Old man Marvin suggested that Rosacer form a group with him.
"Let us stay in contact, youngster. People like us should stay together."
As he spoke, Marvin reached into his coat and produced a small, simple carving knife, placing it in Rosacer's hand.
"A gift. For our friendship."
Rosacer hesitated, mulling over the offer in silence. Keeping in touch seemed harmless enough, and turning it down now would only raise suspicion. After a brief pause, he took the knife.
"That is the spirit," Marvin said with a satisfied nod. "Now, if there is anything you wish to ask, feel free to do so. I must be elsewhere soon."
He clasped Rosacer's hand firmly.
Without hesitation, Rosacer asked about the object he had just received.
"What is this carving knife for?"
Internally, he assumed it was a magical item of some kind. The timing and manner of the gift felt deliberate.
He was wrong.
Marvin shook his head lightly. "It belonged to the sculptor. In his early days, he was also a doll maker. This knife was one of his tools."
Marvin frowned, as if searching his memory. "You may wish to know more about it, but that is all I know. I purchased it during my travels from a wandering merchant. His name was… ah."
He paused.
"I do not remember it. That is strange."
The old man dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "Anyway, that will be all."
With that, he gestured a brief farewell and turned away, already preparing to leave.
Rosacer did not stop him further and gave a small nod in return. Mist curled around him as the man before him disappeared into it.
He turned toward the system, asking it about the knife.
The reply came.
[A carving knife of a doll maker.]
That was all the system told him. He tried to inquire further, but the system only repeated the same response. He thought that maybe the system did not know itself, or perhaps it did not want him to know about it yet.
Rosacer let out a slow breath and stored the knife away. There was no point pressing the system further. If it wished to remain silent, then silence was all he would receive.
With no rest in his grasp, he pressed on.
The eastern city felt odd, lacking the bizarre mutations seen in other sectors, though there were more amputees here. It suggested someone was tending to the people, at least keeping them from succumbing to illness. But why such kindness in the city of a dead god?
He moved further into the city. It was maintained quite well, at least far better than the southern sector. He did not see any yellow fungus, at least not outside the buildings.
He had heard from Elizabeth about the condition of the northern sector, where the ruler actively tried to maintain law and order. The city there was said to be far more stable and properly maintained. Seeing the eastern sector now, he wondered whether all the other parts of the city were well kept, and whether only the southern sector suffered under an untalented ruler.
If that was the case, then he truly had been unlucky. Of all places to be transported to Mist City, he had landed in the most horrible sector of them all.
He trotted through the streets, greeting people as he passed by. At times, he spotted children playing. He had never seen a single child in the southern sector, so the sight caught him by surprise.
The stone pavement and the lanterns lining the streets, their lights softly glowing, enhanced the night experience he was having. The place felt clean and welcoming. As if he had returned to a healthy part of the world, far removed from sorrow and misery.
Suddenly, he noticed men marching through the streets at a hurried pace. They were all moving toward a large complex on the other side of the district. He turned in that direction and saw smoke rising into the air, its burning hue erasing the mist altogether.
"Black flames… they are that strong," he muttered, admiring the power of Arcis.
He quickened his steps slightly, creating some distance between himself and the soldiers of the eastern sector, while carefully analyzing their attire.
Their clothes were tightly stitched, with cuffs slightly larger than usual. Perhaps there were hidden compartments within. All of them wore black, with purple stripes woven into the fabric.
Pedestrians and other people did not react at all, as if nothing significant had happened. It was as though such events were the norm here. The children continued playing, while the adults merely turned to gossip.
Rosacer blended into the crowd as the soldiers approached, but they soon passed by without disturbing the common folk any longer. However, when they came closer, he noticed something unusual.
They were all women, or at least their figures suggested so, defined by an hourglass shape. Their faces were completely covered by white owl masks, the snouts painted in a deep crimson hue.
"Emasculation…" he thought.
His mind drifted to Jaka, the ruler, and the surgeon spoken of in hushed rumors. Now, seeing this with his own eyes, he began to understand the fascination Jaka held toward becoming a woman. He only hired women. Or worse, a darker possibility crossed Rosacer's mind, one he hoped had never occurred. Forcing men to become something else.
The thought unsettled him.
"Arghhh," he groaned inwardly, feeling a little shaken by the thought.
Fear crept in, faint but sharp. Yet alongside it, an idea began to form.
'I can use the grafted Sigil of Imperfection as bait; that estranged monster will surely be drawn to it. If it helps me get closer, I can take what I want from him... yes, that could work.'
Idea was a temptation.
He could use it as bait.
If Jaka truly desired such a change, then this sigil would be enough to draw his attention. Enough to secure an audience.
"Enough to get close."
And if things went wrong, if killing Jaka proved impossible, Rosacer still had a way out. Ananta. Teleportation. A risk, yes, but one he was willing to take.
He steadied his breathing and continued walking, his expression calm, his thoughts sharp.
"This isn't a bad idea," he thought, as his footsteps faded into the mist.