"Everything is ready for departure, Sir."

"Good. I’ll leave the rest to old Zhou. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks at the auction."

The purple-haired demon hands A-Yin the light summer cloak, resting it on his broad shoulders, and then she knots it on his chest. He follows her with his icy blue eyes, smiles slyly, and asks, "Is there anything else?"

Wu looks up at him and nods. "One of my group said that the humans increased patrols. A demon’s body was found at the docks. It’ll be harder for us to infiltrate Aryo."

"Just for a dead demon? There are plenty of them, so I don’t see why one more should make a difference."

"He wasn’t enslaved or even registered in the region. They attributed it to a rivalry between our race, and the possibility that there are others on the loose alerted them."

He brings a hand to his chin, touching the coal scales with his fingers, and ticks on them thoughtfully. "Interesting. You know who he was?"

"One of our usual informers, an acquaintance of Lì. When I told him about his death, he seemed sad and said you knew him too."

A-Yin raises an eyebrow interrogatively, so Wu sighs and raises a hand at the height of her nose. "More or less tall, skinny, light gray skin, small horns, with glasses. According to Lì, he was a pretty bright, enterprising little fellow."

"Slimy, he means!" he chuckles. “It’s undoubtedly that snake of Ronny.”

They were parts of one of the first demon expeditions he recovered from the clutches of humans ages ago. Yet unlike Lì, the bespectacled demon had thanked him and vanished shortly after. Of course, he had him regularly watched by Wu’s group, among many others. He knows he worked as an informant; they caught him once selling maps of his safe house. Lì really saved his ass back then.

"Do you have any idea who did this?"

"Not one of ours."

The leader snorts and walks to the front door of the meeting room, followed by Wu. "I’ll take a look around. Have you booked the hotel?"

She nods. "Shaka has a private room starting tomorrow morning."

He grabs her from the back of the head, stroking her short hair and pressing his lips to her forehead. "That's my girl."

Wu barely blushes and looks down. "Sir, if I may say, why do only Zhou and I know about this alias?”

"It’s just a little secret."

She remains silent and lets him slip out of the room. Elusive as ever.

Morning light hits him as he steps out of the secondary pavilion. Today, there is a light wind. A-Yin moves, annoyed, a lock of black raven hair in front of his eyes. The sun makes them shine with crimson-red reflections as he walks toward the center of the unpaved place. As usual, he wears clothing suitable for travel: brown boots, dark trousers tight enough not to hinder his movements, and a white shirt that brings out the tanned skin. Yet a pair of circular earrings glisten silvery on his lobes, a detail that he hides in his cape’s hood when traveling to avoid annoying encounters along the way. He’s carrying a long NanDao sword on his left side and a leather bag on his shoulder, with a change of clothes for when he arrives at the water capital, Aryo.

From his look, everyone would say he's in his late twenties, by human standards.

"Sir!"

"Are you leaving already?" 

Various minor demons greet him with joy; he reciprocates with a smile and looks for old Zhou. If I leave without saying goodbye, he won’t leave me alone when I return.

A-Yin finds him talking to some kids. Their looks make him understand that the old demon has started to nag about his long and tedious explanations of plants and organic chemistry. They don’t seem very cheerful, so much so that Zhou raises his voice with an angry face. The leader comes smiling. "Are you done muttering like a caryatid? Senility is such a tragedy."

As soon as the children hear his voice, they smile and take the opportunity to escape the old demon's narrow educational grip.

"What are you babbling about? A little bugger is what you are!"

A-Yin laughs at his words. Throughout the shelter, the old demon is the only one who dares to talk to him like that, and he lets him do it; after all, they have known each other since he was nothing but a brat. "I’m on my way out."

"Thanks to Diyu, I won’t have to see your ugly face for a while!"

"All this bile will make you die, old fart."

"Just fuck off." mumbles the elder, so A-Yin smiles at him and walks outside, getting through the second circle of walls and entering the forest.

The shelter consists of three different areas: the outer one, with housing, farming areas, and warehouses with food and primary necessities; the intermediate one of the secondary pavilions, which serve as barracks and lodging for the younger demons or the ones who don’t have a family to look after, as well as the fighters; and finally, the innermost, with the large central pavilion, where he dwells. Zhou is the only one who roams freely inside; sometimes, even Wu and Lì enter, being middle demons.

The whole refuge is hidden by the forest that extends for several kilometers in all directions except south, completely rocky and only accessible through underground caves. There are so many labyrinths that humans didn’t map them all even after centuries. On the other hand, A-Yin, too, has never made one, exploring only the mazes closest to the safe place.

The leader has disseminated the perimeter with devices that detect the passage of humanoids and confuse their senses, making them lose their way. Everything an enemy can do is die by his minor demons' hand or go back. Those devices are runes directly linked to him through his rasuah of blood as an extension of his own body. That's why he hasn't changed the placement of minor demons: families and kids aren't so many, and elders can stay in peace, away from the screams and lousiness of the training ground. Nobody can enter the refuge unless the boss allows it. 

Aryo is a three-week journey at a human pace, and A-Yin can safely cover the same distance in two. Just before arriving, the demon stops away from prying eyes and undresses from the sweaty and dirty clothes of the trip. The tanned skin shifts into a lighter complexion, and the musculature moves under this new layer in a softer form, suitable for humans. His abdomen swells slightly as soon as the chest is covered with a thin and soft reddish layer, which the demon shows in a deep V-neck white shirt with gold decorations and emerald stones along its edges and the cuffs of the long sleeves. The trousers are of a nice brown color, vaguely tending to orange, with a high waist and an embellished belt. The face immediately acquires more marked and masculine features, with a sharp jaw softened by a dark red beard, narrow green eyes, and a pointed nose. With one hand, he pulls back his red and short wavy hair, making his double row of black metal horns disappear, then he tucks his shirt into his pants and wears clean boots. His appearance is entirely different from a few minutes ago, perfectly embodying a human merchant in his best forties.

He puts his old clothes in the leather bag and makes them disappear under a lavish blue cloak, then returns to the street among numerous humans who stroll quietly under the sun. Summer is coming soon, and the temperature is higher here than at the shelter due to the greater proximity to the sea.

Shaka heads towards the city’s large entrance gates. When he gets close to them, the guards stop him for identification. At the sight of his sly face, one of the controllers hurries to block the other two and makes a half bow, "Excuse me, sir, they are recruits."

He raises a hand with golden rings and smiles, “Don’t worry, can I enter?”

“Sure! Let him pass you, brats.” The two young guards hurry to free the passage, and the demon enters the city undisturbed.

It has been about ten years since he traveled around the various human regions with this disguise: a charming, mundane merchant. There is hardly anyone who doesn’t know him. With a comfortable pace, he wanders through the rich city streets. Stalls and merchants fill every crevice. Between the bright eyes of the population, everything seems full of life. Aryo is the largest port of the Rèn continent and calls to itself people from all over in a colorful and beautiful jumble of cultures, colors, and scents. He loves this place; although many others are as beautiful and different, none feels so comfortable. If it weren’t for those minor problems of slavery, exploitation, and the black market, this city would seem to come straight out of a fairy tale.

He should go to the hotel where he’s booked a room as usual, but it doesn’t feel like it. There’s something more interesting to do. Soon, Shaka reaches the port and sees a handful of city guards gathered on the right side of the place, blocking the passage to the curious. He comes at a bouncy pace, hands behind his back and a nerve-wracking smile. The new guard's chief immediately notices him and twirls his eyes, so much so that the fake merchant fears they may remain pointed behind his head forever. This idiot amuses him. Little Mark has made his career!

Dark skin and curly, well-cared hair adhere to the head, where two deep honey-colored eyes are looking annoyed at him. He has fleshy lips and a small but well-proportioned nose compared to the rest of the face. He’d be a nice guy if it weren’t for his temper. Mark makes large, impatient strides and points a finger at him, "You can’t stick your nose in it! Pay a visit to the old ladies of the noble neighborhood. Maybe some husband will take you out for good, and this could finally be a good day."

Another jovial-looking guard joins them and puts a hand on the angry one’s shoulder, pulling him to himself. He is older, and Mark respects him greatly, so he tries to control himself. "Come on, boy, don’t be so grumpy with our good Shaka."

The merchant looks at him with his bright green eyes and chuckles. "Don’t worry, Aron. He didn’t want to be rude and must have had a rough night."

Aron winks at him and then takes the red-bearded friend arm in arm, waving a hand to Mark and saying, "We old people are going for a beer. I’ll leave the rest in your hands, Captain."

The merchant accompanies the man’s greeting with an annoying nod of the hand to Mark, who curses in a low voice and goes back to work.

"He’s got a pole up his ass."

Aron looks amused and comments, "He is young and inexperienced. Rumor has it that his older sister died in an accident because of demons. He was with her and saw the scene, so he decided to become a guard."

"And now he’s taken your job, Aron."

"I’m in a well-deserved retirement, you idiot. He’s good at it."

Shaka moves his hand under the white shirt, pulls out a pack of cigars, offers one, and adds with a doubtful voice, "He is very young." 

The other shrugs. "Madame Shuì likes him–" he accepts the cigar and looks at the friend, who’s lazily putting another one between his lips "–and so does her son."

The merchant lasciviously glances at him in understanding. "I get it. Do you have a lighter?"

"How the hell do you never carry matches when you smoke so much?" Aron picks one from a pack in his trousers and helps him light it up. With a sly look, Shaka answers, "I always ask the kind women I meet on my way."

"You know one more than the devil, you old weasel!"

Giggling, the two go to a tavern to drink a little.

Once seated and with the beer served, the fake human drinks a sip of light beer, wipes his red mustache, and then asks, "What happened at the port?"

The man doesn't even pretend to be reluctant to talk and informs him, "A demon died last night. It wasn’t one of those recorded, and he seemed to be quite wealthy from the clothes. His body was a mess, and somebody literally melted him down. The funny thing is that it seems that fire burned only him internally, without causing external wounds." He smiles coldly and adds, "We had to open him completely. In all my long career, I've never seen something like that."

This piece of information draws the demon’s attention, who asks, "Do you already have some leads to follow?"

Aron shakes his head and takes a long sip. "We think it’s a skirmish of a rival demon."

"Why not a human killer?"

"Could you truly think a human can do such a thing?"

"Well, I've seen a lot done by men."

"I repeat: burned from the inside. Moreover, the victim had a mark on his neck, too, as if he had been strongly taken by it and couldn't move. If the killer were a man, they'd still be equal at best, no matter how much he didn’t look like a fighter. Whoever attacked him was much stronger than he was."

Shaka nods while the sides of his mouth curl up. Interesting.

"But there is something strange."

"What do you mean?"

"Last night, they unloaded a shipment a few steps from where we found the body. There is no doubt that it happened right there, so why didn’t the culprit intervene to help the cargo?"

The merchant scratches his bearded chin and answers, "Maybe because he was alone."

Yet the old guard shakes his head. His look is lost in the almost empty mug of beer. "Given his obvious abilities, it wouldn’t have been too difficult."

"A demon who doesn’t help his peers."

"Exactly. Of course, they are bloody beasts. It wouldn’t be so strange, yet most of them have always shown the will to protect their kind. Maybe I’m wrong; they’re demons, after all." Aron drinks his last drop of beer, and Shaka imitates him, remaining silent. 

It is not an act of revenge among demons, that’s for sure. Ronny was an informant, so he sold something to someone he shouldn’t have and was killed for it. The real question is, what information did he give away so dangerous that he paid for it with his life?