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Fifth King Twin Strategies

Author:ErenaWrites Category:urban Update time:2024-06-15 22:50:42

Ronel Reisz, seventy-three years old, winner of the Rosenstein Award, and a retired mage hunter respected by all members of the hunting clans, was buying the food he needed for the weekend at a small store on a street corner.

He happened to be torn between bagged and bottled milk. The bagged milk was cheaper, close to the average price of a liter of this white liquid in supermarkets. In any case, Ronel was not a fan of bagged milk, as he had already had one prematurely punctured. The quality of the bottled milk was probably not better than the bagged milk, though. Finally, he threw the bottled one in his basket. Safety first. He nodded to confirm that. Yes, safety first.

He then moved towards the cash register and quickly paid for what he had picked from the shelves. He left the friendly little shop behind him and headed for home. His house was only three blocks from the store.

No one around here knew him. No one stared at him on the street, no one greeted him, no one wanted to shake his hand or ask for an autograph for their little boy. The neighborhood was populated by ordinary humans who knew nothing of Ronel's old profession.

At first, when he moved there, the old man was terribly disturbed, missing the constant hype, the respect and admiration in people's eyes — though, after all, that was twenty years ago. Since then, he had gotten used to this dull, grey life with ordinary days, ordinary people, and ordinary problems.

Ronel never really spoke to anyone and was scrupulously careful to leave the privacy of his house only when he absolutely had to. His neighbors regarded him as a ghost, and referred to him as such among themselves, none of whom had ever seen who lived in the apartment at 63 Parlovi Street.

Sometimes they talked about him, many of them were curious and sometimes they even dared to knock on the door of the old man's house. The man never opened it. Why should he? He never expected visitors.

He always drew the blackout curtains in front of the window to prevent prying eyes from finding him. And what was he doing in there by himself? Well, the answer to that is simple: he was researching. He never gave up trying to reclaim something.

He put the key in the lock and turned it. The door gave a soft click to indicate that it was open. Quietly, he entered, locked it behind him, and pulled the three bolts he had fitted for security. Safety first.

He slipped off his shoes, slipped into his brown slippers, and shuffled into the kitchen.

The bag fell from his hand, his eyes widened, and he froze in surprise. He had to remind himself to take a breath, resulting in his mouth hanging slightly agape. In his house, three strangers were drinking tea in the utmost tranquillity. He could smell the pleasant aroma of his favorite tea leaves, ordered from England, in the air, and the strangers were holding three of his expensive cups.

I acknowledged the surprised old man for just a moment and then gulped the rest of the tea. I dropped the cup in the sink and turned to the owner with a dangerous half-smile on my lips. Rolo, sitting calmly at the table, did not acknowledge him and Alex merely nodded in his direction.

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