“Kosa!”

“Kosavi!”

Insults and jeers flew from a language he wasn’t fluent in.

Then a heavy kick sounded and Osias spat out a bloody mess, stumbling down a few rugged steps while his cramped chains rattled. His face was then dirtied… smeared with blood, dirt, and spit.

But beneath his guise of a pained face hid the seething fury within as he weakly stood back once more and hobbled down the stone steps, headed for an open field below the walls.

The Golden Hawk Bannermen were not… gentle with their restraints and confinement.

Stripped of armor, weapons, and clothing, they were beaten and battered. Kicked and cut — anything to appease lingering rage that only the victors could revel in.

“Agh!” A man groaned from behind Osias.

‘Geral…’ Osias thought grimly as he focused on descending the stairs.

The gruffy man who taught him most of what he knew of this place was being beaten down relentlessly after being stripped whole.

Osias too was subject to an even crueler beating than most, his black armor of a Jentys was worthy of note despite the enemies realizing he was an Ordinary underneath.

Even his great sword was a great reminder of how many lives a mere Ordinary took from their comrades… perhaps they thought each maims of their own could get them closer to reviving their lost ones.

Some fingers were cut, and his stomach was battered until he was forced to spew blood and what remains of his rations, and his ears were severed. His back was ridden with lashings until he spilled blood. They took him by the hair and scalped him messily, revealing even more of his uncouth appearance unbefitting the rest of the soldiers.

It was almost amusing how quickly a steely pair of whips made it atop the walls where a battle was being fought just moments prior…

But Osias simply bit down on any feelings of retribution — he’ll bide his time. If they made the foolish mistake to leave him alive… Osias would be equally as foolish if he made them change their decision.

…Even on the steps downward, those of the Golden Hawk continued to beat or pelt them with odd things until Osias finally stepped foot on the open field below.

‘Hoo… am I to be bounded and put to death?’ He wondered as he trudged forward.

Those of the Golden Hawk… they executed every Jentys and Urotys where they stood. Likely because of the myriad of possible Ordeal Abilities, they simply cannot contain such unpredictable soldiers. They cannot account for every Ordeal Ability in this world…

So they hounded the Ordinaries in droves after the swift executions. By then, Osias had a choice — to leap off the walls in an idiotic gamble or accept his capture by the soldiers as his bannermen were wrapped in chains.

‘Chains and chains.’ He uttered darkly in his head.

Eventually, all the captured Ordinaries were lined together in a single vast row and Osias found out how many remained as they all trickled into a sloppily made line.

‘Thousands…’ He thought wistfully as he studied the tormented crowd of stripped men.

Few were standing proudly. Many were weary and meek. Most were beaten so bloody and bruised they couldn’t stand.

Facing against their rows of prisoners were soldiers and far behind them in the city itself were the civilians.

Men, women, children, elderly — they all arose to spectate the capture of the enemies that ravaged their lands… perhaps forced them to all herd into this city. They looked out of their windows, climbed to their roofs, and walked beyond the roads that led toward the walls.

But before Osias could study past the mass of Golden Hawk soldiers, a thunderous crack sounded — a streak of gold followed the descent of… someone.

‘Third Ordeal…’ He scowled.

His powerful radiant figure exuded a sense of immense, but solemn strength. The man donned an intricate and spotless snow-white armor that was trimmed with regal gold and a pristine cloak of pure white dragged behind the man, yet never touching the dirt-ridden ground below.

With wild light grey hair and a steely face, he reminded Osias of the elaborate statues in the city they pillaged days earlier — those of the desecrated deities.

Except this one was alive and was retaliating against the attackers of his city.

Without a word, the man heavily and slowly walked to the far left end of the row of prisoners as those of the Golden Hawk watched.

Those of the Golden Hawk watched with grins and sneers.

Those of the Red Feather who could watch had grim expressions as they could feel what was to happen when the Third Ordeal reached the end of the line.

The man in gold’s face was stern and emotionless, filled with nothing but cold resolve. Brisk, slow steps, each seemingly shook the very ground as each Ordinary in chains expected the worst.

And finally… he came upon the end of the lined men where a ragged Ordinary knelt trembling. Drawing a barbarously curved blade from his back, large enough to fit the towering stature of the man, he brought it right above the neck of the kneeling Red Feather Ordinary.

Wide and heavy enough to split any man, much less an Ordinary, the man in gold said no words and only the quiet rattling of the chains on each prisoner sounded.

But the ragged Ordinary didn’t whimper, plead, nor beg.

Osias’s head that towered over all the others made him privy to see all the way there, and he caught it — the Ordinary was smiling defiantly despite his legs having been beaten so badly he was practically crippled.

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Osias lurched forward to see a little better and as he blinked heavily… the sharp sound of steel cleaving flesh resonated through the line of prisoners followed by the wet drop of a beheaded soldier rang clear despite the distance.

The first victim crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his neck pooling with blood.

Perhaps in a way… they all had a choice atop the ramparts — to die from falling or by blade. Did that Ordinary prefer this rather than plummeting his body into a pulp?

The radiant man in gold didn’t waste another moment, before continuing.

Osias narrowed his eyes as he watched the man skip over two Ordinaries, sparing them from his wicked golden blade.

Another head dropped

But then the following one was beheaded.

Then three more Ordinaries were spared.

‘Why?’ Osias quickly wondered.

Suddenly, dirty cackles from a haggard and foul voice erupted as the radiant man slowly moved along the line.

“Urahii! Va hek hii!” The Ordinary howled in a mocking laughter.

Then the onlookers from both their captors and the civilians far within the city broke their gleeful and satisfied silence as they berated the line of prisoners.

But the radiant man simply brought his curved blade to the cackling prisoner’s naked nape and swiftly ended his life as a bloody head rolled.

Osias’s eyes narrowed and noticed that the beheaded Ordinary had a crazed smile stretched, exposing his dirty teeth even in death.

A flurry of harsh words, some Osias recognized, began to be thrown from far away, and the Golden Hawk soldiers broke their discipline as they pelted them with whatever they could.

Whatever the Ordinary said seemed to have broken and riled them into madness, as a Path Finder suddenly executed an entire swathe of Ordinaries in the line with a vicious arc formed by slashing their sword.

Chaos erupted as the Red Feather prisoners who were strong enough to stand began to lash out and shout cruelly and defiantly.

Weak growls and roars were huffed out from those who wished and could, but despite the madness, Osias didn’t do anything and remained still in his heavy chains.

However, with a thunderous stomp that raised dust, the Third Ordeal silenced the onlookers, but not the most vocal of the prisoners. Still never saying a single word, the radiant man continued to execute them seemingly arbitrarily.

A head was lopped.

Then some men were spared.

As this series continued, Osias then winced slightly as he recognized a face that the executioner was slowly approaching.

‘Erdma…’

Throwing a quick glance to his left, Osias frowned as he found that Ordinary closest to the radiant Third Ordeal that he recognized was… Erdma.

A few rolling heads later, the Third Ordeal came upon the still-faced Erdma. Osias watched tensely as one of the first of his followers faced the executioner in gold and white.

‘Not trembling this time… Erdma?’ Osias thought solemnly.

Osias was among the first to be taken to the stone steps leading down the walls, so he wasn’t present to witness much of his company of followers being beaten and subdued cruelly.

He studied Erdma’s grimy and dirt-ridden body. He was lashed until the bones on his back were exposed and was likely rolling his open wounds into the ground as he was beaten.

It looked harrowing, but it wasn’t among the worst of Osias had seen from a quick look at everyone among the line of prisoners.

But as the man donned in gold and white brought his curved blade against Erdma’s neck, a ruthless cry croaked out from Erdma’s mouth as it stretched into a mad sneer:

“Visalro—”

Osias blinked, and closed his eyes for a while, before looking at Erdma’s head that rolled a few steps away and exhaled sharply.

These men, this country or kingdom, this world was nothing but a conjured sight made from his Ordeal.

Osias never lost sight of that, no matter what he saw and did.

But to have a fervent follower, no matter how brief call out to him proudly at the end of their life… stung like salt in a wound.

He didn’t see all of the Red Sky die.

He didn’t see Kassia die, only her corpse as an attendant carried it out.

He didn’t see his parents die.

He didn’t see Kiran die.

He didn’t see Zevir die.

It was always news… always by word of mouth, always brushed aside as nothing more than a face on a corpse he once knew.

Was that why it felt all so fleeting ever since Kassia died under Garm’s needle? Or all the time he spent confined in that damned dark chamber?

…This was the first he had seen anyone he had a relationship with die before his eyes, and he didn’t like it. No matter if it was nothing more than something created from his Ordeal.

And almost as though he had regained something lost… he felt something akin to the embers of resentment. It wasn’t as deep as what he felt upon the first of his knowing when the Red Sky died, but this feeling felt pronounced, reigniting something he swallowed down and pushed aside.

The radiant man continued, and a trio was spared before another head was lopped off.

“Visal—” A voice screamed before being cut off abruptly.

It was from a face Osias knew was familiar, but he didn’t know of the name.

Their execution has reached the bulk of his followers now.

“Visalr—”

Osias scrunched his face into a deep scowl.

“Visa—” Another cried, looking to his right towards Osias.

A slight grimace flashed across Osias as the execution continued to walk down the line.

‘Ousal…’ Osias recognized the next in line — it was one of the men on the first day. Ousal didn’t converse with Osias much after teaching him words along with the others, but Osias recognized the man’s coarse face and dirty black beard. Most notable was that he seemed to know Geral and some others Osias didn’t know the names of.

Osias held his breath as the executioner approached Ousal… but to his surprise, Ousal was spared and he exhaled in slight relief.

“Visalros!” Another nameless follower bellowed as they felt the cold blade touch their nape.

Osias winced once more, but he couldn’t worry about his followers any longer… the golden executioner had reached him.

Osias stood tall as he always did. Even among the row of prisoners, he believed he stood out the most. Endless tattoos traced his entire body, not even sparing the ends of his feet and his head.

He was taller than all and possessed a burly physique. Scars littered anywhere his tattoos didn’t cover — the sinewy canvas of ink was never altered or warped with mere blades for reasons Osias didn’t know of.

…Osias met the intense eyes of the radiant executioner.

Shimmering gold irises that only made the Third Ordeal’s gaze more fierce, yet unworldly.

Sharp features and flawless white skin… he didn’t have the look of a soldier — a warrior.

But his strength was undeniable…

Eyeing the armor, it looked unspoiled despite the hundreds of men he had already put to death, not a drop of blood touched and stained both his armor and pristine mantle as though his very presence abhorred to be tainted with anything from the Red Feather Bannermen.

Osias's gaze darted to the faces of the civilians far away, some turning away in disgust, others watching intently with hardened expressions, as though the violence were just another part of life’s toll. The soldiers flanking his executioner, however, stood expectantly, their faces strewn in sneers as they recognized Osias’s stature and appearance.

He inhaled deeply and remained still as he expected the worst.

The enormous curved blade seemingly forged from the purest of gold raised highly.

The rhythmic cadence of death was like a beating war drum, quickening Osias's heartbeat with every stroke…

But then the executioner walked to the next in line, sparing him.

Osias exhaled a heave of breath as he thought:

‘Why?’

He narrowed his eyes as the executioner brought the wicked golden blade upon the nape right beside Osias.

“K-Kahm—” A youthful voice stammered out as Osias looked drearily at his follower before his head rolled.

Osias recognized what the boy was trying to say — he was pleading, begging. Something Osias has heard many times from the battles outside.

But Osias understood… it was a youthful face, and couldn’t have been older than Osias was when he and Kiran traveled the Outer Valleys.

Scowling at the lifeless body beside him, Osias couldn’t help but think what Kiran was thinking when Osias was captured and enchained by that monster…

That Kiran was spared while someone he should have overseen was captured and dead for all he knew.

However, before Osias could wonder what reason the Third Ordeal executioner to spare him and execute the young follower, the same bloody and golden blade approached the kneeling Geral.