By The Blood

The thugs remained silent, unsure of how to respond. After a moment, Karl glanced at the bloated woman and asked, "Which of the noble houses seems the weakest?"

Aurelian, a former legionnaire of the Black Sand, crouched on a high stone ledge beside a gambling den. The ledge, typically used to hold eternal lamps, was for some reason unlit, casting enough darkness for him to hide in. He wore the wolf cloak he had bought earlier, his eyes fixed on his target. His kefna of course remained underneath the cloak.

Below him were the round tables where gamblers gathered and made deals. There was enough light for attacking silently to be difficult—not that he intended to do so here. This wasn’t the place.

At one particular table sat a man surrounded by women—vixens and the like. He laughed, occasionally shouting when he was dealt a bad hand. He was a Sanguine, that much Aurelian knew, but unlike most, he wasn’t wearing a kefna. Occasionally, his fist would flare with red flames, serving as a warning.

Having been contacted by the boy, Aurelian pondered the nature of this man. Did he truly deserve to die? Why had the boy asked for this? But in the end, it only took a few hours of observation to confirm the rot that was Mel—a woman’s name for a man, strangely enough.

Mel was a degenerate, a killer, and a filth who had no reason to remain in the empire of man. Worse, he lived in the city of the Pure White God—what could be worse than that? On his way here, Mel had beaten a boy nearly to death for no apparent reason other the boy had simply walked past him.

As eager as Aurelian was to kill Mel, he paused to think. Why did the boy want this person dead? Was Mel an enemy of his faction? The boy hadn’t specifically named Mel, only asking for a leader from the Dead Flame Gang to be killed. Considering there were only four leaders, it made sense that the boy had an issue with all of them.

Perhaps there was a connection between the boy and the gang. Maybe it was tied to a faction he hadn’t mentioned yet. Was this one of the tasks the boy had to complete in order to gain true access to the faction? To finally know its name?

Pondering this, Aurelian’s gaze drifted to a few men in black cloaks seated at the same table as Mel. They appeared to be part of the same gang, rubbing a strange white substance into their noses before smiling as if experiencing some kind of euphoria.

What impure things!

The circular den had a bar at its center, serving a wide range of drinks at varying prices. The barmaids were provocatively dressed, enough for Aurelian to tear his gaze away. He was already tainted by many things—he wouldn’t risk more.

Despite the depravity, the den attracted a wide variety of people: knight-city natives with their free and soundhands, and orc-like Hornbreeds. Fortunately, he saw no Tudorson, although he knew such noble people would rather die than be caught in such debauchery. The Maw were there as well, functioning as guards for the den and certain gamblers. A few individuals carried swords—likely Freeblades.

Around the perimeter of the den, various games were in progress, none of which interested him, although the gamblers seemed captivated. The only one that caught his attention was a cage fight between beasts. One was a muscular ash hound, while the other was a strange creature with spindly legs and a carapace-covered back.

They fought, but the hound lacked the versatility of the insectoid creature. In the end, the dog was impaled by one of the creature's spiked legs, and its flesh was devoured.

Watching this with a frown, Aurelian considered whether he had the right to kill everyone here. They were so impure that even the abyss would seem clean by comparison. At least he knew no one here—aside from Mel—would be able to stop him if he carried out a massacre.

Still, despite the depravity, the people retained a sliver of culture. The men didn’t embrace each other, the women didn’t speak while eating, and no one of the opposite gender approached a table with food on it. At least there was some shred of dignity left.

Aurelian remained hidden in the shadows, using the mist to obscure himself. Soon, Mel stood up and strode across the floor of the gambling den, a vixen on each arm. Mel had the rough appearance of a Maw, but his hair wasn’t as thick. Perhaps his bloodline was diluted.

Mel’s companions, the ones in black cloaks, followed him as they left the den. Aurelian observed all of this. He would have to kill them first before dealing with Mel. Whether they deserved it or not was already clear. They had stood by when Mel beat the boy and had done nothing to help. In fact, they had laughed, enjoying the boy’s suffering.

Once Mel had left, Aurelian casually leaped down from the ledge. His landing was so smooth that, aside from a few drunken men nearby, no one seemed to notice his presence. He slipped out of the gambling den, up the steps through the dimly lit storefront, and into the yard. As he passed a wagon, he grabbed a piece of silk cloth.

In the swirling mist and damp air that clung to him, Aurelian wrapped the cloth around his face, creating a makeshift mask. He left his eyes exposed, but breathing was difficult through the fabric.

This was Amadora—a quieter part of it. Here, the people still feared the mist, and in all likelihood, everyone in the den would end up sleeping there.

Aurelian often wondered why people feared the mist. There was no reason to, but perhaps at some point in humanity’s development, they had begun to fear it. Perhaps during the Solitude Epoch or the Annihilation Wars, something dangerous had accompanied the mist, and humans had developed a primal fear of it. Of course, these were just guesses.

Walking along the side of the street, near the stinking gutters of red-green water, Aurelian wondered what the strange boy wanted.

If he were a saint, it would make sense for him to hate people like Mel. But if he’s not, then why? Will I be doing things like this regularly? It was a pointless question—he already knew the answer. He would be doing this for a while, and though he hated it, he took solace in the fact that the Ministry supported him in some way. He was doing it for the Pure White God.

Slipping between buildings, moving swiftly through the red-tinged darkness shrouded in mist, Aurelian was headed for Mel’s home, which he had easily discovered after interrogating a few thugs. Once he knew his target was connected to the Dead Flame gang, he wasted no time finding associated thugs, and within a short span, he had gathered the information he needed. The only question now was: would there be any complications? What if Aletha heard of this and suspected him?

What would he do then? Would he have to tell her about his task from the Ministry or the boy’s involvement? Or would he need to do something truly unforgivable to keep her from finding out? Aurelian shook his head. Pure protect me, he prayed.

Aurelian entered one of the wealthier sections of Amadora. Despite being part of the slums, there were still areas that seemed partially untouched by filth. Of course, these parts were the most dangerous, as thugs and gang leaders were prevalent, and death was common.

Soon, he spotted his destination. A thug had described it well—Mel lived in a large mansion, likely once belonging to a noble. It had an arched roof with numerous iron spires reaching toward the sky, like spears piercing the heavens. The building appeared white in the night, though it was deeply covered in dust, soot, and grime. While it still retained some of its former grandeur, the filth had reduced it to a shell of what it once was.

The mansion towered above the surrounding structures, with grounds that were once neatly maintained but now overgrown and decayed. Most of the flowers had turned ashen or red, long dead. In Amadora, there was little to no light in the street poles, meaning no shadow wisps appeared—not that it bothered him.

He pressed himself against the wall, the mist swirling around and covering everything in a silent whiteness. In that whiteness, Aurelian was about to become part of it. He could hear the scraping sounds of soldiers—guards patrolling the wall above.

Aurelian tapped his chest, and the ring of light shone from within his kefna. He could have chosen black or a dimmer color for this task, but that would go against his principles. Even with all the things he had done, he still stayed true to the empire and its laws—laws that required him to wear the kefna if he intended to use Sanguine powers. Well, he did wear a black cloak.

Soon, his body began to break down into mist, gradually floating upward. He often wondered why his clothes transformed with him—they weren’t part of his body, so why? In the end, the conclusion was always the same: the Mist-Blooded Knight was just unique.

He floated up with the other mist, making himself nearly invisible to the patrolling men, who were likely thugs themselves. To prevent his body from dispersing into the wind, he kept part of himself intact—a finger, which he hid in the mist, making it as unseen as the rest. He needed this connection to reform his body later. Without it, his form would dissolve into the mist, drifting aimlessly until he lost his mind from the separation. Going mad as a result.

If the guards had been more attentive, they might have noticed a particular cloud of mist shuddering slightly. This was because Aurelian had suddenly recalled his time as a madman. It had been a dark period. He shook off the memory, focusing on the task at hand.

As mist, he passed the guards, thugs, and others. It would be so easy to kill them all, but that wasn’t his mission. The boy had asked him to kill one of the gang leaders, and that’s what he intended to do. Not that he wouldn’t kill a few thugs along the way, but only those who got in his way.

He floated higher, quickly re-forming and landing silently on the roof of the arched mansion. Summoning his mist blade, droplets of water streamed down its surface as it condensed. With a precise slice, he cut a hole in the roof, angling his blade so that the chunk of tile didn’t fall inside. Aurelian leaped into the hole, turning his torso into mist as he descended.

With a gentle landing, he touched the floor, his eyes scanning for any watchers. The room was dimly lit by a few eternal lamps, causing him to squint as he tried to make out his surroundings.

Surprisingly, the room was empty. Where had everyone gone? Could it be that Mel was so well-guarded that no one was left here? Aurelian wasn’t sure. The air was still, silent, and musty as he hurried to the door. Using his fingers, he directed condensed mist into the lock to act as a key. With a soft click, he eased the door open and peeked inside. No one. This was odd.

He moved swiftly through the hallways, his mist blade trailing behind him. With no one in sight, his apprehension grew.

Ahead, the doors to the master’s room stood unwatched and dark at the end of the corridor. Unguarded? Did he not return? Aurelian had delayed his entry, allowing Mel time to come back and settle in. So where was the man? Did he not return after all?

He crept up to the doors, listening intently. Nothing—not even a breath. Yet strangely, a scent lingered in the air. Aurelian hesitated, glancing at a stairway leading to the second floor. Was that where Mel was?

Using another finger, he directed mist into the keyhole. He unlocked the door and was met by a dark room. Was he really not here? Where had he gone?

The strange scent persisted. Aurelian crept closer to the bed in the center of the room, mist blade in hand. He squinted, barely making out a faint silhouette on the bed. Just then, as if by fate, moonlight shone through the window. Why hadn’t I entered through one of those?

As the light revealed the scene, Aurelian tensed. On the bed lay Mel, naked, his head severed, blood streaming from his neck. He was flanked by two vixens who shared the same fate. From their positions at the edge of the bed, it seemed they had at least tried to escape before being killed.