"General Baiyi..."

"Call me General Baiyi! Stop calling me Grand General. My rank insignia on my chest isn’t just for show!"

Before Stisian could finish, Baiyi cut him off.

Stisian didn’t know why Baiyi obsessed over titles, but he didn’t mind—just gave a simple smile.

Luckily, they’d moved elsewhere to talk. Otherwise, Baiyi’s rough shouts would’ve disturbed others.

That’d mean immeasurable losses for his shop.

So Stisian decided to humor him for now.

"General Baiyi, what wind blew you here today?"

"What wind? The cold wind from Wind Spirit Land outside the Great Empire’s capital. It brought me—and a group of black-clad men."

Baiyi pulled a bloodstained silver dagger from behind him.

The blood had long since clotted, no longer flowing.

"This is..."

"Some damn Shadowblade Alliance weapon. I don’t know what it is. Quality’s decent though—I took a few for the gardener to prune flowers."

Baiyi wasn’t interested in scavenged junk. He’d tossed them into the back garden’s toolbox.

"You... sigh. Those were fine weapons, especially made from moon-silver ingots. Such a waste."

"Tch."

Ignoring Stisian’s complaint, Baiyi grabbed his Black Feather drink and took a swig. Then he casually tossed the dagger to Stisian.

"Keep it. I don’t care about this stuff."

"You..."

Since Baiyi had thrown it so generously, fussing would be rude.

"Now, explain clearly. Why did you know two days ago someone would smuggle suspicious items into the capital? Especially Shadowblade trouble?"

At imperial security talk, Baiyi’s gaze turned razor-sharp, deadly serious—as if piercing thoughts.

That scarred right eye alone radiated terrifying pressure.

"I’ll talk, I’ll talk!"

Seeing Baiyi’s intensity, Stisian raised his hands in surrender.

"Honestly, I just heard it. I manage this Black Bar—it’s an intelligence hub."

"People post tasks here but can’t pay? They trade intel. I judge if it matches the task’s value."

Baiyi looked up, fixing him with a chilling stare.

"Uh, of course I verify the intel’s authenticity too."

Stisian couldn’t bear the pressure. He grabbed a wine bottle from the cabinet, gulped to steady his nerves.

"So why tell me this now? What do you want?"

Stisian had traded for this intel—and shared it. He clearly wanted something in return.

"Cough, Grand General Baiyi—"

"Call me General!"

"Right, General Baiyi. This Black Bar isn’t fancy, but it’s the capital’s top spot for intel exchange."

Stisian pulled out a contract covered in clauses and a pure black feather pen.

"Lately, Beast Rat Street’s security’s gotten worse. I can’t guard this place full-time."

"So I hope the imperial army spares some troops for protection."

His face showed helpless sincerity—as if his words were true.

"You’ve got nerve."

Baiyi eyed the finely dressed young man, smirking in disdain.

"Uh, is it unreasonable?"

"Reasonable? You gave me one tip about an attack—and now want troops for three years? Think I’m stupid?"

To secure the Imperial Palace, Baiyi split nearly all military power: half with him, half with Queen Ellyria.

To him, Stisian’s request screamed coup plotter.

"No, no! You misunderstood. I don’t want full control of your troops!"

"Not full control? Then spit it out! What do you want? Or this blade gives you a full-body massage!"

Negotiations hit a deadlock. Baiyi’s fury flared—if Stisian didn’t back down, he’d raze the Black Bar.

"Wait! We can talk this over—"

Stisian saw things spiraling. The argument had turned ugly.

Bang!

A loud crash echoed from the Black Bar’s entrance.

Noisy commotion followed—patrons turned to stare.

"Tch. What’s happening at your door?"

Watching mercenaries crowd outside, Baiyi felt sudden unease.

"I don’t know. Should we... check?"

As manager, Stisian had to investigate.

But Baiyi moved first. He gripped the worn Curved Saber at his waist.

His face grim, steps heavy and deliberate.

After that crash, he’d heard a faint, childish cry.

"Dad... Dad!"