Alex walked in silence beside the man in the silver mask, his gaze drifting over the faces of the many guests. Around them rang laughter, the clink of glasses, music—the celebration was still in full swing. But for him, it was already over.

  When they reached the massive staircase leading to the second floor, four guards appeared in their path. One of them gave a short nod to Alex’s escort, asking no questions, and the two of them ascended the stairs without incident.

  The second floor seemed almost empty. Only from time to time did they pass silent guards who didn’t even pause to glance their way. Everything was quiet, restrained, even oppressive.

  “There are already about four hundred bandits in the dungeon, along with roughly seventy of Lorenzo’s guards,” the escort broke the silence first, his pace never slowing.

  “Four hundred…” Alex repeated almost under his breath. “A bit much for mere security.”

  “Indeed,” the man nodded. “All I know is that someone has entered the dungeon and is slowly but surely making their way toward the duke himself. And… judging by the tension these past few days—Lorenzo is terrified of this someone.”

  “I see,” Alex replied curtly, while inwardly thinking: “I hope this stranger’s goal is the same as ours. Otherwise, we could have a problem.”

  The corridors of the second floor remained empty, and the silence made every step noticeable. At last, they stopped before an unremarkable door, beside which stood only a single guard. The man in the brown suit gave him a silent nod, and the guard moved on down the hallway.

  “Beyond this door is a room with a magic circle,” the guide said quietly. “It will transport you to one of the tunnels of the dungeon. The lighting there is dim, but you needn’t worry—there are no traps. And it’s unlikely you’ll meet anyone right away. Once you leave the tunnel, you’ll find yourself in a corridor where there may already be bandits. If you’re lucky, you might get one of them to tell you the way to the duke. Because the dungeon… sometimes it truly twists and turns like old mines. You could get stuck there for a long time.”

  Alex nodded silently.

  “Thank you for the advice.”

  He stepped forward, his hand already on the doorknob, when he heard a voice behind him.

  “Good luck to you.”

  Alex turned. The guide stood with his hands clasped behind his back, silent but sincere in his wish. The young man simply gave him a nod in return and, without another word, stepped inside.

  The room was completely empty except for the magic circle carved into the center of the floor. Its outlines glowed faintly with a silvery light.

  Alex stepped confidently into the middle. For a moment he held his breath. Silence wrapped around his entire body. And a few seconds later, he vanished, dissolving in a flash of light.

  Darkness greeted Alex the instant his body was transported into the dungeon. Rough stone walls, meager torches on either side—the faint yellowish light only partly drove back the shadows that swallowed the space around him. He took a few cautious steps forward, and while his eyes adjusted to the gloom, his thoughts stirred.

  “Even the deepest dungeons have better lighting than this. Could Lorenzo really have been too stingy to spare even a dozen more torches?”

  “The duke is unlikely to ever walk these corridors himself,” Sirena’s voice replied in his mind. “He must have guards capable of teleportation magic. Why would he bother strolling through dark tunnels?”

  Alex was about to answer, but suddenly stopped. There was a presence in the air—someone ahead. Several faint magical auras, mixed with two or three much stronger ones. A faint smile touched the corners of his lips.

  “Finally, some company,” he said aloud, and rushed forward.

  Within minutes, muffled voices reached his ears. The closer he came, the clearer the figures became—about two dozen men were moving ahead, talking animatedly. Some carried flames in their hands, serving as makeshift torches.

  “Hey, you!” one of the bandits shouted, turning toward Alex. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

  The rest all turned sharply. Tension instantly hung in the air.

  “I’m just lost,” Alex replied with a slight smile. “Looking for the way out.”

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  “Yeah, right,” another voice rang out—harsh and mocking. “Don’t take us for idiots, brat.”

  Alex laughed.

  “Pretty loud words for someone so weak,” he said, nodding toward the speaker. “Your aura’s like that of a newborn child.”

  The bandit’s irritation turned to rage. He instantly formed a glowing blue magic ring, and in the next moment, a water arrow shot from it. Alex, his hands clasped behind his back, took a step to the side. The magical attack sliced through the air just inches from his face.

  “Really? That’s all? Boring.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he began to advance slowly toward the men. In response, three bandits with swords charged at him, followed by five mages hurling fire and water projectiles.

  Alex stopped. Behind him, darkness thickened. In an instant, a scythe appeared in his right hand—black as night. With a swift slash, every magical projectile shattered in the air like dust. A heartbeat later, he lunged forward, cutting through space.

  One strike—and the first swordsman fell. The second had no time to react before the dark blade tore across his chest. The third tried to retreat, but a blow with the hilt to his temple knocked him to the ground, and a moment later, his head rolled free.

  Alex turned to the rest, his eyes burning with a cold fire.

  “Is that all?”

  A few of the nearest bandits stepped back. But then a new voice rang out from the crowd—rough, hoarse, edged with metal.

  “This is just a punk who’s forgotten his place!” shouted a man with a scar down half his face. “Lorenzo promised us a generous reward! Kill him!”

  A magic ring flared around his arm, and three ice spears flew toward Alex. At the signal, the rest of the mages joined the attack, while several sword-wielders charged again.

  Alex sighed.

  “Idiots.”

  Before him, long spears of darkness formed—and like arrows, they shot forward, tearing the magical projectiles apart in midair. With a predator’s smile and a glint in his eyes, Alex dashed forward again.

  The scythe in his hands sliced through the air with a deadly whistle, leaving behind only shadows and the groans of the dying. He moved like a phantom—unseen, unstoppable. One blow—and a bandit’s body hit the cold stone, cleaved in half. A sharp turn—and the scythe bit into another’s side, cutting off his last breath.

  Magical orbs lit the darkness—blue, red, white—but not a single one touched its target. Alex moved among them with inhuman precision, ducking, sliding, pushing off the walls. His eyes glowed with cold focus, every motion perfect—like a warrior who had fought through dozens of battles.

  When the attacks became too many, he raised his left hand and conjured dark projectiles. They shot forward as sharpened arrows, tearing through enemy barriers as if they were paper. Protective spheres shattered like glass, and in the next instant, the mages fell, chests pierced clean through.

  By now, of the original twenty bandits, no more than a quarter remained standing. Those who did trembled and darted about, unsure whether to run or make a final, desperate attempt to kill the young man who looked like death in human form.

  Among them was the scarred man, the gash running from brow to chin. He clung to the wall, watching the fight, and the closer Alex came, the more fear clouded his eyes.

  “Were we… all hired just to kill him?” flashed through his mind. “They told us he was strong. But not this strong…”

  His hands shook. With every swing of the scythe, fear gave way to the raw instinct for survival. He clenched his teeth. “Fine. Soon comes the corridor. There are about thirty more of my men there. Even if this brat survives, he’ll be exhausted. We’ll finish him off then. Yes, that’s it… I won’t die here. Not at the hands of some freak!”

  He spun around and bolted forward at full speed.

  The corridor was close now—like a light at the end of a dark tunnel. The lighting there was stronger, the yellow glow of the torches reflecting off the stone walls, painting sinister shadows.

  “Just a little more… just a little more…”

  And he made it. But…

  His confident smile vanished instantly. Before him, lying on the stone floor, were bodies—dozens of them. All his men. Forming a bloody carpet, they bled onto the stone.

  “What…” he whispered, stepping back. “What the hell happened here…”

  His gaze darted to the right—and there, by the wall, he saw a silhouette.

  A man.

  The man was holding someone by the neck, lifting them into the air with one hand as if they were a toy. Slowly, he turned his head toward the newcomer.

  The scarred man froze. His eyes widened. That gaze… it wasn’t hostile. It was calm, indifferent—like a predator who had already eaten, but was still deciding whether to finish off one more victim.

  “How… how is this possible…” the bandit muttered, taking a step back. “Who… are you…”

  Behind him, a voice rang out—cold, slyly condescending.

  “Oh, and who do we have here? Didn’t you just recently shout something about how you’d finish me off?” The footsteps drew closer. “And after such a fiery speech—you run from the battlefield? Not a good look.”

  The bandit spun around sharply. Alex stood a few steps behind him, his figure still spattered with drops of other people’s blood. Calmly, he wiped the blade of his scythe with his sleeve, his eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction.

  The scarred man’s gaze darted between Alex and the mysterious stranger. His mouth opened and closed—he couldn’t utter a single word. Fear consumed him entirely.

  Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, his body still trembling from the terror he had endured.

  “I… I’ll tell you everything! Hear me? Absolutely everything you want to know!” His voice cracked, his eyes pleading as they looked at Alex. “About Lorenzo’s people, his hideouts, his plans—everything! Just… just don’t kill me…”

  Alex kept walking toward him, a smile curling his lips.

  “Oh, now that’s a different conversation,” he said calmly, placing the scythe behind his back. “Why didn’t we start with that?”

  He stepped out of the dark tunnel into a wider, better-lit corridor. The stone walls drank in the shadows from the torches, but Alex’s gaze stopped not on the bloody bodies scattered around, nor even on the kneeling man—but on someone else.

  A man by the wall. The same one who was still holding a body that showed faint signs of life, in one hand.

  Their eyes met—and the stranger… smiled.

  Broadly, sincerely. As if greeting an old friend.

  “Well, it seems the evening promises to be delightfully interesting,” he said with a cheerful note. “I never could have guessed our next meeting would take place here, Alex.”

  Alex smiled in return, though far less sincerely.

  “You won’t believe it, but I didn’t expect to meet you under these circumstances either, Jester.”