Chapter 153: The Master Key.

Achilles glared at his sister, his joy instantly evaporating. "Damn it, Bianca! Why didn’t you kill it?!"

"Hey! I only have two hands!" Bianca snapped back, throwing her arms in the air. "It was either I save the big guy and the little one, who were literally dying on the ground, or chase after a wild beast! I chose to save the humans."

"Well, maybe the beast will get lost," Hunter chimed in, trying to find a silver lining. "It’s pitch-black outside. Maybe it won’t recall the way through the valley in the dark?"

Bianca made a loud, scoffing sound through her nose. "Hunter, it’s a transport beast, not a blind bat. But hey, let’s just pray to the heavens that it bleeds out on the way. I injured it pretty badly, unless someone heals it with very high-grade herbs, it will take three to six months to heal."

"Praying isn’t going to save us," Hunter said, his face growing dark. "We have a much bigger situation now. Rosewater Village is in deep trouble."

A cold silence fell over the room.

"If that beast flies back wounded on its own, the rest of the bandits will know that something went wrong." Hunter continued, "They will head straight to Rosewater Village. The villagers will be wiped out before sundown tomorrow."

Zyra threw her hands up, totally done with the situation. "See?! This is why I said we shouldn’t interfere in other people’s business! Look at us now! Their problem is officially our problem!"

Hunter lowered his head, pressing his fingers to his chin. The room went silent as he thought fast. After a moment, he looked up at Achilles.

"Achilles," Hunter said. "The Cargo Boys you brought with you_ they were supposed to head back to Greenwich tomorrow, right? Keep them here. Have them guard Rosewater Village for at least three days."

Achilles nodded quickly. "Good idea. They can handle defense. But they’re going to need a strong leader to direct them."

Before anyone else could speak, Bianca eagerly raised her hand like an excited student. "I’ll go! I can lead them!"

Zyra stared at her like she had grown a second head. "Aren’t you supposed to be laying low? You said that you were in trouble!"

"I can disguise myself!" Bianca patted her cheeks. "A mask and I plan to go bald. My plan is to pretend to be male for a while so everyone will have to call me Bee."

"It’s very brave of you to act like a martyr, Bianca," Hunter said, rolling his eyes, "but no. I’m going."

"You?" Bianca blinked.

"Yes, me," Hunter said firmly. "We leave first thing in the morning."

Zyra’s heart squeezed. She subconsciously reached up and massaged her chest, feeling a tight, painful knot form in her center. Why did Hunter have to go? Why was he always the one jumping into danger? She glanced at Achilles, wishing with all her heart that his jaw wasn’t bruised. If he could talk properly without groaning in pain every five seconds, she would have sent him instead!

"Fine," Zyra muttered, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Morning it is."

No one else had the energy to argue. Together, they quietly walked out of the bloody smelling medical room and headed into the warmth of the main house, each of them carrying the heavy weight of the coming fight.

******

The Grand Patriarch of the Kaelion’s was wide awake. He was leaning back in his plush, comfortable swing chair, slowly swaying to and fro like a lazy old king taking an afternoon nap. But his eyes were far from sleepy.

In his hand, he held a sound-recording device that Maverick had just brought him. The old man pressed his thumb against the device, and tiny, crisp voices leaked out into the soundproof room.

"Mom, don’t worry! I’m going to make the Patriarch love me so much and use the old fool to do my bidding."

That was Lita’s voice, chirping like an overly ambitious sparrow.

Then came another recording: Lita plotting to become Trinity’s spy.

Then another of his own spoiled daughter complaining about clan budget. Then three more of distant cousins scheming behind each other’s backs.

The Grand Patriarch chuckled softly, his long white beard twitching with amusement. Ah, young people these days. They think they are flying high in the heavens, but they are just birds singing in my cage.

When the recordings finished, the old man slowly pushed himself up from his swinging chair. He walked over to a grand landscape painting on the wall, grabbed the wooden frame, and gave it a sharp twist.

With a smooth, metallic rumble, a section of the stone wall shifted open, revealing a hidden steel safe. Inside were dozens of tiny, locked drawers, each labeled with a neat, brush-painted name: Elder Kang, Divine maiden, Second Auntie Julisa_

The Patriarch pulled out a fresh label, smoothly brushed a name onto it_ Lita Frood_ and slapped it onto an empty drawer. He dropped Lita’s recording stone inside, locked it tight, and smiled like a fox that had just hidden an extra chicken.

Another piece of leverage safely stored.

He turned around to face Maverick, who was standing respectfully by the door. Perched lazily on Maverick’s shoulder was a small, sleek black cat_ his half-life beast.

"You’ve done well, kid," the Patriarch said, stroking his chin. "Keep up the good work. I want you to keep a close eye on this new girl, Lita. Every sigh, every whisper, every secret trip to the bathroom_ record it all. My daughter allowed a murderer into our home. That should come in handy someday."

Maverick gave a crisp nod. "Understood, Patriarch."

He reached into his sleeve, pulled out a tiny, silver recording array, and deftly snapped it into his cat’s leather collar. The black cat gave a soft, annoyed "Meow," as if complaining about being turned into a walking listening device, but Maverick just patted its head, bowed deeply to the old man, and scooped the creature into his arms, turning to leave.

Once the door clicked shut, the old man strolled back to his swinging chair, settled his heavy frame into the cushion, and began swaying side to side again. Zyra Scorpion_

The Patriarch narrowed his wrinkled eyes, a deep, crafty grin spreading across his face.

Just yesterday, his informants inside the mayor’s inner circle had confirmed the rumor: Zyra Scorpion was definitely alive.

"She really is a master key, isn’t she?" the old man muttered to himself, chuckling softly. "Open one box, and she solves ten different problems at once_"

He tapped his fingers against the wooden armrest in a slow, rhythmic beat. Finding her was the ultimate prize.

"The only question is," the Patriarch whispered into the empty room, his eyes glittering with cold ambition, "who is going to find that little girl first? Me_ or my unruly Sabrina?"

He cackled softly, kicking his feet to push the swing chair higher.