"WHAT? This isn't District 4?!" Knife shouted in disbelief
Lin shook her head, watching him with a mix of amusement and concern. "You're way off," she said.
Knife slapped his forehead. "That kid from earlier gave me the wrong directions."
"What were you planning to do in District 4?" Lin asked, curiosity slipping into her voice.
"I'm looking for a man," Knife replied flatly.
"Why?"
"Because if I find him, I'll get my hands on a large sum of money. And with that, I could make it into Level 3."
Lin's eyes widened in surprise. The idea of reaching Level 3 always carried a certain weight.. "My friend's also heading to Level 3. Maybe he could help you out."
Knife shrugged.
Lin adjusted her bag, glancing toward the dimly lit avenue behind her. "I need to get home. My father will worry if I'm late."
"Then go," Knife said, his eyes fixed on the shadows ahead rather than on her. His attention had already drifted away, mind turning toward whatever waited for him in the dark.
"What about you?" she asked, taking a small step back but not fully turning away.
"I'll stay here." His voice was steady, almost dismissive—though there was something tight underneath, something he didn't want her noticing.
Lin hesitated, her steps faltering. "Be careful," she said softly.
Knife gave a slight nod, already turning away. She lingered for a moment, studying the rigid set of his shoulders, then slipped into the night, her footsteps fading until the silence swallowed them whole.
The hunger surged the second she was gone—sharp, relentless, impossible to ignore. Knife rolled up his sleeve with trembling fingers and bit into his arm, the coppery taste filling his mouth. It was grounding… but it wasn't enough. It never was.
He leaned against the cold wall, closing his eyes as the monster inside clawed for release, scraping at the edges of his restraint. His breath grew ragged, fogging in the chill air. But he held firm, wrestling the urge down, forcing himself deeper into the darkness where no one could see him lose control.
And alone with the silence, he waited—hungry, hurting, and determined not to become the thing he feared most.
***
Captain Iron stood amid the wreckage of the eastern quarter, arms crossed behind his back as dust drifted through the air like ash. Broken stone and splintered beams formed a jagged field around him, the remains of a collapsed perimeter wall. Torches and lanterns burned unevenly across the site, their light reflecting off shattered masonry and dented shields.
A large crowd had gathered beyond the cordon—civilians murmuring anxiously, craning their necks for answers—kept at bay by a tight line of armored knights. Some tended to the wounded. Others scanned the rooftops and alleys with hands never straying far from their hilts.
A single soldier knelt before Iron in the rubble, helm tucked under his arm, sweat cutting pale lines through the grime on his face.
"Captain," the soldier said, voice tight over the din, "Knife the Sharp has escaped. He broke through the eastern perimeter and vanished into the city."
The noise around them seemed to dull.
Iron's eyes narrowed—not in anger, but calculation.
"I expected as much," he replied calmly. "A cornered animal always finds a crack."
The soldier swallowed. "Sir… should we mobilize pursuit squads?"
Iron shook his head once.
"Our priority is the border. Chasing one fugitive blindly would only create more openings." He paused, eyes sweeping the ruined street, the frightened crowd, the strained knights holding the line. "That said—"
He shifted, his cloak brushing against a slab of fallen stone.
"I won't allow him to roam unchecked."
Iron raised one hand.
The command rippled outward. Knights stiffened. The murmuring crowd hushed slightly, sensing something change.
Then came a faint sound—soft, deliberate. Cloth brushing stone.
Iron didn't turn. "You're late."
Moments later, shadows detached themselves from the broken walls and collapsed rooftops above. Three figures dropped silently into the rubble behind him, landing without so much as a scrape of armor.
Each wore light, layered armor dyed in muted grays and blues, their cloaks feathered at the edges. Masked helms with narrow lenses caught the torchlight briefly before dimming again.
At their center stood their leader.
Corporal Asio Stryx, leader of the Watch Owls, straightened as his cloak settled around his light frame. His owl-crested helm was tucked under one arm, sharp eyes already scanning the crowd, the knights, the destruction.
"Had to confirm something first," Asio said.
Iron's eyes flicked sideways. "Speak."
Asio stepped closer, lowering his voice. "The Gravedigger has been sighted in the area."
That earned Iron's full attention.
"The Gravedigger?" he repeated.
Iron turned, gesturing to a nearby knight. A weathered report slate was brought forward, its surface cracked from earlier impacts. Iron took it, fingers moving quickly as he flipped through etched notes and sigils.
"…He was sighted at the incident in Flower Town six months ago," he murmured, scanning. "According to Captain Erber's report. After Terry the Butcher was defeated. His hideout was investigated, in search for the missing Rock Beasts."
Iron's jaw tightened as his gaze lifted briefly to the rubble around them—too similar to other scenes he'd seen.
"But when it was finally located," Iron continued, "the whole hideout was empty. The Rock Beasts was mysteriously gone without a trace, leaving behind empty cages." His eyes hardened. "Maybe the Gravedigger had something to do with it.
"Alright you will hunt the gravedigger down," Iron said. "Along with Knife the Sharp" Iron said, pointing toward a pool of blood.
Asio followed the gesture. His eyes dropped to a dark smear soaking into the dust between fractured stones.
Fresh blood.
Without warning, Asio crouched.
Several knights stiffened as he leaned forward and dragged his tongue directly on the bloodstain.
A wave of shocked murmurs rippled through the line.
"By the gods—"
"He just—"
"That's—"
Asio straightened calmly, already drawing a small object from within his cloak: a compact compass forged from dull black metal, its face etched with faint, unfamiliar runes.
He licked the compass.
The reaction was immediate.
The compass needle shuddered violently, spinning in tight circles before snapping hard in one direction—down a narrow, ruined street leading deeper into the city.
The knights stared in open dismay.
"Corporal Asio Stryx," Iron said evenly, "The owner of the Compass Artifact."
His eyes remained on the needle, still locked in place.
"The rule is simple," Iron continued. "He licks DNA from the target. Then he licks the compass. From that moment on, it points to that person—unerringly.
Asio straightened . "And if I find him?"
"You report back," Iron replied. "Nothing more."
Asio nodded reluctantly. "Understood."
Asio faded back into the shadows with an unusual irritation on his face, leaving Iron alone with his thoughts—and the growing certainty that the ground beneath Level 2 was no longer stable