Malakor. A name whispered with reverence and dread even among the Underworld's hardened denizens. This gatekeeper blocked the path, a loyal hound of Hedis. Sylvester's jaw worked, a muscle ticking. Information, the informant had provided, but not the means to overcome him. He needed more. He needed *weaknesses*. General knowledge wasn't enough against an S-rank hero's favored enforcer. Thoughts churned, rapid and cold. His current intelligence network, raw as it was, wouldn't suffice for this level of detail. He required something older, something outside the current power structures Hedis controlled. Ancient texts, half-burned scrolls salvaged from the fallen royal libraries, flashed through his mind. His tutors had dismissed them as mad ramblings. Now, they felt like desperate clues. One particular text surfaced. Whispers of a being, not quite demon, not quite god, dwelling in the deepest, most forgotten corners of the Underworld. A keeper of secrets, an eater of memories, a trader in forbidden truths. K'tharr. The name felt like dust on his tongue. His resolve hardened. Whatever the cost, Malakor had to fall. Hedis's defenses would prove impenetrable without such preparations. Sylvester moved, the dark corridors of his new stronghold echoing with his solitary footsteps. ---

Chapter 9: The Price of Information