Inside Zainab’s hut, the air changed.

Not suddenly. Not loudly.

But enough.

What had been casual — fragile, even — settled into something heavier, harder to ignore. The walls felt closer. The silence held weight.

The Rogue Swordsman looked at Zainab.

Not the way he had before.

Sharper now.

Focused.

“That boy…”

His voice cut through the room, low but deliberate.

“The one parading the street like a king.”

Zainab stiffened.

It was small.

Barely visible.

But it was there.

“Who was he?”

Her eyes lowered.

Not out of weakness.

Out of recognition.

“…Young Master Shehu.”

Across the room, Duniya said nothing.

Zainab’s voice came again, quieter this time, like something she had learned to say carefully.

“After Gobir fell, his father became a general.”

A pause.

A breath that didn’t fully leave her chest.

“Their family rules this town now.”

The Rogue Swordsman exhaled slowly.

Understanding settled into place without effort.

“So when the father is gone…”

He didn’t wait for her to finish.

“…the son becomes a god.”

Zainab nodded.

“He does whatever he wants.”

There was no exaggeration in it.

Just fact.

The Rogue’s expression hardened.

Then no place is safe for you.

His gaze shifted.

Toward Duniya.

“If Shehu wants you, no one will stop him.”

“Not even this blind fool.”

Duniya turned his head slightly. irked.

Toward the voice.

Anger passed across his face.

Controlled.

Silent.

Gone as quickly as it came.

The Rogue Swordsman stood.

Brushed dust from his clothes as if the conversation had already ended.

“Thank you for the food.”

He began walking toward the door.

Each step light.

Unattached.

Then—

He stopped.

“One last thing.”

He pointed, gently, toward Zainab.

“You have a younger brother.”

She nodded.

His hand shifted.

Toward Duniya.

Dismissive.

“Take the boy. Take this thing here.”

A pause.

His hand rested against the door.

“And run.”

The door shut behind him.

Silence returned.

But this time—

It stayed.

Zainab stood where she was.

Frozen.

Fear didn’t arrive all at once.

It crept.

Slow.

Careful.

Until it settled fully across her face.

Duniya sat unmoving.

Staring into nothing.

Listening to everything.

Zainab swallowed.

The sound felt too loud in the quiet.

Outside, the evening road stretched long and dim.

The Rogue Swordsman walked away from the house, his steps unhurried now, as if nothing behind him mattered.

After a few paces—

He slowed.

Then stopped.

He turned.

Looked back at the house one last time.

A small thing.

A quiet place.

He sighed.

A crooked smile formed.

Tch…

His hand slipped behind his back.

And there it was—

Duniya’s gilded ceremonial sword.

Wrapped.

But unmistakable.

The gold caught the last light of evening, dull but present, like something that refused to hide completely.

“Heh.”

He walked on.

Lighter now.

Almost careless.

Then—

He stopped.

Mid-step.

His hand moved to his waist.

A pat.

Another.

Faster this time.

His body stiffened.

“Eh…?”

Memory struck.

Sharp.

The sack of coins.

Slipping.

Gone.

Taken in the chaos.

He froze.

Then—

Dropped to his knees.

“NOOOOO!”

“Kai! Wayyo ni!”

His voice tore upward, dramatic, unrestrained.

Hands raised to the sky like something had personally betrayed him.

People stared.

Some slowed.

Others didn’t bother.

One muttered under their breath.

''Madman''.

The moment passed.

As quickly as it came.

The comedy drained from his face.

Something colder replaced it.

A sneer.

He gripped the sword tighter.

“That stupid boy…”

He spat to the side.

“Dan banza mai girman kai.”

Then he stood.

And turned back toward town.

By evening, the town’s center shifted toward something larger.

Heavier.

Dominant.

Shehu’s family compound rose above everything else.

A massive walled estate, its presence felt before it was seen. Torches burned along its edges, casting long, flickering shadows against thick walls. Guards stood at attention, still as carved figures.

Power lived there.

And it knew it.

Inside the main hall—

Shehu moved like a storm with nowhere to go.

Furious.

A carved stool lifted—

—and shattered against the wall.

Wood splintered.

Echoes lingered.

His chest rose and fell, breath heavy with rage.

“Useless! All of you!”

A guard knelt nearby, head bowed low enough to nearly touch the ground.

“Forgive us, Young Master… We have still not found the girl.”

Shehu’s face twisted.

Not just anger.

Something worse.

Entitlement denied.

He kicked the table.

It overturned violently.

“Keep searching.”

He stepped forward.

Closing the distance.

Towering.

“I own this town.”

His eyes locked onto the guard.

Cold.

Certain.

“No one hides from me forever.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

The guard bowed deeper.

As if the floor might protect him.

He turned to leave.

Quick.

Eager to disappear.

“Wait.”

He froze.

Mid-step.

Did not turn.

Shehu’s voice changed.

Lower now.

Controlled.

Which made it worse.

“Call BATURE.”

The guard’s eyes widened.

Fear, immediate and undeniable.

A bead of sweat slipped down his face.

He dropped fully to the ground.

“…Yes, Young Master.”

He rose quickly.

Left even faster.

Shehu stood alone.

In the center of the hall.

Still.

His fist clenched.

Then—

A slow smile spread across his face.

Cruel.

Certain.

Run while you can.

Elsewhere—

A corridor swallowed light.

Heavy footsteps echoed through it.

Measured.

Unhurried.

A silhouette moved through shadow.

Tall.

Broad.

Pieces revealed themselves in fragments—

Armor.

Scars.

Metal worn by use, not for display.

The air shifted around him.

Not loud.

But undeniable.

Bature.

He stepped into partial light.

Massive.

Battle-worn.

His face carried old scars like memory etched into flesh.

His eyes—

Calm.

Empty.

Experienced.

A guard bowed deeply before him.

“The Young Master summons you.”

Bature said nothing.

He turned.

Slowly.

The movement alone felt heavy.

Deliberate.

He began walking.

The guard followed.

Nervous.

Careful not to step too loudly.

Back in the hall—

Shehu waited.

Still.

Composed now.

Bature entered.

The space changed again.

Two presences.

Both heavy.

But different.

They locked eyes.

Shehu smirked.

“There is a problem.”

Bature stood still.

Listening.

Shehu gestured casually.

“Bring me the girl I'm searching for, take those two, they recognise her.”

A pause.

Close on Bature’s face.

Unreadable.

He nodded once.

Turned.

And left.

Shehu watched him go.

Satisfied.