Under the warm glow of lanterns and the constant din of clanking mugs and laughter, the tavern pulsed with life. Laughter, card games, and shouted orders to the barmaid filled the air—but in one corner of the crowded space, a quiet tension brewed.
"Oi, oi, that's him, isn't it?" A burly man whispered to his companion, nodding toward a young man sitting alone near the back. "Look, the one with the one-shoulder cape. That's Kazel, yeah?"
"Y-Yeah… That's the Immortal Sect's young master," the other man replied, lowering his mug slightly, as if Kazel might somehow hear over the clamor.
The first man leaned closer, lowering his voice even further. "Think we oughta talk to him? Maybe try and… y'know, befriend him?"
"You nuts?" his friend scoffed. "One wrong word, and your whole sect might puff up in smoke. He faced two sects and walked out on top."
They went quiet after that, unsure whether to admire or fear the young man seated in solitude.
Kazel, for his part, was enjoying the moment far more than his calm expression let on. He chewed slowly, savoring both the food and the whispered words around him. He didn't even need to glance their way—he could feel their eyes, their curiosity, the quiet reverence cloaked in caution.
He had become a story. A symbol. To the older generation, he was a storm to be weathered. But to the younger ones… he was awe. Defiance. Possibility. Especially now that word of his motives—his challenge against sect corruption—was starting to make the rounds.
The boy who stood alone before giants.
A sudden shift beside him broke his thoughts.
A maid approached his table, tray in hand, her fingers slightly trembling though she tried to hide it. She placed a fresh bowl of broth before him.
"Y-Young master…" she began nervously.
Kazel raised his head, his blue eyes calm and piercing. "Hm?"
"Is it… is it true that you bested the Frostfang Alpha in the Northern Peak?" she asked, as if the question alone might cost her.
Her voice wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be.
The tavern began to quiet—just a little. Enough for ears to lean closer. A few heads turned.
Kazel placed his spoon down, brushing his fingertips across the wooden table.
He smiled faintly. "So the words traveled faster than my feet."
"It's true?" the maid repeated, eyes wide.
Kazel nodded slowly. "It's true. That path should be safer now." He paused, then looked at her a bit more intently. "But always be cautious. Beasts aren't the only thing to be wary of."
He leaned back in his chair slightly, the candlelight catching the steel in his gaze.
"People can be far more dangerous."
That quiet sentence spread like a ripple through the tavern, muting even the background noise. It wasn't a warning. It was a truth spoken from the mouth of someone who had lived it—someone who had walked among monsters both four-legged and two-faced.
From that moment, silence gave way to murmurs. The young master of the Immortal Sect had spoken. The legend continued to grow… and so did the fire in the hearts of the next generation.
"Oh, do you know which way is the best to the Jade Basin?" Kazel asked, casually brushing the crumbs from his lap as he leaned back.
"Y-Yes," the maid answered, still caught off guard by his presence. "If you follow the main road straight from the town, you'll reach it. But it's a long way."
"Any shortcuts?"
"There's one… but it's risky. Beasts roam that path, especially at night. Only the experienced dare take it. It's marked by an old fork in the road with a mossy sign. Can't miss it."
"Perfect," Kazel said, already rising to his feet. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a small pouch onto the table. "Keep the change."
The maid caught it, blinking. "Y-Yes, thank you," she replied. He didn't even glance back, simply gave a lazy wave and strolled out into the afternoon light, the tail of his cloak trailing behind.
She stood there for a beat, blinking, then turned to the old bartender with an exhale. "That was Kazel… right?"
The old man gave a nod without looking up. "Mm-hmm. Young master of the Immortal Sect himself."
The maid untied the pouch and peeked inside. Her expression twisted immediately.
"What's wrong?" the bartender asked.
"This isn't even enough to cover half his meal," she said flatly, holding the pouch open for him to see. "And he ate like a war refugee."
The old man peeked inside. His face soured. "Tch. I knew it. Look at those spirit stones. This wouldn't buy the damn stew he ordered twice."
"You want me to chase him down?" she asked, eyebrow raised.
The old man snorted. "Chase him? What are you gonna do? Ask Kazel of the Immortal Sect for spare change?" He shook his head. "Boy could burn this tavern to the ground mid-yawn, and we'd probably still apologize."
The maid sighed. "Figures. The kind of man who gets away with everything just by looking good and killing."
"I mean… he did kill a Frostfang Alpha," said the bartender as he began wiping a mug.
"Yeah, well, he still owes us spirit stones."
They both stood in silence for a moment, staring at the empty table. Then the bartender muttered, "Let's just hope he stops by again…"
"…with a full wallet next time." the maid sighed.
Kazel soon came upon the fork in the road — just as the maid had described. An old, moss-covered wooden sign stood crooked at the junction, barely legible, but it pointed toward a narrow path coiling between looming trees and thick brush. The air grew colder here, more still, the kind of silence that hinted you weren't alone.
He took the path without hesitation.
The ground crunched under his boots, twigs snapping, frost clinging to the roots and stones. After a while, he came to a stop, drawing his sword. The edge was chipped, dulled, and smeared with old, blackened blood. A flick of his thumb across the flat of the blade made him click his tongue in disappointment.
"I need a new sword," he muttered. "…And a spear," he sighed.
No sooner had he spoken, a chorus of low growls echoed from the thicket.
From the underbrush, beasts slinked into view — three, four, five — a pack of shaggy, frost-touched creatures with gnarled horns and eyes glowing like coals. Hungry eyes. Predatory eyes. Their postures low, circling, lips peeled back in snarls. He was prey, in their eyes.
"But I guess for now…" Kazel call out the spear in his spatial ring, spun it once in his hand, and planted one foot back, taking a ready stance, "...this will do."
The beasts tensed. Muscles coiled.
"Alright, Frostfang," Kazel smirked, the tip of his spear gleaming with energy. "Time to earn your keep!"
And with that, Kazel surged forward — a blur of speed, cape trailing behind him like a phantom banner. His strike was fast and sharp, like a flash of lightning, and the roar of the man who'd just a few days ago felled an apex predator.
The shortcut might've been dangerous for others.