It was the middle of the day in the town of Adelaida, but no matter what time it be, the dark clouds hanging above plunged everything into deep darkness.
The crooked streets through which hardly anything drove for centuries past, were thick with wet mud that greedily sucked at boots of whoever was trying to push through.
Buildings of dark stone leaned inward, their few windows showing only faint scraps of firelight.
The town square was the single patch of ground free of mud, but it was no cleaner. The air itself was a putrid stench of trash, old blood and rotting flesh.
It was snowing, making it the least favorable time to spend outside, but at this time, the place was unusually lively, as people gathered near the stage at the center of the town's square.
A beggar sat cross-legged near the crowd's edge, a wide flat hat pulled low. Thin cloth soaked through on his shoulders; the heat of his body melted the snow only to have the wind instantly freeze the water against his bones.
Frostbite had already eaten his fingers and cheeks, leaving him a half-living corpse. Yet no one spared him a look. They had seen too many like him.
The crowd filling the square was not much better off than the beggar. All of them thin and pale, staring at the stage. There, a man with long blond hair was forced too his knees, his neck pressed against a thick wooden log. His arms were bound tight.
On either side of him stood two Sentients. Their spines were permanently bowed, their eyes were flat, dead black pits. Their skin was pale like vampire's. They were animalistic in nature. Each of their fingers ended in a thick, chipped claw capable of cutting through stone. Patches of tough callus layered their skin.
One Sentient twitched its head, sniffing the air, reacting to fear cursing through the veins of the crowd. The other bared its teeth in an awful grin, strings of spit hanging from its chin.
Despite their monstrous forms, they wore the rich, gold-threaded robes of the town guards.
The crowd might have feared them, but they also watched them with deep pity. Everyone knew that soon their bodies would turn further until nothing human remained. The town would then drive them out.
On the stage, the Sentient with the hanging spit, suddenly snapped his head away from the condemned man. His dark eyes, which hadn't blinked once, locked onto a point behind the crowd.
It was the beggar with the wide flat hat.
The beggar, who should have been barely-breathing, was staring back at it. In that instant, the deathly frostbite on his hands faded. The black patches receded, replaced by healthy, pale pink skin.
A strange, sharp yellow spire rolled across his irises.
The Sentient on the stage froze solid. The animalistic twitching stopped. His massive, double-handed executioner's axe, which had been resting on the plank, was suddenly hauled up.
The heavy iron blade cut an arc through the frozen air and came to rest above his shoulder, pointed not at the man kneeling on the block, but at the figure sitting at the edge of the square.
The crowd instantly swiveled their heads to follow the Sentient's gaze.
But the spot was empty. Nothing remained, not a footprint in the mud as if nobody had ever been there at all.
The Sentient's lips pulled back, ready to snarl, but the sound caught in his throat. The memory of what he had just seen sliding from his mind like water off stone.
He looked down at the axe in his hands, puzzled for a breath.
"Focus," the other Sentient growled, voice guttural.
The first gave a slow nod. His black eyes fell once more on the condemned man kneeling against the block, as if there had never been a reason to look elsewhere. The crowd too blinked, shuffled, and muttered as though waking from a momentary daze. Whatever they had turned to see, they no longer remembered.
The Sentient raised the axe high, his words booming across the square.
"For blasphemous words against the Golden Ox God… for refusing to become the Vessel of Goryunel… and for trespassing the Gate of the Town's Overseer… this unnamed shall be executed by beheading."
The axe was brought down in a single, swift motion. The blade bit through flesh and bone. Blood spurted, painting the stage dark red.
The condemned man's head tumbled, his lifeless eyes stared up at the dark sky, a look of shock and horror frozen on his face.
The executioner wiped his axe clean, his black eyes showing no emotion as he turned to the crowd. The second Sentient gripped the dead body and the head and dragged it away, leaving for the gates of the town.
Silence fell over the square. No one dared to breathe or move. This was the price of defiance. While their faces were blank, deep within, a dangerous sympathy for the man who had dared to rebel.
They could not openly show their solidarity with him, but some of them have also though about this in passing.
Even the thought of rebellion was blasphemous, causing the Goryunel within them to thicken with impurity.
Standing at the mouth of the street were three figures, wearing dark martial robes stitched with the pattern of a black crescent moon—the emblem of the Black Sword Clan.
This clan had once held immense, undisputed influence across the entire Ox's Tower zone.
Now, their clan has receded in power, only having a choke hold on a few prefectures within the Montoya Kingdom.
Geom Woo, the silent one with long black hair, was leaning against the stone wall of a house, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd.
Do Hyun, the tall broad-shouldered senior, gave him a sidelong glance. "What do you think, Geom Woo? The Dices could be here, I tell you."
"All I see is some fool getting himself executed," scoffed Mu Gyeol, the leanest of the three. He cracked his neck, bored. "His life wasn't worth a trip out here."
"Shh, Mu Gyeol," Do Hyun hissed. "Keep your voice down."
But Mu Gyeol just smirked, confident in his station. "What's it matter? They're too busy blankly staring thinking about their measly life to pay us any mind."
Geom Woo watched the crowd impassively, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He didn't share his companions' levity. Something about this execution felt… off. But he kept that thought to himself.
Do Hyun frowned, his eyes narrowed. "I'm telling you, I sensed energy, powerful energy. It was a clear spike, not something you'd find just wandering the streets."
Mu Gyeol scoffed again but held his tongue. They all knew Do Hyun's abilities. If he said he sensed energy, there was likely something to it.
As the crowd began to disperse, the three men hung back, scanning the town for any sign of the Dices. But after a thorough search, they found nothing.
"See? I told you it was a waste of time," Mu Gyeol said, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "We should head back to the clan."
Do Hyun and Geom Woo exchanged a glance but nodded in agreement. They had wasted enough time here. Whatever energy Do Hyun had sensed, it seemed to have vanished.
As they turned to leave, a gust of wind blew through the square, swirling the fallen snow into a miniature blizzard. Geom Woo turned back for one last look, his brow furrowed in thought. He could have sworn he saw something.
…
Meanwhile the Sentient carried the lifeless body and the head of the nameless who has been executed through beheading, reaching the large metallic gates of the town, he entered the massive stone walls surrounding the town through a passage.
He hauled the dead weight of the executed man up the stairs, dark blood stained the stairs from countless previous victims.
He reached the top of the wall and without ceremony, tossed the lifeless body and severed head over the side.
The Sentient turned and descended back the way he had come. He would cleanse himself and prepare for the prayers. He had to keep the Overseer happy. Having that through go through his mind, the Sentient smiled.
Hours later, in the darkness outside the town walls, scavengers picked through the piles of rotting corpses. Crows and ravens pecked at the flesh, tearing strips from the lifeless bodies.
Not only had their clothes been torn off but some the heads was missing and the flesh ripped off the bones. These formless masses of flesh and bone bore little or no resemblance to human bodies.
The scent of decay was strong.
Beggars and the desperate huddled among the corpses, rifling through pockets and bags for any salvageable valuables. They didn't care about the dead, only what they could use to survive another day.
A haggard woman wearing rags reached for a fallen purse, her fingers shaking as she unclasped it. She cursed under her breath when she found it empty. Trash or not, someone had beaten her to the loot.
The woman scrambled to her feet and plunged into the sea of bodies, searching frantically for anything that might ease her aching belly.
She looked up at the imposing town walls. She yearned to be back inside, but she knew that world was lost to her now.
The situation she was in was the fate of those deemed unworthy of the Overseer's blessings, deemed impure. The clergy, the only source of sustenance for the people of Adelaida, was closed to her.
She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten a full meal. The land around the city was barren and lifeless, incapable of supporting crops. The few skills she possessed were rendered useless as she aged and her body withered.
Desperation had driven her to this.
The woman fought back tears as she rummaged through pockets and bags. Her hands shook as she reached for a battered satchel, her hopes rising. But as she opened it, she found only a few crumbs and a small, rusted knife.
She clutched the meager offerings to her chest, a single tear rolling down her gaunt cheek.
Suddenly a hand clamped around her wrist, and she froze.
Her heart leapt into her throat, and she yanked her arm free, stumbling backwards.
She whirled around, her eyes wide with terror.
There, amidst the twisted corpses, was a man. His long blonde hair was matted with grime, but his handsome features were unmistakable.
Ragnar Vault Noir was alive, and very much awake.
Ragnar's blue eyes met hers, equally surprised. Then, as the stench came to him, he noticed his surroundings for the first time, his eyes widened in horror. He clamped a hand over his mouth, gagging.
His stomach heaved, and he retched violently, emptying the contents of his belly onto the ground.
Along with digested food, two glowing red dice tumbled from his mouth, rolling to a stop at his feet.