Mary paused. She stopped smiling.

  The expressive girl seemed to vanish, leaving behind a blank stillness, as if all warmth had been drained from her face.

  She slowly craned her head upward. Her movements were stiff. Her brown eyes widened as she looked directly into Arnold’s eyes, unblinking. Then she tilted her head slightly to the side.

  “Leaving here?”

  ‘Huh?’ Arnold was caught completely off guard.

  She spoke again.

  “Why?”

  Before he could answer, another question followed.

  “Why do you want to leave?”

  “Where would you go?”

  “Is there anything amiss here?”

  “Why should you leave?”

  “There is nothing out there.”

  “You shouldn’t leave.”

  “Stay with us.”

  An ominous sensation pressed down on him. It was a crushing weight that seemed to descend from the air, wrapping around his chest and tightening with every breath.

  ‘What?’

  Through his Field Vision, Arnold realized something horrifying.

  Although every villager still appeared normal, still chatting, sweeping, trading goods, laughing, he could feel it.

  It was as if countless unseen gazes had turned toward him all at once. Their eyes, though not directly turned, were all pointed at him. A hundred unseen gazes were boring into his back.

  The air grew suffocating, heavy with an invisible pressure that made his skin prickle and his throat dry.

  *Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.*

  Arnold forced himself to calm down, even as his heart hammered violently in his chest.

  “I… I am only kidding,” he said carefully, forcing a casual tone out of his throat.

  “...”

  For a long, unbearable moment, Mary simply stared at him.

  Then, just as suddenly, her smile returned.

  “My mona! Please do not joke around in such a manner again, heehee!”

  …

  The pressure vanished. The air returned to normal.

  The oppressive sensation dissolved as if it had never existed.

  Around them, the villagers resumed their ordinary routines without pause, chatting about the weather, haggling over prices, and working their tools.

  "..."

  Mary waved her hands cheerfully and trotted forward, gently taking the basket back from Arnold’s arms.

  “I must be returning home now, Arnold.”

  Arnold watched her with a complicated gaze.

  “…”

  As they parted ways, she waved enthusiastically.

  “Goodbye! Friend!”

  Arnold nodded in response.

  A bead of sweat trickled slowly down his forehead.

  He looked around again, only to see the villagers acting normally.

  There was no trace of the previous pressure, no sign of the countless eyes he had felt watching him moments ago.

  ‘What is that?’

  The moment he talked about leaving, that change occurred. The entire village seemed to react as one.

  Was there… something more terrifying in this village? Even more so than the maid from the Madam’s estate?

  ‘Note to self,’ he thought grimly, ‘don’t mention leaving again.’

  He needed to get out of here.

  Something was seriously wrong with this village.

  This was the first time he had ever felt it so clearly.

  —

  Inside the pub, in the snug tucked away from the main hall, Arnold sat across from Davis and Rudo.

  The space was dim, lit only by a low-burning oil lamp mounted on the wall. The wooden table between them bore old knife marks and dark stains soaked deep into the grain.

  The air smelled of stale ale and damp wood. Even the muffled noise from the barroom outside felt distant.

  Arnold glanced around cautiously.

  Now that he knew this village was fundamentally wrong, he became extremely aware of everything. Every creak of the floorboards set his nerves on edge.

  “What do ya want to ask, master?”

  Davis leaned back in his chair, one boot hooked casually around the rung beneath the table. His tone was almost lazy. Rudo sat beside him, nursing his drink with both hands.

  Arnold focused on the two men in front of him.

  They were also residents of this village.

  ‘I shouldn’t ask them about the village.’

  The thought came decisively. Although Izzy was safe in her mansion, she did not want to risk a vessel for some stupid mistake.

  Asking the wrong question here might trigger the same terrifying reaction Mary had displayed.

  “Tell me about…”

  The information was quickly obtained. The thugs were surprisingly knowledgeable about the broader world, or at least the criminal underbelly of it.

  The Bless, the Stagefarer, the Curse, the Church, Factions, and Extraordinary Paths.

  Davis explained in practical terms. Rudo added short confirmations here and there, nodding or grunting when something matched his own experience.

  Arnold stroked his chin and thought.

  He couldn’t ask anything about the villagers directly. Now, he felt like he was in a big maw that was waiting to devour him whole.

  ‘About that one too.’

  His thoughts drifted back to Bennet. The boy’s words had deeply unsettled him.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  ‘Deaf.’

  That word… Had he heard it before?

  Before death, Glen had murmured something similar.

  Arnold frowned slightly, weighing the risk.

  It was not directly related to the village in any way. So the question might be safe to ask, hopefully.

  “Deaf,” he said carefully. “Have you ever heard of the word ‘deaf’?”

  Davis paused, his hand mid-lift with his tankard. He blinked, looked at Rudo, and Rudo also looked at Davis. The casual atmosphere evaporated instantly.

  Silence crept into the snug, until…

  Rudo glanced toward the door, then toward the narrow window set high in the wall. The same went for Davis.

  Davis leaned forward, lowering his voice. He gestured for Arnold to do the same.

  ‘So secretive?’

  “Master,” Davis whispered, “I don’t know where ya learned about it…”

  He paused, choosing his words with care.

  “There was a warning in the underworld that I overheard… by mistake. Cost a man his tongue for speaking it too loud.”

  Arnold’s fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the table.

  Davis spoke again, barely above a whisper.

  “‘When the dead forsake their rest, they’re listening…

  Dare not speak to the Deaf.’”

  ‘What?’ Arnold raised his eyebrows.

  ‘When the dead forsake their rest…’ inside his mind, Izzy tapped her chin, falling into deep thought.

  Why did that sound… so familiar?

  ‘Corpse control?’

  Wasn’t it Corpse Control? The dead forsaking their rest, that was literally what they did when they animated a dead body.

  Were they related?

  If that was the case… then that meant… they themselves… their Path’s name was “The Deaf”?

  Did it mean they were walking a known Path?

  ‘The Deaf.’

  Izzy had always assumed they themselves were a unique existence, born from a specific ritual.

  But if this warning existed…

  Did that mean there were others who could control corpses, possess people like her?

  ‘So I’m not an outlier.’

  And the name itself troubled her.

  ‘The Deaf… what does that even mean?’

  She could understand titles like “the Deceiver” or “the Warrior.” Those names literally described themselves.

  But “the Deaf”?

  Was it because they didn’t listen to the laws of nature? The living wasn’t supposed to come back to life? She didn’t understand.

  And another question rose immediately after.

  ‘How did Bennet know?’

  What was that boy hiding?

  If "The Deaf" was a term known only in deep underworld whispers, how did a village farm boy know about it?

  “...”

  Now, not only were the villagers eerie, but they also needed to be wary of that boy.

  Davis saw Arnold lost in thought. He patiently awaited, chewing on a strip of salted meat, and knocked his tankard lightly against Rudo’s before taking a long drink.

  After finishing the gulp, he set the tankard back on the table with a solid knock.

  Davis wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his white, dirt-stained shirt, before leaning forward again.

  “Here is another warning for ya, Master. Should ya ever have a need for it.”

  “Hmm?” Another one? Really?

  Arnold snapped back to reality.

  Now that was tempting. Information was the only currency that mattered right now.

  Arnold flicked another shilling across the table. He figured this information was worth more than this silver coin, but he did not have the luxury to throw away too much of his limited funds.

  Davis’s eyes lit up immediately. He snatched the coin without hesitation and slipped it into his pocket.

  “Besides the Deaf, I have also heard tell of something akin to it. From Boss Danz.”

  He coughed, clearing his throat and leaned in closer.

  “When nothing feels amiss, yet nothing is…

  They’re watching.

  Dare not meet the gaze of the Blind.”

  Arnold knitted his brows.

  The Blind?

  What was that about? The Blind? First the Deaf, now the Blind?

  “What does it mean?”

  “No one knows with certainty, Master.” Davis replied. “Could be saying that nothing good is ever truly good. Or it may suggest something more...”

  He leaned even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

  “I have heard there exists a most horrifying Faction that vanished long ago…”

  Arnold swallowed his saliva.

  ‘Am I supposed to hear this?’ Judging the name alone, it was already uncanny enough. A faction erased from history?

  “I don’t know what it’s called, and what paths it contains, but…” Davis continued, his eyes wide and serious, “No one has ever returned alive to tell the tale.”

  A chill ran down Arnold’s spine.

  ‘That terrifying?’

  "pfft---"

  '?'

  Davis suddenly laughed!

  The tension broke like shattered glass!

  “Hahaha! But it’s merely a rumor, after all! The world of Stagefarer is vast! How can one claim to be the most dreadful of all?!” he said loudly, slapping the table.

  "..."

  Rudo knocked another pint of beer back and shook his head dismissively.

  “Master, pay this guy no heed.” he rumbled. “He excels at fabrication. It’s the drink talking.”

  “Rudo, don’t say that, haha!” Davis shot back, elbowing Rudo’s thick chest playfully, “Ach—” before immediately regretting it as he hit solid muscle.

  Davis soothed his elbow, gazing at Rudo with mock annoyance.

  “Ya Sparta ox,” he muttered.

  Before they could continue their banter, a knock echoed against the wooden partition of the snug.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but the Inspectors are here.”

  In an instant, they froze. Davis’s fingers stiffened where they rested on the table. Rudo’s shoulders tensed, his broad frame going rigid like a drawn bow. The color drained from their faces.

  Arnold raised his eyebrow.

  ‘Inspectors?’

  As expected, he had anticipated that some manner of danger would come their way, except he did not know the details of its arrival.

  “Master, let’s…” Davis hurriedly shoved the leftover salted meat into a small sack and shot Arnold a frantic warning with his eyes. “We must make ourselves scarce, and quickly.”

  “I know.”

  Arnold stood up and stepped out of his chair.

  Davis leaned toward the rear door, the designated escape route for a snug.

  Yet, out of nowhere, something flashed in Arnold’s mind.

  It was a jagged sensation, a kind of premonition telling him he should not walk through that door.

  'This feeling again...'

  “Wait.”

  “Master, we must hurry!” Davis hissed, panic creeping into his voice! “Those mutton shunters would surely—”

  Davis’s hand grabbed the brass door handle.

  Before he could turn it, both Davis and Rudo suddenly collapsed!

  “Aghhhhhh!”

  “Ughh!”

  Their bodies hit the floor, the sound dull and heavy!

  Davis cried out, clutching at his head. Rudo let out a strangled grunt, one knee striking the ground, his massive frame trembling.

  Arnold knitted his brow, looking down at the twitching bodies.

  As expected, there was something on the door.

  ‘But why am I not affected?’ he wondered.

  A wave of familiarity washed over him.

  'Why do I feel like...I had experienced this before?'

  De javu?

  An idea raised in his mind.

  ‘What if…?’

  Arnold remembered the strange surge of new sensations earlier when Isa spoke with Bennet.

  “R… Rudo!” He could hear a voice sound from Davis, trying to ask the big guy for help.

  "..."

  Arnold pushed the main door open, stepping into the hallway that led toward the main bar.

  The noise of the pub flooded in. It was the familiar loudness, layered with laughter and banter, the thick scene of ale and sweat.

  “M… master?!” Davis called after him, disbelief and desperation tangled together in his tone.

  Yet, Arnold only turned his heel, ignoring the incapacitated thugs and the exit.

  “You go first. I have something to do here.” Arnold said over his shoulder.

  ‘If I can’t get rid of this feeling in my chest… then let’s make another choice entirely.’

  If the path of retreat triggered the deja vu sensation, then the other path might be the correct one.

  ‘Until I got that new feeling again.’

  There was no risk in trying, after all.

  Arnold was merely a vessel; if this body was destroyed, Izzy would still be safe in the mansion.

  ‘Let’s see… who these infamous Inspectors are, that everyone so loves to talk about.’

  Izzy mused inwardly, a smile forming on her lips.

  —

  (Moonday, four days left before the full moon Rite starts.)