Valerius walked for miles, taking every back alley he could find until his old apartment felt like a ghost story. He found a rusted trash bin behind a warehouse and dropped the bag of bloody clothes inside. He didn't stay to watch them burn; he just kept moving.
At the main road, a Steam-Liner bus pulled up, screaming as its iron brakes bit into the wheels. It was a massive, ugly thing made of wood and metal. Thick white steam puffed out of its belly, smelling like hot oil. There was no glass in the windows, just open slots where people packed in like sardines.
Valerius stepped up and handed a copper bit to the conductor. She was a woman who looked like she hadn't slept in three days, but when she saw Valerius's face, she straightened her back and gave him a tired smile.
"Back row is empty, handsome," she said, her voice a bit softer. "Go on back."
"Thanks," Valerius muttered. He pulled his hat down low.
Back on Earth, being good-looking was an asset. Here, it was a glowing target. His face was too symmetrical, too clean for a place as dirty as Oakhaven. He looked like someone who had never missed a meal, and in the slums, that was enough to get you stabbed. He needed to find a way to look like just another face in the mud.
The bus bell rang—Clang! Clang!—and the driver yanked the lever. The beast lurched forward, rattling and shaking as it headed toward the east. They were going to Rienvral. The Iron Slum.
Rienvral was a rot that had grown too big for the city to cut out. It was a maze of shacks, factories, and narrow lanes that took up a third of Oakhaven. It was a place where the sun struggled to reach the ground because of the smoke, and where the police only went if they had a small army with them. For someone like Valerius, who needed to disappear, it was perfect. None of the snobs from the Arcane Academy would ever be caught dead in a place that smelled this bad.
He watched the people on the bus. Their faces were grey from coal dust and long shifts. Nobody talked. They just stared at the floor, waiting for their stop so they could go from one dark room to another.
As the bus crossed into the slum, the buildings got taller and leaner, leaning against each other like drunk men. The air turned thick with the smell of sewage and cheap coal. Valerius hopped off at a busy corner.
Instantly, a group of kids in rags swarmed him. They had skinny arms and eyes that moved too fast. They reached for his pockets, begging for a copper, but Valerius pushed through. He knew the game. Give one kid a coin, and ten more would show up. Worse, these kids usually worked for the gangs. If they felt the weight of his purse, a knife would be waiting for him in the next alley.
He walked fast, looking for a cheap place to sleep, but the crowd suddenly slowed down. He spilled out into a wide cobblestone square that felt different from the rest of the slum. In the center was a massive building made of grey stone. It was the Cathedral of the Silver Flame.
In Oakhaven, people feared the Church of Justice more than they feared the gangs. Their god, Tyrell, didn't care about mercy. His priests were judges, and his guards were the law.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
A heavy bell rang from the high tower. The massive wooden doors of the church groaned open. A line of soldiers marched out. These weren't regular city guards. They were Squire-Guards. They wore plate armor so polished you could see your own reflection in it. Every joint was perfectly fitted, every piece of metal thick and heavy. They moved together, their boots hitting the stone at the same time—Thump. Thump. Thump.
Even though they were just squires, they were bigger and stronger than any man on the street. They had been trained to use the power of their souls to fight. To an ordinary person, one of these men was as dangerous as a bear.
The crowd gathered at the edge of the square, and Valerius found himself pushed to the front.
A second bell rang. A man stepped out of the cathedral. He didn't wear a helmet, and his face looked like it was carved out of granite. This was Lord Dempus, a commander of the Order. His armor was etched with gold. On his chest was the symbol of the scales and the sword.
Behind him, four men carried a heavy platform made of black iron. In the middle was a circular basin. It was stained with dark, crusty patches.
"The Guillotine!" a man next to Valerius whispered, his voice trembling. "They're doing a Judgment."
Then, the prisoner was dragged out. He was wrapped in heavy silver chains that clinked with every step. He was a mess—hair matted with blood, clothes torn.
"Ruiz!" someone screamed from the crowd.
The prisoner looked up. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. "I didn't do it! I swear! By the Flame, let me go!"
Valerius felt a strange twitch in his mind. It was the "Camera" function of the system. Even without him asking, the 6% battery in his head flickered. Something about the man's soul didn't look right.
Through the golden HUD in his vision, Valerius saw a faint, oily black smoke rising from the prisoner's chest. It wasn't just fear. It was something deeper, something that looked like rot.