[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Rumpelstadt]

Rumpelstadt lay deep within a hollow valley, shrouded by black hills and forests. The trees were crooked, their bark dark and flaking, and the air was filled with the smell of soot.

A narrow river wound through the heart of the valley, its waters muddied with gray sediment from the old mines upstream.

Every rooftop was filmed with coal dust; every chimney spat dark vapor that climbed into a sky already heavy with clouds. The sun rarely reached Rumpelstadt anymore—only a dull light. Crows perched on the crooked spires, watching the miners shuffle to work, their faces slack and weary.

The streets were just as crooked, slick with rain. Wooden signs hung above doors, their paint blistered and the few merchants in the square smiled in that brittle way people do when anxiousness has become routine.

And towering over it all stood the Spindle Tower, a clocktower of black stone girded with iron bands. The clock's face was cracked, its hands frozen at midnight. The toll of the bell had long fallen silent, yet people still glanced toward it from habit.

But Alexander and Ivan were not out among the streets.

They sat instead in the stale gloom of a tavern near the town's edge. Calling it a tavern felt generous—it was little more than a sagging wooden room that smelled of smoke, mildew, and old ale. The floors groaned underfoot. Half the lanterns had burned out, leaving the corners swallowed in darkness. A few regulars sat hunched over their drinks, speaking in murmurs.

Behind the bar stood the owner, a thin, tired man with a mop of black hair and gray eyes dulled by routine. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing bony wrists, and he polished a mug with a rag that was clearly dirtier than the glass itself. He wasn't really cleaning it—it was something to do with his hands while the minutes passed.

"Now everything's sorted out," Alexander said finally, voice filled with impatience. He leaned against the counter, sizing up the tavern owner who didn't meet his gaze. "We brought you the Deseruit Beast corpse as promised. So—pay up."

"Have a little tact," Ivan muttered under his breath, nudging him with an elbow.

The tavern owner raised an eyebrow but didn't look up from the mug. "Did you really have to lug that ugly thing through town?" His tone carried more weariness than irritation, though his expression soured.

"It was your condition," Alexander replied simply, shrugging. "You wanted proof."

"Yeah, but not in front of the bakery," the man sighed, setting the mug aside. "Half the townsfolk nearly fainted seeing that thing up close." He bent down behind the counter, rummaging through something, before tossing a small pouch across the bar. Ivan caught it one-handed. "Five hundred Eor. That's the rate."

Ivan turned the pouch in his hand, listening to the clink of coins before setting it beside his drink. "Much appreciated," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise. "But tell me something—why is a tavern owner handing out bounties in the first place? Shouldn't that be, I don't know, the local magistrate's job?"

The owner leaned an elbow on the counter, staring past them at nothing in particular. "Used to be," he said after a pause. "But things have gone downhill here, as I'm sure you noticed. The mayor—our dear, generous founder—sold the land rights not long ago. Says it was his family's to sell, since they built Rumpelstadt from the ground up. Now every square inch of it belongs to the Retorta Guild." His mouth twisted. "They're more interested in the minerals under our feet than the people standing on them."

Ivan frowned. "So they own everything now? Even the bounty contracts?"

The man gave a hollow laugh. "Pretty much. Most folk packed up and left once the Guild moved in. The rest of us just… make do. And since no one else wanted the job, I keep the board running myself. Keeps people from starving, I suppose."

Alexander's expression darkened; his eyes narrowed as he murmured under his breath, "The Retorta Guild, huh…" He didn't elaborate, but his tone was heavy, Ivan caught the look and quietly changed the subject.

"Depressing business," Ivan said softly. "Still—at least someone's keeping the lights on."

"Ain't much light left to keep," the tavern owner said.

"Alright," Alexander cut in, pushing away from the counter. "Enough talk about the town's misery. What about the bounty for that big Deseruit Beast? The one supposedly roaming near the mines."

The tavern owner straightened, thinking. "Oh, that one. Big bastard. Head as wide as the clock face on the Spindle Tower."

"So you've seen it?" Alexander asked.

"Only its head," came the reply. Both men blinked in confusion until the owner added, "You two were a bit late. After you went off chasing that smaller one, someone else came through and took the job. Clean kill. Dragged the thing's head back like it was a sack of potatoes. Scary strength."

Alexander stared at him. "You're joking. We were gone twenty minutes." His voice sharpened with disbelief and irritation. "And in that time, someone not only found it but killed it?"

"That's right," the tavern owner said simply, folding his arms.

Ivan exchanged a look with Alexander, then asked, "Who was he?"

"Didn't catch a name," the man said. "Not that tall. Spoke real polite, like he'd come straight out of some noble family. Wore a full helmet, though—black as pitch. Looked like a knight, maybe. The armor wasn't like anything local, that's for sure. And his hair…" The man hesitated, as if picturing it again. "Long, down to his back. Silver—or maybe white. Hard to tell in this light. You'd know him if you saw him."

Alexander exhaled sharply. "So this guy just strolls in, steals our bounty, and walks off?" He rubbed his temple, muttering. "Unbelievable."

"Funny thing," the tavern owner said, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. "He didn't even want the reward. Said he was only after information. Asked about the state of the world—kingdoms, guilds, wars, all that. Didn't sound like someone from around here."

Alexander's jaw tightened. "So he takes our bounty, kills our quarry, and doesn't even bother with the money?"

"Guess he really was a knight," Ivan murmured, half-amused.

Alexander groaned and muttered, "Self-righteous prick."

Ivan chuckled faintly, then turned back toward the bar. "Well, if he didn't take the Eor…" His tone lightened. "Maybe you wouldn't mind parting with it, then?"

The tavern owner barked out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Nice try, but no. You've had your share. Now get the hell out of my tavern before I decide you owe me rent for loitering."

Alexander gave him a flat look, but Ivan smirked and pushed himself away from the counter, slipping the pouch into his pocket.

"Fair enough," Ivan said as they headed toward the door. "Seems this town's luck's about as good as its weather."

Alexander lingered for a second, casting one last look at the owner. "Keep that board running," he said. "People need work, even if it's dirty."

The tavern owner only gave a faint nod before returning to his mug, polishing it again as though nothing had happened.

-------------------

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Rumpelstadt]

A heavy sigh drifted from Alexander's lips as the tavern door swung shut behind them, the hinges groaning. The street outside was just as bleak as when they'd entered—pale mist crawling along the street, carrying with it that ever-present stench of coal.

"This blows," Alexander muttered after a long pause, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His tone as ever filled with irritation. "Of course some self-righteous knight had to swoop in and steal the bounty."

Ivan stepped beside him, adjusting his cloak. "Eh. What can you do?" he said lightly, though his voice lacked real conviction. His eyes wandered toward a pair of townsfolk shuffling past—faces hollow. "Doesn't seem like anyone here's winning much of anything." He mumbled as they started walking.

"This is your fault, you know," Alexander said flatly. His eyes narrowed as he turned toward him. "If you hadn't insisted on taking the smaller bounty first, we'd have gotten to the bigger one before anyone else."

Ivan lifted a brow, amused despite the mood. "How was I supposed to know some wandering knight would show up out of nowhere and claim it?" He tapped his chin, thoughtful. "Still, the way the tavern owner described that Deseruit Beast—it sounded enormous. To bring down something that size in minutes…" His gaze turned distant. "Whoever that knight is, he's not ordinary."

Alexander scoffed, kicking at a loose stone that clattered down the street. "Who cares who he is? I don't need his name. I just want my bounty back."

"So, you're upset about the Eor," Ivan said with a smirk, watching him sidelong.

"Of course I am," Alexander snapped, not even bothering to hide it. "Do you have any idea how much that inn room costs? We're practically sleeping in mold and still paying a fortune for it. And the food—if you can even call it that—it's worse than the air here."

Ivan chuckled under his breath. "Ah, so it's hunger talking."

"It's called being practical," Alexander shot back. "You're a prince, aren't you? Couldn't you at least bring some coin from whatever palace you crawled out of? Or sell some of that jewelry you're so fond of flaunting?"

Ivan gave him a glance, lips twitching into a faint smile. "Come on, you know it's not that simple." He tugged at the ornate brooch on his collar, letting it fall back into place. "This isn't for show. They're keepsakes. The last things I have from home."

"Right," Alexander muttered. "Keepsakes. Doesn't help much when we're eating boiled mud."

"Boiled mud's an acquired taste," Ivan replied dryly.

Alexander was about to retort, when something caught in his senses. He stopped mid-step, head turning slightly, nose twitching. His body went still—tense in an instant.

Ivan slowed beside him, confused. "What is it?" he asked quietly, scanning the town.

Alexander didn't answer. His eyes fixed on a narrow alleyway that opened between two leaning buildings. There, half-shrouded in the mist, stood a solitary figure.

The man—or at least the shape of one—stood still, almost statuesque. His outfit was striking: black with gold trimming. A long fur lined coat draped from his shoulders, the high collar rising to frame his neck and jaw. His boots were tall, polished with gold bolts running up their length. The gloves—no, gauntlets—were perfectly worked with fine metallic filigree. And the helmet…

It was unlike anything either of them had seen. Horned, sleek and completely enclosing his face. Two faintly glowing violet lenses stared outward—soulless. Beneath the back of the helmet spilled a wave of lushes long, silvery-white hair.

Ivan blinked, realization dawning as the tavern owner's words replayed in his head. Not tall. Wore black. Hair—silver or white.

"…Oh, great," Ivan muttered under his breath. "Of all the luck." He turned to Alexander, ready to caution him—but the space beside him was already empty. "Ah, hell."

He looked forward just in time to see Alexander already striding toward the figure, boots splashing through shallow puddles.

Ivan sighed, pulling his cloak tighter as he followed at a slower pace. "Here we go again," he muttered to himself. "Always has to pick a fight before dinner."

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