Daud wasn't sure what to expect upon stepping foot into the Petrovka Residence, the only hotel he could find after a walk across two streets, but it was certainly not flowers.

Various bouquets of lilies and roses, sorted on the front cashier table, alongside orchids put on shelves leading up the staircase. The walls have not even a smudge on them, and there was barely any foul smell to torture his lungs for days. The shelves on the wall behind the counter displays multiple assortments of what seemed to be liquor and glassware, and they seemed to be rarely put to use.

He almost couldn't believe how different the atmosphere of this building is, compared to everything else he'd seen outside. Certainly a welcome change on his part.

However, the apparent lack of working lights in the staircase, and the presence of a rat scurrying across the floor and into the shadows, slowly brought him back to reality. At least, the flowers were welcoming enough.

He was not hoping to stay here for long. A public place with plenty of onlookers is simply not ideal in his eyes. He'd consider himself lucky if he could find an isolated location far from prying eyes not unlike the Flooded District of Dunwall as his potential base of operations. Easier to move around the city if he wasn't hanging around long enough anywhere to be recognized.

He looked toward the counter to find no one behind it. There is however, a call bell conveniently placed on the side. Soon, the bell was rung by his hand.

In a short time, the sound of footsteps greeted him. Coming down the stairwell, and there in his presence, was a fair, elderly woman.

Despite how ordinary she looked, with her white cotton sweater underneath a brown sleeved jacket, and black trousers, a shroud of enigma could be felt around the woman. Her grey hair tied to a bun made her bearlike ears all the more visible. An Ursine, it seemed.

After a moment of silence, she calmly asked him. "You are not from around here, are you?"

"You must be the landlady." Daud surmised.

The woman whom he assumed to be the landlady smiled. "That is correct. You can call me Mrs. Petrova. And you are..?"

"Just Daud."

Her expression had not changed. "Well, Mr. Daud... what brings you to my humble residence? Based on your looks, I suppose you are not from this district, or anywhere close for the matter." For a fairly old woman, the landlady was perceptive. Alarmingly so.

"Mrs. Petrova... I'm just here to stay for a while. About three days. " Daud answered her question without saying too much. He just needed a place to lay low, and preferably with decent food.

Mrs. Petrova raised an eyebrow, something about his explanation piqued her interest. "I have not had a tenant who could not afford anything less than a week. Are you in a hurry, perhaps?"

He didn't answer her question, but instead took out one of his coin pouches and put them on the cashier table.

"How many nights can I get for these?" Straight to the point. These coins had helped him out before, but there is no guarantee for everything. Now, it was a matter of luck.

Mrs. Petrova went ahead, with slowly paced steps, as she made her way to the table. She carefully unraveled the contents of the pouch, revealing the old copper and gold coins in his possession. She examined a few of them, and came to an unpleasant conclusion.

"I don't know if you have been living under a rock, young man, but I'm afraid even here, we only use Lungmen Dollars. I'm sorry to tell you this, but this is not a pawn shop."

And as it turned out, his luck was quite rotten today. Oh well, perhaps there is another way.

"... I understand. Thank you for your time." He would not go so far as to threaten this old woman into accepting his bargain. He proceeded to grab the coins and put them back into the pouch. But before he took the first step towards the front door, he felt that something must be acknowledged first.

"I will say that I appreciate the work you have put into this place. Far more welcoming than anything I have seen so far. I can see now why that girl, Shura recommended me this place."

Upon hearing the girl's name, the landlady widened her eyes in mild shock. "Shura? Do you happen to know her, Mr. Daud?"

Daud turned towards Mrs. Petrova, noticing the change of her tone. And he gladly answered. "A girl I have had the pleasure of meeting a little while ago. She... wanted to borrow some money from me, and all I could offer her were those same coins. But it was good enough for her, and she told me to come here for a nice place to pass the night."

The landlady had a weird look towards him, as if noticing something wrong with his story. "Borrowed from you? I never recalled the girl ever borrowing from anyone. Are you sure she didn't beat you up until you simply give her whatever you had?"

It was Daud's turn to be surprised. From what it sounded like, the two of them must know each other quite well. What could the connection between these two possibly be? "Well... she did mistake me for a crook, and then challenged me to a fight, and I suppose I let her win."

"Let her win? Heh... are you just hiding the fact that a young girl managed to beat you up?" The landlady amusingly assumed, looking at him weirdly. "Oh, and don't be embarrassed.. Shura is a strong girl. I know she could always take care of herself, even against those bigger than her. And from the way you look, I'm not surprised she would try picking a fight with you. But if it is not too late, then I would like to apologize in her place."

"What relationship do you have with her?" He questioned. From her choice of words to her tone of voice, he was led to believe she knew the girl well, in a familial sense.

"Oh, we are not related by blood, if that is what you're thinking." She explained. "Strong as Shura may be, she is still a young girl who needs a roof over her head, or in her case, under her head. She prefers to sleep under the stars. I just let her stay here without having to pay. Although she does provide good security to this residence. Helps quite a lot with dealing with some of our more problematic tenants."

"Problematic?" An interesting choice of word to describe her own clients.

"Don't be surprised, you should know at first glance that there's always unpleasant people coming to this doorstep. Not a day goes by do I not hear someone across the street getting mugged, or assaulted, or worse." Mrs. Petrova clarified.

From her descriptions, the landlady gave off the impression that she had plenty of experience in dealing with despicable individuals. However, that made her relationship with the girl named Shura much more complicated. Was she not fed enough, to the point of her resorting to thievery? In fairness, she did assume he was some street hooligan. But stranger still, she didn't seem to mind the fact that the girl gets into illegal fights often in order to make some cash.

"You said you let that girl stay and live here. Then why is she going around looking for money to buy honey by getting into fights?"

"I try my best to keep her well-fed if needed, Mr. Daud. I told her to not get involved in shady practices, but I'm not her legal guardian. And she is old enough to decide for herself. What Shura does on her own to get what she wants, is ultimately out of my control.

She sticks around from time to time, but that girl has an unhealthy addiction to honey. So much so that she rarely ever stays here more than a few days, only to disappear for weeks. All to find something sweet to dip her fingers in. Doesn't help that honey is rare to come by around these places since the market is non-existent, and the few who sells them, they don't sell for cheap."

Mrs. Petrova went to sit on a nearby chair to rest. She then continued her tale. "But that is how it is. Nobody really watches over the businesses and the trade that goes around, so the prices can go as high as it needs to be, even for simple essentials. And the poor and persecuted can only do so much to support themselves. And when people are desperate enough... well, I'm sure you can imagine what happens next."

There was a noticeable shift in her tone as she was done talking, and Daud didn't miss it. What would she had meant by 'the poor and persecuted'? "Are you talking about the Infected?"

The landlady looked towards him right in his eyes. "Not necessarily just the Infected. I'm talking about everyone who has been a fateful victim of this corrupted city, but I won't blame you for only thinking about the former."

From what he'd observed, the she had said nothing but the truth. The stigma surrounding this deathly disease and those afflicted by it is undeniable. Though as someone who had only recently been brought to this place by "divine" intervention, the old knife didn't know just how much of this hate was justifiable. Something akin to the Rat Plague would be understandable, but Oripathy is nowhere near as infectious, is it? And to what end will this amount of fear and loathing bring?

"Let me ask you, Mrs. Petrova... do you care about these people?"

"In a way... perhaps I could also ask you the same, Mr. Daud. Do you?"

A vague answer, almost like she was dodging the question. He could understand the feeling of distrust the landlady might have towards him. That same feeling is mutual, after all. But her motives and judgements remain a blur, and he wouldn't want to make himself too readable. "I don't have strong feelings for them, one way or the other."

Mrs. Petrova seemed somewhat surprised at his answer at first, before her expression turned neutral once more. "Not the answer I was expecting, but that would make you better than most."

'Better than most, huh?' Why would his opinion matter? Does it concern her personally?

"Are you... an Infected, Mrs. Petrova?"

"Do I look like I am?"

He had taken a much closer look at the elderly woman before him. No traces of black crystals anywhere, but there wasn't much he could discern to begin with just his naked eyes, since she covered much of her own skin.

"I couldn't tell."

He soon realized she had been doing the same to him. "That makes two of us, then."

This woman was clearly hiding things, but calling it out would be nothing short of hypocrisy. However, his patience was running out. This talk had gone on long enough. "So Mrs. Petrova, you mentioned before that there are these businesses going around in this area."

The latter raised an eyebrow in response. "I did. What of it?"

"These markets you talk of, they are not... legitimate, are they?"

"And why are you so curious about that, young man?" Now, it was her turn to begin asking questions. The stranger with the scar was up to something. She needed to make sure she wasn't a part of it.

"Let's say I have my own reasons for seeking them out." Daud had nearly lost count of how many questions he'd dodged in the last five minutes.

Unfortunately, his answer wasn't quite satisfactory, or even trustworthy. There was a certain tension rising between them, something both of them noticed immediately, and it was quickly filling up the room.

"Forgive my vigilance, Mr. Daud but... well, you don't look like a cop, and given how secretive you have been this entire evening, it's not unreasonable for me to think you may have something dubious in mind."

"If I was planning anything sinister, Mrs. Petrova, I assure you we would not be having this conversation right now." Not the most convincing explanation, but it is the truth as far as he's concerned. If only the landlady would believe so.

"Fair enough, but I will have you know that whatever trouble you're brewing, I want no part in it. I apologize in advance, Mr. Daud." As she finished, the landlady turned away from him, but something prevented her from taking another step. "Unless..."

"Do you have something in mind, Mrs. Petrova?"

She turned towards him, a serious expression on her face. "I.. am having a concern of my own. Maybe there is something you could do for me, and in return I could do something for you. We would both be looking in the same place, after all."

So there was something on her mind indeed. He might be short on cash, but a favor can pay for anything. "Care to explain?"

"Let me keep it brief. There has been a few... troublemakers hanging around this district, driving away my potential customers and causing problems for those living here. Needless to say, their absence would be appreciated."

Absence? The implications arising from that one word told him enough. But it was quite bold of the old woman to assume he would be someone capable of dirtying his hands, even if her assumption is rather spot on.

"Do you take me for some kind of hired muscle?"

She raised her hands in defense. "Well, you do look like one, but pardon me if my guess is incorrect... I will tell you this, if you do this for me, I will let you stay in my premises for as long as you need."

So an exchange of favors, something the former assassin could get by. But to take care of some street delinquents, surely there were some others the landlady could think of to solve this problem. Why would she ever ask for help from a stranger like him?

"Why don't you just ask the girl, Shura to take care of this? You told me she's capable."

"I prefer not to endanger that child's life more so than she already did herself. Especially not with something of this degree."

He managed to pick up on the subtle meaning of her words. She may not be talking about something as simple as mere bullies picking fights with the locals.

"Who exactly are these 'troublemakers' you speak of? And try not to spare any detail."

Mrs. Petrova marched forward, eventually walking past Daud, and making sure the front door and windows were closed shut. She had to make sure no one outside was listening, before turning back towards him.

"They are very bad people, Mr. Daud. The sort you would steer clear away from. There's this new gang, people call them the Snatchers, and that name is for good reason . They have been terrorizing and taking those too weak to fight back. And those who do? They make them disappear. Never to be seen again. Believe me, I'm not the only one who wants them gone."

A gang of possible murderers. To say he was familiar with the type would be a great understatement. "So they're bad for your business then."

"More than that... I'm old enough to know which fights to pick, and I'm sure you do as well, Mr. Daud. But the young ones do not have our share of experience. Plenty of people, especially youngsters, have disappeared from these alleys, without a doubt it was their work. I fear that one day, Shura may stick her nose in the wrong place, and end up among those who disappeared, never to be seen again."

So she was concerned about that feisty brat this whole time. There was sorrow coming from her voice as she spoke of the teenagers who have went missing, presumably by this same gang. He understood the sentiment.

The Snatchers... if Mrs. Petrova's words were to be taken literally, then maybe he could seek some answers of his own, as long as he could track them down. From then on, it'll depend on how much they'll be willing to cooperate. His hunch would say, not so much.

"Where can I find this gang?"

For the first time, the old woman showed a genuine smile. "Would you like to know where these 'illegal markets' usually are, Mr. Daud?"

It was a pointless question, she would've known his answer by now. Of course, he knew it was intentional.

"Alright, enlighten me."

The clinic was strangely quiet today, thought an old man sitting in one of its chairs.

He was too used to the constant work happening between the halls and rooms of this rather elusive place. Every day, he could count in his head, how many Infected would enter through the front doors. And how many of them would leave through those same doors. The numbers rarely ever match.

It was not all gloom. Silence does bring its own charm, it granted him a minute of peace seldom found in life. But that brief moment gave him time to think much more clearly, and it was clear something felt wrong.

Azazel was not meant to be silent. The amount of Infected forced to live under the shadows of Chernobog means this clinic is always busy. Their doors are never closed for anyone who needs them.

In the midst of his thoughts, he also realized that someone whom he cared for dearly has not made her presence known to him for a while now. This was a concern he could not ignore.

"Anya.." He called the Ursine lady over the counter. "Have you seen Neon anywhere?"

The one named Anya answered timidly. "N-no.. I haven't seen her since this evening."

She ran away again, the old man thought to himself. Even for an experienced warrior like him, it is still mind boggling how that youngster still managed to slip past him at times. Even at her age, that girl is still keen on causing trouble for him. And yet, all he could do is sigh.

"I shall be leaving outside for a while. Would you please look out for anyone trying to come in, until my return?"

The lady did not question the old man any further. He is the head of this clinic after all. "Yes, I will. Please stay safe... Mr. Hellagur."

His own safety was not his main concern at the moment.

-

"No... I'm sorry, but I haven't seen that girl around here."

That was the tenth time he'd heard the same kind of answer from the locals. After a period of walking around the familiar streets, occasionally bumping into some old patients of his, Hellagur was now becoming burdened with great anguish.

This had happened before, as he remembered. One time Neon had to be rescued from a group of bullies who nearly scarred her, when she ran away from the clinic out of frustration. He thought she would've learned to be more mindful for her own good. But it seems he is a long way from becoming a decent substitute for a father.

"I see.. thank you for your time." The old warrior gave his appreciation to the Infected in front of him.

The latter, had something else to say. "You're welcome... listen, Mr. Hellagur, maybe it's not my place to say this, with your reputation and all, but... I wouldn't advise you going out of your clinic at this time."

Hellagur gave a puzzling look upon hearing the unexpected response. "And why do you say so?"

The man wearing a tattered cloak on him looked to his left and right, and upon confirming no one else was present, opened his mouth to speak. "Well.. you've heard of this new gang, right? Calls themselves the White Rats, you usually recognize them wearing their white gloves... they just arrived to this district not too long ago and, from what I've heard, has been conducting shady businesses in the abandoned alleys and buildings where no one dares to look.

They also don't like the Infected very much... not really a surprise, right? But lately, there's been rumors of locals just... disappearing without a trace. No one knows why. But they know who's doing it. And people are pointing their fingers at this gang, and started calling them 'Snatchers' or something like that. But so far...no one's doing anything about it."

The White Rats... he'd heard of that name before, but only in whispers and murmurs one would occasionally hear while walking down the street. His own conclusions had never arrived to this degree. But after hearing what this particular Infected had to say, it was clear that there is now a huge threat which he had not carefully observed before. He was simply too preoccupied with other matters of also great importance.

And worst of all... this gang is particularly known for acts of kidnapping, as they were described. There hasn't been any traces of Neon for the past hour. His worry has now increased tenfold.

"I must go now. I thank you for your time."

Hellagur did not give the man a chance to say anything in return as he immediately walked as fast as he could, away from the vicinity. He must find Neon, and fast.

The moons are slowly rising as night covers the sky. With the roads darkening and the artificial lights turning on, it was like a clock slowly ticking, the needles slowly turning to a terrible fate to come. Unless he managed to stop it.

Shady businesses, that man mentioned. Was he talking about illicit markets? They could be anywhere, but they are most likely run in places the general public never goes to, or even look at. Sometimes hidden in plain sight. Hellagur is not very well-versed in the inner workings of the criminal underworld, but he does know a certain Zalak.

Turning towards a particular section of the Chernobog slums, he stopped at the front doors of a seemingly ordinary-looking pawn shop. "Franko's Trades" was written on the sign above the doors, though not easy to read at first due to the fading paint.

Located very far away from Azazel, he wouldn't expect to find Neon here. But when it comes to information, the owner of this particular shop has not disappointed him this far.

Stepping foot into the shop, a bell could be heard ringing, and he was soon greeted by a friendly voice. "Ah-! Greetings, Mr. Hellagur! I have not seen you in quite a while, yes?"

"Mr. Franko. A pleasure to see you again." The aforementioned greeted in response to the man named Franko, a middle-aged man of below average height with a pair of rodent-like ears on the top of his head.

He knew of Franko as one of Azazel's patients. He was also aware that the Zalak used to be involved in a black market, selling god knows what. He had refrained from ever asking more, as their patients do have the rights to conceal private information, after all. And as long as it never harmed him or anyone in his clinic in any form, there was little need to.

"It's very late in the evening now, isn't it? How's Azazel-"

Before the pawnbroker could say anything else, Hellagur held his palm up, silencing the former. "Unfortunately I have no time to spare as of this moment, so I will have to explain my arrival here immediately. Do you by chance, know of a gang known as the White Rats?"

He thought there was something wrong with his eyesight at first, but that was not the case. The pawnbroker immediately lost all color from his face upon hearing the name.

"Uhm.. hold on a second." He rushed towards the front doors of his shop and locked it shut, before turning back towards the owner of Azazel.

"Mr. Hellagur, I must confess that these past few days.. there has been trouble brewing around these parts. Most of them linked to that very gang you mentioned. And I, along with many others, would prefer not to become their target."

The pawnbroker's voice has lost its friendly charm, now instead filled with fear. Hellagur needed to find out why.

"Franko, I will not judge your past, as I know of your involvement with contraband. But you were a patient of Azazel, and I treated you no different than any other Infected that came for our aid." Hellagur remarked, upon him recalling the first time he had met the man before. "But right now, a Vulpo under my care by the name of Neon has gone missing, and I worry that this so-called White Rats gang may have been involved. I plead to you for help, if you know anything that could help me find her, I would be most grateful."

The pawnbroker was overwhelmed with the sincerity coming from the figurehead of Azazel himself. Soon, his fear was replaced by sympathy. It is simply not possible to refuse a man of significance such as Hellagur.

"I.. may know of where they would most likely gather to conduct.. whatever business they do. They're more so just rumors spread by some of the merchants I know, but there is a defunct hospital building, about ten blocks away east, that is said to have some new presence there. Some claimed to have seen illegal items being bought and sold there, and even some of the White Rats members going in and out of the place. That place, may be your best bet."

"... You have my deepest gratitude, Mr. Franko."

Before he could turn away, the pawnbroker called him out again. "Mr. Hellagur, wait!"

"What's the matter?" He asked.

"Before you go..." Mr. Franko revealed. "I must warn you of something... just half an hour ago, someone else also came to this shop, and asked me the same thing."

Someone else? Also looking for this gang just as he? But for what purpose?

"If I may ask, what does this person look like?"

"It was a man, wearing a red longcoat of some kind, most of him is covered up, but the strangest thing of all, was the skull-like mask he wears on his face. He didn't look like he belonged here, or anywhere. He asked me about a gang called the Snatchers, even threatened me to open my mouth. I told him the same thing I told you, and then, he just left."

Another man, perhaps a dangerous one too with his identity hidden, was looking for the White Rats. What business does he have with them? What kind of individual is this man if he had to hide his own face? And more importantly, would it concern him and the people of Azazel?

"Thank you for everything you have told me, Mr. Franko. I am indebted to you."

"Please, just look out for yourself and for dear Ms. Neon, Mr. Hellagur. You've done a great deal for the people of Chernobog already." As he was done, he unlocked the doors of his shop wonce more.

As soon as he stormed out of the unlocked front doors, he rapidly turned to the direction of east, and like a storm, did not slow down even once past all the buildings and the people. An abandoned hospital building is surely hard to miss.

Five minutes passed, and his movement came to a halt. A large, worn down three-storey building resembling a hospital greeted his eyes. Most of its windows were boarded shut. Every entrance seemed to have been sealed as well. If that is the case, how could anyone possibly go in and out of the building? Unless there is a secret entrance he is unaware of.

The old man contemplated sneaking his way through, as he did not know what to expect should he encounter the White Rats. There is no guarantee that she could even be in this building.

But he knew that the longer he waits, the higher the chances of Neon, wherever she might be now, possibly getting herself hurt, or worse. The warrior within him had resurfaced, and it's guiding him towards unsheathing his sword, as he walked and stood against the front entrance.

Slash

One downward strike, carefully aimed right at the gap between the entrance, and whatever locks the metal doors once had were now useless. Hellagur kicked the doors open with all his might, sending both doors nearly flying off their hinges.

He observed the mess he just made. Whatever was trying to hide here, had went to great lengths to make sure they stayed hidden. The doors were sealed with multiple sturdy locks to prevent anyone from breaking in. Unfortunately it was not enough to stop an old warrior like him.

Taking a quick scan of his surroundings, he failed to see any other presence in the entire reception area. Moving forward, the entire main hall and rooms were empty, most of its contents missing, except for a few broken desks and chairs.

Despite how barren the building seemed, surprisingly the lights in the corridor are still working. Mostly, as he noted the flickering.

While making his way deeper into the building, an alarming sight greeted his senses, upon stumbling into the entrance of the first stairwell he could find.

Blood, flowing from upstairs, fresh from the way it looks, along with a body only a few steps above. The corpse's hands was covered with white gloves. A member of the White Rats, presumably. A stab wound right in his chest, above where his heart should be, and a frozen face of sheer anguish.

He wasn't the first one here. Someone else had broken in before him, and they were not friendly in the slightest.

"AAAaah!!"

Hellagur recognized that voice. It was Neon's. And it came from upstairs.

He kicked into a high sprint, making his way up the stairs, ignoring the blood and the corpse. As he arrived at the second floor, his eyes were assaulted with the visage of half a dozen more corpses, littered across the hall. None of it was his concern at the moment.

Checking every room as fast as he could, he could not find any sign of Neon. Rather, he found substantial amounts of weapons, and chemicals which he could not recognize. Storages for contraband, he surmised.

He was no longer part of the law, so there was nothing left to see here. That leaves only the third floor left unchecked.

Rushing back to the stairwell, he ran all the way to the top, and smashed the stairwell door open.

Looking to his side, he saw at the very edge of the long hallway, there was a man.

In his grip, a dark red coat with black trousers and leather boots, and an ominous skull-shaped metal mask covering his face, with glass lens where the eyes should be. The very same person he was warned about before.

And behind that masked man, was the white-haired Vulpo girl he had been looking all this time.

"Neon."

"Papa!" She called out to the old warrior. He had not heard her calling him that in almost forever. She did not look harmed, aside from her clothes being slightly disheveled, but her safety was yet to be guaranteed.

The masked stranger seemed confused, looking back and forth between him and his adoptive daughter.

"Is she yours?" The stranger asked, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. His stance gave off the impression of an experienced soldier. The way he holds the dagger in his hand, the impression of an experienced killer.

"I am her guardian. Ms. Neon is under my care, and I have come to take her back. You may call me Hellagur." His sword fully unsheathed, was now aimed directly at the stranger standing between him and the young woman.

"Now, may I ask who you are, and what circumstance has brought you here?"

Once upon a time, he was a loyal Ursus general and a veteran of multiple wars throughout Terra's history, some even no longer kept on records. Experience have taught him countless lessons, one of which is the art of knowing your enemy at first glance.

Nothing about this man before him is recognizable. Not even his face. Something about that mask exudes the air of enigma, something unexplainable, like a blank space in a puzzle, or something that does not belong in this world.

Hellagur did not know why he grasped these thoughts in his head, but rest assured, he will not let them cloud his reasoning this instant. Neon is his top priority. The masked man, possibly his only obstacle, whatever he may be

And whether the two men settle this with their words, or their blades, there shall only be one outcome. He will make sure of it.

Author's Note

So this chapter... was wildly different from what I initially planned out. For some reason this has been becoming a trend with my writing.

Hellagur meeting Daud was not something I initially considered, but thinking about it actually makes quite a lot of sense. I forgot for a while that he actually lived in Chernobog and even ran a clinic, and became a prominent figure among the local Infected. He was bound to show up eventually, I thought it'd be more amusing to have them meet in a, less-than-desirable situation.

There's way more dialogue this time, I realized. I do like having the characters interact way more often, since previously, well there hasn't been many chances to do so. Does this mean there's going to be more characters popping up later? Maybe.

Some of the characters in this chapter are not actually present in the main canon (I think), they're just OCs I have to put in for the sake of this fanfic, in case you're confused. Neon is referenced in Hellagur's background though, but there isn't really much information about her, even how she looks by. In case some new lore actually gets released by Hypergryph after this chapter gets released, don't fault me for getting some details wrong.

Some food for thought: There's a widespread meme about Skadi being able to cut a mountain in half, but weirdly enough I couldn't find a credible source on whether or not this is true. Even in the game itself, the closest feat is her "making a hole" in the mountain leading to a cave in the Grani and the Knights' Treasure event, which is still impressive by itself, but nowhere near the mountain-busting feat she supposedly have. She might still be able to carve a mountain slowly with her sword, though I imagined it'd probably take a long time.

I guess that's all for now. Like always, thanks for reading, and until next time.