At the same time Ethan arrived at the drug farm, Jenkins and his men stormed Diggen's house, dragging a bloodied and barely conscious Brenda behind them. They kicked in the front door, splintering the wood with brute force, and vanished inside. What followed was a nightmare—Brenda's muffled cries and the men's jeering laughter echoed through the walls, then slowly faded into a haunting silence.
By the time they left, Brenda was barely breathing.
Later that night, Diggen returned to his home. The shattered door was the first sign—one that sent a jolt of dread through his chest. His grip tightened around the hilt of his bastard sword as he stepped cautiously inside, his senses alert.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
He moved from room to room, tense and deliberate, but everything appeared untouched—aside from the ruined entrance. That alone would have been warning enough.
Then he reached the bedroom.
The door creaked open, and a putrid stench rushed out—urine, blood, and something else he couldn't place. The single candle burning on the nightstand flickered weakly, casting warped shadows across the room.
His eyes landed on the slumped figure propped against the headboard.
It was Brenda.
His heart stopped.
His legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees, the sword slipping from his grasp and clattering uselessly to the floor. His vision blurred, but he couldn't look away.
There she was—broken, bloodied, unrecognizable.
Brenda had been the only one who truly understood him. The only soul who'd seen the man behind the scars, behind the rage. When he'd fled to this godforsaken village with nothing but shame and failure, she'd followed. She retired early from a life most feared—abandoning comfort, abandoning safety—just to stay by his side. When he was at his lowest, she nursed him back to life.
She wasn't beautiful—not in a way that turned heads. But to Diggen, she had been a light in the endless dark. A stubborn, quiet flame that never flickered, even when everything else around him crumbled.
And now, that flame had been extinguished—in the most savage, senseless way imaginable.
Her naked body was a canvas of suffering. Legs broken. Bruises mottling her skin. Blood pooled between her thighs, mixed with streaks of white. Her face was a mess of split flesh and dried fluids, but the final insult was what they had stuffed into her mouth—a severed manhood was hanged between her lips.
Diggen's breath came in ragged gasps. His hands trembled, barely able to grip the hilt of his sword. Grief twisted inside him like a blade—but beneath it, something darker stirred. Rage. Hatred. Vengeance.
Who did this?
Only a handful of people even knew about Brenda—knew what she meant to him. This wasn't just murder. It was a message.
His movements were shaky, but deliberate. He wrapped her ruined body in his coat, lifting her with a gentleness that belied the storm in his chest. Her weight didn't slow him. It grounded him. Focused him.
Someone talked. Someone betrayed me.
There was no one in the village who could examine a body—no doctors, no alchemists. But Diggen didn't need an autopsy. He didn't need proof.
This was a power play. Someone wanted his territory. Someone was making a move.
He dug the grave himself, hacking at the cold, stubborn earth with his sword, the blade nicking stone and root alike. He worked until his arms burned and his breath came in heaves. When the hole was finally deep enough to keep the scavengers at bay, he lowered her down. No words. No prayers. Just a clenched jaw and aching teeth from holding back everything he wanted to scream.
They'll pay.
Every last one of them.
Just as he rose to his feet, footsteps crunched behind him.
Diggen spun around, sword raised, teeth bared.
Adam stood a few paces away—hands lifted in peace, expression unreadable.
"You," Diggen growled, his voice low and venomous. "Did you do this?"
"You," Diggen growled, voice low and venomous. "Did you do this?"
Adam's expression was grim. "I didn't touch her. Brenda was one of the few decent people in this hellhole. I came to say goodbye."
Diggen's grip tightened on his sword. "Bullshit. How do you even know what happened?"
Adam let out a slow breath, stepping closer to the grave, hands still raised. His voice remained calm. "we need to talk. And you need to calm down. Things are worse than you think."
Diggen didn't lower the blade. "Talk fast, or I'll bury you next to her."
Adam dropped to his knees and clasped his hands, murmuring a quiet prayer. He hadn't even finished before he felt cold steel press against his neck.
"Enough stalling," Diggen snapped. "Who did this?"
Adam didn't flinch. His eyes, cold and calculating, met Diggen's. "You know you can't kill me. Even now, with a blade at my neck, I could drop you before you blink. So lower your sword and listen."
Diggen hesitated. Adam was right. The old assassin had skills beyond the others—techniques that didn't rely on brute strength. If Adam wanted him dead, he would be.
No matter how grieved he was Diggen still loved his life eve more so he slowly lowered his weapon.
Adam stood, brushing dirt from his knees. "They're coming for the village. What happened to Brenda? That's just the start."
Diggen's voice was raw. "Who are they for god sake? They want the drug farm?"
Adam scoffed and said, "Why would they burn it if they wanted it," Adam continued. "They want the whole village, and they'll burn this place to the ground to get it not just the farm."
Paused then added, "They have a project, controlling this side of the marquisate is just a simple stepping stone for their goal, and I'm sure they don't want to spend too much time on it"
Diggen's fists clenched. "They'll have to kill me first."
Adam shook his head. "They already have. You just don't know it yet." He paused, then added quietly, "They came to me this morning. Asked for information. I couldn't refuse, it was that or I would be dead when they take control of the village."
"You sold us out?" Diggen's voice was a whisper, but the fury in it was volcanic.
Adam's expression darkened. "I bought us time. If I'd refused, we'd all be dead by sundown."
"I don't give a damn about that you bastard, you could have at least left Brenda out of this" Said Diggen anger filling his eyes.
"Fight me if you want," Adam said, "but you're wasting energy. The real enemy isn't here yet. And when they come, you'll need every blade you can get."
Diggen's chest heaved. Every instinct screamed for blood. But Adam was right.
This wasn't over.
It was just beginning.
While they were talking, Diggen did not know that someone was hiding behind a tree hearing to their conversation.