Ryle swirled the wine in his glass, watching the nobles around him with muted amusement.
The so-called "gathering" was just another excuse for indulgence—expensive wine, silk-draped tables, and meaningless chatter.
But Ryle was here for one thing only.
Information.
A waiter passed by, and Ryle subtly switched his untouched drink with a different glass. Rule #1 of journalism: never drink what they give you.
The nobles spoke in hushed voices, dropping bits of conversation he could piece together later.
"Elves are causing too much unrest lately…"
"Perhaps if they knew their place, we wouldn't be dealing with this."
"…but isn't it such a waste? Their beauty is… divine."
Ryle's grip on his pen tightened.
These bastards.
He was about to interject when—
His vision blurred.
His body swayed.
Drugged?! But he hadn't—
Darkness swallowed him whole.
The scent of damp stone and iron greeted Ryle as he woke up.
A jail cell.
Rusty bars, a single torch flickering outside. Cold, damp air.
Across from him, smirking nobles.
One stepped forward, his gold-rimmed coat pristine despite the filth around them.
"Ah, you're awake."
Ryle exhaled through his nose, tilting his head lazily.
"You nobles sure love putting people in cages."
The noble chuckled, as if entertained.
"We prefer to admire beauty from a controlled distance." His eyes darkened. "Like elves."
Ryle's stomach twisted.
Another noble chimed in, sighing wistfully.
"Ah, their features are unparalleled, don't you agree? Soft skin, those long, elegant ears… Humans can never compare."
Ryle stared at them for a long moment.
Then—he laughed.
Loud, mocking, full of scorn.
"Gods, you're pathetic," Ryle scoffed. "You call yourselves aristocrats, but you're just perverts in fancy suits."
The nobles' smiles faltered.
"Careful, Astoria."
"Or what? You'll sell me too?" Ryle sneered. "I might be too old for your tastes."
The nobles glared but said nothing. With a flick of their cloaks, they turned and walked away.
The moment the door clicked shut, Ryle's expression hardened.
Time to analyze.
He closed his eyes.
Dragon Eyes: Awakening the Mind
When Ryle opened them again, his vision shifted.
Dragon Eyes.
A technique Ignilth had taught him long ago.
The world sharpened into layers of information. The faint magical traces on the walls, the structural weaknesses in the iron bars, the distance of every living being nearby.
Conclusion?
This wasn't just a prison.
It was an abandoned castle.
And not just any castle.
An abandoned city.
Soft sobbing echoed beside him.
Elven women, locked in cages.
Malnourished, terrified. Some were injured, their once radiant skin bruised.
Ryle gritted his teeth.
Then—a familiar voice.
"Ryle…?"
Ryle whipped his head around.
In the next cell over—his best friend.
Dante Voss.
A fellow journalist. Sharp-minded, sarcastic, and, unlike Ryle, actually smart when it came to noble politics.
Dante smirked despite his bloody lip.
"Guessing you got drugged too?"
Ryle sighed. "Yeah. Should've seen it coming."
Dante leaned back. "Well, good news: I know exactly which noble is behind this."
Ryle raised an eyebrow.
"Bad news?"
Dante smirked.
"They own this entire city."
Ryle exhaled. "Of course they do."
Without another word, Ryle stood up.
Took two steps back.
And punched the stone wall.
CRACK.
The entire section of the prison wall collapsed, sending dust flying.
Dante coughed. "...Subtle."
Ryle casually fixed the wall by wedging back some loose stones.
"Wouldn't want them to notice too soon," he muttered.
Then, he turned to the imprisoned elves.
Notebook in hand, he spoke gently.
"I'm Ryle Astoria. A journalist. I need your stories."
The elves hesitated—then, one stepped forward.
Her voice was shaky but determined.
"They took us from our homes. Some of us were… sold. Others never returned."
Another added, "They say nobles pay a fortune for an elven concubine."
Ryle's blood boiled.
These bastards were trafficking elves as luxury pets.
Before he could act further, footsteps echoed down the hall.
A new noble appeared.
Young—maybe sixteen or seventeen. His noble robes were disheveled, and his eyes held none of the arrogance of the others.
"I'll free you all," he whispered.
The elves gasped.
Ryle studied him. "...And why would a noble's son betray his own kind?"
The boy's fists clenched.
"My father ignored my mother… obsessed with elves." His voice wavered. "I was never enough. She was never enough."
Dante's eyes narrowed. "So this is personal."
The boy nodded.
Ryle let out a slow breath.
Alright.
He could work with this.
Ryle and Dante obliterated the guards.
Fists flew, bones cracked, and within minutes—they stood victorious.
The noble boy unlocked the cages, leading the elves to safety.
Dante smirked. "You recording all this?"
Ryle flipped open his notebook.
"Every word."
But as they moved through the ruins, a shadow loomed ahead.
A noble blocking the exit.
One of the masterminds.
Ryle and Dante locked eyes.
"Guess the fun's not over yet," Dante muttered.
Ryle smirked. "Not even close."