For a while, the Frosted Ram forgot how to be rowdy and loud.

Teclos just ate in silence and peace, but the entire tavern was staring at his every move.

They failed to conceal their stares miserably, not that he cared at all.

Men glanced at him over the rims of their mugs, giving off a fearful reaction. Women, on the other hand, whispered from the far tables and blushed. The ones who usually acted fearless and were always talking over each other loudly lowered their voices, afraid that speaking too loudly might draw his attention. The northerners who had been laughing and shouting only minutes ago now drank like silent monks, eyes flicking toward the corner table before quickly looking away.

And Selma was the worst of them all.

She had returned behind the counter after serving him, but her gaze kept drifting back to the man beneath the firelight. Without the hood, he looked even more dangerous somehow. The red eyes should have made him terrifying, and they did, but they also gave him an enticing and noble look. She was practically swooning over him, imagining all kinds of things that he could do to her, and she wouldn’t mind. He was the kind of man every sensible girl should avoid but just couldn’t stop drifting toward.

Selma was quickly discovering a new side of herself, one she had thought she didn’t have before.

"He’s trouble," Bruno suddenly muttered beside her.

Selma almost jumped because she hadn’t noticed him come closer.

She whispered back, "He’s definitely... different."

Bruno stared at her in disbelief when he saw that she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Fred, who stood behind the bar with both hands resting on the counter, did not take his eyes off Teclos either, but for a different reason. "He isn’t just trouble. He’s dangerous."

Selma leaned closer to Fred. "Do you know him?" she asked.

"No, it’s just my gut."

"Then maybe he is just passing through. I think you two are overreacting."

Fred’s expression soured in disbelief. "People like that do not simply pass through. I’m sure he is here for a reason, and that reason will get someone here killed."

Bruno crossed his arms. "I don’t like him either, but good luck trying to drive that monster away."

Selma glared at him from the side. "Who are you calling a monster!? Besides, you don’t like anyone."

"I like Fred..."

Fred glanced at him and shook his head.

"And you," Bruno added after a second.

Selma rolled her eyes, but she didn’t hate that.

Fred did not smile, and sweat had gathered near his temple despite the cold air in the tavern. His tavern had survived drunks, hunters, a broken roof, wolves, and other beasts at the front door. But this was different. The stranger in the corner did not feel like trouble that could easily be dragged outside and beaten until he apologized.

The stranger felt like the kind of trouble that could destroy the whole village.

"Don’t provoke him under any circumstances," Fred said quietly while he looked at Selma.

Selma blinked in confusion. "Why are you looking at me when you say that?"

"Because Bruno is too scared to even speak to him, and you have no survival instincts whatsoever."

"Hey! That’s rude. I survived this far, haven’t I?"

"You kicked a drunk man in the balls just ten minutes ago."

"He grabbed me and deserved it!" she argued.

Fred sighed. "That is not the point."

Before Selma could mouth off further, Teclos set his spoon down.

The sound was soft, just a small metal spoon touching the wooden table, but half the tavern froze when Teclos stood back up again.

He simply picked up the tableware and slowly walked toward Fred, Bruno, and Selma.

Fred’s back stiffened, and Selma finally shut up for once. Bruno, on the other hand, had nervous sweat rolling off him.

Teclos stopped in front of the counter and looked at Fred with those calm red eyes as he set the tableware down.

"Are there any wyverns close?" he asked.

Fred blinked for a second, confused. "Pardon?"

"Is there a nest nearby? Or have you seen any flying close to the village recently?"

A cough escaped Fred because he swallowed his saliva wrong. Wyverns? Why the hell was this stranger looking for wyverns?

Someone near the hearth muttered a curse under his breath, and many men at the back slowly lowered their mugs. Even Bruno’s scowl shifted, his unease turning into disbelief.

A wyvern was a mighty flying beast, close to a dragon in toughness, and a danger that could wipe out a whole city. The villagers connected the dots to a wyvern hunt, but a wyvern hunt usually meant a proper subjugation party, at least ten knights, a healer, scouts, and bait. Sometimes even that was not enough, but this man here wanted to hunt it alone?

Fred studied him carefully.

"There seems to be a few wyverns up on the mountain," he said at last. "About two or three kilometers from here. They haven’t attacked anyone yet, though, so we didn’t report it."

Teclos wanted to ask for specific directions, but Fred continued and asked a question of his own, although hesitantly. "How did you come to know about them?"

Teclos just stared at him and kept his mouth shut.

The silence stretched long enough that Fred understood he would not receive an answer.

The less they knew, the better, honestly.

That thought passed through Teclos’s mind. Luther had sent him here on a mission, but if they gained his curiosity in any way... If that mission ever changed and encompassed this village because they knew too much, Teclos could very well be ordered to wipe it from the mountains like it had never existed. Fred, Selma, Bruno, every drunk in the room, every child asleep under a fur blanket somewhere nearby—none of them would matter if Luther gave the command.

"Thank you," he said, ignoring the question.

Fred swallowed once. "Are you really going after them?"

"Yes."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

A nervous murmur moved through the tavern. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

Teclos glanced toward the stairs and asked another question. "Is there somewhere in the village I can stay?"

Fred’s mouth opened, then closed again.

He could have lied that there was no such place. He wanted to lie. He wanted to say every room was full, that the roof leaked, that the beds had fleas, that the entire upper floor had collapsed last winter and was now haunted by angry ghosts.

Instead, he heard himself say, "We have rooms upstairs."

Selma looked at him in surprise and a tiny bit happy.

And although he noticed, Fred just ignored her.

"How much?" Teclos asked.

Fred named a price that was fair, then immediately wondered if he should have charged less. Teclos reached into a pouch, placed the coins on the counter, and turned toward the stairs.

Only once he had gone up did the tavern breathe again, and everyone leaned back, exhausted, as if they had just escaped death.

Selma leaned over the counter with bright eyes. "He’s hunting a wyvern! How awesome is that?"

Bruno looked toward the stairs and then shook his head. "He’s insane."

Fred picked up the coins and stared at them for a moment. "No. He’s just insanely powerful."

_

A short while later, Selma carried a basin of heated water upstairs, followed by two buckets to fill the bath barrel in the room Fred had given him. The water steamed faintly in the cold hallway, warming her hands through the handles.

When she stood in front of his door, she knocked.

"Come in."

His voice had a soothing charm to it.

And when Selma entered, she found Teclos standing by the window and looking out toward the dark mountains. His armor had been removed piece by piece and placed neatly near the wall. Most men she saw just threw their gear wherever it landed. Teclos arranged his like a soldier preparing for inspection.

She filled the bath barrel in silence, trying very hard not to look at him too much, of course failing.

When the last bucket was poured in, she stepped back. "The water is ready, sir."

Teclos gave her a small nod. "Thank you."

Selma should have left, but when she tried to close the door, she did not close it all the way. The gap was thin, barely wide enough to see through, and she told herself she was only checking that he did not need anything else.

That was a lie, and she knew it. Her cheeks had already turned red before he even started.

Teclos began undressing.

He removed the dark undershirt slowly, and Selma’s breath caught.

His body was exactly as powerful as the armor had made it seem. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a hard back built from training, battle, and... torture? What stole every foolish thought she had was not his chiseled body.

It was the scars.

They covered him like a tapestry of suffering.

Long cuts across his back. Thin pale lines along his ribs. Dark marks that looked burned into his skin. Old wounds crossing over newer ones. They had been made only to hurt him rather than kill him.

Selma’s face slowly changed.

The embarrassment faded.

So did the awe.

For the first time since he had entered the tavern, she did not see a dangerous noble or some red-eyed bad boy from a story girls whispered about. She saw someone who had survived something terrible.

Teclos stopped moving, and his head turned slightly toward the door.

"My lady," he said, voice still calm, "I would appreciate it if you left."

Selma’s whole body froze in shock, and her face went beet red.

"I-I wasn’t— I mean, I was just—"

Teclos didn’t say anything and just waited.

Selma spun around and fled down the hallway so quickly she nearly tripped over her own feet, but inside the room, Teclos only shook his head.

Then he stepped into the warm water and let himself sink down until it reached his chest.

For the first time in days, his body relaxed.

Only slightly, though.

The north was harsher than he remembered any wilderness being. He had crossed frozen forests, climbed ridges where the wind could peel skin from bone, and killed beasts that would have made the hunters of Kolma curse their luck and retreat. Back then, when he had first started hunting, every monster had felt like a threat.

Now, the beasts were simply annoying and slowing down his return.

Wyverns included.

His face remained peaceful as he leaned back against the barrel, eyes half-closed, with steam curling around his pale skin. Nothing in his expression gave away the thoughts beneath it.

But under that calm, rage boiled endlessly.

He had accumulated many debts.

The orcs.

Axel.

Aweq.

Luther.

All of them had to die.

The problem was that right now, he could not defy Luther at all. If Luther told him to kneel and cut off his own head, Teclos’s body would obey. That was what life as a thrall meant. Or unlife, since he was no longer truly alive.

Luther liked to play with his toys, so of course he had left Teclos with Count Aweq for a time. There had been no refusal. Teclos had been forced to help the Count rebuild the very hellhole he had destroyed before being caught. His soul had burned through every stone placed back into that dungeon as he obeyed every order.

And as if that had not been enough, he had been forced to work with Axel again.

His previous master.

That snake.

The murders they committed together had carved a heavy weight into Teclos’s soul. But as of yet, he could do nothing about it. Nothing but watch, obey, remember, and wait for his time to come.

Here, far away in the northern lands, he could at least think those thoughts.

Near Luther, even thoughts could become dangerous. Any defiance, any fantasy of rebellion, any hatred allowed to surface would be punished. Through those punishments, Teclos had learned to keep even his mind still. He had learned patience beyond anything he once believed possible.

Once this mission was over and he returned with a wyvern heart, he would go back to that routine.

Back to Luther.

Back to the leash.

But for now, there was just the warm water, a quiet room, and one evening where he finally did not have to kill anyone.

Teclos closed his eyes and enjoyed his first free day after two years had passed.