The dark doors of the Black Horn Office closed behind Simon and Sonya.
They crossed the courtyard beneath the gazes of several officials and guards, and Simon’s thoughts remained on the unconscious vice-leader.
Sonya followed him down the broad steps and after they were a good distance away from the Black Horn Office, she turned her face in his direction.
"So, where are we going?"
"You can return to the inn if you want to, or you can go wherever you want."
Her steps slowed.
"And you?"
"I have something I need to do."
Sonya stared at him for several seconds. Although her pale eyes could not see his expression, the slight change in his breathing and the calm rhythm of his footsteps told her enough.
"This is about the rebel, isn’t it?"
Simon chose not to deny it since the answer was fairly obvious.
Sonya’s lips slowly curled into a grin.
"Do you need this Honourable’s help?"
"No."
Her smile disappeared immediately.
"You answered too quickly."
"Your face is known inside Black Horn, Tarvak currently dislikes you, and several officials watched us leave together."
Simon glanced at her.
"You’ll attract attention even if you stand quietly."
"This Honourable can disguise herself."
"You also promised to behave."
Sonya’s brows furrowed.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Nothing. I simply wanted to remind you before you forgot that too."
Her expression darkened, but Simon continued walking without giving her the opportunity to argue.
After a few moments, Sonya clicked her tongue.
"Fine. I’ll go and see what that oaf is doing in the Red Sand Hall."
She moved closer and lowered her voice.
"But reach out to me if you need help."
Simon looked at her.
"I’m serious," she added. "I won’t ask what you’re doing unless you decide to tell me."
The playfulness had briefly disappeared from her voice, and Simon remained silent for a moment before giving a small nod.
"I’ll call if I need you."
Sonya smiled again.
"Good. And if you need another building pulled from the ground-"
Simon immediately cut her off.
"That is exactly why I don’t need you."
She laughed, then separated from him at the next junction.
Simon watched her disappear into the moving crowd before turning toward a quieter street, the gears in his mind spinning rapidly.
He had learned four things from the Black Horn Office.
The vice-leader was alive.
He remained unconscious.
He had not said anything.
And lastly, Korran was more observant than he showed.
Simon wanted to place a ShadowEye in the Black Horn Office, but Simon could feel Korran’s perception on him and Sonya when they were in the vicinity of the Black Horn Office.
Simon did not want to take risk of leaving behind a ShadowEye when Korran was observing them, so he decided to leave without doing anything.
It was the same reason why Sonya did not say anything until they were a good distance away from the Black Horn Office.
However, none of these four things told him where the prisoner was being held.
He could guess that the demon remained somewhere under Black Horn’s control since it was related to the rebels, but guesses were not enough. Attempting to enter the Office based on assumptions would be the quickest way to place himself inside one of its detention cells.
Simon needed a route.
More importantly, he needed a route that already existed.
An unconscious Supreme Archfiend with a damaged skull, shattered jaw, sealed pathways, and severe internal injuries could not be left alone. He required healers, medicine, clean materials, suppression resources, food for the guards, and regular inspections.
Even the most secure prison depended on ordinary routines.
Simon entered a narrow alley and spread Shadow Sense through the surrounding walls. Once he confirmed that no one was nearby, he removed the Sword Daemon’s mask from his spatial ring.
The matte-black surface and jagged crimson markings was reflected in his pupils, then he placed it over his face.
A moment later, the mask took on the appearance of a tired-looking wolf demon Simon had seen outside a butcher’s shop earlier that morning. The demon possessed a narrow face, a crooked nose, and a faded scar across his left eye.
His build was close enough to Simon’s that the disguise would not appear strange beneath a loose brown coat.
Simon’s white hair became grey due to the power of the mask, he changed his posture, and allowed his shoulders to droop slightly. His confident steps became shorter and heavier, like those of a worker who had spent the entire morning carrying heavy crates.
The face alone would not have fooled an experienced observer.
The mannerisms completed it.
Simon returned to the streets from another direction.
He did not stand outside the Black Horn Office and stare at its walls. Instead, he moved through the western district, stopping at stalls, entering shops, and occasionally resting where he could observe one section of the building without appearing interested in it.
As he did this, he learned some things.
The front courtyard was useless.
Too many officials entered through it, and every guard there possessed enough experience to notice a demon who appeared repeatedly.
A narrow entrance on the southern side was used by messengers. They arrived alone, remained for only a few minutes, and left after delivering sealed communication artifacts.
The western side was different.
A service lane ran behind the Office, partly hidden between two tall administrative buildings. Food, water, cleaning materials, and sealed supply crates entered through a reinforced gate guarded by four Black Horn demons.
Simon watched one delivery before moving elsewhere.
An hour later, he returned wearing another face and a different set of clothes. This time, he resembled a middle-aged orc merchant with darker skin and a thicker jaw. He walked with his hands inside his sleeves and stopped beneath a stone awning opposite the service lane on the western side of the Office.
His shadow touched the darkness beneath the awning, and a second later, a small black eye silently opened inside it.
Simon walked away.
Through the Shadow Eye, he continued observing the service gate while eating at a roadside stall two streets away.
Several carts entered and left.
Most carried ordinary supplies.
Then a black medical cart appeared.
A silver bowl surrounded by three green flames had been painted on its side. Two masked workers sat at the front, while sealed cases and narrow canisters filled the rear.
The guards inspected everything before allowing it inside.
Simon paid closer attention but did not act.
A single medical delivery proved very little. Black Horn possessed injured field operatives, healers, interrogation rooms, and hundreds of officials. The cart might have no connection to the vice-leader.
Nineteen minutes later, it emerged with several empty containers.
Simon decided to follow it from a distance.
He changed streets often, allowed crowds to pass between them, and never remained directly behind the cart. Whenever the workers glanced around, Simon was already standing near another stall or walking in a different direction.
The cart returned to a large apothecary near the edge of the western district.
Simon observed the workers unloading the empty containers and replacing them with sealed medicinal cases. Their movements were relaxed, and nothing about them suggested that the earlier journey had been unusual.
A few hours later, the same cart prepared for another trip.
Simon decided to act this time around.
He changed his face and clothes for the third time before returning to the route. Shadow Sense remained compressed within a hundred metres around him, allowing him to notice anyone following too closely or paying him unusual attention.
Nobody did.
The medical cart moved through a crowded intersection.
Simon approached from the opposite direction.
For one brief moment, his shadow stretched beneath the wheels and touched the darkness cast by the cart.
A second Shadow Eye formed.