The cold night air settled over Blackwood like a suffocating shroud. In the grand stone mansion at the heart of the town, Khalifa sat in his dimly lit study, his fingers drumming against the heavy wooden desk. The flickering candlelight cast deep shadows across his sharp, aging face, but his piercing eyes remained alert. He had been restless ever since Aleister told him about the young man who humiliated him in the streets earlier that day.
Sabastin.
Khalifa leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. "So… Sir Frederick lives," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement and underlying rage. "And he has a son."
Aleister stood by the fireplace, his jaw clenched as he stared into the flames. The memory of Sabastin's defiance still burned in his mind. Never before had anyone dared to challenge him in public, let alone humiliate him before his own men. It was a wound to his pride that he refused to ignore.
"I should have shot him where he stood," Aleister growled, his hand gripping the hilt of his pistol.
Khalifa gave him a sharp look. "And yet, here you are, telling me about it instead." His voice was laced with disappointment. "You acted like a fool, Aleister. You let him escape."
Aleister's eyes darkened, but he said nothing. He had learned long ago that his father's disappointment was not something he could afford to challenge.
Khalifa stood, walking to the window. Outside, Blackwood was quiet, but he knew that beneath its surface, the town was a simmering pot of chaos waiting to boil over. If word had spread that Sir Frederick was still alive, then whispers would turn into rumors, and rumors would turn into unrest. The people still feared the old gunmaster. And if he was truly back, he could be a threat to Khalifa's rule.
"We need to find him," Khalifa said at last. He turned to Aleister. "We need to know where he's hiding. Where he's training that boy."
Aleister smirked, his fingers brushing against the fresh scar on his cheek—the only mark Sabastin had left on him. "I might have an idea where to start."
Khalifa raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"The boy is reckless," Aleister said. "He didn't just fight me today—he killed four of my men. That means he's not afraid to start a war. He wants us to know he's coming for us." Aleister turned, his cold gaze locking onto his father's. "If he's anything like his father, then he'll want revenge. That means he'll come back to Blackwood again. It's only a matter of time."
Khalifa nodded slowly, considering. "Yes… but we won't sit around waiting for him." He poured himself a glass of whiskey and took a slow sip. "If Sabastin is trained by Sir Frederick, then he won't make it easy for us to find him. But the town talks, and sooner or later, someone will slip."
A knock came at the door. One of Khalifa's men stepped inside, bowing slightly. "Sir, we have word from a trader. He says a boy and a young woman matching the descriptions of Sabastin and his sister were seen buying supplies today. They didn't stay long, but they had the look of people who don't come to town often."
Aleister and Khalifa exchanged a knowing glance.
"The boy's mother and sister are his weakness," Khalifa said with a smirk. "If they need supplies, they'll have to come back. And when they do…" He set his glass down with a soft thud.
Aleister grinned. "We follow them. Let them lead us straight to Sir Frederick."
Khalifa's smirk widened. "Exactly."
Aleister turned to his father's soldier. "Double the patrols at the marketplace and the outskirts of town. If they step foot in Blackwood again, I want to know the second it happens."
The soldier nodded and left the room.
Aleister adjusted his coat, feeling the weight of his pistol at his hip. The hunt had begun. He would find Sabastin. And when he did, he would show him what true power looked like.
Khalifa sipped his whiskey again, a deep chuckle escaping his throat. "Soon, Sir Frederick will regret ever thinking he could run from me."
The morning air was crisp as Sabastin stepped outside their hidden cottage, his sharp eyes scanning the dense woods. The events of the previous day still lingered in his mind—Aleister, the fight, the gunfire. He knew he had made an enemy, and he welcomed it.
But now, there was a bigger problem. His family needed supplies, and the town of Blackwood was no longer safe for them.
Inside the cottage, Carolina paced anxiously, her hands wringing together as she watched Petrova prepare a meal. "I don't like this," she murmured. "It's too soon to go back."
Petrova, stirring a pot over the fire, glanced at her mother. "But we have no choice, Mother. We barely brought anything back yesterday."
Sabastin reentered the cottage and leaned against the doorframe. "I'll go alone this time," he said firmly. "It's too dangerous for you, Petrova."
His sister frowned but didn't argue. She knew the streets of Blackwood were no place for her after what had happened.
Sir Frederick, seated by the fire, watched his son carefully. He had heard every word. "You're walking into a trap, boy," he said, his voice deep and steady.
Sabastin met his father's gaze. "Then let them try to catch me."
A faint smirk touched Frederick's lips. "You remind me of myself." He stood, his old bones creaking as he walked over to a wooden chest in the corner of the room. He opened it and pulled out a small, well-worn revolver. "Take this," he said, tossing it to Sabastin. "It's lighter, faster. Don't hesitate to use it."
Sabastin inspected the weapon, nodding in approval. "I won't."
Frederick's expression hardened. "And if anything happens, you don't fight to win, you fight to survive."
Sabastin gave him a firm nod before grabbing his coat. He was ready.He knew himself