Count Blade did not open the sixth bottle.
He set his palm on the ledger instead, as if the paper might try to leave the table.
"Three villages in the first month. Then it stopped looking like bandits."
Rigel leaned back.
Stone dust still clung to his sleeve.
Across from him, Mesterica had already stopped glaring at Cynthia.
Cynthia had already stopped gripping her own wrist.
Both of them faced the map.
That, more than the Count's tone, told him it was real.
"Names," Rigel said.
"East woodcutter hamlet. Riverbend. The old relay post on the north road."
Count Blade tapped each mark.
"At first we assumed remnants. Old Valstine soldiers hiding in the hills, taking laborers, selling them over the border."
"And?"
"Remnants do not return the stolen goods."
A civil official turned a page.
The paper was cheap and already worn at the corners.
Someone had been reading it too often.
