Morder stood in the middle of the room, wiping the knight's blood from his blade. Disgust was evident in his gaze beneath the helmet.
'All blood of the Brooken lands is nothing but filthy poison.' He grabbed the door, muttering to himself.
Before he could leave, the prisoner called out to him with a broken voice:
"Thank you for helping me… but will you leave me here alone?"
The prisoner dropped to his knees, begging for help with utter helplessness.
"Please… I want to return home. I don't want to gather ring fragments or even cure my curse. All I want… is to see my family."
Morder looked at him, then stepped closer, lowering his body.
"Tell me honestly; did you come to cure your curse… or out of greed and arrogance?"
The prisoner lifted his head, tears spilling heavily onto the ground.
"I was just a bounty hunter… and the legend spread about gathering the ring fragments—whoever collects them gains complete healing and power… so I set out on this journey. I thought I was strong enough."
"Nonsense."
The prisoner was stunned by the harshness in Morder's tone as he uttered that single word.
"What?"
"Your words are nothing but nonsense. You walk into the Brooken lands—a hell of strength and sorcery—and think yourself the strongest? Because of that mindset, look at your miserable state."
Morder walked away slowly. The prisoner kept calling out, pleading for mercy and salvation, but received no answer—only the sight of Morder leaving, dragging his shadow behind him.
The weight on him was suffocating, to the point that sometimes it became difficult to breathe as he recalled the burden of the journey he walked… and the decisions he made—decisions that could either favor him… or drown him in calamity.
'I was the same… I thought the world revolved around me alone… but I'm nothing more than a side character in someone else's life.'
He looked at his severed hand, hidden beneath the metallic sleeve, and a bitter regret appeared on his face.
'A question keeps echoing inside me, exhausting my mind: can I achieve what I came here for? With a broken body… and a useless curse.'
A faint, involuntary smile crossed his face as he shook his head.
"That is… if I don't die in the next stage."
Morder stepped into a wide street… houses rose along the sides like ocean waves, as if they would collapse at any moment.
Ahead stood the hospital… nothing like what Morder had imagined. Instead, it was a dark gothic structure, most of its floors destroyed—some even floating in the air.
Above it hung numerous empty cages, suspended by iron chains.
There was something disturbing about the building… as if it were watching you—like a separate entity.
'I want a normal place in this kingdom… but such a thing doesn't exist. I wouldn't even be surprised to see someone trying to reach the sun.'
He looked around, speaking to himself:
'Unlike the lifeless places… this one has noise. But it's a bloody noise.'
Knights were carrying out a horrifying execution campaign on countless prisoners, the ground painted red with their blood.
But Morder did not care… his only thought was to get out of this place with the least damage possible.
He reached a massive staircase. One step… then another… then another. With every ascent came more brutality, more destruction at the hands of knights.
After ten layers, he reached a gate. A knight stood there firmly, his hands behind his back. He raised his right hand forward, two fingers pointing toward the moon, then placed it diagonally over his chest.
Morder found the gesture strange, but quickly corrected himself. He mirrored the motion—using his left hand.
Once both had finished the greeting, Morder entered the hospital. The knight, however, watched him with red eyes, sensing something off.
Morder stood inside a vast hall filled with rooms and knights. Some were wounded, some were brought in as lifeless corpses, and others came to receive clearance to leave.
There was a man inside a small enclosed room, handing white papers to the knights, who then exited through the door beside him.
'What a suffocating, miserable atmosphere… all I want now is to get out of here.'
Morder headed toward the small room, but someone grabbed his shoulder. He turned and saw the same knight from the gate.
"Before you receive your exit permit… we must search you."
The knight spoke in a friendly tone.
This stirred Morder's suspicion. He glanced at the other knights receiving permits without any search—but they came from another gate.
"And them? Why aren't they searched?"
"They've already been checked from the other side… so please, come with me. Let's finish this quickly."
Morder felt something was wrong—deeply wrong. Yet he cast his doubts aside and followed the knight.
They entered a long, dark corridor. The only light came from candles, each a meter apart from the next.
"What kind of search do you conduct?" Morder asked calmly.
"Only two things. Diamonds—taking them is forbidden."
"And the other?"
"Whether the person is a traitor."
Morder barely had time to process the situation before a blow sent him crashing into the wall, shattering it as he was thrown inside.
He rose from the debris, his helmet broken into fragments, revealing part of his face and hair.
The knight drew his sword.
"Did you really think you would escape punishment, you filthy mongrel? First—no one comes from that gate. Second—we never greet with the left hand, only the right. And if a knight has only one hand… he must end his own life."
He stopped speaking and lunged like a beast, aiming to split Morder in half—but Morder managed to block the strike.
"These are the orders of General Bernad."
Morder pushed the knight away and delivered a direct punch to his face, sending him stumbling back.
"To hell with you… and your general."
The knight launched himself from the rubble, body flying forward. He grabbed Morder's head in fury and slammed it into the ground, shattering the floor.
Morder twisted his head and delivered a spinning strike to the knight's head, making him stagger, clearly struggling after taking a hit to a sensitive spot.
Morder surged upward, attempting to split the knight in two—but the knight leapt back just in time, drawing his sword from his gauntlet and stabbing forward.
"You bastard."
"You think you'll escape me? In your dreams." Morder spun behind him, aiming to cut off his head—but the knight struck his abdomen with his elbow, then slashed, hitting his leg.
"What a sloppy strike."
"Don't pretend strength… even luck won't save you, you wretched slave."
The knight moved with such speed that Morder couldn't even perceive him… until he appeared behind him, driving the blade through his back and out from his abdomen.
"What do you think of that move?"
Morder spat blood, pain tearing through him, yet he grabbed the blade and said with arrogance:
"An old trick… I've seen better."
He snapped the blade, then twisted around the knight and locked him in a chokehold. The knight struck back relentlessly—elbows, fists, even his head—but Morder did not care.
"You'll die like a pig, you filthy bastard."
He tightened his grip around the knight's neck, harder and harder, until his eyes looked ready to burst from his skull. The knight hooked his leg behind Morder's and slammed him to the ground. They rolled, struggling left and right… but it was useless.
"Stop resisting. Now that you've discovered who I am, your punishment will be death."
"That's enough."
A wide, demonic grin spread across Morder's face… but it slowly faded as he lifted his head, his gaze falling upon the medals covering the black leather coat—and the severed arm.
Morder didn't need a second thought… the one standing before him was the same general he had seen in the Diamond Mountains.
Behind the general stood a group of knights… The general lunged forward with terrifying speed, grabbed the knight Morder was choking—and split him in half.
Morder's entire body was drenched, painted red in an instant… Before he could even process what had happened, the general seized him by the neck and crushed his grip, lifting him into the air and rendering him unable to move.
"So… you're the one who caused all this chaos in my prison."
General Bernad lifted a strand of his hair, revealing his crimson eyes—sharp like a hawk's.
"Your death will not be merciful… mongrel."