Silver moonlight spilled across the Wazar Desert, washing the dunes in pale light. Before the yawning mouth of the canyon stood five men in matching grey uniforms, long-sleeved tunics with six silver buttons, trousers tucked neatly into ash-colored boots. A plain star insignia gleamed faintly on each chest.

  Though the moon shone bright, they still held torches, their flames flickering weakly against the darkness that swallowed the gorge.

  “Captain Wallace, do we really have to do this?” one of the younger men asked, his voice trembling. “This place gives me the creeps.”

  The short, round man at the front sighed. “Poole, you think I want to be here. If we don’t do this, the city is at risk. The guild won’t lift a finger, so it falls to us.”

  “But Captain… whatever’s in there isn’t something we can handle.” Poole’s voice rose as if saying it aloud might save him. “People say a beast lives down there. It has three heads, six limbs, and four tails. Some say it’s thirty feet tall. Others say it’s a prison for dungeon monsters.”

  The men shifted uneasily. Everyone had heard the stories. A few had even heard the explosions echoing from the canyon at night.

  “Enough!” Wallace snapped. “Even if demons themselves are locked down there, we need proof. Otherwise, the guilds won’t take us seriously. Ready yourselves!”

  He was right and they all knew it. But the fear on their faces said otherwise.

  How did these lily-livered cowards even make it into uniform? Wallace clenched his fists, fighting the urge to smack sense into them.

  “All right, boys. Let’s move. We—”

  He stopped. The men’s eyes had gone wide. They stumbled back, faces drained of color, fingers trembling as they pointed behind him.

  No. It can’t be. A demon? The rumors were true?

  Wallace’s throat went dry. He turned slowly, swallowing hard between silent prayers. But there was nothing. No monster. Just shadows.

  “Captain,” Poole said, smirking nervously, “you’re just as scared as we are.”

  The others burst out laughing.

  “Are you out of your damned minds?!” Wallace barked, face red.

  “Captain, we were just—”

  “Shut up! You think this is the time for jokes?”

  The laughter faded, though the air felt lighter than before. Wallace’s anger wasn’t entirely about their prank; it was the humiliation of knowing they’d seen through his fear.

  “You think you’re clever, huh? Just wait until we get back—”

  “Captain! Behind you!” Poole shouted again, eyes wide.

  “Oh, shut up already! Do you think—”

  A hand touched his shoulder.

  “So,” said a calm young voice near his ear, “who are you guys?”

  Wallace didn’t even turn. His knees buckled, and he fainted on the spot. He fell face-first, hitting the ground with a thud.

  “Captain Wallace has been caught by a monster!” Poole screamed. “Somebody, save us!”

  Adam watched as the men scattered, their screams echoing into the desert night. His gaze hardened. Monster? What are they talking about? I only wanted to ask for directions.

  His gaze fell on the man who’d fainted, the chubby one convulsing in the sand.

  Isn’t that a little exaggerated?

  Adam crouched beside him, propping the man up with one hand. With the other, he delivered a sharp slap. No reaction. Another. Then another. The man’s cheeks grew red and swollen by the twentieth strike.

  The man’s eyes finally shot open, tears streaking down his face. “If you’re going to kill me, just kill me! Why torture me like this?”

  “Oh. You’re awake.” Adam smiled faintly. “Why’d you faint? Are you sick or something?”

  He let go. The man dropped back into the sand, blinking rapidly. Adam stood and waited.

  The man’s gaze darted up and down Adam’s body, lingering on the torn clothes, the scars, the lean muscle carved by years of hardship.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?” Adam asked, extending a hand.

  The man hesitated, fear flickering in his eyes. Still, he reached out. Adam pulled him to his feet.

  “Thank you,” the man said quickly. “I’m Wallace Wood, Captain of Biamal’s Night Gazing Squad. Scout division. And you are?”

  “You can call me Adam.” He tilted his head. “Captain Wallace… where exactly is this Biamal? Is it far from here?”

  “You don’t know Biamal?”

  Adam shook his head.

  “So, you’re from out of town?”

  “Something like that.”

  He said nothing more, eyes drifting toward the dunes where the others had fled. If they ran that way, that must be where the city is. People always fled toward safety.

  When he looked back, Wallace was staring between him and the canyon; suspicion deepening with each glance.

  What’s his problem now?

  The man’s brows twitched, and he began to back away.

  “Are you sure you’re not ill?” Adam asked, brow arching.

  “P-please,” Wallace stammered. “Don’t eat me…”

  “Eat you?” Adam blinked, then chuckled. “What kind of nonsense is that? Do I look like a monster to you?”

  Wallace didn’t answer. His eyes lingered on the scar running across Adam’s stomach.

  “Captain Wallace,” Adam said calmly, taking a step forward. “I’m not a monster.”

  Wallace tripped over a small rock and fell backward, screaming. “Please, I have a wife and five children! Don’t kill me!”

  Adam just stared at him, unimpressed. Is this guy serious right now?

  He sighed and stepped closer. “I really don’t have time for this. I said I’m not a monster. Just tell me where Biamal is, and I’ll go.”

  Wallace’s trembling hand pointed toward the dunes. “Five miles that way. You’ll see the city gates.”

  I knew it.

  Adam smiled faintly. “Alright, Captain. I’ll be on my way.”

  He had just turned when Wallace’s voice came again. “Please, wait!”

  Adam stopped. “What is it?”

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  Wallace pointed toward the canyon. “Did you come from there?”

  Adam said nothing. He didn’t need to. He started walking again.

  “Wait—please!” Wallace ran ahead, panting. “Is it true what they say? Is the canyon a prison for demonkin?”

  Adam met his gaze. The only prisoner ever kept there was him.

  “I’m sorry, Captain,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s a rumor as old as Biamal itself,” Wallace said, catching his breath. “The howls from the canyon; they say they’ve lasted five years, maybe seven. People say it’s the wailing of imprisoned demons.”

  A small, wry smile tugged at Adam’s lips. Were my screams really that miserable? They thought I was a demon?

  “Who are the founding members of Biamal?” Adam asked.

  “I don’t know much,” Wallace said. “But they left Biamal yesterday. Odd, really.”

  Adam frowned. Could Vicar have carved out a nearby city while training him? He pushed the thought away. Information first.

  “Tell me more about the city.”

  “It’s nothing special,” Wallace answered. “Mostly tents because of the wind. Merchants come for Wazar salt and snake skins. That’s about it.”

  Adam nodded, a little disappointed. Nothing useful yet.

  “Quick question—how far is Dratol from Biamal?” he asked.

  Wallace’s face tightened, then he laughed; an awkward, incredulous sound.

  “That’s a good one. I almost thought you were…” he paused. “You’re serious?”

  Adam nodded.

  Wallace covered his mouth, trying to hide his smile. “By flying ship it’s at least two months. Other ways take far longer.” He stopped when Adam’s stare silenced him.

  A faint pulse bloomed at the edge of Adam’s vision. A blue panel blinked into being.

  Adam glanced at Wallace and said, “Captain, do you know how to fight?”

  Wallace’s features hardened. “What do you mean—?” he began.

  “Captain! Help me! Bandits have taken Biamal! They killed the others!” a voice shouted from down the dunes.

  Wallace went pale. The question hung there again: can you fight?

  “I can—” he stammered. A scream shredded the air behind him.

  Adam tapped Wallace’s shoulder and kept walking. “Good. Means I won’t have to protect you.”

  “Wait—” Wallace started.

  Adam kicked him before he could finish. Three arrows punched into the sand where Wallace had been standing.

  “On second thought, lie down,” Adam said without looking back. “They’re not a threat you can handle. Let me deal with them.”

  He ignored the system notifications, his gaze settling only on his rank and Omen Points.

  [Rank: D]

  [Omen Points: 1(Insufficient Omen Points to induce a rank upgrade)]

  Barely an hour out and trouble found me, he thought, popping his neck. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll earn enough Omen Points to rank up again.

  “Captain,” Adam called, turning his head. “Do you have any weapons?”

  Wallace kept staring at the arrow holes, not answering. Adam sighed. He’s not as experienced as he sounded.

  Adam shifted his gaze. Six figures moved over the dunes, sliding into view. One held a severed head, dark hair whipping in the wind.

  The brawny bandit tossed the head in their direction. It arced and landed a few feet from Adam.

  “Poo—Poole?” Wallace’s feeble voice came from behind.

  The bandit pointed with his chin. “Capture Wallace. Kill the other one.” He grinned.

  Adam looked at the trembling captain. “Friends of yours?”

  Wallace shook his head so hard his teeth chattered.

  Adam faced the approaching men. “Leave now,” he said. “I won’t kill you if you run. But if you stay—”

  An arrow zipped past his ear.

  “Never mind,” he said, smiling coldly. “You’re all dead meat.”

  A lanky bandit snickered. “Kid, you got a big mouth. Shut it and maybe you won’t have to suffer.” He licked his lips, mace in hand, grin split across his face. His companions laughed, halting in their steps.

  Adam, however, didn’t even flinch at the insult. His eyes were fixed on the burly leader, not the wisecracking lackey.

  “Kid, where you looking? Too scared to run?” the lanky one taunted as he stepped forward, the mace’s weight settling into his grip. “Don’t blame you. Boss says—”

  “You talk too much.” Adam cut him off, closing the distance in one smooth motion. His fist struck the man’s temple with a single, bone-hard knuckle. The bandit’s eyes rolled back; the mace clattered free and thudded onto the sand. He collapsed without a sound.

  For a stunned beat no one moved. Even the bandits’ laughter died into shocked silence.

  Adam shrugged. “They’re weaker than I thought. I kept comparing them to Vicar’s clones.” His voice was flat, almost amused.

  The bandits spat curses, looking wildly around as if some invisible hand had killed their man.

  “Who’s there? Show yourself, you coward!” the burly leader roared.

  Adam’s laugh came low and easy. “There’s only us here. Who exactly are you looking for?”

  The brawny leader glared at Adam. He pointed toward another bandit. “Merek, teach this brat a lesson he won’t forget,” he barked, and the five of them stepped forward, slowly circling.

  “You guys are pitiable,” Adam said between breaths. “Weaker than clones, stupider too.”

  One bandit moved first, readying to lunge at him. “I’ll make you die slow—” he bellowed, but his command cut off as Adam’s voice drifted.

  “Oh—do you mind lending me a weapon?”

  All eyes snapped to a stubby bandit holding twin axes. Someone snorted. The rest of the gang bristled. Adam’s request only poured fuel on their anger.

  The stubby one lifted his axes, jaw set. He charged, confident.

  Adam moved like a shadow. The bandit tightened his grip, then suddenly the axes ripped free and flew from his hands as if plucked by wind. They arced toward Adam, glowing faintly red. The bandit screamed, “My axes—give them back!”

  Adam caught both blades in one motion and tossed them back with a curt smile. “Here. Take them.”

  With a flick of his wrist, Adam sent the axes spinning through the air. The blades whistled, glowing faintly red as they tore toward their target. The stubby bandit’s breath caught; sweat slicked his brow as he tracked their path. For an instant, they vanished—then reappeared, inches from his eyes. He didn’t even scream before they buried deep into his skull. The copper scent of blood spread on the wind.

  The four remaining bandits froze, their hearts pounding. None had seen what happened—only that their companion now lay face-first in the dirt, axes sunk to the haft.

  “Why are you stopping?” Adam’s voice broke the silence. “Didn’t you want to kill me?”

  The words snapped them back to motion. He stood calmly, twin axes now gleaming in his hands—freshly pulled from the corpse. Another flick, another blur of motion. Two more bodies dropped before the others even blinked.

  The burly leader exchanged glances with his subordinate. Neither of them attempted to advance.

  Adam flicked his wrist again, and another body dropped. Only the brawny man remained.

  He didn’t hesitate. He turned around, running with all his might.

  Adam’s smile curved faintly as he raised one hand. An axe spun free, whistling through the desert air. A heartbeat later, a scream split the night.

  He whistled softly and strolled back toward Wallace, who still knelt trembling in the sand. “Captain,” Adam said, tilting his head, “I’ll get a reward for saving you, right?”

  Wallace didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on the bandit. Adam followed his gaze. The bandit writhed in the distance, legs severed and hands clawing uselessly at the sand.

  “Ahem. Captain?” Adam crouched beside him, resting his hand on his shoulder. “Did you hear me?”

  Wallace flinched like a startled cat. “Huh? S–Sir, what did you say?”

  Adam frowned. “Sir?”

  He straightened and looked at the fallen bandits. “They should have some coins on them. Hopefully enough for a trip to Dratol.”

  Ignoring Wallace’s shifting tone, Adam moved among the corpses, stripping them off anything useful. He tugged off a bloodied tunic, slipped it over his torn shirt, and turned toward the dying groans behind them.

  He followed the trail of blood until he stood over the bandit leader. “Where are you crawling off to?”

  He froze. “P–please… don’t kill me. I’ll give you anything you want.”

  Adam smiled. “Fair trade. I want a map. Do you have one?”

  “I–I do,” the man stammered. “I’ll get it, just don’t—” He fumbled in his robe and produced a scroll, along with every valuable he could reach.

  Adam accepted them with a nod, as if concluding a polite exchange. “Good man.” Then he turned, calling, “Captain Wallace, you’ll escort me from here on.”

  “What?” Wallace blurted. “What about him? What about Biamal?”

  “You misunderstand, Captain.” Adam’s tone was light but final. “That wasn’t a request. What can I do against a hundred bandits? You have family there?”

  Wallace hesitated. “…No. I’m an orphan. Unmarried.”

  What happened to his wife and five kids? Adam chuckled while shaking his head.

  “Good,” Adam said, already walking. “Then we’ll take a different route. Lead the way.”

  Wallace swallowed hard and obeyed. They headed northeast, the moon trailing their steps. Adam hummed quietly, gaze drifting across the dark desert.

  After a while, a scream rose behind them—long, wet, and full of terror. Bone snapped somewhere in the distance.

  “You promised… Aahhh!”

  Wallace flinched, but before he could turn, Adam’s hand clamped gently on his shoulder. “Don’t bother,” he said. “We’ve got a long journey ahead.”

  Wallace didn’t answer. He only nodded and quickened his pace, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

  Five hours later – Edge of the Wazar Canyon.

  Vicar stood amid the wreckage, the stench of blood still fresh in the air. The desert wind carried the copper tang of death, whispering through broken sand. His gaze lingered on the man sprawled before him—dismembered, barely alive. Pathetic.

  “Master, I’m sorry I couldn’t find better pawns,” Adelaide said quietly beside him.

  Vicar didn’t look at her. “You did what you could,” he said. Her apology meant little; he hadn’t expected more.

  He studied the battlefield—the collapsed dunes, the blood-soaked grit, the faint footprints leading north. So he chose not to intervene. Good. Maybe he’s finally learned when to hold his hand.

  “Master,” Adelaide asked, “what do you think of him?”

  “He wasted too much time with these fools,” Vicar replied, his voice even. “But he’s not the frightened child I found seven years ago. I thought he’d rush in to save the settlement. Instead, he walked away.” His lips curved faintly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “He’s learning restraint. Still far from ready—but better.”

  “He’ll do well in Dratol, I think. If he survives, maybe he’ll join us soon,” Adelaide said. “The Masters of the other Gates will soon—”

  “Enough.” Vicar’s tone cut the air. The girl spoke too freely. “If the boy doesn’t die, none of them will ever match him.”

  He turned toward the gorge. The canyon looked the same as ever: dark, endless, and waiting. It always did. “We’ve been gone too long,” he said. “Time to return.”

  Without hesitation, Vicar stepped off the cliff. The rush of air met him like an old friend. He landed in silence.

  Above, he heard Adelaide’s voice: “You heard him. We’re leaving.”

  Moments later, her presence followed him into the dark, along with the soundless descent of those who obeyed without question.