Blood dribbled down his sword as an audible clang rang in the mini barracks. The old berserker had let go of his sword and the black blade wasn't the only thing that Nathan's mentor seemed to be letting go because in his eyes Nathan could see the life slipping out. But a grateful smile was what the old man displayed, his eyes locked on Nathan's, not even bothering to pull out Nathan's sword which was firmly lodged in his heart.

A testament to the willpower of his former mentor that the old man still remained standing, refusing to fall and at the same time not attacking Nathan. The pair simply stared at each other, the pain evident in the pregnant silence that dominated the mini barracks. Uninterested in sharing a solemn moment with the man who'd killed his helper—Mr. Wong—and almost tried to kill him as well, Nathan pushed the man off of his blade.

The red blade drenched in Sparrow's blood. A loud thud broke through the silence as the Lord's body hit the bloody floor, the smile on the face of the old berserker not leaving, neither did he unfix his eyes from those of Nathan. Much to the chagrin of the younger berserker whose impulse was to step on his face and call it a day, but as much as he'd wanted to do it, he had to admit that he needed something from the dying man.

"Y-you, I always knew you were going to be special, my boy," Sparrow croaked, mouth filled with blood. "I'm glad—"

"Nobody cares what you think, old man," Nathan interrupted, his tone as cold as peak winter. "You've lived a worthless life. Just look around—almost everyone who knows you is dead, and soon you will be too. Your corpse will decay in this hole like the rest of theirs. No one will remember you after you die."

"L-lies, I am Sparrow and I'll be known—"

"No one cares who you are, and no one cares that you're dead, but before you die, you can atone for your sins," Nathan said. "If you want to do something good before you die, at the very least, tell me where to find my friend Diane. Tell me where to find the cult of Kabash."

"A-tonement, I don't care about good deeds, but since you managed to kill me, I'll tell you, if only to have my face pop up anytime you see the face of your precious friend," Sparrow spat, bloody spittle flying in the air.

"Talk."

"Hatred will only take you so far, Nathan. Take it from someone who's lived life like you. If you—"

"Talk," Nathan ordered, casually stepping on the right foot of the fallen lord and snapping it.

Sparrow didn't wince or show any sign of discomfort at the loss of his foot. After all, what use was a foot to someone who was about to lose his life? The old berserker simply sighed as his lips shut, as he considered if it was worth it to continue to antagonize the cold-hearted killer that stood over him.

"The cult's stronghold is further inland. I can't tell you where exactly because I've sworn an oath of secrecy. If I try to break it, I'll die and my soul will be tossed in the spiritual equivalent of a shredder. However, like all contracts, there are loopholes, and I'm a master at finding them. Listen closely. My answer will be vague, and it'll depend on you to figure it out."

"Go on," Nathan prodded.

"You want to check for a place where the trees have been cut down, and surrounding it, life seems dull and meaningless. The moment you're within the area, you will feel a subtle mental urge to move around the perimeter and eventually away from the stronghold. The key is to embrace the fear of death and the afterlife, or if you're a maniac, the prospect of serving a demon eternally."

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"Is that all? Because that isn't much to go on."

"It's the best you're going to get from me. I'm willing to die but not the way those that break the oath die. Trust me, it isn't a pretty death. It'll make what you've done her—"

Swoosh!

Nathan didn't let Sparrow finish his rambling. With a swift and effortless swing, he decapitated the old berserker. A creepy smile remained on the face of the decapitated head even though he cut it off mid-speech. In a fit of annoyance, he booted the head away, the piece of his mentor's body hitting the wall with a sickening thud.

"Even in death I still hate you," Nathan whispered. "That was for Mr. Wong."

He looked up at the sky with his last words. His mentor, Mr. Wong, had done the best that he could have for Nathan. He'd given him an opportunity to straighten himself out, and the kind man had paid dearly for that decision. A wince disrupted Nathan's stoic features at the thought of what Mr. Wong had had to endure from the monster called Sparrow. Of the endless threats he most likely waved off despite the fact that he could've simply fired Nathan back then. After all, it wasn't like a sign flipper did a lot for businesses in the modern age they'd been in before the sickening apocalypse had come.

A wave of euphoria overtook him, healing his wounds and revitalizing him, but he pushed the feeling to the side, preferring to confront his uncomfortable thoughts. A man he'd barely known had died for him, a sacrifice that he hadn't even known about at the time. Hell, he'd be lying if he said that he didn't resent Mr. Wong sometimes—the Asian man had been strict and unforgiving at times—but now Nathan knew better. Too bad it didn't count.

"Alright, what do we have here," Nathan mumbled, picking up Sparrow's sword.

Judging by the looks alone, he had to assume that the blade was special, probably on par or even of a higher grade than his. The black blade seemed to reel him in. Whatever material that had been used to make it was definitely rare because he'd never seen anything like it. The hilt was fancier than his new soulblade, considering the fact that it had a golden hilt, which somewhat clashed with the aesthetics of the blade but somehow made a lot of sense.

"I mean, if you're going to have a blade that absorbs light, you might as well have something that stands out about the blade," Nathan commented, twirling the blade around to get a good look at the sword. "It's definitely expensive."

Not really surprising, especially when he factored in its previous wielder, Sparrow. His former mentor had always liked to look refined and posh even though he was nothing more than a glorified cutthroat with power. Still twirling it, he considered what to do with the sword. For one, it'd cut him up pretty easily, which meant it was worth having around, but at the same time, it belonged to Sparrow.

It took a couple of breaths for him to decide, and in the end, he had to admit it was a pretty neat sword to have around. The previous owner shouldn't matter to him; after all, the sword was nothing more than a tool. He stared at the black blade for a moment. The absence of a reflection on the part supposed to be the blade unnerved him a little, but he waved it off and, out of curiosity, decided to analyze the blade.

[Sword [grade C (Epic)] This sword feeds on the souls that have fallen to it.

Status: Upgradable. The sword will automatically jump in grade once enough souls have been fed to it.]

Nathan whistled at the notification. He'd known that the blade was above the common grade, but he hadn't expected it to be around Epic. He lit up at the prospect of upgrading the sword and, for a moment, imagined himself swinging both swords in battle, making minced meat of his opponents. A smile stretched across his face at the imagination.

"I'll name you... Oblivion," Nathan said, admiring the sword.

The blade hadn't had a name, which meant it probably wasn't a soulblade, but he couldn't care less. It seemed like it would be a very effective tool to have on hand, and at the moment, he'd rather have it than not. Besides, he already had a soulblade of his own, King's Wrath. His red soulblade in his right hand to the black in his left, the pair screamed danger and death, and Nathan couldn't be bothered about the color clash.

"King's Wrath and Oblivion," Nathan muttered, casually swinging the swords in the mini barracks decorated with the blood and bodies of his fallen foes.

His movement wasn't as sharp as he would've liked, considering the fact that he wasn't accustomed to wielding two swords at once. He'd have to practice more to improve his coordination, but he'd have to do that later. With a grunt, he recalled King's Wrath into his soul and switched Oblivion to his free right hand, his gaze drifting into the space that Sparrow had tried to lead him into. With a shrug, he moved to explore; maybe more loot would be there.

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