Dayie held the sand dagger close to her loud-beating chest. Every beat was another step to take, and every step meant closer to the castle. She bit her lips; it wasn't that she was getting cold feet or anything, but she feels no different from before. Sure, she had the sand dagger now—but how can she use it? The gold threads that protected her as she awoken spontaneously appeared and they weren't under her command.
She bit her lips, trying to think of things other than the dagger. Right now she and the dungeon conqueror were stealthily ambling their way to the shadows, taking advantage of the fog. The foul smell of necromorphs faintly wafted to the air, as the remnants of their blood are scattered across the country. Dayie couldn't help but feel like she underestimated the organization.
What would have happened if they sold the sand dagger and only supplied themselves with weapons?
