"Gods?" Glenn's voice carried incredulity. Actual, living gods? He kind of expected those to exist, with the cult and whatnot, but... Giselle’s hand clenched tightly on the armrest of her seat, her gaze distant and locked in painful memories.

"They called themselves that, and they had every right to do so," she began slowly, searching for the right words, "They were... overbearing. So overpowering that even someone as formidable as me couldn't think of challengin’ them."

'Hmm, I wonder if they were gods or just really powerful entities...the second seems more probable, though,' Diamanes commented. The entity was also listening attentively to the Black Heiress' tale.

Her lips touched the makeshift cigar in her hand, and she took a measured drag. Her left hand, holding the cigar, was shaking slightly, while her right was clenched around the armrest of her chair, her knuckles white from how tightly she was clenching. Her eyes seemed to see beyond the yurt's confines, recalling souvenirs of a desert of black sand.

"We were caught in the crossfire of their battles, insignificant as ants. We had no choice but to flee, lest we wake up one day to find ourselves wiped out." Her tone carried a mix of resentment and bitterness as she was replaying the events in her mind.

“My tribe…annihilated. All the strongest…dead. Only the children were left, alongside a few chosen ones. I was part of those. We had no choice but to leave,” She sighed, shaking her head weakly, “Twenty years ago, crossing the Black Gate and the impassable Dark Wall seemed like our only option. To seek shelter in Munirp and finally be freed from the “gods” tyranny,” Giselle smirked dejectedly, trailing off with a mocking tone, laughing at the Black Heirs’ past naivety.

Glenn silently sat in a nearby chair, listening intently. He had no intention of interrupting the powerful lady. It was evident that this story was heavy on her heart, and he was more than happy to lighten her load. More information for him a chance of getting an ally, and a better state of mind for her. Win-win.

“We forsake our pride as the Ink Dunes striders and crawled on our knees to beg Comte Noir of the Dark Gate to let us in. We knew him, he was Munirp’s hero during the War of Four Fronts, ninety years ago.”

“When he told us that the King had agreed to take us in, we were overjoyed. We would finally be able to live without fear of losing his life, or having to watch helplessly as one of those ‘gods' slaughtered families...” Giselle's gaze wandered in the smoke rising from her smoking cigar.

She stood up abruptly, striking the desk in front of her with a raging fist, creating a crack in the wood. The desk creaked faintly, crying out for help. A small amount of smoking ash fell on it, a large flame suddenly appearing, startling Glenn. Giselle simply crushed the flame, making it disappear with her hand. Glenn blinked, taken aback by the sight, but the Black Heiress resumed her story, unbothered.

"Then we arrived here. We thought this place would be an oasis after the storm of violence that was the Ink Dunes. But it was the opposite!” Giselle was flailing her arms furiously, frustrated. It wasn't hard to understand why she was angry. Even in the worst places back on Earth, people were treated better than here in the Sewers.

"This whole place is some dam' trash! We all are living in the gutter, surviving on the trash of the ones who get to live in the city." She spat those words, her fist shaking not with fear anymore but with wrath.

Glenn's curiosity was piqued. "Why not enter the city then? If your people are as powerful as I imagine, you could surely manage to pay for the identification process." They could even be the most powerful mercenary organization in the damned country if they wanted.

"Hah!" Giselle snorted, mocking the idiotic question.

"Even if we were as rich as Plutus we'd still be denied entry to that dam' city. You dam' nobles don't want to see our dark skin, way too dam' scared of it," she blurted out, as she stabbed her finger in Glenn’s chest.

"My grandson..!" She paused and closed her fist, her emotions overtaking her for a moment. She took a long breath and rubbed her eyes, before returning to the offensive.

"You dam' nobles took him, and ya still had the nerve to come here asking for help? I won't do your dirty work EVER AGAIN! Unless...unless I see my dam' grandson!" she blurted, before smashing the table. Splinters of wood were projected everywhere as the solid but unfortunate desk finally gave in.

Glenn jumped back behind his chair, taking refuge behind it. This went from zero to a hundred way too quickly for his taste. He peeked out of his hiding place but Giselle was back in her armchair, slouching with an exhausted expression into it.

'I mean look at the poor woman, she needed something or someone to vent on. You just were the unlucky one, bad place, bad time,' Diamanes relativized, laughing at him. Glenn gritted his teeth and took a deep breath, seeking the right words to assure the agitated grandmother that he was not aligned with whoever took her grandson, nor the nobility of King’s Rise. His only alignment was opposite to the Thorn’s Church, and that was already way too much.

“What the hell?!?” He blurted out, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Giselle's eyes widened as the temperature increased in the room, "What did ya just say?"

‘Me and my big mouth…’ Glenn grimaced and raised his hands in a placating manner, still hidden behind the chair.

“No, wait, I didn't mean it like that! I don’t know anything about all this, and I’m certainly not a noble!” He protested in a poor attempt to explain himself. He paled when a fire longsword appeared in Giselle’s right hand, the flames licking the sleeveless leather vest she wore. She took a long puff from her cigar before crushing it on the desk and pointing her fiery weapon at Glenn.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Don't try to fool me! I know a goddam' noble when I see one! Those dam' clothes, and that annoying face!" She spat angrily.

'Ha! Did you hear that? She thinks your face is annoying!' Diamanes was overjoyed. If he could have jumped from happiness, he certainly would have done so.

'Shut it, Diamanes!’ Glenn glanced to the sides, looking for a solution. He noticed that despite the flaming sword, the tent’s fabric wasn’t burning. How strange...could she control the target of her flames? How impressive! But now wasn't the time to get absorbed in how cool her magic looked!

"I...I mean, those clothes aren't mine to begin with!” Glenn admitted, “I just picked it up in a random dead guy's chest, and it fitted! And I apologize for my face but I was born with, damn it!" He couldn't help but exclaim in frustration.

'I'm not going to die to this granny just because I wear some nice clothes! I refuse a pathetic ending like that!' He gulped as he slowly reached for his dimensional pouch, determined to use any means to survive. Giselle continued to stare him down, her eyes aflame with anger. The sword she wielded indicated that she was just a moment away from striking, burning with a powerful red flame.

Eventually, Giselle's fury subsided, and the fiery sword vanished in a cloud of red particles, dissipating along with the heat in the room. She slumped back into her seat, sighing wearily. Meeting Glenn's gaze, her eyes seemed void of hope, the fiery spark extinguished like a blown-out candle.

"Then what do ya want, kid? Are ya there just to make this old lady feel miserable?" she asked, hopeless. She seemed so, so tired. Glenn shook his head as he tried to consider what he had that could barter with the Black Heirs’ leader.

“...You said earlier that you can’t enter the city, is that right?” He first tried to confirm as he began to draw a plan in his mind. Giselle nodded silently, too tired to get angry at this damn kid, noble or not. "I can make one or two of my guys enter, but only rarely. And they'd have to move in the utmost secrecy, so I can't just send a detachment. They wouldn't even be able to get to the Third Circle anyway..." She explained, crestfallen. It really seemed as if she had lost all hopes of seeing her grandson once again.

‘That’s my bargaining chip,’ Glenn realized. Yet, he still had to make sure of everything.

"Why not ask Redan to find your grandson? You seem to be friends enough to ask such things from him," he inquired, aware of the old man's strength. Giselle’s eyes widened, and she looked at him as if he was crazy. Then, a second later, she exploded in laughter, slapping her thighs. Her chuckles were powerful, echoing in a loud contrast to her previous dejected attitude.

"Hehehehe, asking that old fogey to find my grandson? I didn't even consider that, but the idea is already hilarious! Hehehehe!"

'That's... a particular laugh,' Diamanes couldn't help but remark.

"Is there anything stopping you from asking him, still?" Glenn insisted. Giselle wiped her tears away with one hand, tossing aside her crushed cigar with the other.

"Not really, but that poor old man can't help me. He's in the same dam' condition as us, for some other dam' reasons," explained the lady, smiling. Her fit of laughter seemed to have made her feel way better. Glenn thought about it, and indeed, he never heard Redan talk about the inside of the walls, or something else than the Sewers.

'Then…this might work to my advantage. I might even hit two birds with one stone,’ Glenn thought as he came out of behind the chair and sat back on it.

“I have an idea, but I need something from you. From the Black Heirs, more precisely,” he declared. Giselle’s gaze lifted with visible curiosity.

"What's yar' proposal, kid?" she inquired, her interest piqued. Glenn crossed his arms as he donned a serious expression.

“You’re aware that I’m…not exactly on friendly terms with the Thorn’s Church, right?” He said sheepishly. Giselle nodded slowly, following his line of thought. Glenn steeled himself.

“I want the Black Heirs to destroy the Thorn’s Church. Their entire presence in the Sewers must be erased,” He demanded with a cold tone. If Giselle accepted, this would mean that war was going to rage in the Sewers and that Black Heirs were going to die.

“In exchange, I'll go into King’s Rise and find your grandson. I’ll bring him back from whoever kidnapped him, “ Glenn proposed. Giselle regarded him with a mixture of amusement and skepticism. What did this random kid say?

"And why in the world would I trust ya? How can I know that ya can do the job, huh? Do ya even know where to start looking?" her brows furrowed.

Glenn tapped on his chin, pondering her question.

"I have a… peculiar set of skills,” He first said while revealing the purple skin under his left arm. Hopefully, that would be enough to convince her, even though Diamanes was probably not going to be of any help in finding the kid, “Finding your grandson will only take me time, and I'll bring him back myself. Do you have a drawing of him or a physical description? And of course, his name."

Giselle shook her head, accepting to play this little game, her eyes barely stopping on his purple arm."He was taken from me and his parents twenty years ago, I can't possibly know what this sweet kid looks like now. Callum…Callum was his name…” She said emotively. That last part seemed to have taken a toll on her.

"But you must have some lead, some information about who took him?" Glenn pressed, eager to find any starting point.

Giselle paused, and then her eyes brightened. "I do remember somethin'. The Howard family! That's right, it was that bastard Baron Howard!"

'Wait, Baron Howards? Isn't that the same family name as the guy who was reduced to ash back in your lair, Diamanes?' Glenn realized. He was wearing the clothes of the noble who kidnapped the Black Heirs’ leader's grandson! Of course, they were going to hate him!

'That's...Right. You have a good memory. Seems like all things are linked.' Diamanes confirmed with a tinge of surprise in his voice.

Glenn felt a boost in confidence as he looked back to Giselle, “If it’s the Howard family, then it is even better. I have leverage on them and not the least.”

“Leverage? How? That’s a Baron noble family we’re talkin’ ‘bout,” She frowned in distrust. Glenn smiled as he silently fished out the Howard’s house signet ring from his dimensional pouch.

“I have my ways. Do I need to explain more?” He queried confidently, even though he was secretly praying she wouldn’t ask him any more questions. He wouldn’t go much further with his bluff, he knew that. Giselle’s eyes widened and she slowly reached for the ring. Disbelief and astonishment flashed across her scarred face.

“That…where did you get that?” She asked softly as hope was reborn in her eyes. Glenn grinned and remained silent, acting mysterious.

‘Hah! Acting “mysterious”! What a joke! You just can’t tell her you stole it from Jefferson Howard’s dead body!’ Diamanes exclaimed mockingly in Glenn’s mind. The latter’s eyelids twitched but he kept up his confident facade.

Giselle shook her head and handed him back the ring, “No matter, I don’t wanna know. You want to destroy the Thorn’s Church, then…”

The Black Heiress stood up and held her hand out for him to shake, grinning widely, “That’s a fine deal we have here. My grandson against a war.”

Glenn took her extended hand with a similarly wicked smile, “A fine deal indeed.”