Many things were happening lately, things that Old Smith had done all she could to prevent.

But it seemed the gods were against her.

She knew not what she had done to become entangled in these muddy waters, but maybe she did, after all. Her only crime was to be the friend of a troublesome man. Not only that, but to be so deep in debt that she had become a servant — to not say a slave — to a woman who could kill you with a single glance in the morning, and laugh with her family by night.

She had no say when Dain was proposed to retrieve a mythical artifact in exchange for a Blood Stone.

She had no say when Dain accepted the offer without a second thought, all because he had a younger brother with a blood affinity.

She had no say when Dain did what he should not, and found himself trapped in an unending battle against the Fairy of the Mythic Artifact, to see who would devour the other first.

He was in pain. And yet she had no choice but to watch, to remain a spectator to his suffering, while doing her best to reduce that pain using the remedies of the Church of Sorrow.

'You should have been with me, Kaden. You should have been with me,' Old Smith painfully muttered inwardly, her gaze fixed on the two beings before her, sprawling on the cold floor.

The quest she had issued through the Tycoon's Merchant was, in truth, meant only for Kaden.

All the arrangements she had made to be close to him were done with full knowledge of who he was. True, she had not expected him to accept her offer to be his master, but that had been the cherry on top.

He was supposed to be under her guidance, and slowly, she would have led him back to his brother.

But that damned child never came. And when he finally did, it was only for an entire Asterion army to abduct him.

And now… and now…

"Anthropologist," Abomination said, her yellow-grey eyes cold and filled with wicked delight, "it seems this dwarf is ignoring us."

Anthropologist's face split into a thin, knowing smile. "It seems to me she has a lot on her mind. But yes, true, she isn't paying attention, and time is scarce, isn't it?"

Old Smith finally snapped out of her thoughts and focused on the two beings in front of her.

She barely managed to suppress the chill crawling up her spine at their sight.

She looked like a pitiful child before monsters, monsters who could kill her with a flick of their fingers.

Old Smith was just a blacksmith. Only a Forger Blacksmith at that, with a Master rank she had painstakingly earned over hundreds of years.

So feeling this much power pressing down upon her was enough to make her wish the solid ground beneath her would swallow her whole.

And yet…

She didn't back down.

"I-I do not know what you wish from me," she stuttered out, her black eyes filled with misplaced defiance.

Abomination tilted her head slightly to the left, about to take a step forward, only to be stopped by Anthropologist's right hand.

He gave her a short glance and a nod. Abomination backed down, though her eyes still smiled sinisterly.

Anthropologist shifted his attention back toward Old Smith.

"You know, little blacksmith," he began, "there are times in life when one must have the awareness to choose between inevitable doom and salvation."

Old Smith chuckled dryly, taking a forced puff from her pipe to steady her nerves. "Does your salvation mean death?"

Abomination cackled. "Ah, yes, but of course, dwarf. Death? We are his messengers, and we are quite good at delivering it." She tilted her head. "But we are digressing, aren't we?"

Her tone suddenly turned sharp. "Will you speak, dwarf? Or would you rather do it as a corpse?"

Old Smith's jaw clenched around her pipe so hard that cracks spidered through the black stem like webbing.

She was afraid. She didn't know who these people were or why they wanted Dain, but saying his location meant betraying that woman. And…

'I cannot. I cannot. She will kill me.'

She repeated the words endlessly inside her mind, her face dripping with fear.

The two intruders clearly noticed.

And yet…

"If you must fear something," Anthropologist said, taking a single step forward that made the ceiling tremble, "fear the thing you have no knowledge of, little blacksmith."

"The Empress might kill you," he continued, making Old Smith's eyes widen in horror, "but we will do far worse than that. Our Captain does not tolerate nonsense, let alone our Lord."

He paused briefly, then said, almost conversationally, "You see, I understand your stance."

He stepped closer, the sound of his footfall landing like a falling boulder. "You've been involved in matters your kind should never touch. But what's done is done, and you still have a sliver of a chance to leave with only a scar you can tell your grandchildren about."

His grin widened, "Then again, you may not live that long."

Then he whispered slowly to her…

"So, for the last time…" Anthropologist's voice thinned into a blade, and Old Smith froze as she felt the cold kiss of steel at her neck.

Her body moved mechanically, turning toward the left, and there stood Abomination, a purple dagger pressed against her throat.

Blood trickled down her skin, slow and warm. She swallowed audibly, her breath shattering as Anthropologist's voice reverberated inside her skull like a tolling bell of death:

"…Where is Dain Warborn, Nihilia Ra Smith, Slave of Mahina Moonborn?"

…

Fokay — Silver City

"CALL THE COMMANDER! CALL THE COMMANDER! WE ARE BEING ATTACKED!"

One soldier, wearing silver armor that gleamed fiercely under the sun, sprinted toward the wide and towering building of silver stone built for the guards to dwell in.

His shouts tore through the air, summoning a chorus of hurried steps that thundered across the grounds, followed by the sudden emergence of a legion of silver-clad soldiers. Their weapons were already gripped tight in their hands, and their eyes, hidden behind their helms, were cold and unfeeling like eyes belonging to the dead.

"What's happening?" growled a titan of a man, almost eight feet tall, muscles thick enough to shame Garros himself. The silver armor wrapped tightly around his hulking frame, straining audibly under every small movement.

The simple act of him speaking made the air crackle and the terrified soldier stumble back several steps.

This was the Commander of the Silver City guards, Titus Silverdeath.

"C-Commander!" the soldier stammered, then, catching the red-eyed giant's impatient glare, he vomited out all his words in one breath. "We're being attacked! They're at the door—!"

The rest of his words never came out.

The ground beneath him split open, then exploded outward, hurling shards of silver stone into the sky. The heavens darkened with the cloud of debris before the stones came raining down like jagged drops of death.

By the time the dust began to settle, Titus was already dashing toward the gate, his movement a blur that split the air itself. Behind him surged a wave of soldiers, their momentum so fierce that the air sharpened, cutting across the trembling skin of the stuttering soldier left behind.

His knees hit the ruined ground. Then his body collapsed entirely, his mind too drained to even comprehend what had happened.

Meanwhile, at the silver gate, an entirely different scene unfolded.

Dozens, around twenty to be exact, silver-armored soldiers lay sprawled across the ground, writhing like worms caught in a trap, their screams echoing sharp and dreadful through the space.

Amidst that carnage sat a cloaked figure draped in crimson, a blood-colored mask concealing his face. He was surrounded by weapons…swords, to be exact.

The mask was lifted just enough to let his mouth kiss the air, just enough for him to eat the swords around him as though they were sweets. The crunch of steel breaking between his jaws was sharp, deliberate, and nauseatingly slow.

Behind him stood a womanly figure clad in the same crimson garb, her blue eyes calm and fixed upon the scene before them.

"I don't think you needed to eat those swords, did you?" Vaela said lightly to Ruined, who continued chewing until the last blade vanished between his teeth.

Then, finally…

"I was bored," Ruined grunted, his sky-blue eyes glinting faintly as his gaze lifted toward the horizon. The ground beneath them was whispered to them, shaking as if strained by something heavy.

"We kill?" He asked.

Vaela watched the crying soldiers around her, then shook her head slightly, her tone amused, "We are here to talk, Ruined. So talk we shall."

"At least, that's the plan. But have you ever seen a plan that did its job?"

"Never in my two lives." He grunted, making Vaela stifle a laugh, just as Titus Silverdeath appeared in front of them, bringing with him a huge cloud of dust and a rain of shattered stones.

Ruined and Vaela didn't move, their intents either corrupting the stone or making the falling debris mysteriously unable to touch them.

The red eyes of Titus bore into them, his nose huffing like a bull, "Who are you people?" He growled.

Ruined didn't say anything besides slowly getting up from his seated position, leaning casually against his greatsword as if awaiting a cue to start a massacre.

Vaela slowly walked toward Titus and the now-arrived soldiers, stopping two steps before him.

Her blue eyes shone brightly as she parted her lips,

"We are here to request a meeting with Lord Silver." She simply said, not explaining anything more than that.

But Titus was having none of it.

"Who. Are. You." Each word hammered out of him with enough intensity to feel like the world itself quaked under the pressure.

"We are Death's Messengers." She answered again, voice calm, "Tell your Lord we—!"

BOOM!

Steel against steel exploded into existence, the sound warping air, dust rising violently, space recoiling as if afraid to witness what came next.

And when the haze cleared, they saw it: the anvil-like knuckles of Titus stopped only an inch from Vaela's face, blocked by Ruined's blade resting lazily between fist and skin.

Vaela didn't even flinch. She only shifted her gaze sideways to acknowledge the strike, then returned her eyes to Titus with that same blue, magnetic eyes… eyes that, if one stared too deeply, revealed the faintest trace of a star pulsing behind it.

Behind her mask, a wide smile bloomed, "Ah," she chuckled,

"I guess your Lord would come out if the whole city became debris and blood, wouldn't he?"

Titus frowned. The surrounding soldiers tightened their grips, stances sharpening, and from the far spires a bell began to roar through the sky, sounding the alarm through Silver City.

"And so?" Ruined asked, voice low.

Vaela shrugged softly, like one commenting on the weather.

"Ocean of blood."

—End of Chapter 318—

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