Gabriel didn't wait.

He tore the spear from the man's weakening grip and swung the haft low. The blow struck the knee hard. Something gave way with a snap, and the joint folded inward.

The soldier collapsed with a sharp cry, hands flying to his leg as blood soaked through the fabric almost immediately.

Gabriel reversed the spear and drove the point down through the man's shoulder, forcing him flat against the stones. The blade punched through muscle and into the ground beneath, deep enough to hold.

Blood spread beneath him as he screamed through clenched teeth, pinned and helpless.

Gilbert stepped out of the alley, spear lowered but ready. His expression was set, jaw tight with resolve, unease flickering just beneath it.

"Gabriel," he said quietly. "Ease up. We need them talking, not bleeding out."

"Quiet."

The word ended the discussion.

Gabriel dropped to one knee beside the pinned soldier and twisted the spear shaft a fraction.

The shriek that tore free was raw, cutting through the fog before vanishing into the slums. No doors opened. No voices answered. This was a place where pain went ignored, where survival meant not asking questions you didn't want answered.

"Where is Lucius Tudon?" Gabriel asked.

His voice held no weight. No anger. It might have been a comment on the weather.

The soldier spat blood onto the stones, his face twisted with panic, sweat slicking his brow despite the cold. "I-I don't know! I swear! I don't know any Lucius! Please-"

Gabriel turned the spear again.

Metal grinded against the bone.

The man arched violently, a strangled cry ripping from his throat as the tendons in his neck bulged out in stark lines beneath his skin.

"Lie again," Gabriel said, "and I take the other shoulder. Or your eye."

The man broke.

Tears cut through the blood on his face as the words spilled out in a rush, breath hitching between sobs. "Vaelmir! He's in Vaelmir! I swear it on the Creator!"

Gabriel leaned closer. His faint red irises still burned as they locked onto the soldier's.

"Where in Vaelmir?" he asked. "Be specific."

"Adaranthe," the man gasped. "The grand cathedral. That's where the high ones gather. Please, that's all I know. We're just guards. Not Paladins. We hear things. Whispers. Nothing more-"

Gabriel straightened.

The name settled into place, pieces aligning with grim clarity. Vaelmir. The heart of the central kingdom. Adaranthe, a cathedral built like a fortress, where the Church's power gathered.

It fit.

The distance was brutal. Sea first, then land through territory that would not welcome him. Dangerous. Slow. Necessary.

Gabriel nodded once.

He tore the spear free.

The scream that followed rose sharp and desperate, then collapsed into broken whimpers as the soldier curled inward, blood spreading beneath him on the stones.

Gabriel turned away. He rose and let the spear fall from his hand as if it meant nothing. His attention shifted to the stocky soldier.

The man had pushed himself up onto one elbow, groaning, a short sword clutched in his hand. Blood ran from a split lip, his scarred jaw working as fear and anger tangled together.

He swung.

The blade came low and wild, cutting through empty air where Gabriel's legs had been a moment before.

Gabriel stepped aside without effort. He caught the man's arm at the wrist mid-swing and twisted. The sword slipped free and clattered down the steps.

The guard tried to pull back.

Gabriel's knee drove into his stomach.

The impact crushed the breath from him, ribs giving with a sharp crack as his body folded forward. Before he could recover, Gabriel locked an arm around his neck and hauled him down.

The man's face met stone.

Blood splashed across the church steps and streaked the door as the soldier went limp beneath him.

The man sagged, wheezing, blood filling his mouth. His nose was ruined, teeth loose, breath rattling with every shallow pull.

Gilbert stepped forward fully, conflict tightening his features.

"That's enough," he said. "We have the lead. Lucius is in Vaelmir."

He hesitated, then pressed on.

"Let's go back. Tell the others. Plan this properly. Going alone gets you killed."

Gabriel turned.

His face did not change, but something settled behind his eyes. Not anger. Decision.

"You stay."

Gilbert barely had time to react.

Gabriel's hand closed around his throat. Not crushing. Just enough to stop sound. Enough to take control.

Gilbert's spear slipped from his grip and struck the stones. His hands came up fast, fingers digging at Gabriel's wrist.

"What the hell-"

"You stay," Gabriel said again.

His voice was low. Final.

Gilbert struggled, boots scraping, legs kicking as panic took hold. His face darkened, veins standing out as his breath failed him. He swung with his free hand, a solid punch aimed for Gabriel's jaw.

Gabriel caught it.

He twisted the arm down and pinned it against Gilbert's side with ease.

Shock flashed across Gilbert's face. Then betrayal. He had followed without hesitation. Shared the road. The fights. The losses.

And now this.

His strength faded quickly. His vision blurred. The world narrowed.

"Why?" he rasped.

Gabriel did not answer.

He tightened his grip.

Gilbert's body went rigid, then slack. His eyes fluttered shut as consciousness slipped away.

Gabriel counted to five.

Then he let go.

Gilbert collapsed to the ground, breathing shallow but steady. Alive. Unconscious.

Gabriel stood over him for a moment. Something flickered across his expression. It did not last.

The others would find him. They would help him.

This path was not for them.

Hanitz had already paid the price.

Gabriel bent and picked up one of the fallen swords.

It would do.

From the pinned soldier, still whimpering, he took a cloak. Darker. Heavier than the robe he wore. He draped it over his shoulders and hid the blade at his belt.

The slums were waking now. Doors creaked. Voices murmured. Somewhere, a child cried.

No one came running.

This was Galveston. Violence was common. Curiosity was dangerous.

Gabriel turned toward the harbor.

The fog closed around him as he slipped into the alleys, swallowed by the maze of streets.

Ships waited at the docks. Merchants always needed hands. Or muscle.

He would reach Vaelmir. Cross the sea. Move through the central kingdom one step at a time.

Lucius waited in his cathedral, cloaked in faith and power.

Gods bled.

He would prove it.

Storms. Borders. Bribes. Broken men with useful information. Each step would sharpen him.

No more reckless charges. No more shattered blades.

When he reached Adaranthe, it would be different.

The harbour emerged through the mist. Waves slapped against the docks. Sailors shouted as the day began.

Gabriel quickened his pace.

Revenge was not a sprint.

It was a long road.

And he had just taken the first step.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.