Sacrifice stood at the edge of the hills, her gaze fixed on the sprawling Scar Market below.
Smoke curled into the sky. Tents and structures pressed together in chaotic layers. Voices carried faintly even from this distance.
After a long moment, she spoke.
[Sacrifice]: Finally… we've arrived. It took us a couple of months to get here.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
[Reth]: We got here yesterday. You just spent the whole day treating the wounded… then passed out.
A brief pause.
Sacrifice didn't look at him.
[Sacrifice]: That's irrelevant.
Her eyes remained on the market.
[Sacrifice]: What matters is that we're here now.
A step forward.
[Sacrifice]: Our next objective is to gather information on Babel.
Behind her—
[Mordred]: Mm. Mm.
Reth glanced sideways, then sighed.
[Reth]: Boss… I think Mordred is asking when he can remove the gag.
Sacrifice finally turned.
Her gaze settled on Mordred.
Calm.
Unblinking.
[Sacrifice]: When he stops staring at my neck like a starving dog looking at meat.
A beat.
Her expression didn't change.
[Sacrifice]: Until then… he can remain silent.
Mordred froze.
Then slowly looked away.
A metallic click echoed behind them.
[Protector]: …That's a lot of people.
Protector stood a short distance away, the nail driven back into his skull. His posture was steady—but his gaze wandered slightly, unfocused.
Even here, peace wasn't guaranteed.
He needed to be ready to fight.
Reth sighed, already translating.
[Reth]: He's asking if we should keep an eye on him… since he loses about seventy percent of his brain function when the nail's in.
A pause.
Protector reached up—
—and pulled the nail out.
Click.
His body stiffened for a moment.
Then his eyes sharpened. Focus returned.
He looked at them properly this time.
[Protector]: I agree with both of you.
A brief pause.
[Protector]: I will require supervision.
His gaze shifted toward the distant market.
[Protector]: Preferably someone who can stop me from interacting with anything… dangerous.
A beat.
[Protector]: Or strange.
Reth snorted.
[Reth]: That's literally more than half the market.
Protector didn't react.
[Protector]: Then I will require constant supervision.
Sacrifice didn't hesitate.
[Sacrifice]: Mordred, you're in charge of watching him.
A brief pause as she glanced toward Reth.
[Sacrifice]: Reth, you'll translate for both of them—and make sure they stay an arm's length away from everything.
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
[Sacrifice]: And I do mean everything.
Reth stared at her.
Long.
Then dragged a hand down his face.
[Reth]: So let me get this straight…
A beat.
[Reth]: I'm babysitting two grown Sarkaz—
He pointed at Protector.
[Reth]: One being a legendary Wendigo—
Then at Mordred.
[Reth]: And the other a vampire with a very well-known habit of eating other Sarkaz?
A pause.
He looked back at Sacrifice.
[Reth]: …Yeah. That sounds completely reasonable.
[Sacrifice]: I understand your concern.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a small flask, handing it to him.
[Sacrifice]: Take this. It should help… reduce the headaches.
Reth uncorked it and gave it a cautious sniff.
He froze.
Slowly, he looked up at her, eyes wide.
[Sacrifice]: Yes. It's alcohol.
A brief pause.
[Sacrifice]: Medical-grade… with added fruit and whatever was left of the bar's beer supply.
Reth blinked.
[Reth]: …Isn't this the same thing you use to clean our wounds?
She shook her head slightly.
[Sacrifice]: The one I use for cleaning wounds is stronger.
A beat.
[Sacrifice]: I only drink that when I need to pass out… or forget something.
Reth stared at the flask in his hand.
Silence.
[Sacrifice]: This one—
A small pause.
[Sacrifice]: —is for before surgery.
Her tone remained calm. Clinical.
[Sacrifice]: It helps me focus.
Another pause.
Reth looked back at her.
Then at the flask.
Then back at her again.
[Reth]: …I'm starting to understand why people are afraid of you.
A small pause.
[Reth]: And I'm fairly certain a drinking doctor is not a good doctor.
Sacrifice didn't even blink.
[Sacrifice]: Believe me when I say this—
She crossed her arms slightly, tone calm as ever.
[Sacrifice]: The version of me that drinks is far more patient than the one that doesn't.
A beat.
Her gaze shifted to him.
Flat.
[Sacrifice]: Especially when dealing with Sarkaz.
Reth opened his mouth—
She cut him off.
[Sacrifice]: Or should I remind you—
A small tilt of her head.
[Sacrifice]: I had to break up a fight yesterday between two fully grown mercenary teams…
A pause.
[Sacrifice]: Arguing over which flavor of protein bars tasted better.
Silence.
Reth blinked.
Once.
Then twice.
[Reth]: …That was a serious fight.
[Sacrifice]: One of them brought a knife.
[Reth]: It was a very heated debate.
Sacrifice exhaled softly.
[Sacrifice]: They stabbed each other over salted meat versus dried berries.
A beat.
[Sacrifice]: I stand by my statement.
Reth looked down at the flask again.
Then took a slow sip.
A pause.
[Reth]: …This might actually be necessary.
[Sacrifice]: Good, pack up, we move in an hour.
[Somewhere in the market]
Inside a heavily guarded tent, surrounded by layers of mercenaries, a man knelt on the ground—
Laughing.
Again and again, he slammed his forehead into the dirt.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The guards didn't move.
They just watched.
After a while—
He stopped.
Silence.
Then—
He burst into laughter again.
Not pained.
Not broken.
Relieved.
Slowly, he reached for a sealed bottle beside him. The glass was dark, the contents rare.
He uncorked it with shaking hands—
—and drank deeply.
Not a sip.
Not a taste.
Everything.
Wine spilled down his chin as he laughed.
A mercenary stepped forward, hesitant.
[Mercenary]: Lord Scareye… are you… alright?
The man lowered the empty bottle.
His breathing steadied.
A grin spread across his face.
Wild.
Free.
[Scareye]: I survived.
A pause.
He looked up.
Not at the mercenary—
But at something unseen.
[Scareye]: Fate has broken its chains.
His voice trembled—not with fear, but something close to reverence.
[Scareye]: I am free.
He grabbed another bottle, ripping it open.
[Scareye]: Thank you…
A breath.
Soft.
Devoted.
[Scareye]: …O Scholar of Fate.
His smile widened.
Unnatural.
[Scareye]: The one who writes the end of the book.
The tent felt colder.
He lifted the bottle like a toast—to no one.
Or something no one else could see.
[Scareye]: May the last Great Oath be born in hatred.
A pause.
His voice dropped.
Quieter.
Heavier.
[Scareye]: By the wish of a great Sacrifice…
His fingers tightened around the glass.
[Scareye]: Let the crown be shattered.
A breath.
Slow.
Certain.
[Scareye]: And let the sun set red…
His grin sharpened.
[Scareye]: …with blood.
[Somewhere else in the market]
[Scout]: W, be prepared, a large group is coming, and the one leading them seems to be our target
[Chapter end]
[Apologies for the chapter quality; I had to rush it due to work. The next chapter may take more time, as it includes a significant amount of information and fighting.]