Even at night, Cortinvar was still alive with people.
After the miners finished their shifts and the craftsmen laid down their tools at the furnaces, they poured into the pubs, walking side by side, laughing, drinking, and singing like madmen. Tomorrow was the weekend, after all.
The smoke rising from the furnaces never stopped—not only for the crafts but also to warm the common folk through the cold nights.
But Claude wasn't here for merriment.
Hidden under a black robe, he moved silently through a narrow alley.
Beside him walked a woman, similarly cloaked, her identity concealed under the heavy fabric.
Claude reached into his robe and produced a small glass container, no larger than his index finger. He handed over five of them to the woman.
"Pour these into their wells," he ordered, his voice relaxed, disturbingly casual—as if he wasn't planning to wipe out half the population of the kingdom.
Aubree took the vials with trembling hands. Claude chuckled at the sight.
