A single sheet of paper lay open under the dim light. On the table, a metal cup sat half-filled with cold water, and next to it, a small black bag covered in dust stood alone.

  Ganyu read the document again.

  "Name: Shureik. Middle-aged male. Currently secluded in an old castle near the abandoned village of Mard.

  Recently reported to have increased movement. Mentions related to missing persons detected.

  Possible possession of specific information.

  Elimination required.”

  Inside the envelope was a yellowed portrait. The man’s face, drawn in faint ink, bore eyes steeped in fatigue and indifference, with sharp cheekbones leaving a lasting impression. Once again, the informant had not added a single word. No dates, no reasons, no context. Only a small, circled place name on the edge of an old-style map.

  Ganyu turned his eyes to the window. The sun had already set, and the distant alleys of the city were beginning to light up one by one.

  He inhaled silently.

  From the contents alone, it was impossible to tell whether the man was truly dangerous. The only thing certain was that the client behind this contract sought information—either to erase or to seize. One of the two.

  He rose slowly from the chair, folded the document, and tucked it into the inside of his bag, securing it with a dry rubber band.

  As he left the room, he placed the key on the counter. Without a word, he stepped out into the twilight, making his way toward the outskirts of the city.

  Mard was an abandoned village, but not completely lifeless. The paths were faint, walls crumbled, and all windows were sealed. Yet, in one house that looked deserted, a dim light glowed beneath the window.

  As Ganyu approached, a coughing sound came from inside, and the door opened halfway.

  “What brings you here?”

  An old man with a hunched back looked out through the crack. His tone held not suspicion but wearied fatigue.

  “I followed the road,” Ganyu replied plainly.

  The old man quietly scanned him from head to toe.

  “There’s no road here. This place ended long ago,” he muttered, coughing again and leaning against the door.

  “All that’s left now are a few old folks like me, some empty houses… and the sounds that sometimes come.”

  “What sounds?”

  “They come at night. From far away. Not quite voices, but something like them… dragging noises, something scratching the ground. Sometimes lights too. But no people.”

  Ganyu was silent for a moment before asking,

  “Has anyone come to investigate?”

  The old man shook his head.

  “There were some at first. Two young soldiers, three strong men. They went in, never came back. No one else came after that.”

  He slowly closed the door a bit further and spoke in a low voice,

  “You’re going to the ruins, aren’t you?”

  Ganyu gave no reply. But the old man nodded knowingly.

  “You’ll see it once you cross the hill. The tower still stands. If you’re going, I won’t stop you. But…”

  He paused, then added just one phrase.

  “It’s nothing.”

  The door closed slowly. Ganyu stood there a moment, then walked silently into the darkness.

  The ruins were collapsed, but not lifeless. Short moss grew along the stone steps, and the wind passed straight through where the roof had caved in.

  But the moment Ganyu stepped onto the floor, he felt a strange sense of unease.

  The dust was odd. It was spread evenly like sand, yet worn away along specific paths, as if deliberately avoided. It wasn’t just traces of passage—someone was using this place.

  Following the corridor deeper inside, a circular clearing appeared at the center of the ruined structure. At its heart were a small stone altar and scattered pieces of cloth, with several strange metallic relics neatly arranged around the perimeter.

  Ganyu stepped quietly toward the relics. When he reached out toward one of them—a horizontal silver artifact—a strange heat surged up his arm.

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  The sigil did not manifest, but something stirred deep beneath it, writhing upward with a sense of resistance. His body reacted involuntarily, not of his own will. The power was unfamiliar, uncontrollable.

  The layout of the space was clearly prepared for a ritual. But it wasn’t for prayer. This was a place meant to ‘align’ something.

  Ganyu carefully lifted one of the structures. Between the fine rings and grooves inside, a faint vibration trembled through his fingertips.

  It wasn’t magic. It felt like the creator’s intent had soaked into its flow—a refined resonance.

  Ascending the steps to the upper level, he found a narrow chamber with a round shape, high ceilings, and shuttered windows.

  More than anything—the floor was still warm.

  Ganyu stepped silently toward the center.

  The stone floor bore soot stains and overlapping drag marks, as if something heavy had been repeatedly moved. Dried blood was lightly splattered within a circular boundary roughly two strides wide. At the center, a small candle flickered—its smoke not yet faded.

  Someone had just left. The warmth of their body still lingered in the air.

  Ganyu did not extinguish the candle. He simply turned back and descended into the shadows. He could not know when or where he might cross paths with whatever had just departed.

  This was no longer just a simple elimination.

  Exiting the corridor, Ganyu found a small gap beneath the ruined eastern wall of the fortress.

  Half-covered by weeds, the ground bore clear signs of frequent passage.

  He passed through the gap and followed a low forest trail, which led to a dirt-covered pit. The earth had been recently disturbed. In the distance, a small door stood ajar—left open as if its owner had no intention of returning.

  Cautiously, Ganyu stepped inside.

  The corridor was narrow, ending in a single room. The air was strangely warm, and the undusted floor bore fresh signs of movement.

  At the room’s center stood an old desk. On top lay a stack of hastily written notes, a broken glass tube, and shackles stained with blood.

  Ganyu picked up a sheet of paper.

  The ink was faded, but recurring words stood out.

  “Offering”, “Repetition”, “Lamp.”

  The handwriting grew frantic toward the end, and many pages had been torn away.

  In a corner lay a covered cloth. Beneath it were bizarrely arranged metal plates and remnants reduced to ash. From within, Ganyu pulled out a black journal.

  On its final page was written:

  “This is not scripture. But it is written to be followed.”

  At that moment, Ganyu sensed a shift in the air. No sound, no movement—yet something watched him from beyond the dark.

  He didn’t turn.

  Instead, his hand slowly reached toward the axe.

  A presence loomed, as if the space itself was sinking toward him. Ganyu gave one final glance around the room.

  There was no one. Yet he knew—

  Someone was already watching.

  The air in the room warped. Ganyu slowly turned. The presence remained just beyond the darkness. It made no effort to hide.

  He quietly gripped his axe and stepped toward the door.

  At the end of the corridor, the air quivered. Someone was deliberately making noise.

  “A lure?”

  Ganyu ascended the stairs and stepped to the fortress’s rear. The door was open, and the wind had stilled.

  In the darkness, beside the crumbled colonnade, someone stood.

  “So you finally came out.”

  The man spoke. It was the middle-aged face from the portrait—Shureik. With hollow eyes, sharp cheeks, and a dark artifact clutched in his hand.

  “Did you think this would end with observation alone?” he said, stepping forward.

  “We’ve been watching since your first step.”

  Ganyu said nothing.

  Behind Shureik, more presences emerged. From behind weeds, shattered walls, and trees, figures appeared, holding crude spears and blunt weapons.

  Five, seven, nine… ten.

  “What gave you the confidence to come here?” Shureik sneered.

  “Someone must have sent you to erase me. But I doubt they wanted you to return.”

  Ganyu slowly inhaled. He didn’t speak, but drew his axe with calm deliberation.

  Shureik raised the artifact. It was black metal set with a cracked gem, and as his fingers rubbed it, the air around him warped. His body convulsed, eyes bloodshot, and muscles swelled grotesquely beneath his skin.

  “This is not magic,” Shureik roared.

  “This is the remnant of power! A legacy imbued with the breath of gods!”

  And the fight began.

  Before he could move—his enemies rushed in.

  “Kill him!”

  With a short cry, crude weapons flew at him from both sides.

  Ganyu bent his knees and twisted his body.

  The axe swept low, slicing through the first man's ankle, and he shoved aside a spear from a second attacker with his shoulder.

  He rolled forward quickly.

  Two, three, four.

  Never stopping, pressing on.

  A thrown dagger wielder dropped before reaching him, breath stolen mid-step. Ganyu leaped over the corpse.

  Shureik growled, swinging his grotesquely swollen arm. It tore through the air like a whip, and Ganyu barely dodged.

  But then—he felt it.

  The heat. Stirring within his arm.

  ‘Now or never…’

  He didn’t hesitate. The sigil rose instinctively. Deeper, heavier than before. His chest burned, and the power surged into his limbs.

  As his heel struck the ground, the earth dented beneath him.

  Ganyu’s axe tore through three men at once, as if wielded by something greater than muscle alone.

  Shureik’s eyes widened.

  “You… you too…!”

  He tried to clutch the artifact again, but Ganyu closed the gap and struck his hand.

  A sickening crack. The artifact fell with a thud. Shureik’s knees gave way. Ganyu kicked and dislocated his elbow.

  Arms, legs—rendered useless.

  The remaining enemies fled or lay motionless.

  “This… is that your power…”

  Shureik choked, spitting blood.

  “Are you… a part of the gods too…”

  Ganyu set down his axe.

  “Gods?”

  Shureik’s bloody mouth twisted.

  “That… that relic… it belonged to Him… Long ago… it told us. Miracles aren’t gone. We can bring them back…”

  His eyes rolled up.

  “I was preparing. For those like you to come.”

  Ganyu said nothing.

  “Don’t say we were wrong… We only believed.”

  His breath faded. His throat dried.

  “How many did you kill for that belief?” Ganyu asked.

  Kneeling in blood, Shureik repeated madly,

  “Miracles… bring them back… to this land…”

  As Ganyu stepped forward, Shureik’s scream shattered the air—then silence.

  When his head rolled, the space fell still, as if nothing had happened.

  Ganyu exhaled. Then, as he inhaled, something rose from Shureik’s body.

  No shape, but clearly felt. Lighter than air, more distinct than presence, undeniably alive.

  It lingered in front of Ganyu, then drifted toward the fallen artifact—and vanished.

  The feeling was impossible to describe—except familiar.

  Ganyu picked up the artifact and examined it. It seemed like ordinary metal, but etched between the grooves on the base was a pattern.

  The moment he saw it, Ganyu held his breath.

  A memory from not long ago.

  After the beast battle—one image flashed in his mind. A man at the end of a great hall, staring into nothing, as if conducting a ritual. Lourne.

  The artifact in Lourne’s hand—this bore the same exact markings.

  A serpent-shaped line coiled around a circle, three fine lines branching from the center.

  Exactly the same.

  Ganyu stared at the relic silently, then stored it in his bag and wrapped Shureik’s head in cloth.

  —

  Back in the city, Ganyu stopped at the agreed alley. The lights were faint, all the shops closed.

  After some time, a shadow emerged.

  “Black flag.”

  A short murmur. Ganyu nodded.

  The figure glanced around and said softly,

  “You did it. Faster than expected.”

  He handed Ganyu a small leather pouch.

  “Your payment. And the promised info.”

  Ganyu opened it. Inside was a single sheet.

  “This?”

  “An appendix. Might be related to what that man knew.”

  He unfolded it.

  “The records have been transferred to the Religious Office in the capital, Serna. Some ancient documents remain in the National Archive, but access is limited. Approval from the Religious Office required. Rumors suggest something is being hidden.”

  “Can you tell who requested the job?” Ganyu asked.

  The man paused, shrugged.

  “This isn’t a job you open a file on. Could put the entire organization at risk. Info like that costs fortunes.”

  He added,

  “There’s an unspoken rule in this line of work. Never ask about the client.”

  Ganyu folded the paper and stored it.

  “That’s enough.”

  The informant nodded.

  “Next time… if you need us, find the brewery that only lights up at night. Same method. Price might differ.”

  Ganyu turned.

  “And…”

  The man called after him.

  “This job might’ve etched your name a little deeper. And next time, don’t just stand around.”

  He chuckled.

  “We’ll find you. Remember—we told you not to come back.”

  Ganyu didn’t respond.

  He stopped, then asked quietly,

  “Can you make an identity?”

  The informant looked up.

  “In a hurry?”

  “I’ll need it soon.”

  Ganyu vanished into the dark, as if it were all finished.