The woman hesitated, fear visibly flickering in her eyes. "His house is a bit east from here. People don't usually approach him, and he prefers it that way. Please, be careful—he's violent… Really, really, violent."

Kaiser merely offered her a cold smile. "I appreciate your warning, but rest assured, I can handle that."

Without another word, the trio stepped further onto the dusky street, boots crunching on gravel as a hush settled around them. But Kaiser's thoughts, sharp and circuitous, drifted far from the silent village. He had already settled his concerns about Milo and Erya, neither would dare reveal his regeneration. But who else, truly, might hold a thread to that secret?

Selvira. That was her name—he almost smiled at the memory of her sharp tongue and the utter lifelessness in her eyes. She didn't know about his healing, but she'd seen enough to suspect his fire. That alone made her dangerous, and all the more intriguing. Her ability was a tricky one, rare, subtle and potentially invaluable. Kaiser's mind worked like a craftsman with new steel: weighing, testing, measuring the uses of such a tool. Recruiting her, or at the very least keeping her close, was a goal worth pursuing. He'd deal with the business between her and Elsie, as it was just another fire to put out, but one with a great reward.

The irony, Kaiser thought, was that most people never truly understood him, not the frightened villagers, not the self-righteous knights, not even the so-called heroes of his old world with their sacred codes and endless lists of sins written in the sand. To Kaiser, the concepts of "good" and "evil" held as much weight as dust on his boots. He didn't care what anyone had done, whether they were saints or monsters, whether their hands were stained with innocent blood or their lives filled with kindness and sacrifice. None of it mattered.

If a man had slaughtered a village but could win him a war, Kaiser would call him ally. If a woman had betrayed her closest friends, but could bring Kaiser a step closer to victory, he'd welcome her with open arms. There was no crime too vile, no virtue too pure, that could change his mind, so long as the person's usefulness outweighed their baggage. Loyalty, mercy, cruelty, treachery: all of them were simply tools. What mattered was what someone could offer, how they shifted the balance of power in Kaiser's favor.

Only one crime, one betrayal, was ever truly unforgivable in his eyes—Sabel's. That was personal. That was the only line that could not be crossed. But anyone else, murderers, thieves, turncoats, saints, Kaiser would use them all, discard them when it suited him, and never lose a moment's sleep over it. All that mattered was whether they put him in a stronger position, whether their worth justified their place at his side.

In the end, the world was full of monsters and martyrs, and Kaiser had no interest in judging either. He was above judgment.

That was why he'd razed the Right Fist to the ground with hardly a second thought. He'd needed Aria, and what did a ragged gang at the world's edge compare to someone of real value? Their defeat only proved the point, that they were worthless and easily replaced.

And then there was Glunko. That damnable merchant. Kaiser cursed his own loose tongue. Glunko had heard too much: tales of Nebrosa, hints about Shabab—, that, while easily dismissed as fantasy, still carried danger if repeated in the right, or rather wrong company. Glunko was clever, resourceful, and above all, unpredictable. He would need to be dealt with, either bought, threatened, or bound to Kaiser's cause before he became a liability.

Kaiser's attention snapped back to their surroundings. The houses here seemed darker now, more oppressive in the unnatural twilight. He quickly noted every alleyway, every potential ambush point. The scent of ink and burnt flesh lingered faintly, and he couldn't dismiss the uncomfortable sensation of being watched.

He turned slightly, voice low but sharp. "How much further?"

The woman pointed hesitantly to a small, decrepit house , partially shrouded by shadows cast by a cluster of twisted trees. "That's it."

As they approached, Ivan seemed to shrink back slightly, eyes darting nervously around. "Are we really sure about this? Maybe this guy isn't even worth it—"

"Quiet," Kaiser commanded, his tone leaving no room for debate. Ivan fell silent instantly, the tension palpable.

Kaiser stepped up to the worn wooden door, briefly noting the splintered wood and peeling paint. He raised his fist and pounded three times, the sound echoing harshly.

"Liberator," Kaiser called out calmly but firmly. "We need to speak. Open the door."

There was silence for a moment, thick and heavy, before a harsh voice barked back from within. "Leave. Now. I don't talk to anyone."

Ivan leaned closer, whispering nervously, "Maybe we should—"

Kaiser silenced him again with an icy stare before returning his attention to the door. "You misunderstand. This isn't a request."

After another tense pause, the door creaked open just enough to reveal the weathered, scarred face of an older man. His features were hardened by bitterness and isolation, pale eyes sunken beneath wild strands of unkempt gray hair. His gaze was cold, hostile. "You have no business here. Whatever you want, I won't give it."

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Kaiser's eyes narrowed slightly, an unsettling calm radiating from him. "I don't recall offering you a choice. You will help us. You once swore an oath as a Liberator. Disgraced or not, you have a debt."

The man's face twisted, his voice low, venomous. "I owe nobody anything. Not anymore. I've paid my debt with my blood and life. Leave me be, or—"

Kaiser stepped forward suddenly, his presence towering despite the minimal height difference, his voice dropping into a threatening whisper. "Or what? You'll kill us too? You don't have that luxury anymore. This village is under attack, and your skills, even as degraded as they must be, are useful to me."

Ivan took a hesitant step forward, sword gripped tightly. The woman lingered behind them both, trembling but silent.

The former Liberator glared defiantly at Kaiser, jaw tight. "And if I refuse?"

Kaiser's smile was cold, chillingly confident. "Then you're no use alive. Your choice is cooperation or death, there's no third option."

A long, painful silence stretched between them. Ivan shifted nervously, clearly uncomfortable with Kaiser's ruthless negotiation tactics, but he said nothing, knowing better than to challenge Kaiser's authority.

Finally, with grudging bitterness, the older man stepped back, opening the door fully. "Then enter, Liberator."

Kaiser strode inside without hesitation, Ivan and the woman cautiously following behind him. The interior was dark, sparse, and smelled of neglect. As the door shut behind them, Kaiser felt no fear, only calculating resolve.

He turned to the disgraced Liberator, voice quiet and commanding. "Tell me everything you know about what's happening here."

The man didn't speak, but he did lead them further into his house. Kaiser watched him carefully, his glowing red eyes fixed sharply on the man's every movement, as if daring him to show even the slightest hint of aggression. In response, the stranger merely smiled, thin lips barely curling beneath his thick, unkempt beard.

Ivan stayed close to the woman, who, while following, kept glancing at the back of their host's head with barely-contained fury. Her breathing was sharp, jaw tight with tension. She seemed ashamed, angry, and deeply uncomfortable at being here, but more than anything, there was a hint of fear in her eyes, fear she was trying to mask with defiance.

Kaiser walked purposefully close behind the unknown man, his very presence a threat and a promise of swift death should this meeting turn hostile. His senses strained beneath the overwhelming glare of Sol radiating from the countless paintings lining the walls. Each portrait hummed subtly, making it difficult for him to focus. It felt as though a hundred faint whispers were murmuring around him, tugging at the edge of his concentration.

When they reached a closed door, the man paused and opened it with an exaggerated flourish, motioning politely for Kaiser to step inside first. Kaiser remained immobile, offering only a cold, unimpressed stare. The smile faltered on the man's lips, and with an awkward, forced nod, he entered the room first.

Inside was a sturdy oak table, encircled by ten simple wooden chairs. The walls were crowded, almost oppressively, with paintings that glowed with that same subtle grey aura. Kaiser took the seat closest to their host, eyes never wavering from him. Ivan quietly moved to Martha's side, his fingers twitching nervously as he sat. With a whisper of Sol, Ivan split himself, creating a perfect clone who casually took the chair on Martha's other side.

Everyone but Kaiser flinched in surprise at the sight, Martha staring at Ivan with wide, startled eyes. Kaiser's lips curled subtly upward, a silent acknowledgment of Ivan's cautious cleverness.

Their host folded his hands calmly, leaning forward slightly in his chair, pale eyes glittering beneath thick brows. "Welcome, Liberators," he began, voice rough but oddly gentle. "My name is Kalagrim Salo. As Martha here already knows, I'm a former Liberator from the Northern Liberatorium."

"And a murderer," Martha cut in sharply, voice filled with venom. Her eyes locked onto Kalagrim's face with disgust. "Let's not leave out your true credentials, Kalagrim."

Kalagrim's expression twisted instantly into an ugly scowl. "Don't you dare call me that, Martha," he growled deeply, the warmth in his voice extinguished instantly. "You of all people know nothing of what really happened. Nothing!"

"I know enough," Martha snapped back, eyes blazing. "I know you forced yourself into this house, and I know the man who lived here died just days afterward. Poisoned, wasn't he?"

Kalagrim slammed a fist on the table, causing Ivan to jump in his chair. Kaiser remained perfectly still, watching carefully as Kalagrim leaned forward in fury. "That was my grandfather, you ignorant bitch! He took me in willingly, I never harmed him!"

"You expect us to believe that?" Martha shot to her feet, glaring contemptuously down at him. "Why would any man shelter someone who'd slaughtered an entire family? Your own blood or not, you've proven your nature."

Kalagrim rose slowly, leaning menacingly forward. "I paid for that mistake. Forty years, Martha. Forty miserable years in chains for something I never meant to happen. I was young, starving, desperate, and yes, I lost control. But I didn't kill my grandfather. Never."

She scoffed bitterly, arms folded tightly across her chest. "Yet he's still dead, Kalagrim. Conveniently, just after you came. Even your own family wasn't safe from your hunger for blood."

The air between them was electric, thick with resentment and old hatred. Kalagrim trembled slightly, teeth clenched in barely-contained rage. "I loved that man like a father," he hissed quietly. "If I could trade my life for his, I would have done it a hundred times over."

Martha sneered, voice dripping with disdain. "Touching. But lies won't cleanse bloodstained hands."

Her eyes flicked dismissively from Kalagrim to Kaiser and Ivan. "I was mistaken to bring you here, Liberators. There's someone else who can help us. Someone who doesn't stink of death." She turned on her heel, beckoning sharply. "Come. We're leaving."

Kaiser's quiet voice, cold and commanding, froze her in her tracks. "Sit."

She bristled, turning to face him with narrowed eyes. "Excuse me?"

Kaiser met her furious gaze with an unwavering, chilling stare. "I said sit."

For a tense moment, she stared back at him, jaw tight, defiance warring with caution in her expression. But the silent threat in Kaiser's glowing red eyes was unmistakable. Slowly, unwillingly, Martha sank back into her chair, fists clenched at her sides.

Kaiser finally turned to Kalagrim, his voice steady, calm, but edged with a quiet, lethal seriousness. "Explain yourself properly this time."

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