this was organized.
The heavy boots shuffled beyond the door and the metal clinked softly using several crude weapons.
"They… They're back…" Karte whispered, "Young noble, please don't open it. I will talk to them."
The pounding stopped. Before he could reply, the door was kicked.
It was more than once until the third strike that made the lock snapped. The door quickly burst inward.
More than a dozen men flooded into the small courtyard without invitation. Behind them, even more figures stood blocking the street.
There were around twenty people. Perhaps, twenty five to be exact. It was too many for such coincidence.
The neighbors peeked from behind the curtains but they did not dare to interfere.
At the front, the same big man that Baston had encountered before stood confidently. This time, he was not smiling. His face was stiff and indignant.
"You think you can humiliate us and walk away?" he said while his voice sounded harshly, "You think hiding behind such fancy food makes you untouchable? Do you think we will be fooled by the fake noble status of you?"
Karte stepped forward instinctively, "Please! If there is misunderstanding…"
A rough shove sent him crashing against the wall.
Baston rose from his seat calmly and he brushed crumbs from his sleeve.
"You brought quite a crowd."
The big man's lips twitched, "Do you think you can get away this time. It will be different from the last time."
A ripple of tension passed through the gathered thugs.
"Tonight…" the big man continued, "We will settle the problem properly."
The weapons were raised. It was not concealed and not subtle anymore because this was not intimidation but execution.
The mastermind perhaps had ordered it or the mastermind gave the full authority to his lackeys about what they wanted to do.
Baston glanced at the street behind them.
They had sealed all exits and even the rooftops held some silhouettes. They really intended for him to learn a lesson here secretly. This way was quite efficient and clean.
If the fat boy died here, it would be written off as common street violence. It was just a robbery that had gone wrong and no one would dig deeper.
"Is this already all of you?" Baston asked.
The big man frowned, "What?"
"Your numbers are too little."
There was a silence since that explanation was enough to provoke all the thugs.
The big man soon barked, "Kill him!"
They rushed and not one by one but all at once.
The iron rods were swung, the daggers flashed, and a net was thrown from behind. The courtyard shrank instantly under the storm of movement.
Suddenly, the temperature in the surrounding dropped. It was not gradual since it was violent.
The frost erupted from beneath Baston's feet like a living tide. The cobblestones cracked as ice magic surged outward in a circular wave.
The first three men were frozen mid-step and the next five collided into them, swallowed by the spreading crystal. With just one full attack, the screams erupted.
"Magic! Be careful!"
"Spread out!"
It was too late since the ice had climbed their legs, snapping around their torsos and sealing their mouths before the yelling could form.
Several people who got away quickly reached him and a blade slashed toward his neck.
Baston only tilted his head. The ice was formed along his fingers, creating a sharp needle. The compressed ice pierced through the attacker's chest cleanly, leaving a frozen hole at the size of a coin.
The man collapsed before he understood he was dead.
Another swung from behind and the ice solidified over Baston's shoulder, forming a temporary shield. The iron rod shattered on impact.
A pulse of freezing air radiated outward before three more people fell.
Some tried to flee but they found their boots stuck to the ground while the others attempted to climb the walls yet the ice followed.
It was not the wild slaughter since it was the controlled extermination.
The ice reflected the lantern light in fractured patterns, turning the courtyard into something unreal.
For a fleeting second, Baston saw his own distorted reflection in the frozen surfaces around him.
He had a round face and calm eyes but unmoved toward the current chaos. The old Baston which was the bullied and hesitant one would have already trembled at this sight.
Unfortunately, that boy had already died once.
This new Baston did not kill out of anger. He killed because the fair justice demanded it.
If he spared them, they would regroup. If he showed mercy, they would interpret as his weakness. If he reported them, Levan would erase the trail before the dawn.
The world was not kind enough for half-measures and what unsettled him the most was not the killing, but how easily he had calculated it.
Behind him, Karte's breathing was uneven toward the killing spree.
Baston did not turn since he did not need to. He knew what the servant had seen tonight could not be unseen anymore.
Meanwhile, the old book remained silent toward the chaos. It had no praise and no evaluation as if this massacre was merely a preparation.
Within less than a minute, the courtyard transformed into a forest of frozen statues. Their faces were twisted in rage, terror, and disbelief. Only the big man remained mobile because Baston had allowed it.
The big man's bravado was gone and he stumbled backward, slipping on the frost.
"You… What are you?!"
"A question you should have asked before dealing with me..."
Baston stepped forward slowly.
Behind him, Karte stared in absolute silence. He was trembling, not from cold, but from the realization that the gentle boy he served stood at the center of something far greater.
"You think killing us changes anything?" the big man spat desperately, "We'll send more and my boss will send worse! You don't even know who you're dealing with!"
"Your boss is Levan, right?" Baston whispered quietly.
The name dropped like a stone into the still water. The big man's pupils shrank.
"So, it is indeed true…" Baston murmured.
The old book had been correct from the beginning. It already pointed to the hidden mastermind.
The man was structured, funded, and directed.
The ice slowly crept up the big man's legs, freezing him into a dead body.
"You won't dare…"
Baston's expression did not change, "You barged into my residence with the intent to kill."
The frost soon sealed the man's mouth. One by one, the frozen statues began to suffocate within their icy prisons. Baston watched with no hesitation and no anger. It was simply just his own calculation.
The rot had to be cut at its limbs first.
When the last struggling body went still, Baston raised his hand again and his ice magic answered gladly.
The blue-white ice that covered the flesh together looked eerie. It froze all their body including their life, carrying away their soul into another realm. A few seconds later, the ice was broken into fine particles of crystal.
By the time the neighbors dared to peek at the outside again, the courtyard was already empty.
Baston turned back toward the doorway while Karte was still frozen in place.
"Young noble…" his voice trembled.
"They won't disturb this house again," Baston said calmly.
At the outside, the night returned to silence but somewhere in the town, a merchant would soon notice that an entire squad had vanished.
This time, it would be dismissed as a coincidence. After all, their corpses had turned into the crystal dust at the surrounding.
No one would report this and no one would question it because such questioning required the courage.
Such courage was expensive in a town like this.
*****
Inside the house, Baston finally sat down again.
The food on the table had gone too cold to eat and he stared at it without appetite.
Meanwhile, the old book rested silently inside his robe. Earlier, when the word of mastermind surfaced in the page, he found an anomaly.
It was not just one sentence anymore but more than one line. It had never done this before.
Usually, the quest was simple which only needed one sentence to finish. This time, it developed into two sentences.
At that moment, the wording had felt fragmented like an unfinished script as if the book expected him to uncover something beyond killing.
Surely, Levan was not merely a criminal since he was building something.
Perhaps, it was reputation, merits, or influence. That meant the public stage and not the hidden alleyways.
Baston exhaled slowly. He had cut off the limbs, and now, he needed to expose the head.
*****
In the meantime, at the finest inn in the town, Levan was reading the reports or rather, reading the absence of his thugs.
There was no return, no signal, and no runner.
He set the parchment aside. All twenty five men were gone at once. It was impossible without some kind of incident. It must not be a common one.
He leaned back slowly, "It seems I can't depend too much on them..."
He had suspected the resistance after the thugs disappeared but still, nothing much happened after that.
Perhaps, this was a confirmation that someone had investigated and someone had deduced him. Anyway, he had his own plan.
His structure was flawless from the robbery first, the charity second, and the reputation at last. The victims themselves defended him since he played his role perfectly.
Who would accuse their savior?
Levan stood and walked toward the window.
The street below the inn bustled normally. The vendors laughed, the children ran, and the beggar bowed deeply when someone from his side tossed him a coin from the pocket.
Every gesture was seen and every kindness was remembered. The reputation was not built through the generosity alone.
It was engineered through repetition and he had engineered his image perfectly.
He did not simply rob and repay since he selected the victims carefully.
Those who would speak gratefully afterward, those with the relatives who gossiped loudly, and those whose the recovery would be visible.
The sympathy multiplied the influence, the influence invited the officials, the officials awarded the merit, and the merit was the bridge to nobility.
However tonight, something had disrupted the formula.
Twenty five men had vanished without a trace and that was not a coincidence. Someone had not only removed his pawns but removed them cleanly.
There were no bodies and no noise that was reaching the authorities which meant his opponent understood the discretion.
Levan's smile faded slightly. It was not fear but the recognition.
"A hidden inspector or a vengeful victim…"
If this enemy wished to move in the shadows, then Levan would illuminate the stage.
The magic competition would be perfect then.
The chaos could be created, the crisis would be controlled, and the hero would be declared.
If his unseen opponent dared to interfere again, Levan would identify him in front of everyone publicly. It was because nothing killed faster than the collapse of reputation.
Levan's fingers tapped the table. He did not panic since he recalculated the problem within his side. If the enemy moved in the shadows, he would move in the light.
The nobles from nearby territories would attend the competition and the opportunities would gather in one place.
If something unfortunate happened during the event and if he solved it, his standing would rise dramatically.
He stood up and a slow smile spread across his face, "Yes… Let us turn this into my advantage."
Levan extinguished the candle on his desk and allowed the room to sink into the darkness.
In the reflection of the window, his gentle public face disappeared. What remained was the calculation that was sharpened by his ambition.
He did not fear enemies because he feared only stagnation.
Whoever had removed his men possessed precision and restraint. That alone made them dangerous. A reckless opponent could be baited but a careful one required exposure.
"Very well…" he murmured.
If the shadow wished to challenge him, he would drag them beneath the sun.
At the outside, a carriage rolled past, carrying a banner that was announcing the upcoming magic competition. The symbol of the academy fluttered proudly in the night breeze.
It was a stage of the crowd and witnesses. It would be a perfect spot to announce everything.
Across the town, in a modest house where the frost had recently erased twenty five lives, Baston sat quietly with the old book resting against his chest.
Neither man slept peacefully that night since both of them were preparing.
When the light and the shadow finally collided, the town would not remain as silent as it had tonight.