Marenna followed the two adventurers to the physician’s quarters.

The place had everything it needed to be welcoming—if you were into cold cellars, the stench of raw absinthe, and the lingering tang of metal that’s been sharpened more than cleaned.
It felt like a cross between a field hospital and a well-organized butcher shop.

The bodies—still comically flat—were placed on two dark wooden tables clearly built for this kind of business.
Marenna hesitated for a second. This wasn’t at all what she had imagined.

The doctor arrived a moment later.

A lean, wiry human with his hair tied back in a tight ponytail. His coat was mildly stained, and over it, he wore a thick leather apron.

— “Blood slides off leather,” he explained while pulling on gloves. “On fabric, it clings. Anyway… we’re not here to film a laundry commercial.”

He unveiled a neat row of tools sharp enough to make your average executioner squirm.

Marenna swallowed.
Then stepped forward.

The doctor snapped his gloves into place and approached the first body.
He began removing what was left of its clothing—or rather, what hadn’t fused into the skin.

Bits of flesh and bone came with it, stuck to the fabric like chewing gum ground into carpet.

— “Well… looks like a goblin,” he muttered. “But whatever did this… no clue. It’s like he was slammed against…”

He stopped. Turned toward Marenna.

— “Where exactly did you find them?”

— “In a wall,” she replied, utterly matter-of-fact.

— “In a wall?!” he repeated, visibly thrown. “But… how could they have… well, never mind.”

He straightened and examined the splattered remains.

— “Whatever did this had monstrous strength. This one was crushed flat—like something between two boards.”

He resumed his inspection, scalpel in hand.

— “Impressive. Not a single bone left intact. All shattered or pulverized…”

He moved on to the second corpse.
Same position, same procedure, same results: crushed organs, shredded muscle, obliterated skeleton.

Marenna took notes diligently.
Every comment, every observation was transcribed carefully into a small notebook pulled from her satchel.
She was laser-focused.
If she ever had to perform an autopsy herself, she’d know exactly where to start.

Garlan, still hovering near the door, was stuck somewhere between dry heaving and bolting from the room.
His face had gone the color of spoiled milk.

— “Your hobbies are really weird, Marenna,” he muttered, gripping the doorframe.

The physician frowned in concentration as he inspected the inner lining of a jacket.

— “Here... look at this.”

He carefully pulled aside a tangle of flesh and viscera.
A strange symbol had been stitched into the inside lining of both goblins’ vests.

A twisted pentacle, its lines interwoven like coiled snakes, and at the center, a stitched ring—its interior pitch black, like dried ink.
No visible eye, but somehow… it felt like something was watching from within.

A logo, maybe.
Hard to tell in this state.

— “Get the vests cleaned. See if the mark matches anything—guild, faction, cult…”

He scratched his chin, thoughtful.

— “Judging by the gear and their method, I’d say assassins. Sent after a target. Or… something close to that.”

He didn’t have to wait long for confirmation.

Tharion stepped into the room, glanced at the symbol—
— and froze.

A slow, cold anger spread across his face.

— “That symbol…”

He clenched his jaw.

— “I know that group. And if they’re here…”

He stomped a hoof against the floor, the sound heavy and dull.

— “...we’re about to have a very big problem.”

And it’s going to happen fast.