Death felt unfathomably unsocial, so bored he’d resorted to walking alongside the wagon rather than stay inside it. Snow was laying upside down, head out the door, still humming songs to try and soothe Death, only making him more frustrated.

  “Your hair will get caught in the wheel and you will die, get that head of yours back in the wagon,” he snarled. “For once on our long, painful journey, do not be a brat.”

  “Being a brat is fun,” she teased. “You care about my head? I think that’s adorable.”

  “We’re almost at Arcyril!” Vera yelled. “The gates are open, can see them from here, I’d get in the wagon soon or they’re gonna spot you and try to fuck your ass!”

  Death was so good at drowning or Vera’s obnoxiously high voice that he couldn’t tell you what she’d said if his life depended on it. “I do not care about your head, Snow,” he said harshly. “I care about the sudden end of my own life that would come about from your mortal clumsiness.”

  “Why not just come back inside the wagon and talk to us about what’s got the big strong conqueror upset?”

  “Do not belittle me, Snow,” he growled. “I have told you many times that I am deep in thought; I will continue walking, my stamina must be increased for when the tougher battles come.”

  “Aleion, Deilon, and Golus weren’t tough battles?”

  “Those three were only dipping a toe into the storm.”

  “We better kill more people and get you nice and strong for when that comes, hm? Give us some too, we’ll take them on three versus one!”

  “The gates are coming up!” Vera yelled. “You should really get in the wagon now, there’s guards!”

  “I don’t care,” Death grunted. “If they recognise me, it’ll be the last thing they do with their pitiful lives.”

  “This close to Vatanil?” Vera squealed. “I’m not fuckin’ dyin’ in Arcyril of all places so if you start spreading corpses it better be a part of a grand plan!”

  I have no idea what I’m doing any more, Death thought. I just need to get to Vatanil, meet with the Valan royalty, perhaps they are reasonable and will exchange information for a service of sorts, I would kill for others while I am this low in the hierarchy of power.

  The guards were slacking, playing card games atop a crate and waving the wagons in without looking to see or what was coming into Arcyril. Death stood still and challenged them with a cough to gain their attention. “Get lost fuckhead,” he said. “If you’ve got a crime to report go find a local with a sword, we’re busy here.”

  “An excellent job you two three are doing,” Death snarled.

  “Fuck off buddy, orders from Killian Entrail to watch the gates for some cambion lunatic with black hair, if you see him give us a holler, otherwise go fuck yourself.”

  Snow dragged Death through the gates after realising he was missing from the side of their wagon. “I know you want to kill a lot of people but we want to sneak into Vatanil, don’t we?”

  I can still sneak into that city, I just need to kill all voices that could report what happened, Death wanted to say. Gods, I am so thirsty from all that walking.

  “I’m staying here,” Vera said. “I’ll stay in Arcyril, you can take two of the horses into Vatanil.”

  “We will stay here for a tiny moment,” Death ordered. “Snow, feed the horses. Fox, you come with me.”

  “Aw, you wanna spend some time with your worshipper?” Vera teased. “Rude of you to leave Snow by herself.”

  “You have the coin,” Death snarled. “I refuse to touch a single thing that has been so close to your skin.”

  “Harsh.”

  “Just don’t take too long,” said Snow. “I don’t like being away from you.”

  This city is desolate of colour and entertainment, Death thought. So painfully grey and glum, no music, not even a red banner to show allegiance to the Valan. A lot of fish and weapon vendors, must be a city of trade and nothing else, how boring.

  The only interesting thing he found was a standard stone water fountain, likely catching his attention due to dehydration. He gulped down handfuls of water before realising he was sharing it with many goldfish and guppies.

  I don’t care if my water is mixed with fish piss, as long as I don’t see any brown turds in my palm, I’ll be happy. I’ve consumed a lot worse than this in the last few days.

  “You’re a thirsty conqueror ain’t ya,” Vera joked, sitting on the edge of the fountain, hood up. “You didn’t replace your poor sword that got chucked off that bridge by the big ol’ golem. There’s a lot of blacksmiths around, a lot of traders with weaponry, do ya wanna use my last little diamond to get yourself a cool lookin’ dagger as a last resort if you lose both swords? You always look displeased with that fuckin’ chain you’ve got.”

  “That is not a terrible idea, fox,” he commended. “For once you have given a sound suggestion—take me to one of these fools and you shall pay them.”

  “Right, because you don’t want to touch a diamond that’s been tucked between my boobs, huh? Y’know, plenty of men would jump at the opportunity to reach in there, probably some girls too.”

  “You don’t have the charm to convince me, nor do you have a large enough chest to entice others.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Did you just… call my boobs small?”

  “Take it however you wish, fox, take me to this weapon vendor and I shall pick out a weapon.”

  She pouted and chose one at random, they all looked the exact same from the outside—shields and armour hung from strings to try and attract buyers to come inside.

  The vendor inside was young but experienced, covered in tales through scars and wrinkles. Wide, bearded, a warmness radiating from his voice. “How y’all doin’, if you need anything you just let me know and I’ll give you my expertise.”

  “Won’t be necessary,” Death said drily. “I know what I desire and no knowledge surpasses my own.”

  “A fellow swordsman, ay?”

  “Bit more than a swordsman,” Vera joked. “He dabbles here and there, nothing too much, definitely hasn’t been burning cities or slaying demons or anything.”

  “Haha, yer funny,” the vendor said. “I like them ears, they real or are you pretending to be a hybrid?”

  “The fox is a fox,” Death grunted. “Best not to converse with her or she will annoy and seduce you.”

  “Won’t work on me honey, I’ve got a pretty woman wit’ a ring on her finger waitin’ at home.”

  She leaned across the counter with a smug grin. “Oh yeah?” she teased. “Sounds like a challenge.”

  “Vera, do not attempt to sway the man’s life choices—or do, I don’t care, just preferably after I have chosen my dagger.”

  “Is it a dagger your after, ay?”

  “A long dag—” Vera tried to say.

  “Ain’t talking to you young lady.” He hopped over the counter and removed a black sheet from a table of wares. “I got standard knives of iron and wood; ones made of black steel imported from my inside source in Vatanil; cheap brittle ones made of marble if you’re just looking for fancy ones to decorate your castle.”

  “Castle?” Death asked, amused.

  “Well, yer dressed like a businessman, must have a big home somewhere,” he joked. “What’s to your fancy?”

  “Do you have any made of godsteel?”

  “Bloody godsteel?”

  “It is the strongest material able to be mined, I doubt you have any weapons crafted from the armour of a seraph or stolen from the dead hands of a gifted warrior.”

  “I have one,” he said. “Yer lucky, it’s the only godsteel I got in my possession.” He disappeared into the back room of his store and returned with a godsteel dagger wrapped in a golden cloth. He held it to a candle, showing the red shine glimmering when held just at the right angle. “See? Pure godsteel, I barely want to put with the beauty, but I will for a good price. Never used, a virgin blade, not even for shaving or picking food from one’s teeth.”

  Vera pulled her final diamond from between her breasts, placing it teasingly into his hand. “This enough?”

  “Oh… my… that’s more than plenty, this could get you two o’ the damn things, what else do you want?”

  “An addition to my belt to hold the dagger, wrap a chain to the pommel that I can release from my belt if it gets snatched by an enemy and used as a leash.”

  “Ah, I see you, you don’t want to lose the beauty but also don’t want it to be your downfall if someone gets a hold of it… I’ll get right on it, what else do you want?”

  “Nothing,” Death said. “Keep the rest as a payment for enduring the fox.”

  “Hey!” Vera yelled. “I wanna buy some stuff!”

  “No, fox, you only wish to purchase stuff to throw it away after you’ve got it.”

  “I want these eggs!” She yelled, pointed to an egg basket.

  “You may have the eggs, young lady,” the vendor said.

  While he worked on make an attachment for Death’s belt he had another conversation to strike up—the dragon mother at the Dragon Chasm hiding at the top of the Chasm of Death.

  “Why do you talk to me of dragons?” Death snarled. “I did not pay you for tales.”

  “They’ve gave the bastard bitch a name now,” he said. “That damn Bianca Valan still won’t march up that mountain but she’s making it everyone else’s problem now.”

  “Bianca Valan? She is their sister?” Death asked.

  “You from around here?” the man asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Her name’s Bianca Lython, the father of them Valan knobs practically raised her from what I hear.”

  “Thank you for the information.”

  “Death saying thank you to someone and meaning it from the bottom of his heart?” Vera exclaimed. “You’ve just witnessed a true miracle, mister vendor, he always says it with hatred.”

  The vendor was ignoring her too.

  “Well, there ya go, nice and tight to your belt, dagger nice and snug, pleasure doin’ business with ye.”

  Death left with Vera and took a shortcut back to Snow through a large alley. Whilst walking, a drunken guard stumbled in and gave him a quick look while stumbling away.

  “Now wait a damned second,” the guard slurred. “Red eyes, a bunch of black hair… you’re the one Killian told us about!”

  Death took three eggs from Vera’s bought basked and threw all of them as straight as an arrow from a bow. All three hit, the yolk blinding him. “Could’ve just kept walking and lived to see another day,” Death taunted. “Everyone in this nation is a fool.”

  He deflowered his freshly bought godsteel knife in the jugular of the armoured man, then finished the job with a slow, painful poke to his eye which made the knife’s guard kiss the bridge of the Valan soldier’s nose.

  Smooth blade, sharp, a pity it is only a dagger and not the length of a full blade—giving Snow that seraphim-armour-forged sword was a terrible command.

  He positioned the man to look drunk and unconscious, then left him in the alley for someone else to discover.

  Vera had ran ahead to Snow, who was patting sheep nearby the wagon. He stood in the alley and felt… strange.

  What is this? he thought. Am I feeling… conflicted?

  He stared at his two companions and gave a deep sigh. He felt a hollowness seize his heart, unsure of who he was—unable to accept Snow’s undying adoration, it didn’t matter if he didn’t reciprocate any of her attempts, he couldn’t accept it a second longer, as to agree he was able to be loved meant two things: he didn’t have to be alone anymore, and that somewhere deep inside his hateful heart was a fragment of his soul worthy of unconditional love.

  He hated the idea of both of these things.

  Love wasn’t for him, being loved wasn’t for him, and he didn’t want someone to free him from his solitude; he told himself it was a voluntary decision, and now was his chance to prove it… but even with the choice he still didn’t know what kind of man he was.

  This emptiness festered in seconds, influencing him as the sole reason for what he chose to do next.

  He gave them a final look then turned his back to them. I will go to Vatanil alone, he thought. I must know who I am without Snow.