Oderick's wooden room was dim even in the morning.
Thin lines of sunlight slipped through the gaps between the wall planks, cutting across the dusty air in pale strips. The room smelled faintly of old wood, dried herbs, and smoke from the hearth that had gone cold hours ago. A rough table stood near the center, surrounded by mismatched chairs that looked as if they had been repaired more times than anyone cared to count. Somewhere above us, the roof creaked softly as the cliff wind pressed against it.
Creak... creak...
The heaviness in the room did not come from the building alone.
Hans Carter stood near the door with his knees still trembling. He tried to hold his staff in a dignified manner, but the slight shaking of his fingers betrayed him every few seconds. His glasses sat low on his nose, and every time he pushed them back up, his hand moved a little too quickly, as if he was afraid sudden movement might offend me.
Stella Leslie stood a few steps away from him, her gaze lowered to the wooden floor. She was quiet, but not passive. Her shoulders were tense, her fingers lightly gripping the edge of her sleeve, and her eyes kept flicking toward the door, the windows, and the corners of the room. She looked like someone who had survived by noticing danger before it announced itself.
Ivan Gregor was the opposite. He did not hide his wariness at all. The broad-shouldered man stood with his arms crossed over his chest, placing himself slightly closer to Stella than the others. His expression was calm on the surface, but the tightness in his jaw made his thoughts obvious. If I had called them here to harm her, he would move before he even had time to think.
And Arad Youssef...
The white-haired man stood the calmest among them.
He did not tremble like Hans. He did not avoid my gaze like Stella. He did not openly guard anyone like Ivan. He simply stood there, silent and still, with sharp eyes fixed on me as if he was measuring every breath I took. His posture was relaxed, but not careless. A man who looked lazy could still be ready to strike. A man who looked harmless could still be the most dangerous person in the room.
He was measuring me.
Just as I was measuring him.
I sat behind Oderick's rough wooden table and let the silence stretch for a moment longer. There was value in silence. Nervous people often filled it with mistakes, while careful people revealed themselves by how well they endured it.
Hans swallowed.
Stella remained still.
Ivan's fingers tapped once against his arm.
Arad did not move.
I rested one hand on the table and finally spoke. "Do you know why I called the four of you here?"
All four of them shook their heads, though in different ways. Hans did it quickly, almost desperately. Stella's movement was small. Ivan gave a short, guarded shake. Arad's response was barely more than a tilt of his chin.
"Before that, allow me to introduce myself properly," I said. "My name is Fragha Van-Willhoft. I am the one currently leading this village—Constantia."
Ivan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then why did you call us here, Lord Fragha?" His voice was deep, rough from exhaustion, but steady. "And how do you already know about people who just arrived?"
A fair question.
I adjusted my sitting position and gave him a faint smile that revealed nothing. "Viktor Hans is a very meticulous merchant. Before he departed, I instructed him to carefully record every individual he purchased or contracted."
The lie left my mouth smoothly.
There was no hesitation, no change in tone, no unnecessary explanation. A useful lie was not one decorated with details; it was one that sounded like ordinary procedure. The fewer strange edges it had, the less reason people had to question it.
"I studied that list last night," I continued, concealing the existence of my God Eye's behind a calm expression. "Among dozens of names, the four of you caught my personal attention."
Hans blinked behind his glasses. Stella's fingers tightened against her sleeve. Ivan looked even more cautious than before.
Arad, however, stared at me with a steadier gaze.
"Why?" he asked. His voice was low, but firm. "Why would you consider us interesting? As far as I can see, there is nothing special about us."
"Well, well." I leaned back slightly, still watching him. "Arad Youssef. A Rank E mercenary who was able to endure my Intimidation Aura without collapsing. Don't you think that is strange?"
Hans muttered before he could stop himself, "That is... actually quite strange."
The moment the words left his mouth, he stiffened. His face went pale, and he looked as if he wanted to shove the sentence back down his own throat. Ivan gave him a brief side glance, while Stella quietly lowered her head further, perhaps to hide the smallest hint of amusement.
Arad did not react to Hans. His gaze remained on me.
I met his eyes directly. "A man with a body like yours should not be an ordinary Rank E mercenary. So tell me, Arad Youssef. Who are you really?"
For the first time since entering the room, Arad's expression shifted.
It was subtle. His eyes moved away for less than a second, and the muscles near his jaw tightened. To most people, that would have looked like nothing. To me, it looked like confirmation.
He exhaled slowly. "I am just a Rank E mercenary who happened to endure your aura through luck."
I laughed.
Not loudly, but enough to make Hans flinch.
"Arad," I said, my smile thinning. "Your mouth is lying, but your body is telling the truth. Be honest. I only want to know why someone like you is pretending to be a Rank E mercenary."
The room fell silent again.
Outside, footsteps passed by the building, followed by the distant sound of someone calling for rope near the temporary camp. The noises faded quickly, leaving us with the creaking wood and the uneasy breaths of those inside.
Arad's eyes lowered.
Behind his quiet face, something old seemed to surface. Not fear. Not shame exactly. It was heavier than both. The kind of weight carried by a man who had survived when others had not.
After a long moment, he spoke.
"Fine," Arad said. "I will tell you. But please keep this secret."
The moment he said that, everyone in the room became more attentive.
Hans straightened instinctively, his fear momentarily overcome by curiosity. Ivan's crossed arms loosened slightly. Stella lifted her gaze from the floor. Even I found myself leaning forward a fraction, because the air around Arad had changed.
The Rank E mercenary was gone.
What stood before us now was someone who had once commanded men.
"You are right, Lord Fragha," Arad said, his voice deeper than before, carrying the faint remains of an authority that had not completely died. "In the past, I was not just some wandering sword for hire. I came from the Asgard Empire, a desert nation where the sun can burn your skin as hard as iron."
His eyes seemed to look beyond the walls of Oderick's room.
"In that land, I was a Rank S mercenary. I led one of the most legendary groups under the Asgardian banner. We called ourselves Westhound."
Hans's mouth parted slightly.
Arad continued in the same flat tone, but pain lay beneath every word. "In the desert underworld, people knew me by a code name."
He paused.
"WhiteLizard."
Ivan's eyes widened at once. "What?" His arms dropped to his sides. "You're that WhiteLizard?"
Arad did not look proud of the reaction. If anything, the name seemed to tire him.
I remained silent and let him continue.
"Westhound ruled the sands for years," Arad said. "We wore pitch-black uniforms that stood out against the golden desert, and every one of us wrapped our heads in dark turbans to keep the sandstorms from tearing our faces apart. People feared us. Employers chased us. Enemies avoided us if they were wise."
His hand slowly tightened at his side.
"And beside me was my closest friend. A man with short red hair and dark brown skin, tougher than anyone I had ever known. He laughed in the middle of sandstorms, fought like the desert itself was pushing behind him, and never once left my side."
For a moment, Arad's voice nearly softened. Then it turned cold again.
"We thought we were unbeatable."
No one interrupted him.
"Then that night came," he said.
The room seemed to darken around his words.
"We were sent to destroy a mysterious group that had appeared from the darkness of the desert. At first, we thought it was another band of raiders or assassins trying to carve out territory. We were wrong." Arad's gaze hardened. "They were not men. They were monsters wearing human shapes."
Stella's face tightened. Hans gripped his staff until his knuckles turned white. Ivan stared at Arad as if the name WhiteLizard had suddenly become something much heavier than a rumor.
"Westhound was destroyed," Arad said. "One by one, my comrades fell on the sand. The desert that had always been our home became a graveyard beneath our feet."
He stopped speaking for a breath. When he continued, his voice was lower.
"When the enemy surrounded me, my men made the decision I have regretted every day since. They formed a final line around me. My friend was among them. They used their own bodies to hold the enemy back and bought me the time to escape."
Arad's eyes lowered to the wooden floor.
"They died protecting their leader."