Chapter 2: The Hound’s First Gaze

The heat was suffocating.

The artificial light of hundreds of candles, the heavy air thick with a mix of expensive perfumes and aged wine, and the low melody of a string quartet that seemed to mask it all.

The VIP masquerade auction at the Aurelian Auction House—where the empire’s most secret wealth and desires were traded—was as glamorous as its reputation suggested, and just as nauseating.

From behind a mask as black as midnight, Rixian de Valois scanned the hall with eyes as cold as blue ice.

His gaze wasn’t on the auction items. No glittering jewels or legendary paintings could capture his interest. He was watching the people.

The nobles hiding daggers behind their smiles, the newly rich merchants glistening with greed, and the information brokers who moved between them like ghosts.

‘Trash.’

A contemptuous smirk flickered across his lips and vanished. Some of them—no, most of them—had to be involved in the massive forgery operation that was eating away at the empire’s foundations.

As the head of the Special Investigations Unit, the Emperor’s direct arm and the so-called ‘Shadow of the Empire,’ Rixian had been hunting this invisible enemy for months.

The forgeries were not just disrupting the art market; they had become a channel for laundering funds for a rebellion.

It was a malicious attempt to shake the empire’s economic system and tarnish the Imperial family’s authority. And behind it all was Valerius Sforza, a secretive merchant lord who had cast a cunning web across the entire empire.

But the man was as slippery as a snake, leaving no tail to be caught. That was why Rixian had infiltrated the auction tonight.

He was here to find the bait Valerius would set, and the foolish little minnow who would bite it and lead him straight to the serpent’s den.

“And now, for our next item! The highlight of the evening that you’ve all been waiting for!”

The auctioneer’s booming voice sent a murmur through the hall. Rixian remained motionless, his only action a slow wipe of his white-gloved finger across the surface of the table where someone else might have touched. Though he felt nothing through the glove, his brow furrowed in distaste, his senses honed as sharp as a predator’s before a hunt.

Though he felt nothing through the glove, his brow furrowed in distaste, his senses honed as sharp as a predator’s before a hunt.

‘Come out, you rat.’

His cool gaze fixed on the stage. Tonight, this glamorous masquerade would be someone’s last party.

***

A cold thirst for revenge can sometimes be the most perfect mask.

I stood quietly at the edge of the hall, my face half-hidden behind a simple silver mask. The chatter of noblewomen in their lavish gowns, the shallow bursts of laughter, the sharp undercurrent of people sizing each other up—it all brushed past my ears, but none of it stirred my heart.

It had been several days since my return, and I had completely erased the naive Eliana Bester of the past. Now, my lime-green eyes, once filled with a pure passion for art, held only a cool, calculating cynicism that seemed to see through everything.

I had come here tonight for one reason only: to set the stage for my revenge.

Marquis Argen and Baron Lafont…

Cassian and Seraphina. The families of the two who had betrayed me and sent me to my ruin. To deliver them the most painful destruction, I first had to strike at their weaknesses. And there was no better place for that than here, at the Aurelian Auction House, where all the secrets and vulnerabilities of the empire were bought and sold.

“Good heavens! Is that…!”

“An ancient document bearing the personal signature of the first Emperor?”

As the crowd murmured, my gaze shifted to the stage. There, on a velvet cushion, lay a sheet of old, discolored parchment. The auctioneer, as if handling a sacred relic, held it up with white-gloved hands and began his fervent speech.

“This is a personal archive from the first Emperor, Aurelius I, containing the founding ideals of the Kairon Empire! A once-in-a-lifetime chance to own history itself!”

The hall was instantly filled with a feverish energy. Nobles whispered with their personal authenticators, and most were unable to hide their awe and admiration. The quality of the parchment, the smudging of the ink, the ancient crest—everything appeared flawless.

But my eyes saw something else.

Instead of closing them, I lightly gripped the armrest of the velvet chair beside me. The ‘Eye of Truth’—the power that had awakened upon my return. A curse and a blessing that allowed me to read the memories and emotions left on objects.

Whoosh…

Instantly, faint afterimages left by countless hands flooded my mind like a storm. The fatigue of the craftsman who made the chair, the greed of the nobles who had sat here whispering secrets, the envy of the women whose dresses had brushed against it. I pushed through all the noise, focusing on a single target.

The ancient document on the stage.

My consciousness stretched out like a thin thread, just about to touch the parchment’s timeline.

…In the dark, an old man holds a quill. His face is hidden, but the hand that carves letters onto the parchment moves with breathtaking precision. But there is no reverence for history in his work, only the cold calculation of a man imitating something. On his desk, next to an inkwell that is just beginning to dry…

…sits a small vial of red pigment powder. On its label, the word ‘Marques’ is faintly written.

I opened my eyes. It had only been a moment, but a faint headache pressed at my temples—the price for forcibly peering into decades of history. A smile as cold as ice formed on my lips.

The vile intent of someone trying to distort history and manipulate the truth had been clearly captured by my ‘Eye of Truth.’ And that very intent was the first thread of the revenge I sought.

***

‘So it’s bait, just as I thought.’

Rixian watched the crowd’s frenzied reaction to the document with a bored expression. Most of the first Emperor’s artifacts had been lost to time. An item of this value would never appear in such a public auction.

It had to be a lure cast by Valerius Sforza, either to test his network of forgers or to draw in a new ‘client.’

His mission was to identify who took the bait.

He observed several individuals he already suspected of being Sforza’s pawns. As expected, they were exchanging subtle glances, skillfully manipulating the atmosphere.

One would call out a high price, and another would call out an even higher one to stir up competition. The bidding price instantly shot up to an astronomical sum.

Everything was proceeding just as he had predicted. Too smoothly. And therefore, all the more dull.

It was then that it happened.

“The ink used for that signature—is it true that it was mixed with a red pigment found only in the Marques mountain range?”

The voice that cut through the feverish excitement was surprisingly cool and clear. Like a pebble tossed onto a frozen lake, it sent ripples of shock through the boisterous hall.

All noise ceased as if by command.

The auctioneer’s face froze in alarm.

“Pardon? What are you…?”

The speaker continued, unperturbed. Her voice, though hidden behind a mask, carried an absolute certainty that commanded the attention of everyone present.

“Because that pigment was first reported to the Imperial Academy a full fifty years after the first Emperor’s death.”

Silence. A suffocating stillness fell over the entire hall.

Like a predator catching the scent of prey, Rixian’s head snapped toward the direction of the voice.

His blue eyes landed on the figure of a woman. She stood at the edge of the hall, dressed in a simple black gown that, ironically, made her stand out among the lavishly dressed noblewomen.

A plain silver mask concealed her face. No decorations, no family crest. She was a woman who had been erasing her presence like a shadow.

But now, every eye in the hall was fixed on her. A wave of murmurs spread through the crowd.

“Marques pigment?”

“If that’s true, then this is… a perfect forgery!”

The auctioneer’s face had gone pale. Sforza’s minions were visibly flustered. Their perfect play had been shattered in a single sentence by an unknown woman.

Rixian’s brow furrowed slightly. He was no longer interested in Sforza’s lackeys. All of his senses, his entire being, were now focused on that woman.

‘Who is she?’

That piece of information was one of the deepest secrets of the forgery world, something even the Special Investigations Unit had yet to uncover.

It wasn't knowledge a typical noble lady would possess. An expert authenticator, then?

But there were no young, female authenticators in the empire who possessed that level of calm and conviction.

His hunter’s instinct was awakening. This wasn’t the predictable quarry he had been tracking for so long. This was a new variable, one that had appeared from a completely unexpected place.

Something far more interesting, and far more dangerous.

As the woman used the ensuing chaos to turn and slip out of the hall, a faint smile touched Rixian’s lips.

‘Did you think you could get away?’

He rose from his seat without a sound. His movements were as fluid and silent as a black panther weaving through a crowd.

***

I escaped the clamorous hall and leaned for a moment against the cool wall of the corridor. My heart was trembling slightly. Though my mind burned with vengeance, my body seemed to remember the timid person I used to be. But it was okay. This was just the beginning.

I steeled myself and began to walk again. I had accomplished my goal for the night. I had tarnished the reputation of the Aurelian Auction House and fired a small warning shot at the forgery network. Most importantly, word of tonight’s events would now reach ‘their’ ears. This was how I would slowly reveal my presence, tightening the noose around their necks.

I was just turning a corner in the empty hallway.

“Oof…!”

I let out an involuntary gasp as I collided with what felt like a solid wall. Hard and cold. When I looked up, I was met with a man’s chest. Clad in a uniform as black as night, immaculate and severe. It was not the uniform of any knightly order in the empire. It was the attire of those who operated only in blood and shadows.

The Special Investigations Unit.

My heart plummeted. I instinctively took a step back, but the man stepped forward, completely blocking my escape.

I slowly raised my head to look at his face. Beneath the jet-black hair, the jawline visible past his mask was as sharp as a sculpture. But what truly captured my attention were his eyes—a pair of chillingly brilliant blue eyes. Like the deep sea that swallowed all light, they held the tenacious, dangerous glint of a predator that has cornered its prey.

There was no doubt. It was Rixian de Valois. The Mad Dog of the Empire, the Emperor’s sword, and a figure of pure terror to the aristocracy.

I had seen him once from a distance before I was taken to the guillotine. Just like then, his face was a mask of emotionless indifference.

He made no move to remove my mask. But his voice, when he spoke, was low and cold enough to pierce through it and into my very soul.

He took another step closer. We were so close I could have felt his breath. Between our masks, in the cold air, his low voice flowed out.

“That information. Where did you get it?”

The icy voice echoed in the empty corridor. Rixian de Valois’s blue eyes flashed, as if trying to excavate every secret hidden behind my mask.

“Who are you?”