Chapter 325: One dead Magistrate.

Achilles had no idea that he was being followed. He was a careful man, standard caution, decent instincts, but the Salt Deer hunters walked in shadows and frankly, they were much better at hide-and-seek than he was.

Elliot had not picked any random people to join his small guild. To join the Salt Deer guild, you had to meet specific qualifications. One had to be raised in the Mystic Sanctum. It raised assassins and sold them to large rich clans and the wealthy as their guards.

He bought two, every year and made them members of his guild. Their training was merciless, shaping them into individuals whose feet barely touched the ground when they moved. Each bore the same half-life beast, a Duskraven. A raven with feathers that absorbed light, tailing enemies from above without detection.

The ravens could deliver confidential messages and poison enemies without leaving a trace. They could slip unseen through corridors and stalk prey without leaving a trace.

For such creatures and their masters, it was easy to follow Achilles when he returned to the city. His bright orange hair stood out like an orange X that marked the spot.

Achilles had just finished offloading goods at the warehouse. Half of the supplies were already bought up before the dust even settled. Life was good. Well, life was almost good, except for one annoying problem that he planned to solve right this second.

He flew out on his eagle and stomped straight toward the magistrate’s office, muttering under his breath the whole way. "If he doesn’t have a good reason for this mess," Achilles growled, shoving open the wooden doors. "I will use his pen to cut off his fingers."

The magistrate was sitting behind a messy desk, scribbling something in a ledger. When the door slammed open, the old man looked up, a bright, professional customer-service smile plastering across his face.

"Ah, master Achilles Welcome! How may the town hall serve_"

The smile vanished in half a second.

Achilles crossed the room in two strides, reached across the desk, and grabbed the magistrate by the neck, lifting him three inches off his chair.

"Give me one good reason," Achilles growled, his voice deep and dark, "why I shouldn’t snap your neck right now for not registering Hunter’s marriage."

The magistrate’s eyes bulged. He let out a pathetic sound and tapped furiously on Achilles’ thick forearm like a defeated wrestler.

Achilles rolled his eyes and slacked his grip just a fraction.

The magistrate sagged back into his chair, coughing violently. He practically knocked over his files grabbing a jug of water, chugging it down so fast it spilled all over his clothes.

"Are you insane?!" the magistrate wheezed, clutching his throat and staring at Achilles like he was a demon from the nether realms. "You can’t just choke civil servants! That is a felony! A severe felony!"

"I don’t care about town ordinances. Answer the question," Achilles barked.

"Something was fishy about that marriage!" the magistrate yelled back, his voice cracking. "I’m an old man, I’ve seen this a thousand times! The girl looked like she wanted to be anywhere else on God’s green earth! It looked completely forced! I am a moral man, Achilles! I want no part in human trafficking or forced weddings. I have a reputation to maintain. I have to leave a way out for myself in case things explode."

Achilles blinked, then let out a sharp, incredulous scoff. "You idiot. That’s just her face! She always looks like she wants to burn the world down! Hunter is the one who is terrified of her! If anyone was being forced, it was him. And tell me, have you ever seen anyone force Hunter into doing something he did not want to do?"

"Well, I didn’t know that!" the magistrate huffed, adjusting his crooked collar. "Besides, it’s too late! The deadline to file the paperwork for this month passed two hours ago. They just have to resign themselves to living in sin until next month’s filing window."

Achilles’ face turned thunderous. A faint aura of pressure leaked from his body, cracking the floorboard beneath his boot. He pointed a thick, calloused finger directly between the magistrate’s trembling eyes. "You," Achilles snarled, "are utterly useless."

He turned on his heel and slammed the door so hard on his way out that a chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling, landing right in the magistrate’s water cup.

The old man let out a long, shuddering sigh, dropping his head onto the desk. "I need a career change. Maybe I’ll open a bakery_"

"I hear baking is very stressful," a smooth voice chimed from the window.

The magistrate shrieked, jumping out of his skin.

Sitting casually on the windowsill, twirling a dark feather dart between his fingers, was Alvin_ the notorious leader of the Elliot’s hunters. He was draped in a black, fine silk shirt and soft, expensive, black pants.

Alvin was handsome, like the dream of every painter. Long blonde hair, well defined features, light green eyes. He looked more like noble than a murderer, but the coldness in his eyes said otherwise.

"S-sir!" the magistrate squeaked, backing into his bookshelf. "What_what do you want?!"

"Relax, grandpa. I just have a simple question," Alvin smiled, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes at all. "What did our big friend Achilles want from a low life like you?"

The magistrate held out for a solid half-second before he completely spilled his guts. He bubbled out the information like a canary singing for its dinner, babbling about Hunter, the unregistered marriage, the girl, the filing deadline, and Achilles’ violent threat.

"Fascinating," Alvin murmured, hopping down from the window frame. "So, the mighty Hunter has a secret wife, does he? A weakness. How delightfully cliché."

"I told you everything!" the magistrate whined, trembling. "Please, just leave!"

"Oh, I am leaving," Alvin said sweetly, stepping forward. "But corporate policy says no witnesses."

Before the magistrate could scream, Alvin flicked his wrist. A small red pill flew straight into the old man’s open mouth and lodged in his throat. Alvin slapped him lightly on the back, forcing him to swallow it down.

"Don’t worry," Alvin patted the weeping man’s shoulder gently. "In thirty minutes, all traces of it will dissolve. The town doctor will say you had a heart attack from high blood pressure. Very tragic. Rest well!"

Alvin melted back into the shadows of the window, leaving the magistrate groaning on the floor, deeply regretting his choice of profession.

Meanwhile, Achilles was stomping down the alleyways. His anger was cooling off, replaced by a cold, prickling sensation on the back of his neck. Someone is watching me, he thought. And they’re sloppy.

He didn’t slow his pace. Instead, he turned a sharp corner into a dead-end alleyway lined with tall, wooden crates. The moment his body was hidden from the main street, Achilles stopped, flattened himself against the wall, holding his breath like a predator in ambush.