Chapter 66: I am told you sell miracles
The man tilted his head slightly.
It was a small, precise gesture of courtesy and also an expression of surprise at being recognised, even when he had not disclosed his identity or anything relevant.
"Good evening, my lord."
His voice was quiet and even, the kind of voice a person might use when gently closing a door.
Now that he was standing closer, Encrid could see more details.
The man appeared to be around fifty years old. His temples were beginning to turn grey, and his face was lean and weathered.
There was nothing particularly memorable about him.
He had an ordinary face, an ordinary height and very ordinary build.
If someone saw him in a crowd and was later asked to describe him, they would probably struggle to remember anything about him.
And Encrid understood something that made him feel strangely cold.
That ordinary appearance was not natural.
It had been created.
It was the result of a lifetime spent making himself forgettable.
Just as a skilled swordsman could make a weapon look plain despite it being extremely dangerous, this man had made himself look like someone nobody would ever remember.
’Appraise,’ Encrid thought.
He knew he probably should not.
But he was incapable of resisting the habit.
The system appeared in the corner of his vision.
[ Name: ?? ]
[ Age: ?? ]
[ Realm: ?? ]
[ Star Level: ?? ]
[ Talent: ?? ]
It was exactly as he had expected - the system showed him nothing on the man, but he was still disappointed. He thought he could at least learn his name, but even that was in question marks - which just went to show how strong and dangerous a man he was.
So Encrid immediately stopped trying.
"You train late," the man said.
"The office usually keeps me there."
"Mm."
The man’s eyes moved toward Encrid’s sword.
"The Second Form of the Gannon Family Swordsmanship."
Encrid remained silent.
"Your back foot turns too early during the second change."
The man spoke as casually as a teacher correcting a student.
"Your father also had that habit."
Encrid’s mind immediately began working.
’He has watched my father fight.’
It wasn’t a surprise knowing that the man in front of him was the leader of the biggest information organization in the empire.
He stored the information away.
The Reaper was not saying these things by accident.
He wanted Encrid to know exactly how much he knew.
"Thank you for pointing it out - I’ll fix my posture," Encrid said.
"Not at all."
A brief silence followed, and neither man spoke again.
Encrid allowed the silence to remain.
That was another thing the novel had taught him.
The Reaper’s entire character had been built around silence.
He rarely explained himself.
He even rarely threatened people.
He simply waited.
And the people who became nervous and tried to fill those silences were usually the ones who made mistakes.
So Encrid stood quietly in the blue light.
Four paces separated him from the most dangerous assassin in the empire.
The Reaper waited with the patience of falling snow.
Encrid held his sword loosely in one hand, fully aware that it would probably not help him if things turned violent.
Somewhere in the darkness, a watch bell rang.
The sound was faint and distant.
Then the Reaper spoke again.
"My disciple told me about a conversation."
Encrid’s eyes narrowed slightly.
"I travelled a very long way because of what she told me."
The Reaper paused.
"You will understand that I had her account checked as carefully as possible."
His voice remained calm.
"Your movements. Your history. Your letters."
Another pause.
"You are a very well-documented young man, my lord."
The corner of Encrid’s mouth twitched.
"I keep good records."
"I noticed."
The Reaper looked directly at him.
"Everything about you has an explanation."
Encrid said nothing.
"Except one thing."
Encrid already knew what was coming.
"How I know what I know."
"Exactly."
The Reaper’s expression did not change.
"I told your disciple that I would not answer that question."
"And your answer has not changed?"
"No."
"Mm."
The Reaper turned his head slightly.
He looked around the drill ground.
The blue lamps.
The granary.
The frozen ground.
The enormous dark shape of the Wall rising behind them.
He looked at everything as though he were quietly studying the surroundings of Encrid’s life.
"People keep secrets from me, my lord."
He paused.
"It happens."
His eyes returned to Encrid.
"It is usually a temporary problem though."
Encrid almost smiled, not in humor but in terror.
Then the Reaper continued.
"I heard you accurately accounted for my daughter’s symptoms and claimed to know a way to treat her."
The atmosphere was turning colder than the usual cold of the north.
"So, for the first time in several years, I have found myself considering the possibility that something genuinely new has appeared in this world."
He paused.
"I dislike new things."
Encrid raised an eyebrow.
The Reaper’s expression remained completely serious.
"In my profession, new things are usually somebody’s knife."
"And yet you came here."
"Yes."
The Reaper looked directly at him.
"Here I am."
For the first time, Encrid noticed something in those grey eyes.
It was there for only a moment.
A tiny movement.
Something almost impossible to see.
It was as if someone had placed their shoulder against a door and was using all their strength to keep it closed.
Encrid understood.
He had read about this man.
He knew the reputation.
He knew the stories from the novel.
He knew how many people had died because of him.
But for that brief moment, Encrid did not see the Reaper.
He saw a father.
A father who had spent eleven years watching his daughter slowly die.
A father who had searched for every possible answer and had finally travelled hundreds of miles because someone had told him there might be one.
Then the emotion disappeared.
The door closed again.
The Reaper looked exactly as he had before.
Calm, ordinary and unreadable.
"Speak, then, my lord."
His voice was quiet.
"I am told you sell miracles."
The Reaper took one slow step forward.
"I have come to hear the price."
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