Carts rolled past in both directions, farmers heading toward Eldenreach with produce still wet from the morning drizzle. Gabriel rode among them in silence, hood up, eyes hidden. No one looked twice. To them, he was just another adventurer.

The city thinned behind him.

Dirt roads gave way to open fields, broken by reeds and the slow, winding curve of the river.

He kept the horse at an easy pace. There was no need to rush. Brinekin didn't wander far from water, and they didn't hunt in full daylight.

He had planned to stop at Mera's first.

Hanitz's warning echoed uncomfortably in his mind, and for now, he would proceed cautiously and observe.

Observation had always served him better than impulse.

The last few weeks had been too unpredictable.

He watched the river as he rode, noting where reeds bent unnaturally and where the mud along the banks had been churned by more than boots or hooves. The water moved slow here, almost lazy, but he knew better than to trust it.

The road curved, bringing the river closer. A faint smell reached him then. Old blood. Rotting fish. Something left too long in the sun.

Westhorpe lay ahead.

The village was smaller than Eldenreach. No walls, no gates, no guards. Just a cluster of timber houses pressed close to the riverbank. Nets were strung in the water, tied to weathered posts. Boats sat half-drawn onto the mud, their hulls scraped and discoloured.

A pair of villagers stood near the water, speaking in hushed voices. They fell silent when they noticed him. Their eyes flicked to the sword hilts at his back, then quickly away to his hooded face.

Gabriel slowed the horse to a walk as he entered the village. The smell grew stronger near the river's edge. Fish and river weeds, masking the scent of something sharp, something dangerous.

No children played along the bank.

That told him more than any report.

He stopped the horse, swung down from the saddle, and tied the reins to a low post near the path. The movement was unhurried, deliberate.

The two villagers stiffened. One took a step back, then another. His boots scraping softly against the packed earth. Neither spoke. They retreated in silence, eyes fixed on the ground as if afraid even a glance might draw his attention.

"Enough of that."

The voice was sharp, weathered by years of shouting over river and wind.

An old woman pushed past them, her back bent but her gaze steady. Her hair was bound tight in a grey braid, hands rough with calluses and stained dark from work. She struck the nearer man across the back of the arm with the flat of her palm.

"He's been sent by the guild," she snapped. "Show some respect."

The men flinched, shame colouring their faces.

The woman turned to Gabriel, eyes narrowing as she took in the hood, the swords, the stillness about him.

"Take down your hood," she ordered. "Didn't anyone raise you with manners?"

Gabriel reached up and pushed the hood back, the motion slow and unthreatening. He inclined his head in a shallow bow, just enough to acknowledge her authority without submission.

The light caught his crimson eyes.

A murmur rippled through the onlookers. One of the men took another step back.

The old woman did not.

She studied him in silence, eyes narrowing slightly, not in fear, but in assessment. As if weighing some grain rather than facing a threat.

"Hmph," she grunted at last. "I've never seen eyes like that."

The tension eased, if only a fraction.

She reached into the pouch at her belt, fingers brushing the edge of two silver coins before letting the flap fall closed again.

"This is what we have," she said. "Two silvers. For all of them."

A murmur rose among the villagers. One of the men shifted, as if to protest.

She silenced him with a look.

"No bargaining," she continued, her gaze fixed on Gabriel. "You don't get extra for pretty eyes."

Her eyes flicked briefly to the crimson in his.

"You clear the river," she said, voice hard as the packed earth, "then you get paid. Or you leave now."

She folded her arms and waited.

Two silver coins! It should be at least four.

He didn't react outwardly. Didn't glance at her pouch, or at the villagers watching him like he was the monster they wanted hunting. Coin had never been the reason he took this bounty. He wanted to test the new stirring that was building up inside him

Gabriel nodded his head once more.

"I'll take it," he said.

The simplicity of the answer seemed to catch them off guard. One of the villagers frowned, as if expecting an argument, another glanced toward the river.

"When?" the old woman asked.

"Now," the former Paladin replied.

The old woman studied him for a moment longer, as if searching for the catch that never came.

"Good," she said, relieved. "Then listen."

She turned toward the river, gesturing with a sharp tilt of her chin. "They took the first man at dawn. Nets were still in the water. No scream. Just a splash."

One of the villagers swallowed hard.

"The second was braver," she continued. "Tried to fight. It didn't help him."

Her eyes returned to Gabriel, steady and unflinching.

"They come from that bend," she said. "Where the reeds are thickest. If you're going to look for them, do it there."

The river rippled softly behind her.

Gabriel nodded once and stepped past her, already moving.

He led the horse to a stand of trees away from the river and secured the reins low, out of sight. From his pack, he drew a length of cord and a small iron spike, driving it into the earth with the heel of his boot. The horse shifted, then settled.

He shrugged free of his robe and folded it neatly, tucking it beneath the saddle. Leather creaked softly as he adjusted his armour, tightening straps until they sat just right. No wasted movement.

He lifted his hand, gripping his medallion tight. An uncomfortable look on his face as he did so.

Mazrion, Archangel of humankind, grant me the strength to endure this battle and every battle to come.

His eyes pulsed rhythmically.

He released his grip slowly.

And whispered, "Righteousness Begets Cruelty"

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