Chapter 6: The Warlock’s Bargain

Vincent Graves’s residence was easy to find—set in a mountain gully, with no neighbors for miles. The air smelled of damp earth and rotting leaves, and the silence was thick as fog.

At the entrance, I saw a boy kneeling in a cage, a dog chain around his neck. His skin was as pale as marble, messy hair falling over his lashes, a red mark between his brows, his face bloodless. The cold wind bit at his exposed skin, and his tattered clothes clung to him, soaked in blood.

In the bleak wind, his tattered clothes were soaked with blood, yet his expression was calm, neither sad nor happy. He looked like a statue left out in the rain, unmoved by the world around him.

The sky was gloomy and cold; a rotten crow corpse suddenly dropped from the twisted branches overhead, its wings scraping the cage bars. The scene became instantly eerie, the stench of decay mixing with the iron tang of blood.

Maybe I stared too long, because the boy slowly raised his head, revealing cold, clear eyes—calm as dead water. His gaze met mine, steady and unafraid.

The door creaked open. A one-eyed, shriveled man in black robes, hunched over, emerged from the house. Even from a distance, the stench of blood clung to him, making my stomach churn.

“What do you want, kid?” Vincent’s voice was gravelly, his cloudy eyes sizing me up with suspicion and greed.

“I’m here to buy him.” I pointed directly at Caleb’s cage, refusing to show fear.

Vincent grinned, insincere, his mouth twisting into something almost predatory. “Kid, I spent a fortune on this little thing. I’ve grown fond of him lately—he’s not for sale. Please leave.”

Vincent raised a hand to dismiss me, his fingers crooked and stained.

I took a pouch of rare coins from my messenger bag and tossed it to him. The pouch landed with a heavy clink, the sound echoing in the empty yard.

Vincent opened it, his cloudy eyes lighting up. “These are... pure silver?”

I stood with my sword, arms crossed, gazing at him coolly, every muscle tense. “A thousand pure silver coins is enough to buy your life, Mr. Graves. Think carefully.”

Vincent, mouth wide, yellow teeth showing, hurried over and opened Caleb’s cage, handing me the leash. The desperation in his eyes told me he understood the threat.

“Kid, he’s yours now.”

“But this little thing can’t even be used as a battery—he’s useless. Why pay so much for him?” Vincent’s tone shifted, probing for answers.

I kept my expression calm, my mind racing with calculations. “Mr. Graves, don’t ask about things you shouldn’t know.” My voice was low, dangerous.

Vincent got the message, shut up, and scurried back inside, clutching the silver coins like a dragon hoarding treasure.

Throughout it all, Caleb remained expressionless, as if even if the world collapsed, he would meet it with the same indifferent gaze. His body language was eerily still, every emotion locked away.

The wind whipped around us, rattling the loose boards of the porch. I gave Caleb a nod, refusing to touch the leash. The moment felt like a scene out of an old Western—two strangers crossing paths on the edge of nowhere, each carrying more scars than stories. In that silence, I made my first promise to him: I would not let him be caged again.