Cleaning his face with a wool rag, Putray frowned, staring at his hand. The swelling had subsided; his resilience as an Archon wasn't something to take lightly. "To think a vixen stole that from me," he muttered through gritted teeth. Nonetheless, he exhaled slowly, calming himself, before turning his gaze to a guardsman kneeling before him.
The room was now in ruins. Sand clung to everything—from the shredded red curtains to the broken fragments of wood. The entire place was also shrouded in a mosaic of mist. Putray glanced upward at the sky; the roof was gone, destroyed during his earlier outburst. Perhaps he should have exercised more restraint.
Guardsmen walked in and out of the room, gathering piles of broken stone and splintered wood. The only thing left unscathed was the high-backed chair, spared because he had been sitting in it.
Moonlight shone through the open roof, casting a reddish-white glow over everything. However, the glass-encased lamps provided enough illumination even without the celestial light. Putray clenched his fist. To think this happened to me. What would the Legion-Master say? What about the other Archons? He looked down at the guardsman kneeling before him.
This was the guard who had shown the vixen the way to his chambers!
"I suppose you were deceived, weren't you?" Putray spoke coldly.
Shivering in a mix of fear and shame, the guardsman likely couldn't believe he had fallen for such trickery. He hadn't even been mind-controlled or had his will manipulated... It was simply lust! Lust had overcome him. Lust had placed Putray in danger. Putray knew all of this, and he planned to exploit it. Rage was a powerful fuel for a man.
"Yes, I was deceived," the guard admitted quietly.
"Yes, you were." Putray leaned back in his high-backed chair, his eyes scanning the room as numerous guards worked tirelessly to clear the wreckage of what was once his chambers.
"I believe the vixen who took the assassin went to Canen," Putray said before adding to himself, It must be Canen, as the Pleasure Pavilion there is the only one that truly wanted that item.
"Canen?" the guardsman asked in a low voice.
"Yes, Canen. Although you've lost your honor over this, you still have a chance to reclaim it... Take him." Putray pointed to a figure in the corner.
There, a man with black hair and lifeless black eyes knelt, his gaze vacant. His left arm was heavily bandaged, having been lost in an earlier fight.
"His name is Leo. He's the Legionnaire who risked his life to stop the assassin. Although the Sanguine may not be aware of this, once a Mind-Worm takes control of a tendril and doesn't kill them, a link is formed between the two. So, in a way, Leo here can help you track and identify the assassin."
The guardsman's eyes lit up with admiration. He lowered his head and said, "Command me."
"First, what is your name?" Putray asked.
"Bethel, sir."
"Bethel?" Putray thought for a moment, then smiled. "Then, Bethel, by the authority of the Legion-Master of the Chaos Hunter Legion, I command you to return to the Black Sands with the head of the assassin."
Bethel nodded, feeling that it was only right. Although, inwardly, he also hoped to return with the head of the vixen.
_______
He waited for what felt like an eternity. And now, the sound of the morning sunbirds clicked through the air, pulling him from his thoughts. Even in this room, the clicking noises stirred him awake. He quickly turned to the corner, where the pale-faced woman still lay on the ground, soaked in her own blood. Is she dead?
"No, she isn't," a voice suddenly spoke from behind him. He turned, startled.
Standing beside the bed was a tall, slender woman with a knowing smile on her face. He hated those smiles. She had clear skin with a faintly pale hue, sharp-edged eyebrows, and sleek, deep black hair. Part of it was wrapped up and tucked beneath her hat, while the rest cascaded down in straight lines behind her neck. She had a narrow, angular face and piercing black eyes. Like the pale-faced woman's attire, she wore a black dress, with a brown belt cinched around her waist. Her sleeves were long, and the left one was buttoned up, as if intentionally concealing something.
On her right arm was a unique set of silver jewelry, linked by several chains that held round pendants or amulets. They jingled with every movement. They make so much noise, but I didn't hear her come in. Karl did not like this uncertainty.
"This is him?" the woman asked.
As she spoke, a hand gripped Karl's shoulder. He turned to see the pale-faced woman, now kneeling beside him, her body trembling.
She's still alive? Karl was astonished. He had expected the woman to have long since succumbed to blood loss, but perhaps her nature as a Sanguine made her more resilient. What else could she do?
Lowering her gaze, Anette said in a soft, frail voice, "Yes, Cognizer."
Her name is Cognizer?
Tilting her head slightly, the Cognizer smiled. "Why are you scared?" she asked.
Anette looked up at the woman. "I'm injured and... I thought you might not accept him."
"Why would you think that?" The Cognizer's voice was soft as she glanced at Karl, studying him with the gaze of a teacher assessing her students, or someone who believed they had already seen through a person's true self. That can't be her power... right? "Can he kill?" she asked flatly.
What? Kill? She wants me to kill someone... but who? Karl looked between the two women, a deepening frown on his face. Neither seemed surprised by this revelation. Was this why they freed him from the farm? To turn him into a killer for hire?
Anette bit her lip and remained silent for a moment before finally responding, "Yes... he can."
I can? Killing pigs and killing people aren't the same thing. One can be easily overpowered, while the other can fight back. How am I supposed to handle that? Karl had never shied away from killing, perhaps due to the change in worlds, the promises he had made, or the years his hands had been stained with blood. All of these could be reasons, or perhaps none of them. But what he was certain of was this: if a situation could be resolved by killing, why waste time stressing over alternatives?
The Cognizer smiled faintly. "You might say that, but saying it doesn't make it true. So, he'll need to prove it. He has to kill someone. There's a man suspected of sympathizing with the Order of Newmans. He must be eliminated, and the Soul Bombs in his possession retrieved."
Anette perked up, her gaze locked on the Cognizer. "But why do we need a Soul Bomb?"
"That's for me to know, dear Anette," the Cognizer replied with a smile, her eyes shifting to Karl. "Do you accept, child?" she asked.
I doubt there's any room for negotiation here. The dynamic is simple—she commands, and I obey. Just like on the farm. This isn't freedom... it's just being under new management. Karl held back a sigh, his vision blurring for a second. From another perspective, doing this could be beneficial.
Gaining the backing of a faction could lead to acquiring power, right? With only a surface-level understanding of Sanguines and evolution, Karl naturally associated a faction with access to valuable knowledge. If he could get it, he could gain the power to resist. In the end, without power, freedom was an illusion. So for now, I should treat this as another step—something necessary for survival, my goals, and whatever comes next. For his aspirations, nothing was off-limits.
He met the Cognizer's knowing gaze. It seemed to convey a message: Refuse, and die right now. Maybe it was just his imagination, but it was clear that the playing field had changed. Before, his thoughts had only revolved around the scorching ground, the pigs to slaughter, and the taskmaster's lashes to avoid. Now, he had to think, analyze, understand—even linger on his decisions. Killing humans wasn't the same as killing pigs!
Looking up at the woman, he said, "Yes." He would do whatever was necessary to survive. This was a promise to his friend—one he intended to fulfill.
"Very good. But..." The Cognizer smiled again. "You cannot directly seek anyone's help for this."
Handicapping me? Not that he had planned on seeking help. Who would he even ask? But the way she phrased it... not directly? So, I can ask for help as long as it's in a subtle manner? He nodded afterward.
"Good," the Cognizer said.
"Hm," she murmured, her gaze falling on Anette's bloodied side. "You're seriously injured." She pulled out a small glass bottle, downing the red liquid in one gulp, and then pointed her finger at Anette. Her lips parted, and her voice, although close, sounded distant and obscured, as if it came from far away. Whatever words she spoke were unclear as if layered or spoken from the depths of the sea.
Suddenly, Anette's face twisted in pain—a rare expression on her usually stoic features. Her shoulder shuddered, and a piece of bone pushed its way out. It was a hand. A skeletal, white hand.
Before Karl could even process what was happening, the bone began to grow red flesh around it. The meat continued to form, expanding and writhing, resembling something Karl had seen Abraham do once in secret. A simple mass of flesh growing into a creature. In this case, the bone was becoming covered with flesh. Soon, skin formed, and after a few moments, what remained was a pale hand coated in a sticky white liquid.
"It should function normally," the Cognizer said.
Anette flexed her shoulders and her new arm, her pale face regaining a bit of color.
Smiling, the Cognizer asked, "How is Fredrick doing?"
"He still refuses to join the faction," Anette replied, lowering her head. Did she really have to do that? Karl listened quietly.
"Ha! As expected. That man will never join us. He's so old-fashioned—someone who could've advanced long ago but still refuses, just so he can cling to the branch of a fallen family."
Are they brushing this off? Karl marveled. Sanguines have powers like this?
He had once heard stories from the Life Ministry, tales that they could cure all ailments and even regenerate lost limbs. But seeing it in person was much more striking than hearing about it. Rumors often had that effect when proven true.
Anette lowered her head again. "A fallen family implies it can rise again."
Abraham is from a fallen family? So he's a noble? Nobles existed in this world, yes. From what Karl had learned on the farm, they could be established by earning recognition—through wealth or founding a personal branch, whatever that meant—or by being appointed based on merit.
The Cognizer chuckled. "I suppose so." She looked at Karl. "You have two weeks to complete the task."
Two weeks? Karl frowned. Two weeks to kill someone? Two weeks for someone who's never taken a human life? That seems impossible. But he didn't voice these concerns. One should never antagonize their overseers. They could so easily make one's life very difficult. He learned that very deeply from the pig farm.
"Good," the Cognizer said as she walked to the wall, placing her hand against it and slowly dragging her fingers across.
The wall followed her hand!
It was as though her fingers were a paintbrush, and the wall was the canvas. The black color of the wall followed in a bizarre fashion, trailing after her hand like she was stirring the contents of a pot. From the black came red, blue, and even white—new colors born from the movement of her fingers.
The colors swirled in an odd manner. To Karl, it seemed as if tiny insects, bugs, or worms were crawling within the walls, their bodies forming the strange mixture of colors that spread throughout.
Eventually, the woman stopped and said, "This is Harrison."