Kael's boots squelched on the muddy streets as he walked deeper into the settlement. The air carried the stench of unwashed bodies, stale beer and burning wood. Shouts and laughter echoed between the ramshackle buildings but it was a cold sound – men and women trying to forget where they were.
Kael looked up at the sky, shrouded in smoke and faint Blight flickers.
Ahead a building stood, or it tried to. Signless. Larger than the others. Its walls were reinforced with scavenged steel plates and wooden beams. Muffled voices and clinking metal came from within. Kael pushed the heavy door open and stepped into what could barely be called a tavern.
---
The room was dim, barely lit with lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The air reeked of sour ale and sweat. Tables were scattered with scavengers, mercenaries and desperate challengers nursing drinks or bartering over soul cores.
A bar ran along one side where a one-eyed man with a permanent scowl poured foul smelling liquid into chipped mugs.
Kael looked around the room, his eyes narrowing as he picked out potential threats. Most of the patrons were armed, their weapons as battered as their armor. Conversations were low and murmured but one table stood out – four men near the corner. They spoke in hushed tones, leaning in over their drinks.
Kael sat down next to them, listening in. Their words drifted towards him like smoke on the wind.
---
"You're joking, right?" a tall man with a scarred face whispered harshly. He slammed his mug down and ale spilled over the table. "There's no way he's serious. Trying a Reach Trial in this state? He's crazy."
"He probably is" the bigger man with the shaved head growled. "He's desperate too. And you know what they say – when the gods want to kill a man, they first make him mad."
The scarred man snorted. "That saying's for fools. The gods aren't watching this place. They don't care about us."
"Maybe not," the third man, younger and wiry, said. "But madness or not, he's got a point. Staying here too long is a death sentence. We've been stuck in this shithole for weeks waiting for what? To starve? To get stabbed in our sleep? The Pilgrim's our only chance."
The fourth man, older and hooded, took a slow sip of his mug before speaking. "It's not just about survival. You've all heard the stories. Reach Trials aren't just tests – they're gateways. A chance to get out of this hole. To climb higher."
"Or to die," the scarred man retorted. "You think those stories about survivors coming back stronger are true? Or just tales to lure fools to their deaths?"
The older man leaned back, his eyes boring into the other through the hood. "If you're so scared, you can stay here and decay. The rest of us are going. That 'crazy' man you're mocking is gathering a team as we speak. We leave at dawn."
The younger man smiled nervously. "Dawn? That soon? What's the plan?"
"Suicide Pilgrim," the older man said bluntly. "We go to the shrine. From there, it's up to the gods – or whatever's running this place."
---
Kael's eyes narrowed as he listened. He'd heard of the Suicide Pilgrims before, fragments of information in Kain's memories – sacred zones that were gateways to the Reach Trials.
The trials themselves were brutal, deadly even, but the rewards were worth it.
Progression. Power. Freedom.
He wasn't afraid of the trials or the dangers they promised. No, what interested him was the madman – someone crazy enough to gather a team and attempt the impossible.
If they're serious about this… he might have to see for himself.
---
Kael stood up and walked towards the group. His movements were measured, his face blank. The younger man saw him first, his eyes flicking to the bloodstains on Kael's cloak he had scavenged from the man he killed.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice cautious.
"I heard you're going to the Suicide Pilgrim," Kael said. "I want in."
The group looked at each other, their faces changing from surprise to skepticism.
The scarred man grinned, his eyes scanning Kael like a cat sizing up a mouse. "You? You look like you barely made it here. What makes you think you can do a Reach Trial?"
Kael's mouth twitched into a small smile, but his eyes remained ice.
"Try me."
The big man leaned forward, his massive hands on the table. "You don't look like much, stranger. But I've learned not to judge a man by his looks. What's your name?"
Kael paused for a beat before answering,
"Kael."
The older man in the hood looked at him for a long moment, his eyes piercing and calculating. Then he spoke. "You're either very brave or very stupid, Kael. But if you're serious about joining us, you'll need more than balls. We've got enough dead weight already."
Kael looked at the man, his voice even. "You'll find I'm more useful than I look."
The silence hung in the air for a moment. Then the scarred man sat back in his chair, a sly smile spreading across his face.
"Well, if he wants to die, who are we to stop him?"
The group laughed, the sound dry and mirthless. But beneath their humor, Kael felt something else—something hungry.
The older man's eyes stayed on Kael, his face blank. "Fine. Meet us at the eastern gate at dawn. And don't be late."
---
Kael stepped back into the cold night, the weight of the settlement's decay pressing down on him.
The phrase echoed in his mind: When the gods want to kill a man, they first make him mad.