The Darkness Weaver

As dusk fell and sunlight waned, Charles's public carriage approached the capital's gates. After a five-hour journey, the path from countryside to bustling city was finally nearing its end.

The towering city gates stood like a fortress, surrounded by thick walls. People streamed in and out endlessly while torchlight flickered from the watchtowers above, vigilantly observing all visitors.

The carriage stopped at the checkpoint. Charles stepped down with his belongings and made his way through the crowd to show his identification to the guards. He produced a gleaming silver medallion bearing the guild's seal—sufficient for easy passage through the city gates.

Once inside, he promptly hailed a city carriage to take him to the guild, located between the middle district and the knights' quarter—an area easily accessible to both social classes.

The young man paid the driver the time-based fare before settling onto the hard leather seat. Though not as comfortable as a private carriage, he was grateful for the rest, preferring it to walking.

The journey passed in silence between him and the driver, broken only by the muffled sound of hoofbeats. His mind still dwelled on his recent dream and the mysterious paper.

Upon reaching his destination, Charles stepped down from the carriage, stretching to ease his fatigue. He glanced up at the impressive guild building with its prominent seal, its large white-washed structure standing out distinctly.

The guild was like a second home to him. It was where people came seeking all manner of work—from escort duties to pursuing wanted criminals, from guarding merchant caravans to detective work like his own. Jobs ranged from minor tasks to life-threatening missions, with rewards matching the risks for those brave enough to take them.

Charles walked through the thick carved wooden doors into the guild, heading straight for the rewards and assignments desk where a young woman in dark work attire was diligently taking notes.

"Hello, Mr. Charles," she looked up with a warm smile, her eyes brightening. "Welcome back. How would you like to receive your payment?"

"I'll take four ten-crusedo notes, four five-crusedo notes, and twenty gold coins," he replied, handing over the mission completion document for her inspection. The paper bore a deep red seal and the client's signature.

"Of course, I'll process that right away." The quill pen scratched softly as she recorded the details. The candlelight on her desk flickered with the gentle breeze, making shadows dance on the wall.

"Thank you," Charles smiled faintly, then remembered something. "Oh, and what about Morgan? Is he around? I'd like to schedule training with him tomorrow."

"He's not here," she flipped open a leather-bound brown appointment book. "But he left word that if you returned, you could set up an appointment."

"Perfect. Tell him tomorrow at the usual time, at the training grounds behind the building," Charles smiled.

The clerk finished writing in her book and turned back with a smile. "Certainly, I'll let him know so he can give you proper training at the scheduled time. And... congratulations on your success."

Charles returned her smile gently, warmed by the praise. "Thank you very much. I'm glad it was successful, and I appreciate your encouragement."

With his business concluded, he tucked the payment pouch into his bag and waved a friendly goodbye to the clerk before heading back to his lodgings in the middle district.

On his way home, Charles stopped at a street market to pick up some food. He chose a large loaf of bread for five denarius, a piece of cheese for ten denarius, and two smoked sausages for fifteen denarius—thirty denarius in total, enough for his dinner and breakfast.

Grumbling from a nearby vegetable vendor caught Charles's attention. "Taxes keep rising every day. Those nobles just keep squeezing us common folk dry. The war's over, so why are prices still going up?"

A customer nodded in agreement. "True. The war's ended, but prices haven't returned to normal at all."

The vendor sighed. "We'll just have to endure it. Hopefully, the nobles will show some consideration for the common people."

Charles glanced at the vendor, listening quietly. He was well familiar with such complaints.

He took the same hired carriage back home, the fare calculated by time. The entire journey from the city entrance to his residence took about forty minutes, costing thirty-three denarius. He paid the driver one crusedo and received sixty-seven denarius in change before walking down the narrow alley that led to the residential area.

The sound of hooves approached, and Charles quickly stepped aside. A nobleman's luxurious carriage passed by, leaving only dust and the townspeople's resentful glances in its wake. He watched with a neutral expression, accustomed to the deep-rooted social inequalities in society.

Charles's house came into view—a white-painted wooden dwelling, simple yet elegant, with a small garden and carriage space in front, though he owned no carriage. He rented this house at a special rate from a close noble friend he'd known since his earliest memories.

"Hey Charles, back already?" a greeting came from the wooden fence next door.

Charles turned to find Mrs. Wilson, his sixty-plus neighbor, smiling at him as she tended to her flower garden in the dim lamplight.

"Hello, Mrs. Wilson. I completely forgot about the flowers I planted."

"Oh, don't worry. They've been growing wonderfully. I've been watering them and loosening the soil a bit while you were away," Mrs. Wilson smiled proudly.

"Oh, thank you so much, and I'm sorry you had to trouble yourself. I was so caught up in the case I completely forgot," Charles scratched his head sheepishly, deeply grateful for her kindness.

She waved dismissively. "It's no trouble at all. I had spare time anyway. So how was the work? Did everything go well?"

"It started as a simple missing item case, but unexpectedly turned into something much bigger. Fortunately, we caught the culprit. I should rest now, but we'll chat more later," Charles said, showing her the food bag in his hand.

"Of course, go rest. Come by for tea in the morning if you'd like. I'll make you some apple pie," she offered with a wave goodbye.

Charles smiled before walking wearily into his house. He opened the door to his simple but cozy single-story home. The white exterior walls contrasted nicely with the dark brown wooden door. Inside was a modest living room with a cream-colored fabric sofa in the center, facing a fireplace for winter use. Above the fireplace stood a shelf decorated with paintings and ornaments. The floor was covered with a short-pile carpet in light tones that brightened the room.

To the left of the living room, a door led to the kitchen, fully equipped with storage cabinets, a sink, and a stove for cooking. There was also a small wooden table with four chairs—perfect for breakfast or small evening meals.

To the right of the living room was the combined bedroom and study. Charles preferred having his rest and work space together for convenience. The room contained a dark wooden bed, a wardrobe, a large desk, and bookshelves filled with basic educational texts and history books—everything he needed.

His favorite spot in the house was the back porch connecting to a small garden. Here he would sit in an old teak chair, enjoying afternoon tea or evening rum, watching the growing plants and listening to birds singing in the warm sunlight. It was his private retreat, offering perfect relaxation.

Though ordinary, the house had everything—comfort, privacy, and an atmosphere that eased his mind. No matter how exhausted he felt, returning home always replaced his weariness with contentment.

As soon as he closed the door, Charles set the food bag on the kitchen table. He decided to change into comfortable clothes before laying out the bread, cheese, and sausage. He poured himself a glass of water to quench his thirst, then took out the mysterious paper from the village to examine.

While eating his simple dinner, Charles's thoughts began to clear. Though his recent work had been successful, the mysteries of his past and the cryptic paper still nagged at him, like a rope pulling him forward to unravel its knots.

But tonight, he let his thoughts drift with the breeze and moonlight, under peaceful dreams, gathering strength to face a new day of training and uncovering his past.

After washing the dishes, Charles entered his bedroom and collapsed onto the soft bed. His heavy eyelids closed in the darkness. Tonight, he should sleep better than before, ready to face whatever tomorrow might bring.

But as if his mind wouldn't let him rest easy, his earlier dream replayed itself, more vivid and real than before.

In a frenzied night, amid thunder and violent rain, the salty smell of the sea touched his nostrils. The chilling touch of water droplets clung to his skin, making him shiver.

Two ships battled through the raging storm on the dark sea. Crew members fought for their lives. Enemies wore grim expressions, some laughing triumphantly after making kills, all bent on victory amid the crisis of life and death.

A young man with dark brown eyes and hair, sharp features, stood warily preparing to flee from the danger he faced. He wore a white linen shirt with sleeves rolled up below the elbows, collar unbuttoned, and black trousers. His attire differed markedly from the ship's crew, who wore rough clothes, their skin darkened by sun and marked with sea salt. His skin was clean and smooth, his clothes unstained except by the falling rain.

Charles, on edge, suddenly felt an inexplicable instinct warning him to dodge something. The young man trusted this feeling and lunged away immediately.

In that instant, a distortion in space appeared where he had stood, as wide and tall as a person. In the blink of its appearance, everything within its bounds was crushed beyond recognition before it vanished.

Shock showed on his pale face, drops of water—sweat or rain, indistinguishable—running down his forehead and blurring his vision. If he'd been even slightly slower, he would surely have been reduced to unrecognizable fragments of flesh.

But where he chose to jump, someone was already fighting. The blade in that man's hand cut through the humid air, expertly taking an enemy's life. Dark red blood mixed with rain flowed across the ship's deck.

The moment the enemy fell, Charles's body crashed hard into that man. The impact threw them both off balance, bodies slamming onto the slippery wooden floor, rolling amid rain and crashing waves. Thunder boomed like the laughter of gods.

Swords and knives flew from their hands in different directions as both struggled to stand on the pitching deck. The ship swayed violently with the waves, making balance nearly impossible. Sea water crashed over the gunwales, washing away debris and bloodstains into the darkness.

Their eyes met amid the lightning flashes. The stranger's eyes showed shock and confusion, while Charles's were filled with fear and uncertainty. Neither knew who was friend or foe. In this moment of chaos and uncertainty, only the roar of storm winds and sea waves echoed in the darkness.