[…Somewhere in Kazdel]
Dawn crawled over Kazdel like it regretted coming back.
Ash clung to the air. The scar market was already waking — traders muttering, blades clinking, Originium dust catching in thin streaks of light.
Three Sarkaz walked through it like they owned the road.
W kicked aside a broken helmet without looking at it.
[W]: I still can't believe Her Highness thought it was a good idea to send you two with me.
She didn't look at them when she said it.
[Ines]: If you're worried about competence, you can relax.
A faint pause.
[Ines]: You'll be the least professional person here.
W stopped walking.
Turned.
Smiled without warmth.
[W]: Careful, Ines. Your boyfriend takes one job without you, and suddenly you think you're command material?
She stepped closer.
[W]: I've seen better leadership from headless corpses.
Hoederer didn't turn around.
Didn't slow down.
[Hoederer]: If you two are finished measuring egos, we have a deadline.
W rolled her eyes dramatically.
[W]: Oh, relax. It's just a market. What's the worst that could happen? A few bombs? A little screaming?
She leaned sideways, peering at Ines.
[W]: And don't flatter yourself. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't waste time arguing.
She tapped the detonator clipped at her hip.
[W]: You'd just be part of the scenery.
Ines' expression didn't change.
[Ines]: Empty threats are inefficient.
W's grin widened.
[W]: Good thing I never make empty ones.
Hoederer finally stopped and looked back at them.
His voice was flat.
[Hoederer]: We are here to find two individuals. Not start a civil war before breakfast.
W sighed theatrically and threw her hands up.
[W]: Fine, fine. I'll behave.
A beat.
[W]: For at least five minutes.
She started walking again, humming something vaguely cheerful — entirely at odds with the ruins around them.
Hoederer didn't look back.
[Hoederer]: Good thing I know a man who might have information on the two we're looking for.
A pause.
[Hoederer]: W. Remind me—who are we supposed to find? And not blow up.
W stopped mid-step.
Slowly, she pulled a small black notebook from inside her coat. It was scorched at the edges. Several pages were stuck together.
She flipped it open confidently.
Silence.
More flipping.
Her expression didn't change.
She flipped the notebook upside down.
Another pause.
W cleared her throat and handed it to Ines without meeting her eyes.
[W]: Here.
Ines stared at her.
An almost invisible twitch touched her eyebrow.
[Ines]: You can't read.
W smiled brightly.
[W]: I prefer improvisation.
Ines inhaled slowly, then glanced down at the notebook.
[Ines]: We're looking for a girl. Blonde. Sarkaz. Reports say she has a burning tail and two metal horns.
A page turned.
[Ines]: Name: Sacrifice.
W tilted her head slightly.
[W]: Dramatic.
Ines ignored her.
[Ines]: The second target is a Wendigo. Fully armored. Carries a D32 steel pillar as a weapon.
W gave a low whistle.
[W]: Subtle.
Hoederer resumed walking.
[Hoederer]: The man I mentioned—Reth—operates near the eastern quarter of the scar market. If anyone's heard of a girl like that or a walking siege engine in knight armor, it'll be him.
W tucked the notebook back into her coat.
[W]: A burning-tailed girl and a Wendigo knight.
She grinned.
[W]: Try very hard not to blow them up. Got it.
She tapped her detonator once.
[W]: No promises if they're boring.
The scar market noise grew louder as they approached.
Hoederer exhaled quietly.
[Hoederer]: Let's hope Reth has answers.
Because if he didn't—
Kazdel would.
And Kazdel never answered quietly.
[Back to our group]
[Sacrifice]: Give me one reason not to punch you again.
Two groups of mercenaries knelt in front of her.
Black eyes. Split lips. Broken noses. One man's arm hung at the wrong angle.
They looked less like soldiers and more like discarded laundry.
Behind them, the rest of the caravan stood in uneasy silence.
The reason was simple.
Both groups had tried to recruit the same batch of new arrivals — strays who had joined Sacrifice's caravan for protection. Promises were made. Threats were whispered. Pride flared.
Then someone threw the first punch.
Then someone else.
Then knives came out.
Then bystanders chose sides.
By the time Sacrifice arrived—
It wasn't a fight.
It was a riot.
And she ended it.
Alone.
[Mercenary 22]: B-Boss… you already punched us.
A slow turn of her head.
[Sacrifice]: Did I give you permission to speak?
He opened his mouth.
She moved first.
Her fist connected with his jaw. A clean, efficient strike.
His eyes rolled white.
He hit the ground without ceremony.
Silence.
The remaining mercenaries stiffened.
Sacrifice flexed her fingers once. Calm. Controlled.
[Sacrifice]: You fight each other.
A step forward.
They flinched.
[Sacrifice]: Over scraps.
Another step.
[Sacrifice]: While we are marching through Kazdel.
Her burning tail flicked once behind her, heat shimmering faintly in the air.
[Sacrifice]: Do you think the land cares which of you gets more recruits?
No answer.
No one was that stupid.
[Sacrifice]: You want more men?
Her gaze hardened.
[Sacrifice]: Survive long enough to deserve them.
She looked over both groups.
Measured.
Cold.
[Sacrifice]: Anyone who starts another internal fight loses a hand.
A pause.
[Sacrifice]: If I have to stop it again, I won't use my hands.
That landed.
The threat wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
She turned away from them.
Behind her, men who had survived Ursus patrols, Kazdel brawls, and Leithanian raids felt something much simpler.
Fear.
Not of dying.
Of disappointing her again.
As she walked away.
Three seconds of silence.
Then—
The two kneeling groups exploded into cheers.
[Mercenary 41]: DID YOU SEE THAT?!
He slapped the man next to him hard enough to reopen his split lip.
[Mercenary 41]: She didn't even wind up!
[Mercenary 11]: I didn't see anything! The moment she punched me—black! Just black! I thought I died!
He blinked rapidly.
[Mercenary 11]: I swear I saw my mother!
[Mercenary 55]: That's what I'm talking about! That's a leader! No hesitation, no fear!
He pounded a fist into his chest.
[Mercenary 55]: I'll follow someone like that anywhere!
A few others nodded eagerly, grinning through broken teeth.
[Mercenary 69]: Uh… guys?
They all turned.
Rockhead was face-down in the dirt.
Very still.
[Mercenary 69]: I think his jaw's… wrong.
A pause.
He crouched and poked him.
Rockhead made a wet, unhappy noise.
[Mercenary 69]: …No, he's breathing.
Collective relief.
[Mercenary 11]: See? The boss knows her strength. She didn't kill him.
[Mercenary 41]: Yeah! She could've!
They nodded enthusiastically.
From a short distance away, Mordred watched the celebration with narrowed eyes.
Protector stood beside him, metal fingers flexing faintly.
[Protector]: They cheer because she is strong?
[Mordred]: Of course, they would be happy for something like this. A group of rats will follow the biggest one to survive.
[Reth]: Aren't you the same "Mordred"?
[Mordred]: Don't put me with those strays. I am proud my self at being a useful dog rather than a useless rat like you and these.
Reth let out a dry chuckle.
[Reth]: Funny thing about rats.
He gestured vaguely toward the cheering crowd.
[Reth]: Enough of them can chew a dog to the bone.
Silence stretched.
The laughter behind them felt distant now.
Protector's head tilted slightly.
Metal fingers flexed once.
[Protector]: I never understood the difference between—
He stopped.
Mid-sentence.
His posture changed.
Subtle.
But absolute.
The air felt… wrong.
Mordred noticed it immediately.
His hand moved toward his weapon without looking.
[Mordred]: You felt it too.
Reth blinked.
[Reth]: Felt what—
Then he felt it.
Not sound.
Not sight.
Pressure.
Like the moment before lightning strikes.
Protector's voice lowered.
[Protector]: We are being watched.
The cheering mercenaries were still laughing.
Unaware.
Mordred's jaw tightened.
[Mordred]: From where?
Protector's metal hand tightened around the steel pillar resting at his side.
A faint grinding echoed from within his armor.
[Protector]: Close.
Very close.
And whoever it was—
Had not bothered to hide from him.
Something they will regret.
[Protector]: Wake them. Arm everyone.
He didn't look at Mordred or Reth.
[Protector]: I will go ahead.
He lifted the D32 steel pillar with one hand.
And walked.
[Near the Caravan]
More than a hundred armored Sarkaz stood in formation.
Bone masks.
Blackened plate.
Weapons drawn but lowered.
Silent.
At their front stood Confessarius.
White hair. Mask bleached smooth. Posture disciplined.
[Confessarius]: Lord Qui'sartuštaj has ordered the Wendigo captured intact.
His tone did not rise.
[Confessarius]: Extract viable genetic material. Preserve what remains.
A pause.
[Confessarius]: The rest are to be—
The world moved.
A steel pillar screamed through the air.
It struck Confessarius mid-sentence.
The impact detonated the stone wall behind him.
His body disappeared into dust and shattered rock.
The shockwave knocked several Sarkaz off their feet.
Silence.
Then—
Heavy footsteps.
Protector stepped into view.
Armor scarred.
Breath rattling faintly.
He flexed his metal fingers once.
[Protector]: Sorry.
His voice was calm.
Almost polite.
[Protector]: I cannot kill you.
He rolled his shoulder slowly.
Stone cracked beneath his feet.
[Protector]: So this will take longer.
He tilted his head slightly.
A faint grinding noise echoed from inside his armor.
[Protector]: Perhaps a song will help.
He reached out.
The steel pillar tore itself free from the rubble and returned to his hand.
The ground trembled.
[Protector]: I do not know what you were thinking.
A step forward.
The armored Sarkaz tightened its formation.
[Protector]: Leaving the havens behind.
The first Sarkaz charged.
Protector swung once.
Not wide.
Not wild.
Precise.
Armor folded inward like wet parchment.
Bone masks shattered.
Bodies flew.
Protector stepped through the debris without looking at what he had done.
His blade slid cleanly through another Sarkaz's shoulder.
He caught the severed arm before it hit the ground.
For a moment—
He stared at it.
Then he bit down.
Metal ground against bone.
Blood steamed against his armor.
The surrounding Sarkaz froze.
He swallowed.
Slowly.
[Protector]: How blind have we become…
His voice did not rise.
It did not shake.
It carried.
He hurled the half-devoured limb aside.
Another enemy rushed him.
He impaled him through the chest without looking.
[Protector]: I regret.
A beat.
The steel pillar crushed a skull.
[Protector]: But regret does not justify what was done to us.
Another body fell.
His breathing grew heavier now.
Rough.
Mechanical.
[Protector]: I am tired…
He tore a blade from his own side and drove his elbow through a mask.
[Protector]: Tired of sacrifice.
The last Sarkaz fell.
[Protector]: Tired of sacrifice.
Silence followed.
Not clean silence.
Wet.
Broken.
The battlefield was no longer a formation.
It was a scattered ring of groaning survivors, armor caved in, masks cracked, limbs bent at wrong angles.
Protector stood in the middle of it.
Breathing.
Grinding.
He turned slowly.
One of them was running.
White hair. Bone mask. Smaller frame.
Carrying something.
He lifted his sword.
[Protector]: What have we done…
He paused.
The next words did not come.
His head tilted slightly.
[Protector]: …That was the next line.
The runner stumbled.
He stepped forward.
The sword rose.
It came down—
Steel met steel.
The impact rang like a struck bell.
Protector's blade stopped inches from its target.
He looked at what had blocked him.
A sword.
Black.
Unadorned.
Held steady.
The fleeing figure stood in front of him, wielding A black sword.
In one smooth motion, the wielder lowered what they had been carrying.
A small blond child.
Placed gently on the ground.
The child did not cry.
Did not move.
Only stared.
Protector's sword had carved a visible dent into the defender's blade.
A thin fracture line ran along its edge.
Protector's gaze shifted.
From the dent.
To the wielder.
To the child.
The grinding inside his chest grew louder.
For the first time since the fight began—
He was enraged.
[Chapter end]