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The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, but as the prisoners were led into view, the crowd's murmurs shifted from excitement to disappointment. Whispers of irritation spread like wildfire, discontent lacing every word.

"They're covered?" someone scoffed.

"I wanted to see their faces," another grumbled.

Leon quickly realized why—the prisoners were completely concealed. Their heads were shrouded in coarse cloth, their bodies wrapped in heavy chains that rattled with every step. The crowd had gathered expecting a spectacle, hoping to witness the fear or defiance in the eyes of the condemned. Instead, all they got were faceless figures shuffling forward, stripped of identity.

Leading the procession was a bloated man atop an ornately decorated horse. His clothes were far too fine for his surroundings, the silken fabric straining against his girth. Rings adorned every pudgy finger, glinting in the midday sun as he lazily twirled the reins between them. His gaze barely acknowledged the crowd, his expression one of utter boredom.

Behind him, on foot, walked another man—tall, lean, and composed. His attire was nothing like the first man's; plain, almost worn, a stark contrast to the extravagance before him. Yet something about him set Leon's instincts ablaze. A creeping unease slithered through his gut, whispering of danger.

His eyes narrowed. Who is that?

Turning to the man beside him, Leon asked, "Who is the one leading the prisoners?"

His companion barely hid his disgust. "That's Darius Venholm, head of the city prison. Spoiled brat. Got the position through family connections, not skill." His lip curled as he spoke. "Lazy and arrogant. He spends more time eating than actually doing his job."

Leon shook his head. "Not him. The other one. The one walking."

The man followed his gaze and his expression softened slightly. "Ah, that's Aldric, the vice-captain. Unlike that pig on the horse, he actually earned his place. Awakened his Soul Core ability at ten, graduated from the Imperial Academy by fifteen. A true genius. Fully loyal to the empire, unlike some of the rats that worm their way into power." His tone carried admiration. "If things were fair, he'd be the captain, not that useless lump."

Leon's gaze lingered on Aldric. A warrior who earned his place… then why does he feel so dangerous?

His thoughts were interrupted as the man beside him suddenly tensed. "We need to move. They're getting close to the gate."

Leon followed the crowd, his pace steady, but his focus remained locked on the two figures leading the march.

Then, he saw it.

At the heart of the city lay a gaping chasm, unnatural and foreboding. It stretched wide across the ground, a jagged wound in the earth. Unlike the rest of the city, where buildings stood in close clusters, this area was eerily empty, as if even the architecture itself feared getting too close.

The pit's interior glowed with a strange, pulsing red light, its surface flickering like embers in a dying fire. Leon felt something primal stir within him—a deep, ancient unease.

At the edge of the abyss, the procession halted.

Darius dismounted his horse with great effort, his heavy frame trembling slightly as he climbed onto a raised platform.

The crowd fell silent.

The prisoners stood motionless.

And for the first time since entering the city, Leon felt cold.