I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

The cart rumbled to a stop in front of a large, weathered house. The evening sun cast long shadows across the crumbling paint, but the neat surroundings suggested care despite the building's age.

Gustavo leapt down first, his eyes darting around, assessing the area for any potential threats.

Satisfied with the apparent safety, he nodded to Blackthorn, who then carefully descended from the cart.

Approaching the door, Gustavo rapped his knuckles against the wood. Silence. He knocked again, more firmly this time.

"Coming!" a female voice called from inside. Footsteps approached, and the door creaked open.

A lady appeared, unmistakably one of Zafron's stepsister, her eyes widening at the sight of Gustavo's imposing figure. She had brown hair and brown eyes. On her she wore a white overall robe which she tied at the waist with a rope.

From on objective standpoint, she was beautiful but nothing to go against the world for. Perhaps a few refinements here and there would have done her favours? Then again, that would require substantial amount of money.

The lady took an instinctive step back, fear flickering across her face.

Gustavo, noticing her reaction, tried to soften his expression. "Good evening, young lady," he said, his gruff voice at odds with his attempt at politeness. "Is this Zafron's house?"

The lady nodded hesitantly. "Yes, it is."

"Is your father home?" Gustavo asked, out of ignorance that Zafron's father had died years ago.

At this, the lady's face fell, a shadow of grief passing over her features. "I'm sorry," she said softly, "but our father passed away some time ago." She paused, regaining her composure. "Our mother is inside, though. May I ask who you are and what business you have here?"

As Gustavo opened his mouth to respond, a violent cough took over him. He tried to muffle it but it was fruitless.

Blackthorn stepped forward, his voice smooth and reassuring. "Girl, tell your mother that some friends from the city are here to say hello."

The woman nodded, still wary, and disappeared back into the house.

Gustavo quickly regained his composure and a few moments later, footsteps approached once more.

An older woman emerged, her black hair framing a face. She was of average height, but her figure was still shapely, hinting at a beauty that age had only refined.

Her dark eyes swept over the two men, curiosity and caution mingling in her gaze.

For a brief moment, hope flashed across her features, as if expecting to see Matilda. But as she took in the strangers before her, that hope faded into polite confusion.

"Welcome," she said, her voice warm but guarded. "What brings you gentlemen here? I'm afraid I don't recognize you."

Blackthorn stepped forward, a charming smile on his face. "Good evening, ma'am. I'm Blackthorn, Matilda's husband."

At the mention of Matilda's name, recognition dawned in the woman's eyes. "Matilda? The one who took Zafron to the city?"

Blackthorn nodded, and the woman's demeanor instantly changed.

Her face lit up with a genuine smile, and she gestured towards the door. "Oh... I'm Mirabel, Zafron's stepmother. Please, please come in! Any friend of Matilda's is welcome here."

The house was no more modest on the inside as it was on the outside. The walls were plain bricks without plaster on it. The ground as well just that it had been smoothened out. It explained why their feet was dirty when Blackthorn looked down. They were offered to sit on a wooden bench, at least that was what they passed for cushion.

Blackthorn was guessing this had to be the living room area. Although it wasn't apparent, he could tell from a few things like the mat spread across the floor on one end where a bunch of plate appeared to have been left behind. Three, three people were eating before they came.

As they settled in the house, Mirabel continued, "I'm sorry for the confusion. We don't get many visitors from the city. Please, make yourselves comfortable. I'm sure you have much to tell us about Zafron and life in the big city."

As they settled into the modest living room, Zafron's stepmother called out, "Kate, bring some food for our guests!"

Blackthorn quickly interjected, "That's very kind of you, ma'am, but we're fine. We can't stay long – we need to get back to the city before it gets completely dark."

The woman nodded, a hint of disappointment crossing her face. "I understand. How is Zafron doing? It's been so long since we've heard from him."

Blackthorn exchanged a quick glance with Gustavo before responding smoothly, "Zafron is doing well. I'm sorry we couldn't bring him along.....this visit was rather unexpected."

"And Matilda?" the woman asked, hope in her voice. "How is she?"

"She's fine," Blackthorn replied, his tone carefully neutral. He paused, then added casually, "It's been a while since you last spoke with Matilda, hasn't it?"

The woman nodded, her expression showing no particular concern. "Yes, it has been some time. But you know how it is with city life – I'm sure she's very busy."

Blackthorn noted the genuine lack of awareness in her voice regarding Zafron and Matilda's disappearance.

He decided not to press the issue, realizing that this line of questioning wouldn't yield any useful information.

Sensing that their visit was yielding no useful information, Blackthorn decided to cut it short. "I'm afraid we need to be going now," he said, rising from his seat.

"So soon?" Mirabel asked, surprised by what she heard.

"Yes. We've got a long journey back to the city ahead of us."

Zafron's mother nodded, a mix of disappointment and understanding on her face. She walked them to their cart, the evening air growing cooler as night approached.

Just as Blackthorn was about to climb into the cart, she turned to him with a curious expression. "Oh, I almost forgot to ask – did Matilda send anything with you? For us, I mean."

Blackthorn paused, his interest piqued. "What sort of thing might that be?" he asked carefully.

"Well," she hesitated, "perhaps a cash payment? Something we had agreed upon earlier."

Blackthorn felt irritated, but he kept his expression neutral. "I'm afraid not," he replied smoothly. "But then again, I didn't tell Matilda I was coming by. Perhaps next time."

The woman nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. "Of course, I understand. Safe travels back to the city." Just then, two ladies appeared by her side mumbling some words to her. She snapped at them, causing them both to run back inside. It was clear her guests didn't leave her in the manner she had hoped.

'Has Matilda not run the test on Zafron?! What is going on?! I need this money or she should bring him back so we could find a better master for him who would be willing to pay!' Mirabel thought behind clenched jaws.

Meanwhile, as Blackthorn and Gustavo drove through the village and out into the surrounding countryside, Blackthorn's mind was racing.

The mysterious payment, Zafron's absence, Matilda's disappearance, a hopeless search - all of it swirled in his thoughts.

A nagging feeling grew stronger, suggesting that Matilda might have fled to some distant land. But where?

His contemplation was abruptly interrupted when the cart jerked to a sudden stop. He was just about to pour all his frustrations on the driver before he heard the driver's voice, tinged with alarm, calling out, "Sir, there are men ahead!"

Blackthorn's instincts kicked in immediately. "Gustavo, check it out," he ordered calmly.

Gustavo nodded, stepping down from the cart. In the pale moonlight, he could make out a group of figures blocking the road. His trained eyes quickly picked out crude weapons in their hands - clubs, knives, perhaps even a makeshift spear or two.

These weren't seasoned bandits, but desperate locals looking for an easy score.

Returning to the cart, Gustavo reported tersely, "It's a group of boys, armed. Looks like we've got some would-be robbers on our hands."

Blackthorn's eyes narrowed. He'd seen this scenario play out before. "You know what to do, right?" he asked Gustavo, his voice low and dangerous.

"Of course, my lord,"

Gustavo nodded, a grim smile playing on his lips. He understood perfectly.