Deen stepped off of the ship and steadied himself on the boardwalk. The sun lingered just over the horizon, though he knew it would still be dark in Valentia. He looked back at the captain.

"Did I give you enough?" Deen said.

In the captain's hand was a bag of gold. He nodded, "Aye, think you gave me too much actually."

"Keep it. You've done more than I could ask for," Deen said.

"Appreciate it." The captain tipped his hat and started to walk back to his quarters but stopped. "I'll be docked at this port another day or so. If yer back soon, I can offer a return trip."

"Thanks," Deen said, "but I won't need it. Got some business to take care of and then… I don't know."

"I getcha. In that case, best of luck, lad." The captain left.

It didn't take long for Deen to move through town. He absently scanned the port and noted that it wasn't much different than any of the others he'd been to. There were ships lining the docks, merchants ready to strike deals and a bar or two for any traveling sellswords. Maybe what the people wore, and the architecture, were different, but he couldn't be bothered.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, and with it came people ready to take on the day. They were well-off in a port town, where revenue flowed like water. Still, it was mostly lower class. Deen watched a pair of children race past him, and trailing behind were the parents, smiling and leaning into one another.

All of a sudden, he felt a strong urge to hold his Brave Sword close.

He purchased a cheap horse and some provisions – both for himself and his steed – then set off, heading deeper into the continent. The trees and landscape were unfamiliar, but he was certain of his path. He had memorized the map countless times and knew the trip's duration: about half a day's worth of riding. He kept an eye out for any trouble and let the scenery fade from his mind.

The sun came to its apex, then began to descend. As Deen came around a bend, he slowed his horse to a halt. He pulled a piece of paper out from the back of his shield and unfolded it, comparing the sketch to the fort in front of him. The cobblestone was worn down, parts of the wall were missing and a green flag – with a stylized snakehead adorning it – hung limply from a watchtower. "A perfect match," he said.

He left his horse and approached the fort from the side. There were two men patrolling what was left of the wall, but they didn't spot Deen in the underbrush. When he saw his chance, he climbed up into the giant gap in the wall and scaled the jagged, inclined surface. When he reached the top, he peeked above it and saw that one guard had his back turned.

Deen pulled himself up and unsheathed his sword. The guard heard, but too late. He went down with a great gash in his chest. The second guard had time to act and shouted as he swung his blade down.

Parrying the blow with his shield, Deen slashed the man's stomach open. He made another deep cut on the man's neck, then moved on as the body fell.

More guards scrambled up the spiral stairs. Deen rushed through one of the corner towers on the wall and kicked down the door leading to the staircase. A man on the other side went tumbling down and took another with him. The other men readied themselves, but Deen cut through his opposition with a practiced ease. His descent was bloody, but he got through unscathed.

Now on the ground floor, he delved further into the fort. There were more mercenaries along the way and Deen cut them down. Just as planned, his intrusion had been a contained incident. Only those who were close by had heard the fighting, and though someone certainly went to warn the others, that gave Deen precious time. He had the upper hand in the winding, sullen corridors, where he could slink about in the shadows to avoid confrontation. But he couldn't delay, lest his target escape amidst the chaos.

Another trio of men passed and Deen watched them from his hiding spot. He stepped out and continued until he arrived at the dungeons. He descended and noticed that the glum area was surprisingly well-lit. There were holes in the roof that let the orange light of the sun filter through. At least he could see. He approached the final corner and peered around it.

"-defenses have been breached," a mercenary said. He looked winded. "We don't know where he's gone."

A man in a lime-green jacket turned his hooded head, "It would seem so, for our visitor killed eight of you. No other souls have departed yet." He grinned. "He's saving his energy for when he finds me."

"Shouldn't we all form up on you then?"

"No, Deen is a careful fighter. He came alone to evade our larger forces, but he'll leave if you all guard me," the man said. "We shall let him come to us."

"T-Then we're going to just let him kill more of us?"

"You misjudge the situation. I can sense his vengeful spirit and I am his target. Though if you are an obstacle, he will end you," the hooded man said. "After all this time he's still after me..."

Deen clenched his teeth and swallowed the anger he felt building in his throat. He gripped his sword with just enough strength and checked his strapped shield for the last time. It was time to put this all to rest.

He turned the corner shield-first. The mercenary gasped and even the hooded man stopped grinning. Neither were armed, but Deen attacked the hooded man without hesitation.

He sidestepped the attack. Deen spotted a flash of silver and raised his shield, deflecting the man's dagger. The man kept moving in, another dagger in his left hand. He thrusted it into Deen's heart, only for it to clank against his steel chestplate.

Deen flew back a few feet. He felt the force of the blow compress his chest and barely stifled a cry of pain. Now a fair distance away, Deen glared at the hooded man. "Draco, you bastard… you've eaten more souls."

"I had no intention of dying to some dog like yourself. There's still so much for me to do." He looked at Deen's Brave Sword and sneered. "My word, you truly can't let it go, can you?"

"She can't rest until you're dead," Deen said.

"Acting on your emotions will get you killed one day."

"You're one to talk."

Draco laughed, even as Deen closed in on him. He swung his sword like a machine and kept it close to his body. Draco avoided some of the initial onslaught, but a shield bash to his gut kept him still. Deen slashed once, twice across Draco's chest. He punched him in the face and felt bones crack, but Draco still surged forward. Now on defense, Deen parried the dagger slashes, but many more scathed his armor.

The flurry of blows should've been nothing against the protective steel, but Draco's strength made it feel as if each dagger was a two-handed axe. Deen grunted as another thrust hit his shoulder. It popped a moment later and he scrunched up his good eye.

Seeing Deen was dazed from the wound, Draco prepared a finishing blow. "You'll just let me win like last time?"

Deen barred his teeth and whipped his sword outward. He swatted the incoming attack aside, then cut through Draco's exposed off-hand. The appendage dropped to the ground.

"No," Deen said, "I don't go down so easily." Brave Sword still in hand, he cupped his shoulder, then forcibly relocated it. There was no way it was properly done, but his arm worked fine again. He'd worry about proper healing later.

Draco laughed. "Would you look at that, all grown up, are we? Though you always were an effective punching bag. Certainly, one of your more… charming qualities."

He came at Deen once more, unfazed by the loss of his hand. He still packed a punch, but he couldn't effectively get past the shield with just one weapon. It didn't take long for Deen to wear the man out, and when Draco swung too hard, Deen sidestepped, let the man whiff and went in to end this. He brought his sword down straight through his neck. Draco's head fell to the ground, his body followed soon after and he didn't move again.

Deen pointed his sword down instinctively, but a moment later, he drank in what had happened. It… it was over. He felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and cracked a genuine smile. Everything he had done wrong was now worth it. He looked up to the ceiling, through one of the holes in the roof, "Rest easy, sweetheart…"

Before he could fully celebrate, he remembered where he was. Right, it was time to leave.

Deen then eyed the mercenary, who was frozen in fear (and cornered), and slowly advanced on the man. However, just before he could strike him down, he caught a glimpse of what was in the dungeon cell: a young woman chained to the wall. She had long, green hair with cuts and bruises adorning her body.

"Where's she from?" He pointed his sword at the mercenary's throat.

"W-We ambushed her far from here, further east. There were two others with her, but she stalled us while they escaped."

Deen narrowed his eyes, knowing what Draco ultimately planned for this woman. Though, it shouldn't have been possible given the death of Duma. He prodded the man's throat with his blade, "Give me the key."

The mercenary unhooked it from his belt, then ran off after Deen sheathed his sword. Key in hand, he stepped over Draco – making sure to directly tread on top of the body – and unlocked the door. As he came closer, the feeling of familiarity continued to grow. She looked taller than most women and had a white bandanna that barely peeked out from behind her hair. Then it hit him.

"Palla?" He said.

She stirred from her bound position but didn't answer. Even as Deen unlocked her restraints, she didn't say anything. He caught her as she crumpled to the floor. Looking over her, he didn't see any open wounds, but it was difficult to tell with all the dry blood. Just the sight of her, broken and defenseless, made Deen bare his teeth. It reminded him too much of the past, but more importantly, of how he was partly to blame for this. If only he-

"Oh? You know her?"

Deen gasped as he flew into the wall. He felt the cold bite of steel pierce his lower back, then the unforgiving cobblestone bruising his body as he slammed into it. He looked back and saw Draco risen from the dead. His neck muscles were spindling back into his once decapitated head and his hand had reattached itself.

Palla fell to the ground in the blunder but wasn't harmed.

"Gods, how many souls have you devoured, monster?!" Deen stumbled and reached for his sword. His hands were shaking.

Draco breathed in deeply. "Immortality does feel so nice. Did you think you could show up 10 years later and kill me, just like that? Resolve all your conflict and be done with this?" He shook his head and started walking. His laughter was getting louder as he approached, but Deen couldn't ready his sword. His body felt sluggish and unresponsive.

"Come on, Deen, I expected more from you. You trained for years, went through an entire damn war and this is all you can do to me?" Draco towered over him, "It's a shame I can't take your soul, you've a strong one, no doubt." Just as Deen grabbed the hilt of his sword, Draco pinned him against the wall. "I took your eye so long ago, right after I took everything you cared for. Is it finally time for me to take your life?"

Deen grimaced, "I don't give a damn if you're immortal." He smashed his head into Draco's, "I'll kill you as many times as I need to!" His hold loosened from the sudden impact, and Deen seized the chance. In an instant, he kicked him off and readied his blade. The weakening shackles on his body were broken by the rush of adrenaline, and with it, Deen carved into Draco. He cut his shoulders wide open, he tore his legs apart and cleaved his chest. His second onslaught left the man in tatters, and he toppled over soon after, yet Draco still grinned.

"Your skill is impressive as ever, and you certainly know how to make a mess of me," he said, "but how long until your body betrays you?"

In that moment, Deen felt an icy grip on his veins. He froze in place, eyes wide and mouth agape. The dull pain in his back burned and made him hunch over in reaction. He wheezed as an invisible force felt as if it were forcing his body to collapse right there.

Draco stared at him, his wounds slowly healing themselves. It wouldn't be long before he could move properly again. "You haven't learned a goddamn thing, have you?"

Eyes wide, Deen sheathed his sword and stumbled over to Palla. He picked her up and made his way out of the dungeons. Though he felt the air leave his body and his awareness of everything begin to fade, he somehow managed to keep running. He tore down the hallways he had just traveled, meeting some mercenaries along the way. They all pointed their weapons at him and attacked. Most of them hit, even as he tried to block them with his shield. He put himself between the offending weapons and Palla, ensuring she would not be harmed any further. If it weren't for his armor, he'd be dead many times over. Bruises formed underneath his steel shell, but he kept moving regardless, for her sake.

Finally, he came to the wall he had scaled. The two dead guards were still there, but no one else was nearby. Deen looked over the edge, uncertain on how he would get down. There was no way to safely do this while carrying Palla. Behind him, he heard faint laughter echo through the corner tower followed by many footsteps. He looked over his shoulder, then back to the hole. "Irene, protect me…" he said.

Then he jumped.

As he fell, his back hit the slanted cobblestone and exploded into pain as the weapon in his back drove further into his body. He screamed and his vision went blurry, but he wouldn't give in yet. He kept Palla as steady as he could while sliding down the bumpy path, and when his feet hit the bottom, he jumped the small distance to the ground and booked it to the horse. He found it and saddled up. Deen put Palla in front of himself, made her as secure as possible then spurred his horse into a gallop. Heart racing, he looked back, but saw no sign of that dreaded green cloak.

There was nothing else to do but put as much distance between himself and that monster as possible. He still couldn't do it, even after everything he'd been through. Deen would've punched something hard, but he quelled his rage for now. He needed to get his passenger to safety, then he could consider his next move.

Some time passed as he and Palla rode back to the port town. Deen's vision was blurring, so he couldn't quite see where the sun was in the sky.

Stirring from unconsciousness, Palla opened her eyes slightly. "Where… am I?"

Deen slowed the horse a bit, then put his shaking hand on her shoulder. "It's me, Palla. You'll be safe soon."

She froze upon hearing his voice. "Deen, what are you doing in Archanea?" She turned to look at him. "You're… hurt."

"Not as much as you are," he said, "don't… push yourself. The town is… is…" He blinked multiple times and shook his head.

Palla frowned, "Something's wrong, we can stop-"

"No, I-I can't."

She looked at Deen for a moment. "Well, it's no good if something happens to you too. I'll just trust that you'll let me know if you need to rest."

"Of course," He slurred. His eyes rolled upward for a moment, but he quickly refocused on the path. They were so close. Safety was just… just around the corner. He couldn't ask for her sympathy anyways, not with the bad blood still between them. "I'm fine," He said.

Palla said something else, but Deen couldn't hear anymore. When had the sun set? He could barely see anything now. The darkness embraced him like a warm blanket and lulled him into sleep. In his last moments of consciousness, he slowed his horse till it stopped. As he closed his eyes, he felt himself falling, then nothing.

When Deen awoke, it was not a peaceful moment. He looked around wildly but saw no danger. He was in a bed, with his armor, weapons and shirt removed. There were bandages all over his body along with a fair amount of bruising, but it all seemed to be healing. He laid back down and sighed. "Can't believe I fainted. Of all the times… Gods, I hope she's alright."

He supposed he'd have to find her first, for he was alone in the room. Someone had to have rescued the both of them after he failed to ride back into town. Luck had smiled upon them, and Deen couldn't help but think of a certain mercenary that would've agreed.

The door opened, and in stepped Palla. Her eyes widened when she saw Deen sitting upright. "You're awake." Her clothes from before had been replaced with a new green dress and gloves. The muck and grime that covered her face was gone too, but that dour expression did not lift his spirits. "Are you well?" she said.

"I've been better," he said, "My back hurts and I still feel pretty weak."

Palla folded her arms and leaned against the wall, "You had a poisoned dagger in your back and took quite a beating." She looked at the sizable bandage on his chest, "The healer that came by didn't have much confidence you'd recover."

Deen smirked, "Yeah, well, I'm good at taking a hit. Wouldn't be fitting for me to kick the bucket after all I've been through." He looked at her, "You're welcome for the save by the way."

She frowned, "While I am thankful for that, I'm surprised you had some sense of morality to help me." Narrowing her eyes, she leaned forward, "Although, I can't help but think this just part of your 'mercenary work' again, isn't it?"

He glared at her. "I was there for personal reasons; there was no money involved."

"So, what are you implying about me then?"

"Nothing, I saved you because I'd be a bastard to leave you there."

"Why were you even there then? Quite the coincidence I'd say."

Deen locked eyes with her and deepened his frown. "Stop asking questions, I saved you and that's all there is to it."

"I find that terribly hard to believe coming from the likes of you," Palla said. She walked closer to Deen.

He groaned. "Leave me alone."

"You held Est captive at one point, you must've come for me as a bargaining chip. But, that's alright, looks like you got what you deserved-"

Deen sat straight up and instantly regretted it. The pain flared up in his back especially, but he wouldn't back down. "I was there because that sick son of a bitch took everything from me!" He seethed and barred his teeth. "Your being there was completely coincidental. In fact, I almost died saving you, because the sicko I gutted came back from the dead and started stabbing me while I got you out of that dungeon." He climbed out of his bed now, and it hurt like hell, but he didn't care. He was so glad to see Palla back up, and he was satisfied to see her reaction to his dead eye, wide open for her to take in.

He opened his mouth to continue the tirade, but he stopped dead in his tracks. One look into her eyes was all it had took. She was afraid of Deen, not of his fury. She looked at him like he was some kind of monster. With his scars… well, it wasn't a bad analogy. Turning, he hobbled back to his nightstand, "Just… go." He grabbed something, then lobbed it at Palla.

She reacted and caught the sack. It was about the size of her palm, and when she undid the knot keeping it shut, a decent amount of gold presented itself to her. She blinked in surprise and looked at Deen.

"Common courtesy," he said, "All you have right now are the clothes on your back. Buy whatever you need and then you can be on your way." He glanced at her, then sat down on his bed, "Now get the hell out of here."

Nothing was said for some time. Deen had already laid back down and turned over so that he didn't have to look at her.

Palla just stood in the doorway, holding the sack of gold. She had made up her mind that he was a terrible person, but this contradicted too much. He worked for Grieth once upon a time and chose to keep working for the man even after he imprisoned Est. What's more, Grieth had kidnapped and sold people even before he captured Est. Despite always having the choice, Deen never left.

He stayed for the money; she was sure of it. The morals of his employer didn't matter to him. This act of kindness was nothing more than a façade to regain her trust, something that Palla wasn't going to fall for. He might've saved her and given this generous donation for her sake, but… but…

She looked down at her feet and frowned. Shaking her head, she closed the door and left.

Now alone, Deen rolled back over and sighed. "What did I do to deserve this...?" He stared up at the ceiling, thinking for a moment. He smiled and laughed, but it was devoid of any genuine feeling. "Oh, right. Yeah, I guess that would explain a lot."

He closed his eyes, but before he could doze off, there was a knock at his door.

"Palla, you're making a serious mistake…" he said.

"You've got the wrong gal," the woman behind the door said.

Deen frowned but permitted her to enter. A pretty lady walked in – probably a waitress of sorts – with a plate of food. She set it down on his nightstand, "Doing okay there?"

"Yeah, nothing hurts more than it should," he said.

She rolled her eyes, "Not what I meant, but good to hear. Your friend didn't look so happy when she stormed out."

He chuckled, "Lady, you could not be more wrong about my relationship with that witch."

The woman tilted her head, "Well, I think you're the one who's misinformed because she just paid for this tray of food."

"She… what?"

"Hey, don't look a gift horse in the mouth, bub. Eat up and then I'll call for a healer to mend your wounds some more," she said. "You've recovered enough blood by now, so you'll be good to go and catch your friend."

Deen held up a hand, "No, that's fine, I'm not ready to leave just yet."

"You sure? Can't let pretty ones like that get away from you."

"You've got it all wrong, lady."

She shrugged, "Well, either way, enjoy the meal. She paid a pretty penny for it."

He looked at the plate of food for a moment. There was a lot of good stuff there, and even though it ultimately was his money, she spent the gold that he lent her for his dinner. What a fool… what if she ran out of money on the road and couldn't eat? Or what if that gold could've bought her an extra sword? Deen pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

"On second thought," he said, stopping the woman, "call for a healer."