Chapter 15

15

The Death of Sleep

It was supposed to be a celebration.

Nial Henderson rode through the streets at the head of his bodyguards, astonished at how such happiness could have easily been so dashed away. By order of the city council, Sheffield was under lock down. The gates were sealed and the guards permitted no one to pass through. There was an uptick in smugglers, forcing Nial to order his captains to search every wagon that tried to get out of the city.

The Lord was angry, furious. But he didn't let that get into his head because he had work to do. By his authority, he had placed the city under martial law and since he was in command of most of the soldiery that bore the crest of Sheffield it was easy to do. Nial thought back to his compatriots on the council, and his scowl deepened. Damned merchantmen and their concern for coin over the people. Look where it got them now, and with Ancalagon surely on her way back things were about to get messier.

If half of them survived that initial meeting with the Black Dragon, Nial would consider that a lucky start.

This travesty, and the blood price it accrued, solely belonged to the Order of the Chief God. In a move that would probably shake the foundation of the city, he had ordered all of the churches to cease services and to immediately open their buildings up to healers and those who needed healing. He began sending out overtures to nonhuman healers who often came by the city to ply their trade.

If that meant contacting the Greilia Sabbath then so be it. There would be those who would decry the Sabbath as a member of the Monster Extremists, but only an idiot would say that Greilia Little was not a good healer.

While the regular army troopers were busy with patrols, guard duty and escorts he had set his more elite ranks to the task of hunting down Father Zachariah and his cronies. Easy to do in a city like this, now that the zealots had shown what they had thought of Sheffield the ordinary folks were quick to give up those who were involved, partially or wholly.

Nial exhaled through his nose.

When Ancalagon returned, there was going to be a lot of explaining to do. Regardless, he supposed this was inevitable. Ancalagon was not going to take this lightly, she'd demand answers from the Order seeing as the ones responsible were fanatics of the Chief God.

First, he had to find Zachariah and grill him for answers. The problem there was his newest and missing agent.

Cyril Sutherland had either perished, highly unlikely considering his talents for bloodshed, or he was hunting Zachariah on his own. Something he really did not relish. He had no doubt Cyril could find the priest, what he did not know was how stable the Hunter truly was. The agent had gone missing and it had been a few days since he had reported in.

He looked around at the devastation of his city.

He curses the nature of his station for the umpteenth time, and tiredly ordered his retinue to follow him onward.

Father Tobias tripped once and continued running, even as he felt his pursuer's dead eyes on the back of his head.

A fiend, a ghoulish fiend who fed upon those who served the Chief God. That was what was pursuing him, seeking to put an end to his life in a spectacularly gory way. The zealots had scattered throughout the city trying to run and hide but to no avail, the people of Sheffield were vengeful for what the zealots had done to their city.

Tobias cursed and screamed at his pursuer, the very same man that had slaughtered his way through the other six groups who had done their holy work night after night. With steel in his hand and fury in his heart, the Breaker had come for Father Tobias and his ilk seeking their lives and their souls for the sin of merely existing. Their worship of the Chief God was an affront to the Breaker.

And now… it was Tobias' turn to race against his fate.

Tobias turned another corner, panting and gasping for breath. Ungrateful heretics! They only sought to turn this city from its evil ways of cooperation and capitulation! The only path to salvation for these sinners was cleansing by holy fire-

A sword point punched into his gut. Tobias felt the invasion of a foreign object in his body, his legs suddenly slack. Strange how there was no pain. Tobias looked into the terribly blank eyes of his murderer who pulled back, the sword withdrew from his gut. The Hunter raised his other weapon, the dreaded cleaver that had decapitated Father Richard the night before.

The priest sank down to his knees and the last thing he saw was the cold iron of the Saw Cleaver coming down upon him.

Cyril Sutherland picked up the head of the priest, Tobias. One of the many degenerates Zachariah had under his command, Tobias was the seventh leader he had slain so far. Zachariah was currently languishing in an abandoned house. The bastard had tried to escape only once but Cyril caught him. Keeping him alive was a necessity, so he brought food alongside medicine.

The Hunter's rage came back in full force as he raised his cleaver and began hacking at the headless corpse in a series of vertical strikes. What did it matter? Sierra was dead, and so was Emil. He couldn't bear to watch them be taken away to be buried in some plot of land. Neither could he have bared to watch them be buried. Cyril panted heavily through his mask, then got back to work placing the bloody head in a haversack.

Hunting down the leadership had been the first thing he had done, and it had taken him many a night to do so. Zachariah's magic only gave the priest a momentary reprieve, a flash of light and then the man was gone. A teleportation spell, but it didn't matter. Cyril could still smell the man's fear and if he tried to hide, the Hunter would find him. He would always find his prey.

And so began another round of slaughter, which did not end until the night fell and even then it continued. Cyril felt nothing but hate, hate for those who had taken the simple joy he found in this city. Hate for himself for losing it. Cyril had slaughtered his way through the zealots, returning to Zachariah's prison only to interrogate him as to who else he was working with.

That was how he had spent these days. A hunter looking for prey, no more no less.

He heard a rumble and looked up. It was thundering now. Rain, he thought to himself as it began. It was a small downpour. The bodies were going to rot before they were buried…

Cyril placed a hand to his mouth, and exhaled shakily. The Hunter put a hand against the wall to steady himself. It was time to head back. Zachariah was about to answer more questions, and if he didn't like it then that was too bad for him. He was grieving, that much was clear… but he had a mission to complete as well.

The Hunter still had obligations to his employer. As much as it pained him not to put Zachariah to the sword, he was still the instigator behind the atrocity in Sheffield. Cyril removed his hand and kept walking. Cyril felt that he was being followed and saw a group of brown robed men, each man holding a club or sword in their hands.

The Hunter turned around, Saw Cleaver in hand. Good, he was itching for a fight. Cyril moved quickly, charging the group without a word. In a single swing, he decapitated the lead man interrupting his spiel about doing the good work of the Chief God by killing the Hunter. Cyril didn't care about becoming a sinner in the eyes of some uncaring god.

If they wanted to meet her so badly, he was going to oblige these zealots.

Cyril's charge had certainly done what it was intended for, the zealots were shocked to the core at such brutality. The Hunter would have shaken his head in awe at their naivety in battle. It seemed that this place was not accustomed to such things, the zealots themselves fared even worse because most of them weren't warriors; in fact a lot of them had no experience in battle whatsoever. They expected to fight of civilians and guardsmen who were caught off guard.

None of them expected to find the Hunter, sharp as a keen edged knife and half-cut with blood.

Sad, but Cyril didn't care at all for the well-being of his enemies. The Hunter struck again, his Saw Cleaver biting deep into another zealot's chest even as his off hand reached out catching a man's sword arm. Cyril crushed the bones in the man's wrist, causing him to scream in agony. Yanking his blade back Cyril forced his other victim into the path of a sword thrust meant for his side.

Slow… They were so very slow. The zealots might as well have been wading through molasses. Even the monsters he had faced in Lescatie fared better than they did.

The Hunter shoved the corpse shield aside and struck the zealot behind it down, ripping a savage gash in the man's throat. Cyril exhaled slowly, blood dripping from… everywhere. He wiped his eyes with a sleeve. He looked around, waiting for another group of enemies before realizing he was alone.

Why do you pretend to be something you're not?

Cyril ignored the voice of Adella as he headed back.

Oh dear Hunter… That woman was holding you back. It's good that she's dead no?

One such as you, half-mad, sharp as a knife… You should have been dead a long time ago…

Cyril shook his head again at the voice of old Djura. "Shut up!" He hissed to himself. The Hunter kept moving.

The house had been abandoned for quite some time but it served its purpose adequately. Cyril opened the door and saw his prisoner. Zachariah glared at him, bound as he was to the wall. The man had been enthusiastically beaten up after his first, and only, escape attempt. Cyril made sure to only feed him enough to keep him alive but after that?

He would see what Lord Nial Henderson had in store for the priest. Regardless of whether he would be spared or killed, Cyril would make damn sure that he would die.

"You… heretic… bastard." Zachariah rasped. Cyril idly threw the haversack at the floor and the head of Tobias the priest rolled out of it. The zealots' leader sagged in his bonds as he saw the seventh of his brothers, decapitated by a madman.

Cyril let him look at the head for a few more moments before he collected it and put it in the haversack. "I believe that is the last of the leadership. Save for you." He said, tonelessly as he removed his Saw Cleaver from the harness on his back. He began sharpening it.

"Tomorrow, we have an appointment with my employer." Cyril's voice brokered no argument. "Your fate has been sealed the moment I caught you."

"You won't touch me heretic!" Zachariah screamed at him. "I'll avenge my brothers, and I will watch as you burn in the Chief God's radiance!"

Zachariah gasped as Cyril reached down and grabbed his mouth. Such was his strength that the fat priest's jaw bones began to creak. Muffled screaming erupted, and Cyril was tempted to crush this man's skull. But he relented.

"You should consider yourself fortunate." The Hunter's voice was a low, sibilant hiss. His cruel gaze completely enraged. "The only reason you are alive is because of the value my employer places on whatever information you have in your head. I would have gladly carved you up otherwise."

Cyril let go of Zachariah's jaw, then slugged the man in the face. Hard. Blood sprayed across the wall and teeth clattered against the wooden floor. The priest began to weep in terror as the coppery tang of bloodlust permeated the abandoned house.

"Your god isn't here." Cyril growled. "There is only me ."

The Hunter stepped back and let the priest weep.

Cyril stepped into the shadows. He would grieve later, grieve for the dwarf who gave him a roof over his head. And the elf who showed him such kindness he had long since thought was nothing more than a Dream.

The rain was steadily getting worse.

"Sasha!"

Dimas looked around for his compatriot. "Sasha!?" He called out the healer's name. He looked back at the dwarf.

Emil Goldgather scowled at him as he led a catatonic Sierra Underwood with him. "Lad, I'm going to be straight with you: If this healer of yours doesn't come here quick, there's going to be problems."

"Ah… Ah…" Sierra's black hair was caked in blood, and her severe head injury was covered up by a bloody bandage. Her once bright and cheerful personality was lost behind the blank, beautiful face that looked around.

Dimas swore. These two were friends of the new agent apparently, Klaus but Dimas knew him as Cyril. The Highwayman sighed in relief as he saw the sea green hair of Sasha Fullmoon. The woman's gray habit was covered by a white sleeveless tabard, caked in blood.

Her eyes widened at who she saw with Dimas.

"Aye, we've… we've got a problem Miss Fullmoon." Dimas said grimly as he gestured to Emil and Sierra.

Sasha looked at the dwarf and the elf. The dwarf held the elf's hand tightly as she stood, listless, oblivious to everything. His grip tightened when she tried to walk off, babbling.

"What happened?" Sasha asked, a shocked whisper.

"Bastards thought us dead, healer." Emil answered gruffly. "And our… our friend, he is missing. You may know him as Klaus."

"Yes, I know him." Sasha breathed. "We have not seen him for a day either." She turned to Sierra.

"We should get the both of you inside a tent." Sasha gestured for all of them to follow her. "Dimas, tell me how you found these two."

"It's not a long story; guard thought they were dead and… the elf started screaming which woke the dwarf up."

Emil glowered at Dimas.

"The dwarf says he's fine." Dimas stepped away from Emil. He had been in a bar fight alongside a dwarf once and provoking someone who was within easy reach of your crotch was never a good idea. "The elf… I didn't know who else to go to." The highwayman looked terrible.

Sasha looked at Sierra. Never had she seen such a thing. How hard had she been hit in the head? Or did Zachariah do something far worse? Worse enough to risk the attention of a wrathful Hunter?

"Dimas, get them a tent." Sasha said seriously. "Hastur and I shall find Master Klaus and bring him here."

"Let me come with you." Dimas started. "It isn't safe to just be going off on your lonesome."

"No." Sasha was firm in her decision. "Sir Hastur and a couple of guardsmen should be enough."

"Why? Why the haste? If our friend is out there doing work then let him!" Dimas argued with Sasha.

"He has to know… Otherwise I fear for our enemies." Sasha spoke gravely. It was serious enough for her to say something like that. "And who is to say that he will not turn against us for doing nothing?"

Dimas flinched, but he nodded reluctantly. He was sure Master Sutherland was good on his own though… "Come on, dwarf." He said softly. "Let's get you both out of this rain."

"Come, lass." Emil led Sierra forward, the elf babbling again. Her eyes kept drifting towards the city, as if she was looking for something.

Jophiel let out a sigh as she allowed the crystal mirror to shatter back into pieces. The Valkyrie swept her arm and the crystals entered the pouch on her belt on their own volition. She fucked up, and the knowledge stung. Her report had been made to the leader of her Choir and Ruhiel was not someone she would cross.

She honestly felt like crying. She had intended this as a show of force, and Zachariah had made a mockery of the cause of the Chief God. The Valkyrie should have reigned them in but she didn't. Now, the slaughter had galvanized the city's people, their grief and shock quickly turning into volatile rage.

Nobility and commoner alike condemned the Order for allowing this to happen. She had seen priests, good men who led the Chief God's flock, stoned in the streets even when they had not been involved. Jophiel had her orders to remain hidden but that bastard Zachariah… She had not seen him for an entire day. Then again, with many of Sheffield's people waking up to what was essentially a declaration of war from the Order she wasn't surprised.

He would have been torn apart in the streets had they found out his culpability in the tragic events that happened within these walls.

Jophiel looked outside of the window. The middle class couple that had decided to shelter her were also staying inside, in fear of what had happened during the Union Festival and the resulting anger of the populace.

She feared for them, this old man and woman who kept to themselves and their worship in their homes. Unlike the firebrand Zachariah, these two were simple folk who prayed to the Chief God for their prosperity and the continuity of their human lives. Jophiel would not allow these two to become monsters, or to be killed by a misunderstanding.

The Valkyrie exhaled. There was no doubt about it. She was going to have to make an appeal to the leaders of Sheffield itself. The neutral territories had allowed Order preachers and practitioners into their lands provided that they followed the laws of the Oberon league but they also allowed the monsters in.

How could such a thing be allowed to happen? Surely the Founders would have known the consequences…

Jophiel laughed to herself as she interrupted that tangent. The Founders of the Oberon League would not see it that way, especially with her inaction. She had wanted a protest, not a bloody massacre. Jophiel cursed herself for what had happened. There was no other way, she was going to have to make an appeal to the Black Dragon herself.

Ancalagon the Grim considered the city her hoard.

And pity the fool who thought to harm a Dragon's hoard in any way.

The situation, Fina mused, was indeed truly fucked.

The Dhampir watched quietly as Elt argued with Wilmarina over whether they should sneak out of the city or stay here and continue trying to search for the Moon Scented Hunter. Elt argued that with the situation deteriorating in Sheffield, they should have pulled out a long time ago. Wilmarina's wishes were to continue with the objective; they were so close now, she had said, they could do this if they worked patiently.

Elt didn't see it that way and for once, Fina agreed with the poor bastard. Wilmarina had taken this job because she was the only one willing to go after the Hunter. The man was indeed a threat to everything she held dear, true. But her darling Elt went along with this only to keep her safe. That wasn't the worst of it though, their lead scout Primera had not reported in for a whole day.

Ursula had counseled Wilmarina to be patient, Primera had a good head on her shoulders but…

To not even send a message to say that she was fine was concerning. Elt wanted to head out and look for her but that would just create questions that they could not afford to answer. Fina could have gone but she highly doubted her chances of survival should she encounter the Hunter. Primera was their lead scout, Fina did not know her personally but Elt had assured her that Primera knew what she was doing.

Hence why they were stuck here without any news. Stuck in a city with potentially hazardous occupants because the Order decided that they did not like what was happening in Sheffield and had decided to teach the Oberon League a lesson.

Already they were hearing rumors that zealots had been hunted down piece by piece. It was obvious that the Butcher of Lescatie was responsible. Fina sighed. Mimil and Ursula had gone down to get breakfast. Wilmarina was busy trying to plan out what they were going to do. Elt was standing outside, hood on.

Mimil's disguise charms were working. But Primera being discovered was an inherently bad outcome for them all. Fina looked outside the window. It was a rainy day. She missed both Natsume and Mom, wondering how the both of them were doing…

The door to their room opened.

"Mimil!?"

Everyone gathered inside as the witch Mimil tried to get her breath back.

"S-Sorry!" She said to everyone. "But, um… Primera's back, she's just getting some water."

"Where's Ursula?" Fina asked.

"Staying on watch." Mimil said. "But… guys…" The diminutive witch's face was grim, a serious occurrence for someone who constantly begged for her Big Brother's attention.

"He is here." Mimil said. "He's fighting the Order. Primera saw him cut down a group of zealots before disappearing."

"Did-Did he know she was watching him?" Elt looked worried.

"No, Elt. I'm fine."

Primera entered next and Mimil quickly closed the door with a word of magic. The half elf half werewolf sat down on one of the beds, looking quite pale. "I saw him alright. There was no way it wasn't the Butcher. He was wearing the hat."

Primera leaned forward, face in her hands. "I thought I got made so I ran for it."

"So he is here…" Wilmarina mused. "We might have a chance…"

"Mary." Elt said sighing. "All of this can go sideways if we decide to just attack him in the middle of the streets. Furthermore, we're in the middle of a city full of angry people. I don't think this is a good idea."

"We still have a mission to complete." Wilmarina's reply was firm but she was understanding.

Fina's reaction was more subdued. There was a chance here, but she was going to have to proceed alone to do it. Going up to quite possibly one of the most dangerous men in the city and pleading her case wasn't exactly something she wanted to do.

A chance was a chance. Fina just needed time to sneak away. Mother would be furious at what she intended but Fina didn't care about that. She just wanted to save her sister.

And she would do whatever it took to save Natsume from herself, even if it meant giving her life for that cause.

On the dawn of the end of the week, Sheffield was awoken by a massive roar that shook the towers and the battlements of the city-state's capitol. The people, still angered by what had happened during one of their most sacred national holidays looked to the skies as the wings of the Black Dragon herself cast the city within its shadows.

The commoners pointed up at the sky in their awe, knowing full well that their liege had come home from her pilgrimage. They cheered as the dragon made several passes, keen eyes taking in the sight of the place she considered a part of her hoard.

Another roar, this one filled with dread rage as she beheld the damage and smelled the blood that had stained the streets weeks prior.

For the leadership of Sheffield, they clamored to ready themselves to receive the esteemed First Founder of the Oberon League, the great dragon Ancalagon the Grim. Nial Henderson, Lord of the City Guard waited calmly for the summons.

He had much to explain, as did the other lords but he was ready for whatever came.

But despite the calm he showed outside, Nial was completely terrified at the prospect of facing his liege lady and explaining what had happened during the now canceled Union Festival.

In an abandoned house, the Hunter heard the Dragon roaring and saw the despair that had come over Father Zachariah's face. Cyril Sutherland unbound his captive and then proceeded to head outside with the bastard in tow.

"Time to meet your maker." Cyril said to the sobbing priest softly as he dragged his captive out and began his journey towards the central keep, unaware that Sasha and Hastur were approaching from the opposite direction.

Escorted by five guardsmen, Sasha and Hastur rode down the street in haste.

"Is that him, Lady Fullmoon?" Hastur asked as they saw two figures, one of them being dragged forcefully down the street.

Sasha slowed her horse to a stop as she beheld the grim figure of Cyril Sutherland, shoving a fat priest onto his knees.

"Well met." Cyril said, eyes horribly blank as he nodded to Sasha and to Hastur.

"Master Sutherland… You've been gone for almost a week." Hastur spoke first. "What have you been doing? Lord Henderson is beside himself."

"Hunting." Cyril answered, neutrally. "I present to you Father Zachariah, leader of the zealots responsible for the reprehensible crimes that occurred during this festival. I have slain his subordinates, forcing his priesthood into hiding like rats."

"Please… mercy!" Zachariah begged. "Please, get this maniac away from me!"

"Be silent." Sasha told him. "Your fate is in our hands. I am sorry, Father, but your words mean naught to those you have sinned against." The former hero of the Order sighed as she looked at Cyril. There was a tension in the Hunter's body, as if he was barely holding back terrible pain and grief.

"Hastur, get him on a horse. We have to bring this man to the keep. Lord Henderson calls for us." Sasha said. "Are you injured?" She turned her question to Cyril.

"No." The Hunter said quietly. "No I'm not."

Sasha… did not like the way he was sounding.

"It seems that much has happened before my return home."

Nial Henderson kept his eyes forward, doing as much as he could to avoid looking at the tall, muscular figure that circled the Council table. All twenty seats were occupied save for one, the great chair usually reserved for the Mistress of the City.

Ever lord and lady present stared ahead, some trembled and others whimpered as they heard the loud tread of Ancalagon the Grim. In human form, she resembled a woman almost reaching nine feet tall and her body packed with muscle. A fair face belied the immense strength and pride the creature possessed.

Amber eyes, glowing with restrained indignation, locked onto each noble with frightening clarity. Long black hair was tied back in a severe bun, two bangs framing her severe expression. A Dragon was among the mightiest monsters to fly the sky. Ancalagon was no less a paragon of this lofty image. Her clothing was simple but of the finest make here in Sheffield. Either way, she was a figure of contrasts. Ancalagon was a beauty, of that there was no doubt. But her ten thousand years of life made for a frighteningly experienced individual.

"And yet… I do not understand why." Ancalagon's growl echoed through the council chamber. "It was already discussed with my Lord of the City Guard that there would be extra security provided for the Union Festival."

Ancalagon's ebony claw scraped against the back of a noble's chair, causing the woman sitting in it to begin hyperventilating.

"And yet, according to Nial Henderson… those security funds had been reallocated for personal use among some of you. To… bolster sales of certain products and the advancement of a cause that is the opposite of mine. As a result, none of the guardsmen were trained and Nial was forced to work with only a small band of agents."

The Dragon continued circling, claws sometimes scraping against the back of chairs. Other times, they stroked a lady or lord's arm with disturbing gentleness. Nial exhaled softly, knowing full well that those claws were capable of tearing through plate armor designed by the Dwarves.

"Would you care to explain why this attack happened, Sir Nial Henderson?" Ancalagon returned to her seat, smiling and revealing a row of sharp knife like teeth in a pretty mouth that could also breath an inferno.

"An infiltration, my lady." Nial answered. "By men and women who claim to work for the Order, it seems that it is a retaliation for what had happened in Lescatie."

Ancalagon leaned in her chair, claws put in a steeple, amber eyes narrowed in barely restrained rage. "Go on." She spoke in a growl.

Nial stood up. "My agents have recovered the architect of this tragedy, Father Zachariah of Norsburg." He said. "A former priest of Lescatie, and a firebrand preacher with many connections." He turned to the left to look at two lords and a lady. "Connections to the Ludendorf Trade Company."

The nobles began to protest until Ancalagon raised a hand. "What were these connections, Nial?" Ancalagon asked.

Nial took another breath. "A way into the city. As you… established, lady Ancalagon, the Order may operate in League territory so long as they adhere to the laws of Sheffield. Something they clearly resented as they believed it an affront to the Chief God's power for a secular ruler to have authority over matters of worship. It was also your desire for neutrality between men and monsters that galvanized Zachariah and his ilk to act and so he called upon the favors owed to him by the Ludendorfs."

"That is a lie!" A lord stood up. "Milady, please disregard this man's warmongering blabber! This is clearly a conspiracy to-"

"Baron Fitzgerald Ludendorf." Ancalagon's growl was punctuated by a brief plume of flame as her amber eyes locked onto the portly lord that had suddenly shouted. "If you speak up one more time in my presence I will impale you on one of the spires of my castle keep."

The Dragon's eyes glowed fiercely. " Shut the fuck up and sit down . "

Ludendorf sat down quietly and didn't speak another word.

Ancalagon turned her attention to the rest of the council. "I am sincerely disappointed with you all." She spoke without hesitating. "And to find that only one of this council was capable of taking control of the situation is not only embarrassing for me, it is highly irritating."

The Dragon leaned forward. "I suppose I should be more grateful than nothing else has happened. I can take this as a lesson, considering the opposite option." She said. "Otherwise I would be purging half of this council chamber by spilling your guts all over the floor."

"W-What will happen now, my lady?" One noble stammered after a long and awkward pause.

Ancalagon gave a toothy grin as she glared at the man.

"Why, we respond of course."

It was on that day, during the start of the summer season, that the world had changed for the worse.

In response to the horrific attack that had happened in Sheffield's territory, Ancalagon the Grim sent a declaration of war to the highest authority of the Order of the Chief God. It was the most shocking event to have ever occurred in the history of the world as it is today and it sent ripples throughout the kingdoms of the continent.

As the Order reeled in response to the accusations levied against them by the Oberon League, they began to meet daily to make a decision as to what to do. War with the League meant that many countries could close their borders to them, weakening not only their military by barring the Order Crusades from recruiting but also severely affecting trade should the League begin making overtures to various merchants to discourage any trade with those affiliated with the Order of the Chief God.

There were some who demanded the chance to invade Sheffield to teach the Black Dragon a lesson, but those cooler and wiser heads prevailed. They would instead try diplomacy first, because the Order could not afford to fight a war on two fronts.

Diplomacy had to work. It had to, because if they were indeed forced to fight on two fronts then it would be nothing more than a disaster in the making.

Cyril Sutherland looked at the bland face of Sierra Underwood.

"Ah… Ah…" She babbled and reached for his hand, she began to cry. The Hunter nearly shrank back but controlled the urge to do so.

"What happened to her?" He asked Sasha. "What happened to Emil?"

Sasha, wiping her hands on her tabard, sighed as she gently urged the Hunter to sit. She gave up when she saw the relieved light in his eyes fade. "They had both been beaten severely." Sasha explained. "Emil… is a Dwarf so he is a lot tougher than Miss Sierra so her injuries were far more severe."

She looked at Sierra who babbled and kept pulling on Cyril's hand. Sasha could see that the Hunter's heart had broken.

"Emil went back to his hold." Sasha said hesitantly as she saw Cyril's eyes narrow. "He… He does not blame you for what happened to Sierra Underwood. He told me to say that he was sorry for leaving but he has family business to attend to. All because of… well, you know."

Cyril finally sat down next to Sierra, who kept crying. The Hunter reached out and gently patted her head.

"I was supposed to protect the both of them." The Hunter said brokenly. "And I failed. No more."

Cyril removed his hand as he stood up. Sasha saw a terrible thing then, as the Hunter pulled up his bandana.

"I have been running away from what I am for far too long." His voice was sad, regretful but filled with malice. "So be it, Gehrman." He spoke to himself. "I shall take up your mantle as I should have done. This world has need of a Hunter, with all the cruelty and malice that one can muster. The world calls for bloodshed, and I shall answer it."

His red eyes were dead. Sasha felt nothing but sorrow as she saw that there really was nothing else she could have done.

"Tonight. Cyril Sutherland joins the Hunt."