The story you've crafted is engaging, with a good balance of tension, world-building, and emotional stakes. I have read through it and made minor adjustments to improve flow and clarity. Here is your revised version with some edits for grammar, punctuation, and consistency:
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The Thousand Valley of the North—a treacherous expanse of rugged terrain cloaked in mist—was alive with chaos. Every race had converged upon this sacred battleground, all with one burning goal: to claim one of the Seven Sins.
To win such a prize was no simple feat. Contestants had to draw the essence of a Sin to themselves, engaging in activities that embodied its nature. But with so many participants, patience and strategy quickly gave way to bloodshed. Survival often came down to eliminating the competition, ensuring a greater chance of receiving the blessing of the Sin.
Why go to such lengths?
For some, it was ambition—the thirst for power, control, or immortality. For others, it was personal—revenge, redemption, or even desperation. The reason didn't matter. What mattered was the prize, and no price was too high to pay.
It had taken Nine and Aya a month to reach the valley's outskirts. The journey had been nothing short of grueling: bandits, beasts, and sleepless nights forced them to stay vigilant.
Nine, ever calm and focused, had kept them both safe. He was no ordinary man. A martial artist of raw talent, Nine had honed his skills by studying stolen martial totems—relics traded to him by desperate clients in exchange for the drugs he crafted. His mastery was unrefined yet lethal, enough to rival even the trained prodigies of prestigious sects.
But Nine wasn't here to prove himself. He was here for the Sins.
"It's too dangerous for you to follow me into the valley," Nine said as they reached a small village at the edge of the wilderness. His sharp gaze swept over the area, searching for potential threats.
Aya frowned, clutching his cloak. "With what money?"
Nine smirked, a playful glint in his eyes. "I'm an artisan, remember?"
"An illegal drug artisan," Aya corrected.
Nine let out a laugh and softly pinched her cheeks. "You're so adorable!"
The two eventually reached the village pub, its dimly lit interior filled with suspicious eyes and the smell of cheap ale. Nine walked in first, keeping Aya close beside him. His cloak shielded her from the prying stares of the patrons.
They approached the bar, and Nine slid a gold coin across the counter. "A cup of milk and a shot of rum."
The bartender's eyes gleamed at the sight of the coin, and he quickly delivered the drinks. Nine slid the milk toward Aya, then leaned on the counter, his tone casual but sharp.
"I'm looking for a mercenary," he said.
The bartender raised an eyebrow. "We've got a few."
"I need a woman," Nine clarified. "Not some bitch. Someone dependable."
The bartender hesitated, clearly weighing his options. Nine added another gold coin to the counter, and the man's expression shifted immediately.
"Colla!" he called out.
A cheery-looking woman with bright eyes and an easy smile appeared from the back. "New mission?" she asked, her tone lighthearted as she approached.
"What do you think?" Nine turned to Aya, gesturing toward Colla.
Aya studied the woman in silence. Unlike the cold mercenaries she'd seen before, Colla's warmth was disarming. "…She seems okay," Aya finally said.
"Good enough." Nine turned back to Colla. "You'll just have to keep her alive."
Colla grinned and saluted him playfully. "Got it, boss!"
"Are you two siblings?" she asked, tilting her head curiously.
Nine and Aya stared at her, unamused.
"Tch," Nine scoffed, brushing past the question. "We need a room with two beds."
The bartender handed over a key, and Nine paid without hesitation.
Colla leaned closer, still grinning. "Sooo, when do I start?"
"Now," Nine said. "What's your rate?"
"I'm a beginner," Colla admitted, pointing to the badge on her shoulder. "But i'm skilled!Five gold a day?"
Nine smirked, sliding the shot of rum towards her. "I'll pay you ten. Don't disappoint me."
Colla's jaw dropped, and she clutched her face in excitement. "Ten?! Oh, you won't regret it!" She gladly drank the rum.
Nine gestured toward Aya, gently nudging her forward. "Go with her, Aya."
Aya hesitated, her eyes flickering between Nine and Colla. "…I'll be in your care," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
"Then I'll go now," Nine said, adjusting his cloak.
Before he could step away, Aya's hand shot out, gripping his arm tightly.
"You can't go," she said, her voice trembling.
"I'll be back." Nine said, his voice soft but firm. He tilted his head, offering her his usual, reassuring smile.
"No, you won't," Aya said, her voice quiet but firm.
You'll come back, but you won't be the same, she thought bitterly.
Nine crouched slightly, tilting his head so their eyes met. "Aya…"
She turned away before he could sway her again, refusing to let him see her tears.
Nine's expression softened. He reached out, fixing her disheveled hair caused by his cloak. "Aya...we've talked about this. A hundred times."
When Aya refused to let go,
"Colla," Nine said, his tone firm. "Take her to the room."
"No!" Aya shouted, lunging forward. Colla quickly intercepted, holding her back.
Tear!
The sound of fabric ripping filled the room as Aya's grip tore a piece of Nine's cloak.
"Nine!" she cried, her voice raw with desperation.
The tavern fell silent as the other patrons turned to watch. Before anyone could react, Colla carried Aya upstairs, her voice soft and soothing.
"Shh… it's okay," Colla whispered as Aya struggled against her grip.
When they reached the room, Aya collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down her face. Even if she escaped now, she won't be able to reach Nine.
"I'm sorry," Colla said, kneeling beside her. Her tone was gentle, but her heart ached for the young girl's pain.
Aya said nothing. Her thoughts were consumed by the one truth she couldn't deny: Nine was gone—and the man who returned, if he ever did, wouldn't be the same.