Chapter 429: The Hooded Man in Sunrise Village [Part-2]
The Hooded Man in Sunrise Village [Part-2]
"I didn’t say that," the checker muttered, scratching along the edge of his jaw, suddenly uncertain. "But... I’d like to see."
A silence stretched, heavy with expectation. Then the hooded man moved with deliberate ease, lifting his hand as though even the smallest motion was measured. The fabric slipped back.
Golden eyes flared as morning light hit them, molten and burning under the cover of thick black hair. His face appeared—cut lines, masculine elegance, and a disquieting perfection that was almost too much to believe. It was the type of beauty that stole the world of air, the type that had men losing themselves and women speechless.
The checker’s jaw dropped. For a moment, his brain was a blank slate. The ledger in his hand became unfocused, the folks waiting in line did not exist, and all that existed was the crushing presence of the man standing before him.
Leon’s lips smiled faintly, silent confirmation of the response he’d coaxed out. He leaned in close enough to bridge the distance, snapping his fingers twice beside the man’s glassy stare. His tone taunted, smooth and seductive. "My lord? My lord? Are you still with me?"
The checker jumped as if punched, blinking hard, his brain grasping for purchase. "Y-yes! Yes, naturally. Excuse me, I—" His voice cracked, fragile, like the words would shatter if spoken too harshly.
Leon’s gaze met his for a fleeting instant, serene, measured, and yet provoking, the corners of his mouth rising into a smile that barely touched the heat burning in his eyes. "Can I go by now?" he inquired, his voice mild, almost flippant, but with an undercurrent of weight that made the atmosphere surrounding him feel denser.
"Y-yes, yes, certainly!" The checker’s bow was too quick, too abrupt, awkward though he tried to be calm. His heart pounded, his mind careening in mad circles. Good-looking didn’t start to say it. Bemused and half-frightened, he asked himself, What kind of man wears a face like that under a hood? The glimpse had been brief, almost involuntary, and yet it left a path that couldn’t be erased.
Leon’s hand glided with smooth ease, pushing the cloak back over his head as if the fleeting exposure had been insignificant. But his eyes hesitated an extra beat, the line of his mouth curving with a flicker of humor at the corners, before he moved aside and permitted the next wayfarer to enter.
The throat of the checker constricted. He swallowed, forcing his breathing to calm, each intake deliberate, each release measured. Concentrate. Responsibility. Don’t allow yourself to be distracted. He stiffened his back, willing the shaking in his hands away, reestablishing the rhythm of work into its strict groove.
Another figure emerged from the shadows, shorter this time, thinner, with the same quiet haste. The paper switched hands, the seal hanging in silence for him to examine. No words were exchanged, just a nod of silence, but something about the quietness caused the checker’s heartbeat to leap again. His fingers lingered, contrasting slip to figure and vice versa, a crawling sense of tension seeping under his skin.
"Allow," he finally grated, the word gruffer, harsher than he had meant, with a tension he couldn’t quite suppress.
The hooded man’s hand pushed the paper forward, serene and unshaken. He looked up for a moment and saw the faintest flash of dark eyes under the hood. The air around him shifted—cool, measured, quietly commanding.
The checker exhaled, weary, his brows furrowing as though the day itself had worn him thin. What is happening today? he thought, shaking his head before waving the figure through.
And then another, and another. Hooded figures moving forward in subdued cadence. They did not have the look of villagers with trade in mind, nor merchants burdened with merchandise, nor the boisterous adventurers who so frequently swaggered at the gates. These moved differently—a hidden discipline running through their footsteps, a cohesion more than words. Their silence seemed intentional, almost more substantial than words.
Among them strided Nova, her black hair hidden under her hood, yet her bright green eyes shone from the shadows, keen and calculating. Each motion around her was deliberate, each detail observed. Behind her came Natsha, her black hair pulled back neatly, her back straight and her demeanor peaceful, as drawn steel.
The remainder of Leon’s citizens merged into the procession without any trouble at all. They all carried the same official stamp, offered without hesitation, their passage unchallenged. Each of them moved through one by one, their silent presence leaving the checker with an indescribable sense of unease that he couldn’t shake.
But something about this morning bothered the checker. The air was too motionless, too oppressive, as if the village itself was holding its breath. Too many hooded individuals swarmed between the carts, their faces obscured, their footsteps silent. Too many pauses in the conversation that went on too long. He massaged the scar along his jawbone, an old nervous tick, and attempted to shake off the feeling of unease. It’s just travelers. Just documents. Don’t be thinking of things, he chastised himself, even as his own words felt empty to him.
But when his eyes shifted once more to the side, to that tall hooded figure who had stayed longer than the rest, the tension wrapped itself tighter in his chest. Golden eyes met his for a beat that lasted a lifetime. Leon. Not reprimanding. Not condemning. Just. looking. A slight, understanding tilt of lips, just short of a smile, that tightened the checker’s gut. It was like the man could look beyond the paper, beyond the ledger, beyond the discreet mask he presented, right into the reality he worked so tirelessly to conceal.
The checker’s head jerked down involuntarily, as if ducking might deflect it. He made himself concentrate on the ledger, on the mind-numbing beat of numbers and names. Concentrate. Work. Don’t think. Just do your work. His fingers moved jerky over the pages, but his mind kept circling around that look, that burden of presence it shouldn’t have had in a drowsy village like this.
Carts groaned and shifted, wheels crying out as passengers scrambled aboard. The line grew thinner, the dull beat of morning assuming its lazy pace once more. Sunrise Village moved on, unsuspecting, happily unaware, of the force that glided silently within them. Men and women in hoods whose every step could tip kingdoms, and they rocked gently in the village as they blended with common villagers, unseen and awesome at once.
And at the core of it all, Leon moved silently, golden eyes once more hidden beneath the hood, his steps smooth, measured, as if the world itself curved around him without ever realizing it. Impossible to ignore, impossible to hide, but he merged with the mundane, as if a shadow slipped between light.