"By the gods, that power!"

The centaurs went pale—their lives felt like leaves in a hurricane, utterly beyond their control.

"Are you planning to break the Sacred Fire Covenant?"

A hint of deadly intent crept into that noble, ice-cold voice.

The lead centaur warrior bit down hard on his tongue. The sharp pain snapped him back to his senses.

"N-no sir! The centaur clan would never break the Sacred Fire Covenant!"

Under the crushing presence of the two mighty retainers, the centaur warrior quickly set the record straight.

The Sacred Fire Covenant—an ancient pact humanity had sworn since the dawn of time. Oath-breakers faced death from all sides!

The centaur warrior couldn't stomach being branded a covenant-breaker.

If he brought that curse down on his people, he'd be remembered as the clan's greatest failure.

"You may pass!"

Carlos wasn't surprised by their reaction—everything was going exactly as planned.

"Lead on. I want to see your chieftain!"

That cold voice rang out again.

The two great retainers pulled back their terrifying aura. The oppressive atmosphere lifted, and the centaurs could finally breathe again.

Carlos watched their reactions carefully:

'Simple-minded fools—no wonder the Twilight Cult caught them with their pants down.'

The centaurs stepped aside.

The shield guards followed, keeping their own power in check.

"The chieftain's waiting inside."

The centaur warrior stole glances at these skeletal horrors, especially those two that made his blood run cold.

'Hell's bells, whether these visitors bring luck or ruin is anyone's guess.'

He'd done what he could—the rest was up to the chieftain.

After witnessing that bone-chilling display of power, the centaurs fell in line with no one daring to block their path.

As they moved deeper into the white stone buildings, Carlos took in the sights.

'Well, well...'

Along the roadside, various monster skulls dangled from posts.

Some were sun-bleached and ancient, others still dripped dark crimson blood from fresh kills.

Collecting trophies was an old centaur tradition that supposedly strengthened their war magic.

Among the fresh skulls, one caught his eye.

A humanoid head with no eyes, just a round mouth gaping like a black void.

'An Eyeless One...'

Carlos gave it only a passing glance before moving on, drawing no attention to himself.

Eyeless Ones only showed up near the mysterious ruins he was hunting for on this journey.

Finding one here meant those ruins were close by.

But getting inside would still require the right key.

...

Without another word, Carlos's group was led to a massive building towering over the cluster of white structures.

Centaur Hall.

The building that symbolized the clan's ultimate authority—only chieftains through the ages had called it home. The weathered stone walls reeked of ancient history.

"Sir, we've reached Centaur Hall. The chieftain awaits you inside."

After watching Carlos's group enter, the burly centaur warrior hurried off elsewhere.

'Roderick... why the hell is Roderick's business getting around?'

For his clan's sake, he had to dig up answers before that half-elf bastard did.

...

Stepping into the outer hall, centaur warriors approached:

"Lord Valois, this way..."

Their faces were stone-cold, spears not-so-subtly pointed at the shield guards.

Clearly, they didn't trust outsiders worth a damn.

Carlos didn't bat an eye—centaurs were always this paranoid.

Leaving the outer hall for a corridor, the floor changed from rough stone to smooth, polished granite—clearly the work of master craftsmen.

At the corridor's end loomed a massive stone door with centaur guards posted on both sides.

After the lead guard whispered the passwords, the door groaned and clicked open.

"Go on in.

The chieftain's been expecting you."

Carlos raised an eyebrow. His senses picked up a deep, powerful aura from within.

As expected, the centaur chieftain was a Controller.

He stepped down from his palanquin as the two great retainers flanked him.

Beyond the stone door, the inner hall spread before them.

Savage monster skulls lined the walls—long dried with shriveled flesh clinging to bleached bone.

But that wasn't all—

Small pedestals dotted the floor, each displaying more monster skulls, many still showing fresh blood vessels and reeking of recent death.

These were meant to showcase the chieftain's battle prowess.

At the center of these grisly trophies, a hunched centaur elder slowly rose to his feet. His coat was dull and patchy, nothing like the glossy shine of younger centaurs.

'This is the centaur chieftain?'

Looked like the clan's troubles ran deeper than he'd figured.

He'd known that during this time, the centaur clan had a living Controller.

But he hadn't expected this Controller to be practically one hoof in the grave.

Powerful, sure, but clearly running on borrowed time.

"I already know why you're here.

Cough... The centaur clan won't stand in your way investigating Roderick."

After saying this, the chieftain hacked up a few more coughs.

"Mond!"

A moment later, a tall centaur warrior trotted in.

"Chieftain, Mond reporting."

"For the next seven days, you'll give Lord Valois whatever he needs.

You speak with my voice—got it?"

Mond hesitated, his expression darkening.

"Chieftain... understood..."

Then turning:

"Lord Valois, I'm at your service."

Carlos ignored the centaur warrior, his gaze locked on the chieftain's weathered face.

Something felt off—too eager, too pushy to get him moving.

The words sounded cooperative enough.

But setting a seven-day limit? Once that deadline hit, the centaurs would probably boot him out on his ass.

Centaurs shouldn't know squat about the Twilight Cult backing Roderick, or they wouldn't be acting this way.

Could they be facing some crisis he hadn't heard about?

Carlos studied the centaur chieftain with keen interest,

Then said to Mond:

"First stop—Roderick's place."

"Right this way!"

The group departed, leaving only the centaur chieftain alone in the inner hall, his clouded old eyes staring blankly at the largest white skull mounted on the wall.

...

Eastern Samana Grasslands, behind a small hill near the centaur settlement,

A curvaceous woman had appeared from nowhere.

Her upper body was human enough—tight leather armor showing off every dangerous curve to perfection.

Her lower half was something else entirely—brown tree roots burrowing into the soil like grassland trees, drawing nourishment from the earth.

Half-woman, half-tree, with a look of barely contained panic like she'd just escaped death by a hair's breadth.

She peeked over the hill, watching the distance with darting eyes.

She knew that was centaur territory—and outsiders weren't exactly welcome with open arms.

After a moment's hesitation, the woman seemed to steel herself.

Her root-like lower body quickly shifted back, revealing long, pale legs...

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