"Hey, are you really from Sanhara?"
Morr grinned, asking with overwhelming curiosity. He kept repeating the same question.
Rhea, already annoyed, was about to answer.
—BAM!
Rusk kicked the table in front of him. He snorted, far more irritated than Rhea.
"You're noisy, bandit!" he barked, pointing at Morr. His arms, filled with scars and cuts, reflected the torchlight.
Morr turned fully, now facing Rusk. "Heh! Mind your own business, big body. I wasn't asking you!"
"Oi, desert brat! Answer that bandit's stupid question already!" Rusk growled, before shifting his gaze. "If you don't, he'll keep yapping all night."
Feina stood up from her seat, letting out a soft laugh.
"The bear is right, kid. Hehehe…"
She walked closer—wrapping an arm around Ilya. "What's your name?"
"Ilya." Short. Clear. Direct.
Feina looked relieved to have another woman in the group. She then pulled Ilya to sit and chat with her.
The argument between Morr and Rusk continued to heat up. Rhea could only scratch his head in silence.
When he glanced at the guards, they seemed completely indifferent. He raised a hand and shook his head.
"Uh, sirs—"
—CRASH!!
Kael opened his eyes. Now it was his turn to be fed up.
"You're all noisy like livestock," he said coldly.
"Don't act holy, Sir Kael," Rusk cut in. "I respect you because you stay quiet. Don't make me change my mind."
Kael stared sharply—first at Morr, then at Rusk. "Who cares," Kael replied flatly, before closing his eyes again.
Kael was once an elite soldier, highly skilled. Known as a Dual Sword Master, his name had carried weight.
But due to a certain tragedy, he was accused and branded a traitor to the kingdom.
His presence in this unit was meant as atonement—or at least, that's what Kael believed.
Rusk, meanwhile, was a former royal executioner. His duty was to carry out death sentences.
But killing for too long had slowly shattered his mind. Murder became pleasure.
"Heh! Exactly, Sir Kael," Morr chimed in.
"Who cares about a brutal butcher—someone who kills every night just to satisfy himself."
Rusk's gaze snapped back to Morr. "BASTARD!!!"
Rusk clenched his fist and stepped forward, ready to land a crushing punch. Morr prepared himself. His hand reached into his back pocket.
Meanwhile, Feina and Ilya remained seated on the long bench beside the door.
"Let them be. Men's business," Feina muttered to Ilya. Ilya nodded in agreement.
Emotions peaked. The punch cut through the air—fast and precise. Morr was still preparing, his hand already gripping something.
Rhea leapt—high enough to clear both Morr and Rusk. Just before Rusk's punch landed—
—CLINK
A small chain snare, thrown by Rhea mid-jump, wrapped around Rusk's fist. Morr stayed in position.
"Tch, what a shame we're not allowed to kill them," a guard muttered from the corner. His partner nodded.
"You wouldn't be able to anyway," Kael replied.
The guards turned, startled—their muttering had been heard by their former superior.
"The ones in front of you are beasts," Kael continued quietly.
"Not in the same class as you." He stood and walked closer to his former subordinates.
"Let me tell you something," he paused.
"If those madmen wanted to… your heads would've been separated from your bodies long ago."
…
"Hey, kid," Rusk turned to Rhea.
"Do you realize what you just did, huh?!" The chain loosened. With raw strength, Rusk tore it off effortlessly.
Rhea braced himself. Morr backed away to his previous spot. Rusk's steps were heavy and firm, until his face was right in front of Rhea's.
The desert-born boy didn't look away.
"Huh… do whatever you want," Rusk muttered before returning to his seat.
The tension slowly faded. Inside the narrow room, the torchlight dimmed. Cold stone walls surrounded them. Rhea straightened his back, relaxing for a moment.
From the far end, Morr persisted. "Hey… you still haven't answered my question."
"Hah…" Rhea sighed deeply. "Yes. I'm from Sanhara. I've been wandering for three years."
Morr's eyes widened in delight. "Wow! Amazing!"
He walked over, passing Rusk—now sitting with eyes closed. Rhea and Morr continued talking, whatever questions Morr threw at him.
…
"So, miss—why were you arrested?"
"Hehe… just call me Sister Feina, Ilya." Feina laughed softly, looking at Ilya with warmth.
"My real profession was a contract killer in Darko City—the underground city of Aurelia." She crossed her legs, resting her hands on the bench.
"I was betrayed by my own boss. Framed as the scapegoat…" she paused.
"And ended up arrested under vague charges."
Ilya nodded in understanding. "And then you were sent to that swamp too?"
"Ah, Ringin Swamp? Yeah… I was with fourteen prisoners."
"And then?" Ilya leaned closer.
Feina chuckled again. "They all died."
Ilya was shocked. More personnel than today's group—and only Feina survived to become an official member.
"W-what did you use?" Ilya asked carefully.
Feina raised her right hand, lifting her index finger.
"Human weakness… hehehe."
Her explanation was vague—but enough to send chills down Ilya's spine. Still, she understood.
Feina had manipulated the others, turning them into living shields.
In the underground city, Feina also posed as a prostitute to carry out her assassinations.
She was a master poisoner. On top of that, a skilled martial artist. The small dagger strapped to her left thigh bore witness.
'A woman armed with every form of deception.'
Was that what Ilya thought? For a moment, she considered living by that principle—then realized she lacked the charm to survive that way.
The cold stone walls bore witness—to just how dangerous the people in that room truly were.
…
…
"Has the new unit been formed?"
A dignified adult man asked, seated upon a throne adorned with luxury. His hand slowly stroked his beard.
Before him knelt the Supreme Military Commander—Yanesh.
"Yes, Your Majesty. The operation can begin tomorrow morning."
The man—King Vassie de Aurel XII—continued stroking his beard calmly.
"I hope this unit brings progress," his voice echoed.
"You said you acquired a valuable asset," he continued.
"That is correct, Your Majesty. This group will surely achieve more," Yanesh replied.
Vassie rested his face against his hand. He exhaled deeply, trying to feel relieved.
"I still place my faith in your visions, Yanesh… you may go."
"May the angels of Aurel always bless you." Yanesh stood, turned, and departed. Vassie watched him leave, tapping his fingers slowly.
…
Meanwhile, in Sector Three that night—shadows of witches were clearly visible.
Livestock died without wounds. Children across the city fell ill simultaneously since morning.
That night, screams echoed through the streets.
Guards stationed at the gate lay helpless. Their bodies shriveled dry, leaving only skin and bone.
A sign that the terror—had yet to find its end.