Northern hesitated.
Revealing this information was a risk. A vital one.
After all, it directly involved him—and more than that, it strongly insinuated that he had won himself a capable stalker.
Many things remained unknown, and sharing what little he knew felt dangerously close to exposing his own vulnerabilities. And that was sothing Northern loathed.
Yet, despite how he felt, he had still chosen to speak.
Why?
Because experience had taught him a harsh truth—especially in this world:
No matter how much he tried to do things alone, there was always a limit.
And more importantly, there was always a chance that he could do it wrong.
Northern was still skeptical about trusting people. He always would be. But he was logical—practical.
Soone like Paragon Raizel had nothing to gain from deceiving or using him.
At least, not yet. Not when the Paragon had no definitive grasp of just how terrifyingly strong Northern truly was.
The sa applied to Paragon Dante.
From a purely pragmatic standpoint, the man's request of Northern had been based on intelligence. Lieutenant Dante had seen sothing in him—sothing he recognized.
And since he couldn't claim Northern as his own, he had chosen another approach.
Now, whether that choice would ultimately benefit or harm Northern…
That would depend entirely on what Dante asked of him the next ti they t.
If they ever t again.
But above all, there was soone out there who knew of him—soone he had no knowledge of.
That fact alone was enough for Northern to acknowledge a bitter truth:
He needed help.
Of course, that didn't an he was going to be reckless about it.
He had no intention of being stupid, of exposing himself unnecessarily, or—worse—placing himself at a disadvantage.
For example?
Telling Raizel about the one wish.
'Hell no.'
This much—what he had already revealed—was more than enough.
Paragon Raizel, however, was visibly taken aback.
The surprise on his face remained frozen in place, etched deeply into his expression even as the seconds passed.
"So…"
His voice was carefully paced.
"You think our supplier of stimulants deliberately chose you for a reason?"
His gaze sharpened.
"And why do you believe this? What proof do you have?"
Northern was silent for a mont.
Then, with a soft breath, he spoke.
"Bairan."
Paragon Raizel's expression snapped into sothing unrecognizable.
His pupils constricted, his body tensing, and in the next second, he moved.
In one fluid motion, he shot up from his seat, his hand extending toward the empty air as if attempting to crush sothing unseen.
But then… he froze mid-motion.
A visible tremor ran through him, and instead of striking, he took an involuntary step back.
At that exact mont—
A rift began to tear open in the middle of the eting room.
Paragon Raizel's face turned ashen.
Ascendant Zion and Sage Mack both looked like they had just seen a ghost.
No—
It was worse.
Their faces went deathly white and their bodies trembled violently.
Bairan stepped calmly out of the rift, his movents fluid and composed. Beside him erged a slender, impeccably dressed man—prim, proper, and refined, with a fine mustache that curled slightly at the ends.
Northern hadn't expected this.
Of all the possibilities that had crossed his mind, the Shopkeeper looking so… well-grood and elegant was not one of them.
In fact, he had expected the complete opposite.
And yet, here the man stood, straight-backed and composed, exuding a presence more suited to a noble than whatever tattered and ager figure Northern had imagined.
He was… surprised.
Bairan smiled faintly, bowing as the rift behind them closed. The Shopkeeper mirrored his movent, dipping into a bow just as deep.
"Master," Bairan said smoothly, his tone as calm as ever. "I relegated the task you assigned to Revant. It was completed rather quickly."
Northern's expression twitched.
A sudden, almost instinctive sympathy blood in his chest.
Revant…
'Revant, Revant, Revant…'
He could only shake his head.
The re thought of what the shopkeeper must have endured to get to this stage—within just a handful of hours—was enough to make Northern pity the man.
With a sigh, he refocused and turned to face Paragon Raizel.
"This is my source," he stated simply.
He gestured toward the ticulously dressed Shopkeeper.
The man, ever poised, bowed once more at the introduction.
"You may ask anything you wish, sirs," the Shopkeeper said, his voice smooth, polished, and composed. "I will answer truthfully and honestly, holding nothing back."
Raizel, however, barely seed to register the words.
His focus remained elsewhere.
He was still shaken.
Not by the rift itself—though that, too, was unsettling—but by what he had felt just before it had opened.
And that was what truly unsettled him.
Yes, the phenonon was strange. Perhaps even unseen before.
But the idea that soone possessed a talent capable of creating a rift was not entirely impossible.
What terrified him—what truly shook him—was the sheer presence he had felt in that instant.
It was overwhelming.
For a fleeting mont before the rift appeared, Raizel had felt sothing impossible.
Thousands—no, tens of thousands—of creatures.
Terrifying, monstrous entities, pressing against the fabric of reality itself.
For that one mont, it was as if every single one of them had suddenly materialized in the room.
Raizel was a Paragon. He had entered a Tier VIII rift twice, and a Tier IX once.
And the sheer magnitude of what he had just felt dwarfed the combined terror of those rifts.
It had been overwhelming.
Suffocating.
It made his very soul recoil.
And yet… Northern had treated it as if it were nothing.
As if it were normal.
As if it wasn't even worth ntioning.
Raizel tried to steady himself, forcing his hands into a firm fold over his chest to keep from revealing his unease.
"I see," he murmured at last.
A brief pause. A slow, controlled breath.
Then—
His eyes locked onto the Shopkeeper.
And with asured weight, he asked:
"Who are you?"
The Shopkeeper bowed slightly, his deanor unwaveringly composed as he responded.
"I am the Western Information Manager. Iltis."
For a mont, silence blanketed the room.
Then Raizel's expression shifted.
A dark frown settled on his face, his brows furrowing as his eyes widened in sudden realization.
A heartbeat later, his pupils contracted—his entire fra tensing as if a shockwave had just slamd into him.
"Iltis… Iltis?!"
His voice rose, laced with sheer disbelief.
"You are Iltis?!"
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