The next thing I knew, a soft, familiar warmth enveloped me. I blinked, disoriented, and realized I was in my own bed. The dim light filtering through the curtains suggested it was late. I was wearing different clothes – soft, comfortable sleepwear that definitely wasn't what I'd been wearing earlier.

A wave of confusion washed over me, followed by a faint memory of Levi's strong drink. It had worked, perhaps a little too well. But there was also a lingering sense of… peace?

Levi must have carried me here, changed me…

I closed my eyes again, a small smile playing on my lips. "Levi-induced chaos," I murmured to myself, "followed by Levi-administered… care." It was a bizarre dynamic, but in that moment, it felt… almost right.

Levi was gone to the office. I was having a rather chill afternoon, a welcome respite from the intensity of my own feelings. I sprawled on the couch, indulging in some mindless movie-watching, letting the flickering images wash over me. The upcoming film festivals still sparked a thrill of excitement.

Occasionally, my gaze would drift towards Levi's peculiar glass cabinet. Inside, a collection bottles and jars, filled with liquids of varying colors and consistencies, were meticulously arranged and labeled. But it wasn't the contents that truly captured my attention; it was the labels. Written in bold, crimson letters, the same shade as fresh blood, were the chilling words: DO NOT CONSUME.

I guess my chemist was concerned about me, drinking those. I sighed.

Just as I was picturing him, meticulously brewing and mixing those bizarre concoctions, Levi walked in. He shouldn't have been home in the middle of the afternoon. He practically ran into the living room. "Levi?" I asked, my brow furrowed with confusion. "What's wrong?"

"Letter," he said, his voice clipped, and he placed a sealed envelope onto the kitchen counter with a strange reverence.

Fuck. Letter? In this day and age? The last letter from my family had been a… well, let's just say it wasn't a warm and fuzzy reunion. The memory of their rejection still stung, and the thought of facing that again… No, I wasn't ready to be abandoned all over again.

"From my family?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, the hope warring with the fear.

Levi's gaze was intense, his expression unreadable. "No… It's from him."

Him? Who the hell was "him"? Who sends a letter in this digital age unless they're living in a remote village or another country?

"Him?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, the hope and confusion warring with a growing sense of foreboding. "Who is 'him,' Levi?"

Levi's gaze flickered to the letter, then back to me, his expression unreadable, but there was a tension in his posture, a subtle rigidity that betrayed his outward calm. He hesitated for a moment, and in that brief pause, the pieces of the puzzle began to click into place.

A letter. In this day and age. Urgent enough to bring Levi home in the middle of the afternoon. And Levi's fear, barely concealed beneath his stoic facade.

Fuck.

A wave of cold dread washed over me, stealing the air from my lungs. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. But the horrifying certainty was already solidifying in my mind.

It was him.

The Conqueror.

A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm me, but I shoved it down. No, Raphael. This pathetic body, so prone to fear and impulsive reactions, will not succumb to it again. Not this time. Not with Levi. "No," I repeated silently, a mantra against the rising panic. "If he wanted to hurt us, he would simply do it. This... this means he wants something else." And that, in its own way, was just as terrifying.

I forced myself to move, to act. I went to the counter and grabbed the letter. My hands trembled, but I clenched them tight, determined to project an outward calm. There was no stamp or anything, no indication of its origin. It was just a stark white envelope, almost disturbingly plain, sealed with a glob of crimson wax.

Then Levi turned the envelope over, and the image burned itself into my memory. Ah, the Blake family seal, marked by the signet ring of the dukedom. But it wasn't just a heraldic emblem; it was a goddamn nightmare etched in wax. A powerful tree dominated the design, its long, gnarled branches twisting like skeletal fingers reaching for prey, while its equally long roots plunged deep into the earth, as if drawing sustenance from something ancient and malevolent. And behind it all, a stylized sun, cold and distant, casting long, ominous shadows. It was a symbol of power, of dominion, and of something profoundly wrong. Something that felt inherently unnatural.

It was him, alright.

My... my instincts were screaming a primal warning. This letter wasn't just a communication; it was an intrusion, a violation. And the thought of Levi being dragged back into that darkness, into the suffocating grip of his past... it filled me with a cold, visceral terror that threatened to consume me. But I wouldn't let it. Not this time.

I broke the seal with the nail of my thumb.

The crimson wax cracked.

I unfolded the thick, heavy paper and started reading the letter.

"Shadow and the grill boy. Tomorrow. To the mountain."

That was it. That was all it said. Three not even grammatically correct sentences, devoid of any warmth or explanation. Just a cold, cryptic summons.

Shadow... was me. But grill boy... was... was that Finn?

To the mountain? What the fuck... Was he planning some kind of… confrontation? Some twisted, theatrical finale played out on some remote, desolate peak? Was he going to finish us there?

Gods... What did he want? What did this all mean? The Conqueror's return was like a dark storm cloud looming on the horizon, threatening to unleash its fury upon us.

The weirdest thing was… He did not mention Levi. It was just me and Finn.

That felt… wrong. Disturbingly wrong. The Conqueror, with his obsession with control, with his need to dominate every situation, wasn't demanding Levi's presence. He was deliberately excluding him. Was this some kind of twisted game? Some psychological manipulation designed to isolate Levi? My protective instincts flared.

"Wait," I muttered, my brow furrowing in confusion. "Wait a minute. Wait just a goddamn minute."

Wait.

Wait.

"Is he asking for… fishing?"

The thought popped into my head, so ludicrous, so utterly out of character for the Conqueror, that I almost dismissed it. But... the mountain. The early hour. The strange pairing of me and Finn.

Does he want to go fishing with us? Was that it? Is that what this whole cryptic, threatening summons is about? What the fuck?

The tension that had been coiling in my gut began to unravel, replaced by a bewildered, almost hysterical laughter bubbling up my throat. The image of the Conqueror, rod in hand, patiently waiting by a mountain stream, was so absurd it was almost offensive.

Levi basically started pacing around the living room.

How do we even… bring Finn into this madness once again? Finn had already been through so much. The thought of exposing him to the Conqueror's darkness, of putting him in harm's way, was sickening.

Gods… Fuck…

"We can't," I muttered to myself, my voice barely audible. "We can't involve him. Not again." But the Conqueror hadn't given us a choice, had he? The summons was clear: Shadow and the grill boy.

"Raphael. You cannot go. Absolutely not. He will kill you."

"I… I actually don't think so," I countered, my voice surprisingly steady, fueled by a stubborn defiance. "You know why, Levi? You know why I don't think he'll kill me?" I stepped closer to him, my gaze locking with his. "Because it's a letter, Levi. Because… that fucking, lonely, isolated, sad monster… doesn't even have a cellphone."

It was almost pathetic.

"He could have sent a message through someone else," Levi argued, his voice tight. "He has people."

"Levi," I said, my voice gaining a strange, almost manic energy. "Levi, I seriously think… He wants to fish."

"Raphael, are you-?"

"No, listen to me!" I insisted, my hands gesturing wildly. "Think about it! The mountain! The early meeting time! He's practically inviting us for a goddamn fishing trip!"

"Raphael, this is not a joke!" Levi snapped, his voice sharp.

"I know it's not a joke!" I retorted, my laughter bubbling up again, tinged with hysteria. "But it's so fucking ridiculous it's almost funny! Also, think about it logically. If he wanted to kill us, he would have done it already, right? So... why be scared? I mean, the possibilities are endless, I guess. But Occam's Razor, Levi! Occam's Razor! The simplest explanation is usually the correct one. And I really, really think he just wants to bond over some goddamn trout."

Levi's reaction was immediate and fierce, the laughter dying in my throat. "He is a monster, Raphael," he said, his voice low and trembling with a barely contained fury. "He broke your ribs. He threw you across this room like you were a rag doll. What if he throws you off that mountain, Raphael? What if he... what if he does something worse?" His eyes were wide, haunted by memories I couldn't fully comprehend. "Raphael, please… Absolutely not. I don't want to lose anything else to him. Anymore."

The raw pain in his voice, the desperate plea in his eyes, silenced my laughter.

I got close to him, my own bravado crumbling in the face of his genuine distress, and wrapped my arms around him.

"Levi…" I murmured, my voice soft and soothing. "I am so sorry for being such an asshole. I was being flippant and insensitive, and I shouldn't have dismissed your feelings like that." I held him tighter, wishing I could absorb his pain. "But… I truly think I'm right about this. I know it sounds insane, but I really do think it's going to be okay."

I pulled back slightly, cupping his face in my hands, trying to meet his gaze. "Look at me, Levi. You saw what he is. Behind the power, behind the cruelty… He's a pathetic, lonely bastard. A relic of a dying age. He's not some unstoppable force; he's a broken old man clinging to the last vestiges of control he has."

Levi's hands closed over mine, his grip surprisingly tight. "Why do you pity him, Raphael? So much? Why do you pity him this much?" His voice was low, almost a growl. "A wounded lion is still a lion. You do not know what he is capable of. You did not... you do not know him as I do."

"Levi," I said, my voice firm despite the tremor of fear that still lingered within me. "Then he would just come here. And it wouldn't be for conversation anymore. It would be for disobedience, for betrayal." I stepped closer, my hands framing his face, forcing him to meet my gaze. "You know how he operates. He thrives on control. If we ignore his summons, he'll escalate. He'll see it as a challenge, a direct affront to his authority. And the consequences of that… they could be far worse than a tense meeting on a mountain."

"Besides," I added, a hint of my earlier bravado returning, "we have the element of surprise. He expects to intimidate us with his power, his reputation. He doesn't expect us to show up."

Levi's hands tightened on mine, his knuckles white. "Raphael… Why must you always disregard my warnings? Why must you put yourself in danger?" His voice cracked, raw with a pain that went beyond mere fear. It was a deep, visceral agony, the torment of someone forced to relive a past trauma. "I… I cannot bear the thought of losing you too.

"The last time I warned you… I told you to run… To hide… And he choked you, Raphael. He choked you until your face was blue. He threw you across this very room like you were nothing. He broke two of your ribs." His voice dropped to a choked whisper. "He didn't even use his… his full force. He just… did it. Please, Raphael… Please… don't make me go through that again. Don't go."

"And I dug my nails in his open bullet wound," I countered, my voice low and fierce. "And I lunged with broken ribs to stop him from killing himself. And he threw me again." I met Levi's pleading gaze with my own defiant one. "I am scared, Levi. Yes. But not terrified. I just hate him. I hate him for the things he did, the things he said, the things he showed you."

I cupped his face again, my thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "Can't you see how pathetic he is? He begs you, Levi. Begs you to save him from his own miserable existence. He is a waste of life. Even a bullet didn't stop him. So why should we stop? You shot him, Levi. And he still wants you. Your mother shot me, and I somehow reconciled with her. You also did, too. But this isn't reconciliation, Levi. This is begging.”

"Raphael…" Levi’s grip on my hands tightening until my knuckles ached. "He will use your empathy against you, twist it until you are serving his purposes. Please, stop this… I have already lost so much to him. My childhood… my family… I don't think I can live if I lose you too. Please… I am the one that is begging you now, Raphael. I am begging you with everything I have left. Do not go."

The sheer desperation in his voice finally pierced through my stubborn resolve.

"I… I understand you," I said softly, my own voice thick with emotion. "Then… then we don't go alone. And we go prepared. We gotta buy a shotgun or a rifle or something. If he thinks he can just summon us like puppets… he's got another thing coming. We go together, Levi. And we make damn sure he understands that the days of him hurting us are over."

"Yes. Immediately. There's a reputable dealer a few districts over. We can acquire what we need, discreetly. And ammunition. We will not go there unarmed and vulnerable. And, Raphael. If he touches you again, I am not aiming for shoulder this time. I swear.”

"Okay," I said, a grim smile twisting my lips. "You were actually a remarkable marksman, Levi. Though I still maintain a healthy dose of luck was involved in that shoulder shot."

Levi's hand tightened on mine, a flicker of his old sardonic wit returning. "Luck favors the well-aimed, dear."

The brief moment of dark humor faded as the weight of the Conqueror's summons settled back upon us. "But… there is another issue," I said, my brow furrowing deeply. "Like an actual, significant issue. What the fuck do we do about Finn?"

"Gods…" he whispered. "I didn't even register that… Finn." He began to pace again, his hand running distractedly through his hair. "Well… I hope Finn is a remarkable marksman, too. Maybe we take him to a gun range, like some twisted, last-minute crash course in survival. Ah, Raphael! Why couldn't that monster have just called me?"

"Yeah," I said, a wry, uneasy smile twisting my lips. "I think my naive attempt at empathy might have… backfired spectacularly and made him… attached to me in some twisted way? I honestly have zero idea what goes on in that man's head. But you know what's even weirder? When I was half-jokingly talking about fishing, Finn actually chimed in and said he could grill. So, I am now, with a solid eighty percent certainty, leaning towards the fishing trip theory. The remaining twenty percent is dedicated to figuring out who he wants to gut, though. Us… or the trout?"

"Gutting trout or us? Given his track record, I wouldn't place any bets on the fish being the primary target."

"Well…" I conceded, a shiver running down my spine despite my attempts at levity. "He didn't summon you by name, no. But you're right, Levi. He wants you there. In his twisted way, I'm sure this whole bizarre invitation revolves around you."

I clapped my hands together, trying to inject some semblance of order into the chaos. "Okay, here's the plan. You handle the gun situation. Go to your reputable dealer, get us something that can actually stop a semi-deranged egomaniac, and plenty of ammunition. While you're doing that, I'll handle… Finn."

"And," I added, a strange sort of manic energy taking over, "while you're out, could you also… buy us some fishing rods? And bait. And nets. Maybe some of those ridiculous fishing vests with all the pockets? And definitely some unflattering fishing hats. If we're going to play along with this lunatic's fantasy, we might as well commit."

"There are some nerve agents we can use as another form of defense. I also call the lab," Levi said, his voice tight as he rubbed his temples.

Nerve agents? What the fuck?

"Ah, yes. I will bring you syringes of sedative compounds," he continued, his tone matter-of-fact, as if discussing the grocery list. "If he tries to close combat, one of us can maybe stab him with it."

Stab him with it?

“Do you want a chemical warfare or something, Levi?”

Levi rubbed his temples harder, a look of strained concentration on his face. "Do I also buy grenades…? No, that is too dangerous for you." He muttered, more to himself than to me. "Maybe I should hire some people to make them hide in the mountains during our exchange. No… he would sniff them out. Ah! It is not enough… We need something stronger."

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"Levi! Stop spiraling," I said, my voice sharper this time. "And no, absolutely do not

buy grenades. But… tear gas or pepper spray? Something non-lethal to give us a chance if things go south?"

Levi stopped pacing abruptly, his eyes widening slightly. "Smart! Tear gas. Yes. Yes, that is… more reasonable. Less… collateral damage." He nodded quickly, a semblance of his usual focused demeanor returning. "Tear gas. I will acquire some along with the other supplies."

A wry smile tugged at my lips. Never have I ever thought I would hear Levi call me 'smart' either.Perhaps the impending threat of an angler is bringing out a whole new side of him. Or maybeI'm finally rubbing off on him.

...

Then Levi got out of the house to gather… dare I say, supplies?

I took a deep breath and called Finn.

"Hello, Finn."

"Hi Raph! How you doin'?"

"Finn. Shit hit the fan. Ragnar is calling us. He mentioned you." I tried to keep my voice even, but the urgency was undeniable.

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. "W-W-What are you saying, Raph?"

"Dude. He sent a fucking letter, like some medieval lord, and summoned us to the mountains. Tomorrow. He is either planning on finally killing us both, or… and this is the truly bizarre part… we are going fishing."

The silence on Finn's end stretched, thick with disbelief. Then, a nervous chuckle. "Fishing? Ragnar? You're pulling my leg, right, Raph? This has to be some kind of elaborate prank."

"I wish I were, Finn," I said, my voice grim. "Believe me, I really, really wish I were. But Levi got a letter. Wax seal and everything. 'Shadow and the grill boy. Tomorrow. To the mountain.' That's the message."

"Shadow…" Finn repeated slowly. "And… grill boy?" There was a hesitant amusement in his tone, tinged with a clear undercurrent of worry. "He's calling me grill boy? What the actual hell?"

"Yeah, grill boy," I confirmed, rubbing my temples. "Apparently, you have made an impression on the most terrifying man we know. Look, I don't know what he wants. Levi's prepping for a goddamn war, buying shotguns and tear gas. I'm clinging to this insane fishing theory because the alternative is… well, deeply unpleasant."

"So… what do we do?" Finn asked, his usual lightheartedness completely gone. "Do we… pack fishing rods?"

"Yeah, man," I said, trying to inject a sliver of my usual bravado into my voice, though it felt thin and brittle. "Either death or the most surreal fishing trip in the history of mankind. Levi's gone full tactical gear acquisition mode, so the fishing supplies are probably already en route. And one more thing, Finn. Are you any good at aiming? Like, with a gun?" There was a beat of silence. "Because if you're not, we have roughly twenty-four hours to get your ass to a gun range. No pressure, but our lives might depend on it."

“Aiming? Uh… I’ve shot a BB gun at cans before? Does that count?”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Not exactly Seal Team Six material, then. I’ll figure out the… firearm logistics on my end when Levi gets back. And Finn? Be ready to move. Quickly. Pack a bag with essentials, just in case this isn’t about politely requesting our presence for angling tips.”

“Essentials? Like… what?” Finn’s voice was laced with a growing panic.

“Like clothes, some cash, maybe that ridiculous lucky fishing hat you wear. Just… be ready for anything, Finn. Anything at all.”

...

Levi came back looking like he'd raided a military surplus store. It wasn't just the shotgun and rifle I'd vaguely envisioned; it was an arsenal. Shotguns, multiple rifles of varying sizes and lethality, canisters of tear gas that looked capable of clearing a stadium, a disconcerting number of handguns tucked into various holsters, and then, incongruously piled on top, a mountain of fishing equipment that included several high-end rods, reels that probably cost more than a rent, an assortment of garish lures, and, to top it all off, a selection of truly heinous, out-of-fashion cargo hats.

Then, with a clinical precision that was both unnerving and somehow reassuring, he placed ten gleaming metal vials on the counter. "The syringes are made out of metal," he stated, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "They will not easily bend if… applied forcefully."

I stared at the array of weaponry, then at the syringes, then back at Levi. "What the actual fuck, Levi? Maybe while you were out, you could have also picked up a blow tube? We could perch in the trees like some deranged assassins and shoot him with tranquilizer darts."

Levi considered this for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "Good idea," he conceded, surprisingly. "But no. He would sniff us out in the trees. His senses are… acute." He gestured to the arsenal on the table. "This is more direct."

He didn't even register the sarcasm.

"Uhm…" I began hesitantly, gesturing vaguely at the impressive, yet intimidating, collection of firearms. "There is one small issue though. I have never actually shot a gun before."

Levi blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "It is alright," he said, his tone surprisingly calm, as if this were a minor logistical detail. "We can go to a shooting range right now. There's one not too far from here."

"Yeah, about that shooting range…" I trailed off, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. "I don't think I… I don't think I want to shoot someone, Levi."

The thought of actually pulling a trigger, of taking a life, even in self-defense, was deeply unsettling.

Levi's expression hardened. "Raphael… Ha… Okay…" He let out a short, humorless laugh. "It is not as if I wish to kill my grandfather either. But I made that mistake last time. I conceded, solely for you, to your… well, your mercy. I will not make that mistake again." His gaze was intense, unwavering. "If he comes at us, Raphael, we will defend ourselves. Understand?"

"Well…" I said slowly, considering the array of weaponry and my own distinct lack of experience with it. "I am good at jumping, surprisingly agile. So I might, I dunno… try to get close and stab him with the sedative? Surprise him?"

Levi's gaze softened slightly, a flicker of something akin to reluctant amusement crossing his features. "You are certainly… resourceful, Raphael. And surprisingly nimble, yes." He then became serious again, gesturing to the metal vials. "I brought the strongest compound from my lab. But be warned, it is very possible that one vial might not be enough to incapacitate him. It might even be worse, as he may not feel the pain immediately due to his… resilience. So, if you manage to stab him with a syringe, always use the second one immediately. Do not hesitate."

It as if three knights are trying to take down a seven headed dragon or something.

“Okay… I need your trust in me. You will leave guns at the car.”

A look of disbelief washed over Levi's face. "Leave the guns in the car? Raphael, are you completely mad? After everything we've just discussed, after the arsenal I've procured? You want us to face him unarmed?" His voice rose in incredulity, the carefully constructed resolve threatening to shatter. "He could tear us apart with his bare hands!"

I stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm, trying to convey the seriousness of my request. "Levi, please. Trust me on this. Just this once. We go to the mountain, just the three of us – me, you, and Finn – with nothing but the fishing gear and… well, whatever Finn brings. No guns. No syringes. Nothing that screams 'threat'."

My heart hammered against my ribs.It felt like walking into the dragon's lair with nothing but a fishing net and a prayer. "Think about it," I continued, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "He summoned us with a letter. It was bizarre, almost… theatrical. What if this whole thing is some kind of twisted power play? He wants us vulnerable, yes, but maybe he also wants to feel like he's in complete control without resorting to immediate violence. If we show up armed to the teeth, we'll just escalate things. We'll confirm his paranoia and give him a reason to attack."

I looked him straight in the eye. "Trust me, Levi. Let's see what he really wants first. If it's a trap, then… then we improvise. But going in looking for a fight might be exactly what he expects, what he wants."

Levi's single word hung in the air, heavy and absolute. "No." His eyes, still wide with disbelief, searched mine for any sign of reason. "Raphael, I cannot. I will not. You saw what he did to you. You heard what I told you. To go there defenseless… it's suicide." He shook his head vehemently. "I understand your… your desire to de-escalate, but this man does not operate by normal rules. He sees vulnerability as weakness, as an invitation."

I held his gaze, my own resolve hardening. "Yes, Levi. But have your vials in your pocket. And I'll take one too. Just in case. But the guns stay in the car. Please. Trust me on this."

The image of the Conqueror sending a letter

kept flashing in my mind. There was something fundamentally performative about that act, a hint that perhaps brute force wasn't his only intention.

"Levi… Look. I am a fucking idiot, I know that, but I feel… right about this."

Levi sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Raphael. This is not a discussion about your… abilities at strategic thinking."

"No, no, listen," I interrupted, my voice gaining urgency. "This won't be like the last time. We are ready now, Levi. Prepared. Armed. Not only with bullets, which will be safely locked away, but with tear gas, with sedatives. I mean, we might as well wear those ridiculous bulletproof vests you almost bought. We will be alarmed, Levi. We will be watching. We just won't go in guns blazing. Not yet."

Levi stared at me, his expression a mixture of disbelief and reluctant consideration. The mention of the bulletproof vests, ridiculous as they were, seemed to have registered. He knew I wasn't completely dismissing the danger.

"Alarmed," he repeated slowly, testing the word. "Watching. And the vials…"

"In our pockets, ready," I confirmed, tapping my jacket. "Look, if things go sideways, the guns are in the car. A few minutes, and we have firepower. But let's not start there. Let's see what kind of game he's playing with this bizarre summons. Maybe… maybe confronting him with our vulnerability, but with the clear message that we can defend ourselves if necessary, will throw him off balance."

He remained silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on some unseen point beyond my shoulder. The tension in his body was still palpable, but the outright rejection had softened, replaced by a grudging contemplation.

Finally, he let out a long, shaky breath. "Fine," he said, the word barely a whisper. "Fine, Raphael. The guns stay in the car. But if he so much as lays a finger on either of you…"

"He won't," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "We'll be watching. We'll be ready. And maybe… just maybe… we'll even catch some damn fish." The last part was a weak attempt at levity, but it felt necessary to break the suffocating tension.

A faint, weary smile touched Levi's lips. "My end will likely come in a far more dramatic fashion, involving experimental chemistry and a poorly timed explosion of my own making. But yes," he conceded, the humor fading. "Your relentless, stubborn, terrifying naivety will likely be a contributing factor."

...

Finn arrived at our house under the cloak of night, his usual bright demeanor subdued by a palpable anxiety. The air in the living room crackled with a nervous energy as we huddled together, illuminated by the soft glow of a single lamp. Levi had morphed into a full-blown war strategist. He paced the length of the room, his voice low and intense as he laid out a meticulous, if somewhat terrifying, plan of action. Diagrams were sketched on scraps of paper, marked with potential ambush points and escape routes. He detailed precisely where to aim if forced to shoot, emphasizing vital areas. He outlined various scenarios, dictating split-second reactions, the optimal direction to flee should things turn violent, and even contingency plans for hiding amongst the unforgiving terrain of the mountain. Finn, his face pale in the lamplight, listened with wide, apprehensive eyes, occasionally interjecting with a nervous question.

"Levi…" I interjected, trying to ground the increasingly militaristic planning in some semblance of reality. "What about the mountain thing? Does he just… live in a cave or something? Like some kind of grumpy hermit?"

Levi stopped pacing, a strange look crossing his face – a grim amusement. "No. After the wars and campaigns were finally over, when the thrill of conquest faded and the world became… dull for him, he grew bored. So, in his infinite eccentricity, he basically moved to a mountain. There's a secluded lake, high up. He carved himself a cabin there, from the very trees he felled with his own hands, and fashioned his own crude furniture. He even made rugs out of the pelts of the animals he hunted in those desolate peaks. So, be prepared, gentlemen," Levi concluded, a wry smile playing on his lips, "for a literal man-cave. Expect rough-hewn logs, the stench of woodsmoke and possibly… something wilder. It won't be pleasant."

Finn swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously around the room as if the "man-cave" might materialize at any moment. "Rugs made of… hunted animals? Seriously? This is getting more and more like some kind of twisted fairy tale."

"Except the beast in this tale is very real, and very dangerous," Levi countered, his voice losing its brief hint of amusement, returning to a grim seriousness. "He chose that isolation for a reason." He gestured to the map he'd sketched. "The lake is relatively remote. Few established trails. We'll need to hike in, and that gives him plenty of opportunity to observe us, to set traps."

"Traps?" Finn squeaked, his eyes widening further. "Like… bear traps? Snares?"

"Possibly," Levi said, his gaze unwavering. "Or something far more… tailored to us. He knows our weaknesses, Finn. Or at least, he thinks he does." He glanced at me. "That's why Raphael's… unorthodox approach of going unarmed might actually buy us a sliver of an advantage. He won't expect it."

"Ah, he lives on the mountain, right?" I interjected, a sudden thought striking me. "So, get some decent scotch, maybe some expensive cigars? Whatever a seventy-odd year old, former Marshall of the Realm might like. I honestly can't imagine him being entirely divorced from his old… comforts."

Levi stared at me, a mixture of incredulity and a flicker of something akin to understanding in his eyes. "Scotch? Cigars? Raphael, are you suggesting we… bribe him?"

"Not exactly bribe," I hedged, though the idea wasn't far off. "More like… a peace offering? A gesture of goodwill? Look, the letter was weird, right? Maybe he's not looking for a fight. Maybe he's just… lonely. An old man in a mountain cabin. What do old men in mountain cabins do? They probably drink scotch and smoke cigars while staring wistfully at the lake."

Finn, who had been listening with wide eyes, chimed in hesitantly. "Yeah, maybe? My grandpa always liked a good cigar."

Levi remained skeptical, but the outright rejection wasn't there. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Scotch… he always had expensive taste. And a particular fondness for a certain Highland single malt. Cigars… yes, those strong, dark ones." A flicker of memory crossed his face. "It's… unconventional. But perhaps… perhaps it's worth a try. It certainly can't hurt to approach him with something other than weapons." He sighed. "Alright, Raphael. Scotch and cigars it is. Add it to the ever-growing list of bizarre supplies for our 'fishing trip'."

"Let me use my Cyrusian brain for a while…" I mused, tapping my temple. "What did my country love? Well… bloodshed, tradition, racism… and chewing tobacco." A grim chuckle escaped me. "He might enjoy fancy cigars now in his isolation, but chewing tobacco would be a deeply ingrained habit, readily available even during the harshest campaigns. They even used it for… well, let's just say wounded soldiers found it a distraction, a kind of gritty remedy. So, yeah. Not a refined, aromatic blend. But that cheap, disgusting, potent military-grade stuff. The kind that stains your teeth and probably tastes like despair."

Levi, who had been silently observing my descent into Cyrusian cultural analysis, raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Raphael, you have a truly unique way of selecting gifts."

"Hey," I defended, shrugging. "It's authentic. It speaks to his roots. Besides, after facing us, he might need something strong to take the edge off. Think of it as a preemptive pain reliever." I grinned wryly. "So, add a tin of the most wretched-looking chewing tobacco you can find to our shopping list, Levi. Right next to the ridiculously expensive scotch and the fancy cigars. We're going for a… multifaceted approach to appeasement."

Finn finally spoke up, a hesitant curiosity in his voice. "So, the plan is… bring him booze, fancy smokes, and something that tastes like battlefield trauma? And we're not bringing any actual weapons?"

"Dude. We are trying everything," I reiterated, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "Levi's going full tactical, I'm channeling my inner cultural anthropologist, and you, my friend, are our resident grilling expert and potential emergency getaway driver. It's a multi-pronged approach, a symphony of… well, hopefully not death."

Levi sighed, running a hand over his face. "His assessment is… broadly accurate, Finn. We are attempting to cover as many potential scenarios as possible, from a parlay to… something less civil. The lack of conventional weaponry is a calculated risk, based on Raphael's… intuition. An intuition that has, on occasion, proven surprisingly effective, despite its often baffling origins." He shot me a pointed look. "However, rest assured, Finn, I have contingencies." He tapped his jacket pocket, a subtle indication of the sedatives. "We are not going in entirely defenseless."

Finn still looked deeply uncertain, but a flicker of understanding crossed his features. "Okay… okay, I guess that makes… a weird kind of sense? So, I should probably, like… bring my lucky grilling spatula? As a… non-threatening utensil of peace?" He looked at us hopefully, clearly trying to find his place in this bizarre plan.

"Yeah, Grill Boy," I affirmed, a small smile finally breaking through the tension. "Maybe even bring some fresh produce to grill. Show him we come in peace… and with the potential for a delicious, non-threatening barbecue. Who knows? Maybe the way to a former warlord's heart is through his stomach."

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "Fresh produce. Right. Because a man who likely bathes in the blood of his enemies will be swayed by the aroma of grilled peppers. Still," he conceded, a hint of reluctant amusement in his eyes, "it is no less illogical than Raphael's insistence on leaving firearms behind."

A small, hesitant smile spread across Finn's face. "Okay, yeah. I can do that. I've got some really nice bell peppers, and some of those fancy purple potatoes. Maybe I'll even marinate some mushrooms. You know, really show him we're not there to cause trouble. Just… two guys and a surprisingly well-equipped Cyrusian, bearing gifts of grilled goodness."

“Levi that is exactly it. He used to bathe on blood. He no longer can. He is bored and lonely. Also, showing him guns and shit would be like, showing red flag to a bull.”

Levi considered my words, his gaze thoughtful. "There is a certain… twisted logic to your reasoning, Raphael. His physical capabilities are diminished, yes. And a blatant display of force on our part would likely trigger a volatile reaction. Very well. We proceed with… extreme caution, armed with grilled vegetables and a naive hope for diplomacy." His tone remained skeptical, but the outright resistance had lessened.

Finn nodded slowly, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "Okay, yeah, the red flag thing makes sense. Like, if someone came to my door with a bunch of weapons, I'd probably slam it in their face. Even if they also had, like, really good mushrooms." He hefted an imaginary bag of produce. "So, peaceful grilling it is. For now."

...

The rest of the night passed in a tense blur. Levi meticulously checked his vials and tear gas. Finn, despite his fear, diligently prepped his vegetables, chopping and marinating with a surprising focus. I paced, my earlier bravado replaced by gnawing anxiety. Sleep was a luxury none of us could afford.

As the first hint of dawn painted the eastern sky pale grey, an unspoken understanding settled between us. It was time. Levi retrieved the fishing rods and the ridiculous hats, handing one to Finn and one to me with a look that said, "Play along." The bag of marinated vegetables went to into Finn. Levi’s jacket concealed the sedatives. The arsenal remained locked in the trunk.

The drive to the mountain was heavy with unspoken fears. As we parked at the foot of a barely discernible trail, the air grew colder, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.

"Remember the plan," I said, my voice low. "Fishing. Friendly visit. We see what he wants."

Levi gave a curt nod, eyes narrowed, scanning the treeline. Finn just swallowed hard, clutching his vegetables like a talisman.

The hike began. Each step crunched on loose stones, the silence broken only by our breathing. The air grew thinner, the terrain steeper. With every upward step, the imposing figure of the Conqueror, the seventy-year-old behemoth, loomed larger in my mind.

We were walking into the unknown, armed with hope, fear, and a bag of marinated mushrooms.

The arduous hike finally gave way to a small clearing, and there it stood: the cabin. Not a quaint cottage, but a substantial structure of raw, untamed strength. Rough-hewn logs, chinked with moss and mud, formed sturdy walls. The roof, a patchwork of weathered wood and possibly animal hides, sloped steeply against the elements. It was undeniably handmade, every beam and plank a testament to brutal self-sufficiency.

Before it stretched a lake, its surface dark and still, reflecting the towering pines. A lake, I thought with a sliver of relief, felt less volatile than a river.

But the Conqueror was nowhere in sight. We exchanged uneasy glances. Had we misjudged the time? Was this the right place?

The woods behind the cabin rustled. He emerged from the dense foliage, and the breath hitched in my throat. Draped across his massive shoulders, like a hunter returning from a successful foray, was the carcass of a deer, its lifeless limbs swaying with each powerful stride.

This was no frail recluse; this was a predator in his element.

He saw us the moment he stepped from the treeline, his sharp, assessing gaze locking onto our small group. He didn't speak, didn't even break his stride, yet the weight of his attention was palpable, pressing down like the thin mountain air. He simply watched, his glacial eyes slowly raking over each of us – Finn clutching his vegetables, Levi’s hand hovering near his pocket, and me, clutching a ridiculous fishing rod.

A long, unnerving silence stretched between us. It was as if he couldn't reconcile our presence with his expectations. A flicker of something unreadable – surprise, disbelief, even curiosity – crossed his weathered features before settling back into an impassive mask.

Despite the fresh blood staining his tunic, his appearance was unexpectedly orderly. His long, silver-streaked beard was meticulously trimmed, his equally long, frost-colored hair neatly parted and pulled back. Even his bloodied clothes appeared smooth, devoid of wrinkles. It was a jarring dichotomy – a primal hunter with aristocratic attention to detail. This wasn't the unkempt hermit of my imagination; this was a man who maintained rigid discipline, even in exile.

Then it struck me. No one maintained such grooming for a solitary hunt. He hadn't just stumbled upon us. He had prepared. He was expecting us, waiting. Yet, despite this anticipation, there was a profound stillness, as if our actual arrival was something he hadn't truly believed would happen.

"Boys."

The single word rumbled from his chest, so deep and resonant it vibrated through the ground. It was a voice that had commanded armies. The air around us thickened, birdsong ceased, and the lake seemed to still, as if nature itself held its breath.