He was just about to down the last of his drink.
The sharp chill of the liquor had barely touched his lips when, without warning, a sudden gust of wind burst through the tightly sealed windows, slamming them open with a crash. The heavy curtains surged upward like waves caught in a storm.
Eryx's brows furrowed sharply. He jerked his head up—and in the very next second, the glass in his fingers hit the floor with a sharp crack, scattering liquid across the tiles. His entire body tensed as though ice had been driven straight through his chest.
At some point—unseen, unheard—someone had taken the empty seat across from him.
The figure was so gaunt he hardly looked human. A long robe clung damply to his frame as though he had returned from a night of rain, yet his hair, though loose and falling to his shoulders, was oddly dry, as if it had been scorched by fire. His face was sharply cut, all bones and hollows, like it had been carved with a blade, and every line of it radiated a quiet menace.
But what truly chilled Eryx to the core were the man's eyes.
He watched Eryx like a serpent—without anger, without mockery, without emotion. There was only a sickly, twisted anticipation, as if he were watching the first steps of a hunt he had meticulously arranged.
Even Eryx, a veteran of countless betrayals, wars, and bloodshed, found himself holding his breath.
"…You," he rasped, voice catching in his throat.
"It's been a long time since you last showed up," he forced his tone into something steadier, cautiously feeling out the man. "I thought you'd gone elsewhere. But if you're here, then… was it you behind the attack on Marcellus?"
The man didn't answer. He only gave a low, rusted chuckle—a sound that scraped its way up from his throat like metal dragged across stone, damp and cold.
"Ha… You've always been quick, Eryx," he said, voice soft and almost gentle, yet carrying the sharp edge of a skinning knife. "But you don't need to know who did what. Isn't the result satisfying enough? Marcellus, lying in bed, gravely wounded. Power reshuffled. The army in flux… What I didn't expect was that little princess from House Edgar. Turns out she's bolder than you—pushed you aside, and even took your territory."
His voice oozed with mockery, deliberately pressing down on Eryx's pride like a hand grinding against an open wound.
Eryx's gaze darkened, a flash of killing intent flaring behind his eyes. He slowly rose to his feet, one hand reaching to the desk. With a swift pull, he opened the drawer—next moment, the muzzle of a black pistol was aimed directly at the stranger's forehead.
"You've overstepped," he said coldly, voice like steel. "We had a deal. You wanted your treasure, and I wanted just one thing. When you disappeared, I assumed you'd pulled out. But now you're back—you tried to kill Marcellus, you've been watching me, and now you're entangled in the expansion plan. What the hell are you up to?"
The man didn't panic. Instead, he raised his hands in an exaggerated show of surrender, lounging like a ghost freshly dragged from a well, half-amused, half-decayed.
"No need to get so tense, Eryx—no way I'd dare challenge the mighty Second Legion," he said with a crooked grin that looked more like a torn wound than a smile. "I really wasn't planning to stay. Back when Livia was kidnapped, things got a little too hot for comfort. I was worried someone might point fingers at me, so I laid low for a while. Now that the storm's calmed, I figured I'd come see how things are going."
"As for Marcellus…" He wagged a bony finger. "You all were moving too slow. I just… gave the board a little shove. Now the pieces are finally in motion."
Eryx narrowed his eyes.
"You make it sound so simple."
"Isn't it?" the man chuckled, lowering his gaze to tap a finger lightly on the expansion map spread across the table. "You want the Grail, too, don't you? You know better than anyone that Edgar and Marcellus have more clues. But while you hesitated, the game ground to a halt—lifeless. So I gave it a push. The more chaos there is, the clearer the real path becomes, don't you think?"
At that moment, Eryx's trigger finger twitched slightly.
He'd hit the mark.
The stranger had found his weakness.
Eryx did want the Grail—desperately, even more so than he cared to admit. But over the past weeks, he'd been cautious to a fault, calculating every move, courting alliances, and still making no progress. Livia's sudden assertiveness had been a wake-up call—if he didn't act soon, the entire board might fall under her control.
This wraith-like man, detestable as he was, had indeed cracked open the stagnant game.
Slowly, Eryx eased the pressure from the trigger, lowering the barrel slightly, though he kept it trained on the man.
"…And the surveillance on me?" he asked flatly. "How do you explain that?"