Glenn finally left his room, smelling a hell of a lot better compared to when he entered it. Thanks to the thorough cleaning, he was practically unrecognizable, which he was thankful for. No one glanced at him, apart from a few interested women, which wasn't too embarrassing, on the contrary. He sat down at Redan’s table, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

Redan stared at him for a moment, the emotion in his green eyes indecipherable. Glenn glared back at the old man, the two spending a long and awkward moment staring at each other, until Redan finally cleared his throat.

“Kiddo, ya’re a brave one. I’ll let ya know I don’t discriminate—"

“SO!” Glenn interrupted him, “Did you read the document?” It was more than evident that he wished for this accident to be skipped over. Redan grinned a toothy smile and shook his head. He took off his golden-ridged monocle and cleaned it with a silk handkerchief.

“Well, if what I read in this crappy notebook is half-true, ya should be dead right now. Or a monstrosity, some kind of Corrupted. But ya’re neither,” The old man leaned forward and rubbed his chin, “...or so it appears.” Redan’s eyes were gleaming with curiosity and unanswered questions, alongside a good dose of wariness. The elder suddenly produced an ice knife and held it toward him hilt first. The soft magical lights of the inn refracted off the ice blade.

“Do ya still bleed red? ‘Cause if ya don’t, I might have to, well, put an early end to ya’. No bad feeling, ‘aight?” Redan stated simply, sending a shiver down Glenn’s spine. He tried to run away, but the old man’s gaze was too strong for him. Whatever magical fuckery was going on, it was very efficient in restraining his movements. Glenn’s eyes widened as he watched helplessly his right hand move by itself and take the knife, before making a small slit on his left, purple hand. Horror seized his racing heart as he couldn’t help but question whether he would indeed bleed red or…something else. For the other parts of his body, sure, he had no doubt his blood would be as crimson as it always had been.

But the blood in the hand that hosted Diamanes, the kind of evil entity that somehow changed the color of his skin to a purple one, might be different. The horror faded away as quickly as it appeared, a scarlet droplet falling from the wound and falling onto the table. The moment the droplet made this characteristic plic sound, the magic that restrained Glenn’s movements disappeared.

Glenn gasped, clenching his heart, “Huff…why couldn’t you ask, you damned…” Glenn grimaced and forcefully closed his mouth. He wouldn’t gain anything from insulting the mysterious, annoying geezer, but still…what a dick!

“Darn, there’s that much filth in ya’r blood, and yet ya remain human. That ain’t normal. Heh, an anomaly, ay?” Redan snorted and leaned back, crossing his arms with a puzzled expression.

Glenn exhaled a loud, heavy sigh. He wasn’t that sure he was still a human, but at least he bled like one. He needed to take solace where he could.

“Respectfully,” Glenn winced, “I think I could have done that much without you forcing me, had you simply asked,” He hissed with a dry tone, stealing the expensive-looking handkerchief from Redan’s hand and using it to cover his small wound.

The old man raised his eyebrows, before scoffing in incomprehension, “I ain’t forcing no one; ya did it yourself, ‘right? I ain’t the one who held the knife, that’s certain,” He then took away his handkerchief from Glenn, grimacing at the blood that now tainted it.

‘He’s not even assuming it. I like this guy,’ Diamanes commented with a chuckle. Glenn secretly sighed.

‘Of course you do…’ He shook his head before attempting to steer the conversation back on track. All that was quite funny and all, but they had a murderous, insane cult they needed to deal with.

“So, can you help me against the people who…” He gestured at the document in front of Redan, “...Fed me this bullshit cocktail?”

Redan moistened his lips before averting his gaze away from Glenn’s hopeful eyes. He raised his hands in a gesture of uncertainty.

“I don’t even know who these “people” you speak of are, and I’m just an ol’ man. I’m not sure as to why ya thought I could help ya, but I’m honored,” He said as he scraped out the dirt under his nails, unbothered.

…Is he for real?

Glenn clenched his teeth as he stared at the gesture that Redan was not-so-discreetly making right now, drawing a circle in his hand. The shameless geezer was asking for his money! He sighed and pulled the gold coins out of his dimensional pouch. He had expected that he would need to spend some money after all. That might be simpler to deal with it like this and to hire the old man as a mercenary.

“I’m certain that the people who did this to me are from the church outside. Secondly, how expensive are you—?"

A bit of ice stuck his lips together, muting him. Redan slowly stood up, his hands clenching the edges of the table. His sharp, green eyes were wide open with disbelief as he suddenly went back to reading the document. His gaze darted left and right, reading at a much higher speed compared to earlier. He threw a look around, barely stopping on the waitress at the counter, and understanding flashed on his face.

Redan flicked his fingers and made the ice sealing Glenn’s lips melt away.

“What was that for—?"

The old man cut him off once again, not giving him a chance to protest.

“It’s marked with 3333. Does that mean there are over three thousand individuals who were subjected to the same procedure as you?” Redan spoke seriously, his language ticks gone. Glenn swallowed back the insults he was about to spit out and nodded. It seemed like the old man was finally taking this whole thing seriously.

“There are probably many more than that,” he affirmed. Redan’s expression hardened and he took the notebook, throwing it at Glenn who caught it reflexively.

“We don’t have much time, they’re probably here already. Follow me, I need you to meet someone.”

Glenn stood up and took a step back, dumbfounded.

“Wait, why would I come with you? Can’t I just…hire you, you go and ice all of these cultists while I wait here in the safety of my room and enjoy my freedom?”

Redan rolled his eyes and sighed with disappointment.

“Did ya lose yar guts somewhere along the way, kid? Perhaps ya want to go back into the hole ya crawled out of? ‘Cause that’s what will happen if ya stay here. Or worse, how could little ol’ me know?”

Glenn gritted his teeth and discreetly glanced at the fake waitress at the bar. She was directly staring at him, grinning widely as she leaned forward while revealing as much of her bosom as she could. But Glenn now knew it wasn’t her prominent “features” she was trying to show. No, it was the cult’s mark, to tell him that he was safe nowhere, no matter where he hid. He gulped and turned back, refusing to think back to returning to that cursed prison. If he had to follow the overpowered old man in some mysterious place, then so be it. He stood up and hurriedly left the inn, catching up with Redan who had gone ahead. He glared at the ominous church standing on the opposite side of the street, swearing to himself that he would find a way to burn that place to the ground at the very least, someday.

He shook his head and tried to take his mind off these things, “So, uh, who are we going to meet? And, seeing how you reacted, you must know those cultists guys, right?”

Redan raised an eyebrow at Glenn, unable to understand him.

“Cult? They ain’t no cult, it’s one of the main religions of Munirp, ya whacko. How can ya not know that?”

The concerned whacko rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. He could just tell him that he was from another world, could he?

“I’m…I’m not from here, so I’m unfamiliar with many things,” Glenn admitted. That wasn’t technically lying, so it worked too. The old man shook his head with a crestfallen expression, muttering something along the lines of “damn’d bumpkin” or something.

Redan drew a breath and explained, “They’re quite infamous as the Thorn’s Church. All insane, masochistic fanatics who trade pain for their Divine powers. Among the poorest, they’re also known for providing food and shelter to their followers, alongside their dam’ “repentance”,” he spat the last word in disgust.

Glenn grimaced, trying and failing to picture a group of people hurting themselves in a group to harness some mysterious power. Was that the power that summoned thorny vines from the ground to restrain him, or which was used to create the Silence Curse that was placed on him for almost two months? Probably. Not that he cared, in reality. Right now, he just wanted to be as far away from these sick bastards as he could. Leading a holy crusade against them will come after that.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Unaware of Glenn’s thoughts, Redan continued his explanations, “They recruit actively, ‘cause many of their followers die within the first few months due to self-mutilation. Those who survive the initial period become unhinged madmen that nobody wants to encounter. Quite the sickening fellows.”

Redan paused for a moment and picked his nose, “...Ya might be right in calling those wackos cultists when I think back to it. Huh.”

Glenn nodded, “I know, right?” No other word seemed appropriate to describe them in his opinion.

The old man grunted and shook his head, “They act in the North-West part of the Sewers, between the Frozen Gate and the Twilight Gate. They ain’t supposed to go into the other districts, because they’re ruled by other groups.”

Glenn nodded once again.

Redan abruptly turned to grab Glenn’s shoulders and locked eyes with him.

“I found ya on the edge of the North-East district. If whatcha saying is true, there are thousands of monsters waiting to be unleashed there, which means war is coming. A war which will oppose the Thorn’s Church to the Black Heirs and maybe the military, even though I doubt that” Redan shook his head worriedly, “And that ain’t good at all.”

Glenn, already overwhelmed, grew even more perplexed. Black Heirs? The military? He just managed to get the name of the cult who tortured him, the Thorn’s “Church”, and yet he was already faced with new organizations. Black Heirs…at least their names sounded intriguing. Hopefully, they weren’t sick bastards like the cultists.

Redan grumbled and quickened his pace, leaving Glenn to try and catch up to him.

“How did Giselle miss this? Is she still worried about that damn brat? Darn it...”

Glenn remained silent, even though he wanted to know who that Giselle was. It didn’t seem like it was the right time to inquire about this mysterious friend of Redan.

“Wouldn’t it have been as much of a problem if the prison had been located in the center of the Thorn’s Cult—Church district,” Glenn asked, curious. The old man shrugged.

“Who cares about these whackos who live there? They spend their days hoping to die in their spell, in that dam’ “Repentir”. Tsk, it might have even been better if the monsters had been released in there. A good ol’ cleansing, heh.”

Redan’s words resonated in Glenn’s mind, lacking any kind of compassion. A group of dangerous-looking beggars suddenly appeared in front of them, blocking their path. They had rusted knives and wooden clubs and looked ravenously at the both of them. The biggest of the group, a man with a fat belly and probably three or less hair on his head aimed his weapon at them.

"Pay up, folks, or we'll cut you up and eat you for breakfast. It's been a while since we had some fresh meat!" Sinister chuckles echoed from his group, as they closed in on them. Glenn was opening his eyes wide, shocked. One of the bandits noticed it and pointed at him with his fingers, laughing madly.

"Haha, look at this fellow, he's going to piss his pants from fright!"

Glenn rubbed his eyes, having a hard time believing them. These were the kinds of third-rate villains who were used as comic reliefs in webcomics, staying for a panel or two. He couldn't believe he met some!

Redan on his side simply sighed, before waving his hand horizontally. A wave of cold air was pushed over the thieves, who shivered and took a step back. Well, they tried to do so, before realizing that their feet were encased in blue, solid ice. Screams of panic and disbelief resounded in the group as they tried to free themselves from their sudden restraints. The elder who just froze them shook his head dejectedly.

"I don't have time for those idiots. Let's get going."

Glenn followed behind him silently, staring at the blue ice imprisoning the bandits. If he had that power…perhaps he could take on these cultist bastards by himself.

‘Well, let me tell you that you won’t reach Redan’s level no matter what you try!’ Diamanes warned with a mocking laugh, ‘You’ll never be able to handle both Aura and Mana, no matter what you do, while the old man does it effortlessly. But…’ Diamanes appeared for a spare second in Glenn’s left, purple palm, grinning from the thumb to the pinky, ‘If you use me well…you could reach beyond the geezer’s power.’

Glenn scoffed and shook his head, ‘Sure if you say so.’ He was tempted to mock the entity back, but when he thought back that it was mainly thanks to him that he escaped the prison, he couldn’t. At least not yet. After navigating in the slums for a good half an hour, Glenn noted that the shanties were appearing slightly more habitable in this part of town, looking more like houses and less like tool sheds. The mood was also incomparably better in the vicinity of the prison exit.

That's when he saw that the people were quite well-fed here, and also when they noticed him back. Now that they had something in their belly, they looked much more dangerous and oppressing. They all stared silently at the duo, making the young man slightly uncomfortable. One thing that stood out was that they all had dark skin and white marks on their foreheads. The white marks were diverse and varied, and all looked like complicated sets of runes mashed together.

"Why are they looking at us this way?" Glenn whispered for Redan to hear, unable to not glare back at them.

Redan glanced at him and chuckled, before shaking his head.

“They ain’t lookin’ at us; they’re starin’ at ya, kiddo.”

Glenn frowned, suddenly understanding that these guys were the Black Heirs Redan spoke of earlier. They emerged from their homes to scrutinize the both of them—specifically him—not uttering a word, just silent, watchful gazes. Judgmental gazes. Full of hate and spite, as well as distrust.

"...The hell? Do they hold some grudge against me?" He couldn’t help but ask

Redan nodded vigorously, his head bobbing exaggeratedly, "Oh, yes they do. Ya're a white boy dressed in noble attire. To them, ya represent the very class that forced them into this wretched existence."

Approaching their assumed destination, Glenn glanced back, noticing a group trailing behind them, blocking their potential retreat. Their faces were contorted in resentment, jaws clenched, yet no words escaped their lips. It seemed like the only thing restraining them was the old man’s presence, a sufficient deterrent in the face of their overwhelming numbers.

'Welp, I better shut my trap,’ Glenn gulped, carefully looking back at the Black Heirs.

'Yep, even more, when you're around those guys. Do you see these white marks on their foreheads? They all possess power to a certain extent,' commented Diamanes with an interested voice.

Glenn frowned, ‘What kind of power? Magic again?’

'Yeah, kind of. As far as I can see, they gain access to aura, and the intricacy of the mark correlates with the strength of their abilities,’ Diamanes explained. Glenn’s lips curved upward as he joked, ‘Can I get one?’

Diamanes took on an outraged tone, ‘Firstly, that would be cultural appropriation; secondly, you weren’t born for it, and finally…’ the entity chuckled mockingly, ‘...I am pretty sure they wouldn’t give that mark to you no matter what.’

Glenn disregarded two-thirds of the sentence and instead concentrated on the interesting part, ‘What do you mean I wasn’t born for it?’

Diamanes sighed, disappointed his mockery did not have the effect he hoped for, ‘Usually, the human body can't accommodate multiple types of powers without erupting like a watermelon under a hydraulic press. Well, that's what's supposed to happen, but somehow that white mark makes this possible. You still can't get it though, I think it's something to do with their blood.'

'You're going through a deep, dark part of my brain to get references like that press.'

'And since you're already a Mage, you can't use Aura. Well, maybe you could, if you were born with a unique lineage like Redan, or born a Black Heir.'

'Wait, did you say Redan has a special bloodline? Is he like part-dragon or something?'

Diamanes' silence threw a shiver down Glenn’s back as he realized that his joke might have landed a little too close to the truth. Returning to their immediate predicament, after a few twists and turns, Glenn and Redan arrived before an expansive tent reminiscent of a Mongolian yurt. Black Heirs congregated nearby, consuming meals by campfires or honing their weapons, exotic curved swords and sabers.

Glenn tensed up, ready to dig into his dimensional pouch and pull out the fire staff at any moment. He had no idea how he was supposed to use it, but it shouldn’t be too hard, right? Right?

The Black Heirs surrounded Glenn and Redan as they approached the yurt’s entrance, the cold glints of their weapons incomparable to their intense hatred. They all stared at Glenn with animosity, ignoring Redan entirely. Glenn was almost tempted to hide behind the old man, but it was too late for that.

“Man, isn’t it a little too much to hate me for the clothes I wear…?” Glenn muttered through his teeth, carefully looking at the hostile Black Heirs. Suddenly, as if to break the tension, a rough, female voice exploded from within the Mongolian tent in an unfamiliar language. The Black Heirs grimaced and parted ways to create a path between the tent and the duo.

The yurt flap lifted, drawn back by a hand as dark as the night. A formidable, terrifying, and extremely muscular woman emerged from the tent. She stood with a powerful presence, appearing to be in her sixties. She donned tight, leather brown pants and a sleeveless vest of the same material that could barely hold her imposing bosom. Intimidating scars intersected on her face, one tracing down her left eye and the other running horizontally across her face.

A Distinct white mark adorned her forehead, much more pronounced and intricate than any other mark Glenn had seen on the Black Heirs before. She had black-red hair cut short, with red, fiery eyes that seemed to burn with hell’s flames. Something similar to a smoldering cigarette was held between her lips, burning slowly.

Her eyes widened, her expression traversing multiple stages: initial surprise, followed by perplexity, ultimately settling on pure wrath and fury. Redan inclined his head slightly, making a polite gesture by removing his straw hat.

“Giselle.”

‘Oh, so she’s Giselle. Damn.’

'Formidable. Another Fourth Circle mage. This country must boast considerable strength to harbor so many high-ranking magi,' commented Diamanes with an impressed tone. Glenn’s eyes widened and almost couldn’t restrain himself from gasping out loud.

‘What?!?’

Giselle took a deep breath and clenched her right hand tightly, before pointing at Redan with the other, her finger shaking slightly.

“You…”

Glenn wiped the sweat off his eyebrows, wary and confused. The surrounding temperature had suddenly climbed for no reason. Why…why did he have a sense of déjà vu? Why did he feel like he could predict what was about to unfold?

Her eyes blazed with intense, fiery anger as she suddenly roared at the old man,” REDAN, YA. OLD. FOGEY! HOW DARE YA TRY TO CHEAT ON ME?!?”

Surprisingly, when a massive fire sword hurtled mere meters from his face, Glenn found himself a little less taken aback than he should have been. Was he…getting used to this? Already?

Still.

Damn it.