Daylight poured through the brothel's high, dusty windows, turning the red curtains into blazing scarlet banners. The place looked different in the harsh morning light: faded velvet couches, rings of spilled wine on the tables, a half-dressed girl asleep with her head on a customer's shoulder. The air still carried last night's perfume, but now it mixed with the sharper smells of fresh bread, strong coffee, and the faint tang of river mud drifting in from the open doors.

Byung sat on a bench near the foot of the wide staircase, pretending to lace his boots while his eyes never left the main parlor. He had meant to sleep. Maui was still upstairs, sprawled across the bed like a green avalanche, snoring loud enough to rattle the windows. Murkfang's fever had finally broken; the healer had left smiling. Safety, food, and soft sheets should have been enough to knock Byung flat for the rest of the day.

Instead, he had come downstairs for water… and pondered on what he had seen previously because there was no way it wasn't an orc of note especially with the merchant being around.

It couldn't be a coincidence at the end of the day and it was something he planned to figure out before it was too late.

The way the merchant screamed her name as well, it was like he was trying to alert Borg of her presence if Borg was truly here to begin with.

Byung felt anxious because this orc seemed to be the originator of so many problems and he had a theory about Borg being Rodell's spy.

But his eyes caught glimpse of an orc leaning over the faro table, counting coins in the sunlight.

The posture, the mannerism and most importantly, the smell.

Byung's stomach dropped like a stone in deep water because there was no way in hell this wasn't Borg.

He told himself it was nothing. Orcs looked alike in daylight too: same heavy build, same tusks, same eyes. He hadn't slept more than a few snatched hours in days. This must be his mind playing tricks on him.

But his instincts—the ones that had kept him breathing through every betrayal—screamed that it was Borg.

He stayed on the bench, head down, hood shadowing his face, watching from the corner of his eye while pretending to fuss with a loose boot lace. The orc finished his drink, scooped up his change, and stood. Sunlight poured across his face as he turned toward the coffee bar.

"Borg," Borg muttered to himself, the irrefutable proof was before him and luckily, Borg didn't see Byung.

Byung's pulse thudded in his ears. If Borg recognized them—if he put together that Byung, Maui, and a sick goblin had arrived at dawn the morning after a spectacular escape from Lord Rodell—word would ride north on the first merchant wagon. Kraghul would know Maui survived the attack on her life as the news would be coming to the mine before the sun set. Everything they had suffered for would collapse.

He couldn't tell Maui. Not yet. She would march downstairs, axe first, questions later, and turn the whole brothel into a blood-soaked mess. They needed quiet. They needed time. And he came to this conclusion when she stumbled into the brothel the moment Borg left like the universe was keeping them apart.

Byung waited because at the core of his green flesh, he was a human being.

He waited while Maui ate three plates of eggs and half a ham, laughing with the smuggler, who Byung hadn't registered until then.

"That is strange, have they met already?" Byung questioned but he knew this was the least important thing right now.

He waited while she carried fresh bandages up to Murkfang and settled the little goblin more comfortably.

He waited until her snores once again shook the ceiling beams—deep, exhausted sleep earned by carrying them all through the night.

Only then did he stand and trace Borg with his nose, he had to figure out what Borg was up to.

The parlor was quieter now. Most of the morning gamblers had drifted away to work or sleep. Sunlight slanted in dusty bars across the floorboards. Borg had gone to a different location, sipping black coffee, which was strange considering they had black coffee in the section he had just left.. His axe leaned against the chair within easy reach, but his posture was relaxed, almost lazy.

Byung pulled his hood lower, checked the small curved knife at his belt, and walked down the last few steps. The coffee bar girl gave him a sleepy smile and went back to polishing glasses. No one else paid attention to a hooded goblin passing between tables as they could barely see him to begin with.

He stopped three paces from Borg, he couldn't be careless because at the end of the day. Borg was still an orc and this brothel might allow other races to mingle with them. There was no doubt it was orc dominated and attacking an orc would doom him.

The big orc's ears flicked. He looked up slowly, red eyes narrowing against the bright light. Recognition slid across his face like sunrise over mountains.

Byung's fingers closed around the knife handle, contemplating for a second.

Borg leaned back, chair creaking under his weight, and raised both empty hands in a slow, deliberate gesture of peace. His gold tooth flashed in a wide, knowing grin.

"Well now," Borg rumbled in low Orcish, voice pitched for Byung's ears alone.

"The little goblin has found me. Didn't think I'd see you so soon—and it looks like you rode through every hell to get here," Borg had seen him. Borg change of location was because he could not only smell Maui closing in on his area but also Byung, he needed to separate Byung from her.

Byung didn't answer. The knife was a cold weight against his palm.

Borg's gaze flicked to the blade's outline under the cloak, then back to Byung's face. Amusement deepened.

"Easy, friend. I have no problem spilling goblin blood but the question is, will you draw against me knowing that?"

Byung's voice came out rough, scraped raw by exhaustion and fear.

"Y-You bastard!" Byung cussed out. He had never experience true hate but he felt it all for Borg.

He hated this orc and his instinct was to kill him, not because Byung was a murderer but simply because his primal instinct was surfacing. He might be huma but at the end of the day, he was a goblin.

Borg's eyebrows rose. He studied Byung openly now: the dirt, the filth on his sleeves, the hollows under his eyes, the faint tremor in the hand that still gripped the knife.

"Word on the road says Lord Rodell lost some very expensive guests last night," Borg said conversationally.

"Word also says there's a fat bounty on a certain female orc who could break a wagon in half." He tapped a coin on the table, thoughtful.

"Very fat bounty," The way Borg spoke sounded like Maui might be in immediate danger especially if the bounty on her was now public.

Byung's grip tightened until his knuckles ached.

"But bounties are only good if you live to collect them. And I'm feeling generous after a lucky morning." He spread his hands again. "Empty your purse on the table. All of it. Then walk away and sleep. When I leave tomorrow, I'll remember seeing nothing," Borg mocked him and the sad truth was Byung couldn't touch him.

Byung stared. His mind felt slow, thick with fatigue. Trust Borg? Madness. Kill him here in broad daylight? Also madness— there was no one who didn't like Borg's coin; half the room would jump to his defense.

But Byung had no plans of playing ball because the same rule applied to Borg, he couldn't harm him here.

He recalled the night with Drekk and how someone as mad as him couldn't do anything to them in that territory.

Borg took out the bag of coins he had and wanted Borg to see how much he had in his possession but smirked before saying.

"Borg, I might not kill you today or tomorrow. But I make the promise to you, you will die by my hands," Byung had no idea when these words left his lips.

"You cannot touch me, even if you became an orc," Borg fired back. He watched Byung tuck the purse back into his pocket and leaned forward.

"It is funny you should say that..." Byung whispered before planting a punch with all of his strength on Borg's chin and this sent the orc flying into the air with a basic upper-cut.

Byung knew it wouldn't do much damage but there was a reason his strength was level 2.

Borg crash landed onto a table, breaking it into two.

"Oops," Byung muttered but he knew he stood no chance if this was to escalate into a proper fight but he had sent his message loud and clear to Borg.

Borg raised his coffee cup in a small, mocking toast. He still had it in hand despite landing the way he did showing he didn't take Byung seriously.

"I will show you how orcs fight,"

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