As the ferry reached the other side of the lava fields, they are greeted by the sight of Dû-Cane's formidable 1-MAT vehicle, known as the Emissary. The vehicle stands there like a behemoth, its rugged exterior bearing the scars of countless missions.

Dû-Cane's expression remains stern and unforgiving as he turns to face del Santo. With a cold glare, he grabs del Santo by the collar and shoves him forcefully towards the back of the Emissary. "You've wasted enough of my time, del Santo. Get in," Dû-Cane commands, his voice dripping with contempt.

Del Santo stumbles, barely managing to regain his balance. He looks up at Dû-Cane, a mixture of fear and defiance in his eyes. "I've done what you asked, Dû-Cane. Show some respect," he retorts, his voice filled with desperation.

Dû-Cane's features harden even further, his grip on del Santo tightening. "Respect is earned, and you have yet to prove yourself worthy of it. Consider yourself fortunate that I even allowed you to accompany me this far. Now, get in the damn Emissary before I change my mind."

With a forceful shove, Dû-Cane propels del Santo into the trunk of the Emissary. The metal door slams shut behind him, leaving del Santo in darkness and isolation.

Dû-Cane's expression remains unchanged, his eyes fixed on the Emissary's entrance. He takes a deep breath, his emotions concealed behind a facade of unyielding resolve. "Remember this, del Santo. You're nothing more than a means to an end. Do exactly as I say, and perhaps you'll survive this ordeal."

With those harsh words hanging in the air, Dû-Cane strides purposefully towards the driver's seat of the Emissary. He slides into the cockpit with practiced ease, his hands gripping the controls. The engine roars to life, its powerful rumble resonating through the surrounding landscape.

As the Emissary begins to move, leaving the lava fields behind, the rugged vehicle plows through the unforgiving terrain.

Inside the enclosed space, del Santo can feel the rough vibrations of the Emissary's movement, his mind filled with a mix of fear and determination. He knows he must prove himself to Du-Cane, or else face the consequences.

Hours pass as the Emissary makes its way through the rugged terrain. The harshness of the vehicle's interior mirrors the tension between Dû-Cane and del Santo. Neither speaks, their thoughts and emotions confined within the confined space.

As the Emissary comes to a halt outside the prison, the imposing stone walls of the prison loomed before Dû-Cane as he led del Santo, shackled and defeated, towards the entrance. The air inside was thick with the scent of dampness and despair, and the sound of clanging metal echoed through the corridors.

The guards stationed at the entrance eyed Dû-Cane with caution, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. Dû-Cane knew that his reputation as a feared bounty hunter preceded him, eliciting a mix of respect and wariness from those who encountered him.

The captain broke the long silence, "Bounty Hunter Dû-Cane, bringing in del Santo?"

Dû-Cane nodded; his gaze unwavering as he met the captain's eyes.

Dû-Cane: "That's right. The Crimson Hand Guild's most wanted is now in your custody."

The captain motioned for his men to unlock the heavy prison gates, and with a metallic creak, they swung open, granting them passage into the dimly lit interior.

As they made their way deeper into the prison, the sounds of despair grew louder. The distant cries and murmurs of the incarcerated reverberated off the cold, unforgiving walls. Dû-Cane's grip on del Santo's arm tightened, a silent reminder that escape was futile.

"We'll take it from here, Dû-Cane. Del Santo will face justice for his crimes."

"See that you do, Captain. Crimson Hand will be watching closely."

With a nod of acknowledgment, the guards escorted del Santo into a cell, the heavy door clanging shut behind them. Dû-Cane watched as the prisoner was swallowed by darkness, his expression unreadable. As Dû-Cane turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of del Santo's desperate eyes through the iron bars.

Dû-Cane's footsteps echoed in the corridor as he made his way back towards the prison's exit. He couldn't help but wonder if justice had truly been served or if it was just another chapter in an endless cycle of crime and punishment.

Outside, the evening sunlight hit Dû-Cane's face, momentarily blinding him. He took a deep breath, the fresh air filling his lungs as he let go of the weight that had accompanied him throughout the mission. Del Santo was behind bars, and for now, that was enough.

The crimson glow of the setting sun painted the sky as Dû-Cane maneuvered the Emissary through the crowded streets of Wraith Hallows. The tank's powerful engine echoed off the surrounding buildings, garnering attention from onlookers who hurriedly stepped out of the way. Finally, he arrived at the Crimson Wraith Guild headquarters, where a tense encounter awaited him.

"Del Santo is in custody, Captain. As per our agreement, I've brought him back alive."

Captain Sigurd, a grizzled veteran with a stern demeanor, examined bounty parchments on his desk before turning his attention to Dû-Cane.

"Well, Dû-Cane, you completed the task given to you. But there's an issue. Del Santo sustained injuries during the apprehension, and we're docking your pay to cover his medical expenses."

Dû-Cane's brows furrowed, a mix of frustration and anger welling up within him.

"Captain, that was never part of our arrangement. The bounty specified no deductions for the target's condition upon capture."

"Times are tough, Dû-Cane. Guild funds are running low, and we need to cut costs wherever we can. Consider it a necessary adjustment."

Dû-Cane clenched his fists, his eyes narrowing as he locked gazes with Captain Sigurd.

"This isn't right, Captain. I risked my life to bring in Del Santo, and now you're shortchanging me. I expect fair compensation for my work."

Captain Sigurd's expression remained resolute, and a tense silence hung in the air before he finally spoke again.

"I understand your frustration, but I can't override the decision. The Guild's word is final. Now, there's a new assignment for you. You've been personally requested by a client."

Dû-Cane's curiosity piqued, though a sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. “To do what?”

“It’s - it’s a hit order.”

Captain Sigurd handed Dû-Cane a sealed envelope, his voice tinged with caution.

Captain Sigurd: "You'll find out when you report to the indicated location. But I'll warn you, these warlords aren’t to be trifled with. Proceed with caution. Clearly no one told this to that target of yours.”

Dû-Cane's grip tightened on the envelope as he contemplated the potential consequences of accepting the assignment.

"I'm no friend of warlords, Captain. But a bounty is a bounty. I'll take the job."

With the envelope safely stowed away, Dû-Cane left the guild headquarters and made his way back to his living quarters within Wraith Hallows. The sun had long disappeared beyond the horizon, casting a veil of darkness over the city.

Dû-Cane returned to his living quarters in Wraith Hallows, exhaustion weighing heavily upon him. The weight of his battles and the burdens he carried seemed to seep into his very bones. With a sigh, he closed the door behind him, shutting out the world and allowing himself a moment of respite.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

In the dim light of a solitary bulb hanging from the ceiling, Dû-Cane removed his armor piece by piece, revealing a body marred by scars and remnants of battles long ago. Each scar told a story, a testament to the trials he had endured throughout his career as a bounty hunter.

As he unclasped the last piece of his armor, he stood before a cracked mirror hanging on the wall, its reflection casting a harsh light on his worn face and burned figure. The flickering illumination accentuated the rugged contours of his features, etched with a history of pain and survival.

His gaze lingered on the most prominent scar—a jagged line that traced across his left cheek, a constant reminder of a close encounter with an enemy's blade. The burn marks that covered his arms and exposed skin spoke of battles fought amidst explosive chaos and searing fire.

Running a hand through his unkempt hair, Dû-Cane closed his eyes, memories of past conflicts flooding his mind. He remembered the comrades lost, the sacrifices made, and the enemies defeated. Each scar served as a memento of those encounters, etching themselves onto his flesh as a reminder of his resilience and determination.

But beyond the physical scars, there were deeper wounds, scars that could not be seen. They were the memories that haunted his dreams, the weight of the lives he had taken, and the choices he had made in the pursuit of justice. Those internal scars ran deep, carving their own indelible marks upon his soul.

Reaching for a small metal container on a nearby shelf, Dû-Cane opened it to reveal a collection of healing balms and ointments. He carefully applied them to his scars, their cool touch soothing the remnants of battles long fought. It was a ritual he performed, not just for physical relief, but as a symbolic act of self-care and acceptance.

The silence of the room was broken only by the gentle sound of his breathing as he stood there, vulnerable and exposed, confronting his own reflection. The scars that adorned his body told a story of survival, of the resilience that had kept him going, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

After tending to his wounds, Dû-Cane donned a simple tunic, allowing himself a brief respite from the weight of his armor. In that moment, stripped of the physical barriers that shielded him from the world, he allowed himself a glimpse of vulnerability, acknowledging the toll his profession had taken on his body and soul.

Du-Cane's living quarters were a stark reflection of his solitary existence. After a cursory glance around the room, his eyes fell upon the simple bed that stood against one wall. Without hesitation, he crawled onto the unadorned mattress, seeking solace in its familiar embrace. The lack of furniture and personal effects in the room amplified the air of practicality that permeated the space. The closet, shrouded in shadows, held a collection of tunics and trousers, each meticulously chosen for their functionality and durability. In one corner, a compact shower stall offered a brief respite from the grime of his profession. With his surroundings providing little distraction, Du-Cane surrendered to the exhaustion that weighed heavily upon him, finding solace in the simplicity of his bed.

As Dû-Cane drifted into a fitful sleep, he found himself engulfed in darkness. The air was thick with an eerie stillness, causing his senses to sharpen, alerting him that something was dreadfully wrong. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he realized he was trapped in a haunting nightmare, reliving the horrifying event that shattered his world—the murder of his beloved wife and children.

The scene materialized before Dû-Cane's eyes, blurring the boundaries between dream and reality. He stood frozen, unable to intervene, forced to witness the cruel fate that awaited his family. A chilling mist draped the landscape, obscuring his view and heightening the atmosphere of impending doom.

Voices echoed through the dense fog, distorted whispers laden with malice. Dû-Cane strained to catch a glimpse of his family, but they remained mere shadows within the ethereal haze. Panic clawed at his chest, as if an invisible hand squeezed the life out of him.

Suddenly, the mist parted, revealing a desolate courtyard bathed in the pale glow of a blood-red moon. The grim sight that unfolded before Dû-Cane's eyes was etched into his mind, an image that would forever torment his soul. His wife, Anara, and their two innocent children, Clara and Kael, were huddled together, their eyes wide with terror, helpless against the impending horror.

From the darkness emerged a sinister figure, cloaked in malevolence. The embodiment of cruelty itself, this shadowy specter exuded a palpable aura of sadistic pleasure. A wicked grin stretched across the face of the assailant, and Dû-Cane's heart shattered as he recognized the chilling features of the one responsible for his family's demise.

Unable to turn away, Dû-Cane watched as his wife and children were subjected to unspeakable acts of violence. The air resonated with their cries, the sound tearing through his soul like a dagger. Time slowed to a crawl, amplifying every agonizing moment. The pain etched on his family's faces was eternally etched into his mind.

The air resonated with the haunting cries of his family, their pleas for mercy echoing through the night. Finally, as the unspeakable act reached its devastating climax, the assailant turned his attention to Dû-Cane. Eyes filled with malice locked onto his, and without a shred of remorse, the assailant struck Dû-Cane in the head with a vicious blow, casting him into darkness and leaving him alone amidst the shattered remnants of his family's lives.

As the nightmare reached its crescendo, Dû-Cane's body convulsed with a mixture of anguish and fury. He awoke, drenched in a cold sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. Though shaken to the core, he found solace in the fact that it was merely a dream—a haunting reminder of the past, driving him to seek justice and redemption for the lives so brutally stolen from him.

At first light, as the soft glow of the morning sun cast its gentle rays upon Wraith Hallows, Dû-Cane embarked on his preparations for the daunting journey to the Frostenveldt Tundra. Dû-Cane discarded his usual black attire, opting instead for snow-white tunic and trousers designed specifically for cold climates. The fabric was specially treated to provide insulation and protection against the biting cold, while also offering camouflage amidst the snowy landscape. He adjusted the fit of the garments, ensuring they allowed for ease of movement while still maintaining their practicality.

Leaving his living quarters behind, Dû-Cane made his way through the quiet halls of Wraith Hallows, his white-clad figure contrasting against the crimson insignia adorning the walls. The guild's members glanced at him with curiosity, noting the departure from his signature appearance, but understanding the necessity of adapting to the harsh environment that awaited him.

With the preparations finalized, Dû-Cane made his way to the outskirts of Wraith Hallows the following morning, at the break of dawn. There, the imposing figure of the 1-MAT tank, the Emissary, awaited him. Its metal exterior had been painted in a stark white hue, blending seamlessly with the snowy landscape and further enhancing Dû-Cane's ability to remain unseen.

Climbing into the cockpit of the Emissary, Dû-Cane settled into the familiar controls, the engine humming to life. The tracks of the vehicle dug into the snowy ground as he expertly maneuvered it onto the open road. The journey to the Frostenveldt Tundra stretched before him, and with each passing mile, the anticipation grew.

As the sun bathed the frozen landscape in a pale glow, Dû-Cane's eyes scanned the horizon, his snow-white attire mirroring the purity of the snow-covered expanse. The Frostenveldt Tundra awaited, its unforgiving terrain and hidden perils calling out to his hunter's instincts. The wheels of the Emissary spun with purpose, propelling him forward into the vast frozen wilderness, where his skills and resolve would be put to the ultimate test.

Determined to equip himself with every advantage, he left his living quarters and made his way through the guild's stronghold.

One of his first stops was at the blacksmith's forge, where the heat of the roaring flames welcomed him. The blacksmith, a skilled artisan well-versed in the craft of weaponry and armor, turned to greet Dû-Cane as he entered. Their eyes met, and without the need for words, they understood each other's purpose.

Dû-Cane approached the blacksmith, his gaze focused and resolute. "I need enhancements and a replacement for my bracer, it was destroyed in battle," he said, his voice carrying an air of determination. "The Frostenveldt Tundra is unforgiving, and I must be prepared."

The blacksmith nodded in understanding, their hands deftly working the molten metal with precision. "I've heard tales of the Tundra's icy grip," the blacksmith replied. "I will enhance your armor to withstand even the harshest of conditions. It will help regulate your core temperature."

As the blacksmith shaped a new bracer, Dû-Cane's attention shifted to his mask. "I need an edge," he said, his voice filled with purpose. "Enhance my mask with thermal imaging capabilities. I need to see through the frost and darkness."

The blacksmith paused for a moment, studying Dû-Cane's determined expression. "Thermal imaging," they repeated, a glint of curiosity in their eyes. "That will give you an advantage, indeed. I will integrate it seamlessly into the mask."

As the blacksmith continued their work on the mask, Dû-Cane's eyes wandered across the forge from under his veiling hood, spotting an array of concealed throwing knives. "And what about these?" he asked, pointing towards the blades.

The blacksmith followed his gaze, a knowing smile playing at their lips. "Ah, those are not your ordinary throwing knives," they explained. "These are bladed projectiles. When launched, they can pierce through thick ice walls, allowing you to create your own path."

Dû-Cane's eyes gleamed with anticipation. The possibilities of such a versatile weapon intrigued him. "Excellent," he remarked with a nod. "Add them to my arsenal."

With the final touches applied to the bracer and the thermal imaging system installed in the mask, Dû-Cane admired the work of the skilled blacksmith. The enhancements were a testament to their craftsmanship and Dû-Cane's unwavering commitment to his mission.

"Thank you," Dû-Cane said, his voice filled with gratitude. "Your skill has exceeded my expectations. These enhancements will be vital on my journey through the Frostenveldt Tundra."

The blacksmith smiled warmly, their eyes reflecting a sense of pride. "May your path be guided by steel and fire," they said. "Bring honor to the Crimson Hand Guild."

“Many thanks,” expressed Dû-Cane, placing a generous number of Coppers on the blacksmith’s work table.

With the preparations finalized, Dû-Cane made his way to the outskirts of Wraith Hallows by mid-morning. There, the imposing figure of the 1-MAT tank, the Emissary, awaited him.

Climbing into the cockpit of the Emissary, Dû-Cane settled into the familiar controls, the engine humming to life. The tracks of the vehicle dug into the dusty ground as he expertly maneuvered it onto the open road. The journey to the Frostenveldt Tundra stretched before him, and with each passing mile, the anticipation grew.