He looked at the three figures.
"Follow them," he said quietly. "Do not engage. Just observe."
Their hollow eyes flickered faintly, acknowledging the command.
Without a sound, the three stepped out of the alley one by one, blending into the flow of the town. They kept a natural distance between each other, moving like unrelated travelers heading in the sa direction.
Ahead in the street, the group of Dustwind youths continued laughing, completely unaware.
Aiden didn’t think too much about the youths after that.
The three undead would handle them.
He stepped out of the alley as if nothing had happened, adjusting his robe slightly. From the outside, he was still just a quiet traveler looking for a place to rest. No one would connect him to the three robed "fighters" who had casually drifted after the Dustwind brats.
Now, he had sothing more important to figure out.
How strong is this town?
He had four Bronze-grade undead.
Four.
Each one comparable to a Body Tempering practitioner. Not fake strength. Real combat ability. Durable, tireless, obedient.
Against ordinary guards or bandits, that was overwhelming force.
But against a clan that owned an entire town?
That was uncertain.
As he walked, he observed carefully.
The guards stationed at intersections weren’t sloppy. Their grips on their spears were firm. Their backs straight. Not elite, but not useless either.
He focused on their breathing.
On the tension in their muscles.
Interesting.
He continued toward the center of town. The streets widened slightly there, leading to a more refined area. Buildings grew sturdier. The wood looked newer. Stone walls replaced old planks.
In the distance, beyond another set of inner gates, stood a large estate surrounded by higher walls.
That must be the Dustwind Clan’s main residence.
He slowed his steps just enough to observe without appearing obvious.
Two guards stood at the estate entrance.
Heavy footsteps. Controlled breathing. A faint aura of strength that even ordinary townsfolk instinctively avoided. A veteran warrior, although not a body tempering practitioner, it’s not far off.
The other one as well.
And that was only from what he could see openly.
Aiden lowered his gaze slightly and walked past without staring too long.
If the clan truly owned this town, they would not rely on just elite warriors. There had to be more inside the estate. Elders. The clan leader.
He clicked his tongue softly under his breath.
Four Bronze-grade undead ant he could match four Body Tempering practitioners head-on.
But if there were five? Six? More?
A frontal assault would be reckless.
He wasn’t so brainless bandit charging through the gates.
After thinking it through, Aiden ca to a decision.
He wouldn’t rush the clan head-on.
He would break the town from the inside.
And he would start with those young thugs from earlier.
They were careless, arrogant, and used to getting away with everything. If sothing happened to them, it wouldn’t imdiately point to an outsider. People would whisper about grudges, gambling debts.
---
By the ti the sun dipped below the hills, the town had quieted. Shops closed one by one, wooden shutters pulled tight. Lanterns flickered to life along the streets, casting long, swaying shadows against the walls.
Night in an isolated town felt different.
Aiden sat in a small room at the inn. The place was modest, creaking wooden floorboards, a narrow bed stuffed with rough cotton, a small square table near the window. A single oil lamp burned dimly, its fla trembling whenever the wind slipped through the cracks.
He sat by the window, hood lowered now that he was alone.
----
The town woke to screams.
Before the sun had fully risen, a vegetable vendor cutting through a side alley froze at the sight before her. Four bodies lay crumpled on the cold stone, twisted at unnatural angles. Blood had dried dark against the ground.
Word spread like wildfire.
"The young masters are dead!"
"In the east alley!"
"All four of them!"
By mid-morning, the entire town was in an uproar. Shops opened late. Groups gathered in corners, whispering in hushed, fearful tones. No one dared speak too loudly, but the shock was written plainly on every face.
The four infamous young masters of the Dustwind Clan, dead.
"The young masters are dead!"
Their bodies had been found piled in an alleyway like discarded trash.
Inside the Dustwind Clan’s manor, the atmosphere was far colder than the morning air.
The main hall was wide and austere, supported by thick wooden pillars. At the center sat the clan leader on a carved chair of dark wood.
Roderic Dustwind.
He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with streaks of gray at his temples. His face was sharp, his gaze steady and heavy as stone. He wore dark robes trimd in silver thread, simple but commanding.
In front of him stood three n.
The fathers of the dead youths.
Their faces were red from either rage or grief, it was hard to tell which dominated.
"My lord, please investigate this imdiately!" one of them shouted, his voice cracking. "My son was murdered in our own town!"
"This is an insult to the Dustwind Clan!" another barked. "If word spreads that our blood can be killed so easily, what will people think?!"
The third slamd his fist against a nearby table. "Find the killer! Drag him through the streets!"
Their voices overlapped, sharp and desperate.
Roderic didn’t move.
He simply watched them.
His eyes were cold.
When they finally ran out of breath, the hall fell silent except for their heavy breathing.
Roderic leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Are you finished?" he asked calmly.
The three n stiffened.
"My son is dead!" one of them snapped. "And you sit there like it ans nothing!"
Roderic’s gaze sharpened.
"Watch your tone."
The temperature in the room seed to drop.
The man swallowed but forced himself to stand firm. "Clan Leader... he was your nephew."
Roderic’s expression didn’t change.
"I am aware."
Silence stretched.
He folded his hands over the armrest.
"Your sons," Roderic said slowly, "were not warriors. They were not disciplined. They caused trouble in the streets. Took coin from rchants. Shad our na more than once."
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