As they entered the market, Sacrifice's mercenaries split into groups of ten, moving in disciplined clusters. No one wandered. No one lagged behind.
They had already been attacked twice before even reaching the gates.
Here, caution wasn't strategy—
It was survival.
To their right, steel flashed.
A mercenary group cut down another with brutal efficiency. No shouting. No hesitation. Bodies hit the dirt, and within seconds, the victors were already stripping them of weapons, armor—anything worth carrying.
Like it was routine.
Like it meant nothing.
Sacrifice's gaze lingered on the scene.
Unblinking.
[Sacrifice]: Those who feast on violence… will one day be devoured by it.
Reth didn't even slow his pace.
[Reth]: Boss… maybe save the philosophy for later.
A brief glance toward the carnage.
Then back ahead.
[Reth]: I know it looks like a bar fight gone wrong—but this?
A small pause.
[Reth]: This is normal.
His voice lowered slightly.
[Reth]: Out here, if you don't have strength—
A beat.
[Reth]: You become supplies for someone who does.
Sacrifice didn't look at him.
Instead, she reached into her coat and pulled out a folded slip of paper.
She held it up.
[Sacrifice]: And I look like ten years of pay… for them and their families.
Reth frowned slightly, already shaking his head.
[Reth]: Boss, it's not—
He stopped.
Mid-sentence.
His eyes dropped to the paper.
And froze.
10,000 Gold. High Rank Target. Wanted Alive — by the Military Commission.
Alias: The Fire Witch.
Silence.
Then—
[Reth]: …By the Crown.
He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.
[Reth]: Boss… I'm not even going to lie to you—
A beat.
[Reth]: If I didn't owe you my life, I might've tried to sell you myself.
He looked up, tension snapping into place.
[Reth]: We need to move. Fast.
His voice dropped.
Urgent.
[Reth]: We meet up with my team—the Rockwood group—and grab the two crazies.
Another glance at the paper.
[Reth]: If anyone else sees this…
A pause.
[Reth]: They won't think twice.
A brief exhale.
[Reth]: Good thing it's just the title.
A beat.
[Reth]: No face—
[Mercenary Traitor 4]: There! That's her!
The shout tore through the noise of the market.
[Mercenary Traitor 4]: Big brother—get her! That's ten thousand gold walking!
Boots slammed against stone.
From the east—
A wave of mercenaries broke into a sprint, blades already drawn, eyes lit with greed.
Reth's head snapped toward the sound.
[Reth]: …Spoke too soon.
Then—
A second voice.
Cold. Commanding.
[Military Commission Soldier 1]: Target confirmed.
From the west, a line of figures in white surged forward—armor gleaming beneath layered robes, formation tight, disciplined.
[Military Commission Soldier 1]: Secure her.
A pause.
[Military Commission Soldier 1]: Lord Reign wants her alive.
Steel rang as weapons were drawn in unison.
Two forces.
Two directions.
Same target.
The space between them shrank fast.
Reth clicked his tongue, already stepping closer to Sacrifice.
[Reth]: East wants the reward.
A glance west.
[Reth]: West wants the credit.
A beat.
[Reth]: And both want you breathing.
The air tightened.
Weapons lifted.
Eyes locked.
For a single, fragile moment—
The entire market became a powder keg waiting for a spark.
Too bad someone decided to light it.
A small flick of her wrist—
Then—
BBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM
The world tore apart.
The east line vanished in fire.
The west formation shattered under a second blast.
And right where Sacrifice stood—
The ground erupted, dust and flame swallowing everything whole.
Shockwaves ripped through the market. Stalls overturned. Tables splintered. People screamed.
Then—
Chaos.
Mercenaries charged blindly into the smoke.
Blades clashed.
Gunfire and crossbows cracked.
Orders dissolved into shouting.
The fragile "rules" of the market burned away in seconds.
And the reason for that—
Stood right beside them.
Sacrifice had collapsed.
Her body went slack just after the blast, the strain finally catching up. Even so, she had moved first—shielding Reth from the worst of it.
Now he carried her.
Blood, dust, and ash smeared across both of them.
[Reth]: DID YOU JUST BOMB US?!
He turned, furious—
W was already there, dusting ash off her sleeve like she'd just knocked over a chair.
A small tilt of her head.
[W]: I saved your life.
A beat.
Her eyes flicked past him—measuring distances, counting threats.
[W]: And I can end it just as easily.
Another explosion echoed somewhere behind them.
Closer.
[W]: So move.
Her tone dropped—sharp now.
[W]: Before they regroup.
Reth hesitated—just for a second.
Then tightened his grip on Sacrifice.
[Reth]: …I need to grab my people.
A pause.
[Reth]: The Rockwood group—they're nearby.
W clicked her tongue.
A beat.
She stepped forward, reaching out.
[W]: Give her to me.
Reth didn't move.
Not immediately.
Their eyes met.
A second stretched—
Then broke.
He handed Sacrifice over.
W adjusted her weight like it meant nothing.
[W]: North Hill.
She turned, already walking.
[W]: Don't take too long.
A small glance over her shoulder.
[W]: And smear mud on your faces.
A beat.
[W]: Both of you are too recognizable now.
Another distant shout. Steel clashed.
The hunt hadn't stopped.
[W]: And you better show up.
Her voice dropped, quieter—but heavier.
[W]: I need someone she actually trusts…
A pause.
[W]: …when she wakes up.
Then she was gone.
Into smoke.
Into chaos.
Reth stood there for half a second longer—
Then turned and ran.
[Somewhere in Kazdel]
A quiet chamber, dimly lit.
Two figures sat across from one another.
One bore a halo.
The other sat upon a throne carved from bone and shadow.
Nezzsalem, King of the Nachzehrer.
Tea steamed gently between them.
[Scholar]: So, kid…
A small, almost lazy smile.
[Scholar]: How's life at court?
Nezzsalem lifted his cup, taking a measured sip before answering.
[Nezzsalem]: Just as you once described.
A pause.
His gaze settled on the man across from him.
[Nezzsalem]: Intrigue. Decay. Power clinging to itself.
Another sip.
[Nezzsalem]: I still wonder…
A slight narrowing of his eyes.
[Nezzsalem]: How can you see the future of this land—
A beat.
[Nezzsalem]: …and choose not to act.
Silence lingered.
The Scholar turned his cup slowly between his fingers.
[Scholar]: I don't move…
A quiet breath.
[Scholar]: Because I've already seen what happens when I do.
He didn't look up.
[Scholar]: Every change… demands a price.
A pause.
[Scholar]: And it's never paid by me alone.
His voice lowered.
[Scholar]: I know the future.
A beat.
[Scholar]: But I don't get to rewrite it.
Another.
[Scholar]: I only get to watch…
His fingers tightened slightly.
[Scholar]: …as the people I care about walk toward their deaths.
The room felt colder.
Nezzsalem studied him for a long moment.
Then exhaled softly.
[Nezzsalem]: You're as gloomy as the day we met, old man.
A faint, dry tone.
[Nezzsalem]: So tell me—
He set his cup down.
[Nezzsalem]: Why are you here?
A pause.
[Nezzsalem]: It's not just to visit your former student.
Silence.
The Scholar didn't answer immediately.
His smile faded.
Slowly.
Something in his expression cracked—
And for the first time—
Tears slipped down his face.
[Scholar]: …I saw something.
A breath.
Unsteady.
[Scholar]: Something… sad.
Silence settled over the room.
Heavy.
Unanswered.
[Chapter end]
{Hello, author here. Apologies for the messy chapter. Someone apparently wished to be cursed into oblivion and gifted us two weeks of extra work, so this was written in a hurry.
We had a big fight planned and all, but this is all we could do in a limited time.}