Chapter 2

Before dawn, I rushed out of the house.

I knocked on doors, asking about Adrian's whereabouts. The moment the neighbors saw me, their faces turned deathly pale. Some shut their doors tightly, refusing to speak, while others stammered "I don't know" and hurriedly closed their doors. Fear. Fear was written all over everyone's eyes.

At the seventh house, I knocked on the old blacksmith's door. "Where's Adrian?"

The old man glanced at me and sighed, "Go ask at the dock, kid."

The docks smelled of fish in the early morning, and the dockworkers were unloading cargo. Seeing me approach, the foreman's expression instantly turned strange. "You are... Adrian's brother?" The foreman's voice trembled slightly.

Where is my brother?

The foreman lowered his head and remained silent for a few seconds: "He... hasn't come in a long time."

"What do you mean by 'haven't been here for a long time'?"

“It’s been three months. Three months ago, he suddenly stopped coming. We don’t know why…”

The workers around me all kept their heads down; no one dared to look at me. A chill ran down my spine: "Where did he go?"

The foreman gritted his teeth, his hand trembling as he raised it and pointed out of town: "Go...go to the mass grave..."

The mass grave was three kilometers outside the town. It held the remains of the poor who couldn't afford burial plots; simple wooden stakes served as tombstones, bearing only hastily etched dates, not even names. Crows circled overhead, and the air reeked of decay.

My hands trembled as I examined the dates on each of the wooden stakes. Finally, I stopped in front of a new mound of earth in the corner. The date on the stake was three months ago. There was no tombstone, no name, only a tattered rag haphazardly covering the mound.

I knelt down and began digging with my bare hands. When my fingers touched the cold fabric, I stopped—it was Adrian's work clothes, the coarse cloth garment he had worn for twenty years, now stained with mud and blood.

When my brother's face appeared, my breath caught in my throat. He was skin and bones, emaciated. His body was covered in whip marks and brands. His fingernails had been pulled out. Deep welts from chains etched into his ankles. His face bore the marks of pain and despair, his eyes unclosed.

I knelt beside the mound of earth, silent for a long time. The fire element within me leaked uncontrollably from my fists, scorching the soil black. With trembling hands, I gently closed Adrian's eyes. Then I stood up and continued examining the other wooden stakes around me.

Three more were found. All were recent mounds, dated within the last six months. Digging into one, we found a middle-aged woman with chain marks on her wrists. Digging into another, we found an old man with whip marks all over his back. The third was even thinner; he had starved to death. The gravedigger at the mass grave was a one-armed veteran who finally spoke after my persistent questioning.

"They're all sent from the same place. Blackwood Manor. Every month. Sometimes one, sometimes three or four. Nobody in town dares to interfere—they're contract mages, protected by the guild."

I stood up. I didn't go straight to the manor. I went home first.

My brother's cabin was exactly as he left it. Under the bed, I found an iron box—the place my brother used to keep important things. Inside the box was an account book, every page densely filled with records of dockworkers' wages and remittances sent to the Dark Forest. The last entry was four months ago, a remittance of twenty gold coins. Next to it was a letter, unsealed, the paper yellowed with age.

Unfold the letter. Adrian's handwriting was crooked and messy—he had worked as a laborer at the docks for twenty years, and his handwriting resembled that of a primary school student.

"Kane, I don't know when you'll see this letter. There's not much work at the docks lately, and I might not have enough money for next month, so I'll be taking on a few more night shifts. You don't need to rush back. Focus on your training in the forest and don't worry about me. When you come back from the forest, we'll go to the Black Oak Tavern for a drink together. Boss Ron said he just got a new batch of Dragonbreath Spirits, and I asked him to save a bottle for you. Brother."

I folded the letter and put it in my pocket. Then I turned and went out, heading towards the town center. I was going to the union arbitration office. I wanted justice.

The union arbitration office is located in the center of Graystone Town. It's a two-story stone building with a union flag of blue background and gold runes hanging at the entrance. Upon opening the door, a middle-aged mage in a gray robe is sitting behind the counter, flipping through an account book. A small wooden sign on the counter reads: "Contract disputes, please queue."

"I have something to appeal," I said.

The grey-robed mage sized me up—rough clothes, calloused hands, typical of a laborer. "What case?"

"Blackwood Manor. Contract wizards Victor Blackwood and Isabella Blackwood. They killed my brother Adrian Ashford. And not just him—there are at least three more in the mass grave, all killed in the exact same way."

The grey-robed mage's expression changed. Not from shock, but from impatience. "You're Adrian's brother?"

"yes."

“We are aware of your brother’s case. He signed a formal employment contract with clear terms—breach of contract would result in disciplinary action by the employer. He violated the contract terms, and the Blackwoods had the right to exercise their disciplinary power. As for his death, it occurred unexpectedly during the disciplinary process. This is a civil dispute, not a criminal case.”

“An accident?” I stared at him. “His fingernails were ripped off, his ankles were broken by chains, he was covered in skin and bones, and he was starving. You call that an accident?”

"The punishment is indeed too severe, but it's within the scope of the terms. The union has no right to interfere with the legitimate rights of contract mages."

"What about the others? There are three more in the mass grave. They all died in the exact same way. Were they all accidents? Have you investigated?"

"Do you have evidence? Do you have an autopsy report? Do you have eyewitnesses?" The grey-robed wizard's tone carried a sense of conclusion. "Mr. Ashford, this is an arbitration institution, and we operate according to the rules. Without evidence, there is no case. You can submit a written appeal—I'll register it for you, and you'll be scheduled for the next round of arbitration. It will probably take about two months."

I stood there, silent for a long time. Not waiting for the other person to change their attitude, but suppressing the anger that had spurred me to smash the counter. Then I turned and left.

I'm waiting. I tell myself the union needs time to investigate. My brother has been dead for three months; a few more days won't matter. What I want is justice, not personal revenge.

On the first day, I waited at the entrance of the arbitration institution. The gray-robed monk glanced at me through the window and continued drinking his tea.

The next day, I went again. This time, the arbitration office was closed—there was a notice on the door: internal meeting, office closed.

On the third day, I went again. The gray-robed mage finally came out, sighed, and handed me a document. "Your appeal has been rejected. Without evidence, it will not be accepted. Don't come again."

I stood at the entrance of the arbitration office, clutching the rejection document, unsure which way to go. The sun was blazing down on the back of my neck. I remembered what my brother had written in his letter—"When you return from the forest, let's go to the Black Oak Tavern for a drink." I folded the rejection document and put it in the same pocket as the letter. Then I headed towards the gloomy manor outside town.