As I stepped into the chamber, I nearly forgot I was mid-hunt.

  The room was… magical. Not just in aura, but in purpose.

  High stone walls, beautifully carved and covered in relics. Runes, emblems, ancient paintings. A hoard of history masquerading as interior design. This wasn’t just a sanctuary—it was a vault of victories.

  A large, open space dominated the center, bordered by ornate vases that seemed too delicate to exist underground. At the far end, behind a glass-covered display, stood a single sword. Plain in design, yet… ancient. One rune along the flat of the blade glimmered faintly—unknown to me. That needed investigating.

  But I wasn’t alone.

  To the right, two men sat at a table. No doors out. No windows. No exits, but mine.

  The first was unarmored—just cloth and tired eyes. Medium curls. Mid-forties. That was Honas Arnell.

  Across from him, draped in royal silk and heavy with jewelry, sat a man with power bleeding off of him like stench. Liam, Chancellor of Parliament, father of Leliana. A dagger peeked from his robes, jeweled and ceremonial.

  And standing behind them: the Guard Captain. Tall. Hard. Built to be obeyed.

  None of them had noticed me. Must’ve been a silent seal on that arcane door.

  I slipped behind a carved pillar and listened.

  “You told me you'd handle it, Arnell. And now?” Liam’s voice cracked with fury. “Now my home burns. Because you hesitated!”

  “Chancellor, please,” Arnell replied, calm as oil on fire. “I didn’t anticipate the Coldian striking first. But it plays into our hand. I’ve already sent men to his companion. The mutt will die. The master won’t be far behind.”

  “You were supposed to protect Leliana,” Liam spat. “Keep her in check. Drive her away from your work. Instead, she ends up healing Coldian filth. Now she conspires against me. My own daughter! She destroyed my mansion!”

  Arnell said nothing.

  “And you,” Liam turned on the Guard Captain, venom thick. “You were supposed to protect me! I signed the damn contract. You were to repel an army if needed. Now I’m undone by one soldier?! One?”

  “Sir, this is no ordinary soldier—” the captain began.

  “I did the background check! He’s Zero Regiment. That’s not supposed to mean this!” Liam slammed his fist down. “You let this happen. You all let this happen. I’m ruined!”

  “Chancellor, please—” Arnell interjected, but Liam cut him off again.

  “No! We were meant to lead this city. Now the Citadel will investigate. The Canu ties, the trades, the artifacts—it all collapses! And I? I lose everything. My position. My power. My daughter. Because of one dying Coldian and some back-alley medic.”

  He was unraveling fast.

  And then—snap.

  With one brutal, practiced swing, the Guard Captain punched Liam across the jaw. The chancellor dropped like a sack of silk and gold.

  Arnell didn’t even blink.

  “I was hoping you’d do that,” he sighed.

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  “You know I’ll have to report this,” the captain said, expression unreadable.

  “I know.”

  Arnell stood. Calm. Measured.

  He produced a potion. Pinkish. Gentle in color. Deceptive.

  “What now?” the captain asked.

  Arnell moved closer. “Lay him on the table. Let him wake. I’ll give him this…”

  As the captain leaned down to lift Liam, Arnell shifted. One smooth movement. A dagger appeared—short, vicious.

  And it found the soft part of the captain’s throat.

  No cry. Just the wet gasp of air meeting blood. The captain crumpled, his limbs twitching uselessly as crimson pooled beneath him.

  Arnell watched, expression frozen in disappointment.

  “You fool. ‘Report me,’ you said. No one undermines me.”

  He stood alone now. Surrounded by corpses and emblems of victory.

  I waited a breath longer. Maybe he’d kill himself too, just to save me the effort.

  No such luck.

  This was my cue.

  I stepped out from behind the pillar. Silent. Sure.

  He still hadn’t noticed me.

  I reached behind, pulled the sack free from my belt—still damp, still heavy—and with a single motion, I hurled it at him.

  It struck him squarely in the back with a sickening thud. He recoiled, stiffening at the impact, then spun around—already pale—but the moment his gaze fell on the contents of that crude sack, terror carved itself across his face.

  His wife’s head rolled to a stop on the marble floor, eyes wide open in an expression of eternal shock.

  “Z-Zara,” he hissed, voice cracking under the weight of disbelief. “What have you done?”

  I tilted my head, smirking beneath the cold steel of my helmet. “I think the clean cut speaks for itself.”

  His face contorted with rage. “You impotent mutt,” he spat. “I’ll have you fed to the worms.”

  I stepped forward, the room stretching long and silent behind me. “Odds are against you this time, Arnell.”

  “You think you can kill me?” he snarled. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? You’ll hang—strung up by your own piss-soaked people!”

  “But you,” I said coldly, “won’t live to see that happen.”

  His hand shot into his pocket and pulled out a flask filled with orange fluid. “You vermin! I’ll burn you alive!”

  He hurled it with every ounce of strength he had. I pivoted aside just as it sailed past. It shattered behind me with a thunderous blast, the pressurewave cracking the stone and flinging me off my feet. No flame, just force—raw, concussive, ear-shattering force.

  My Sheer Cold coating held, just barely—but the pressure fractured the outer layer.

  Arnell didn’t move. He just stood there, dagger drawn, waiting. Like he still thought he could win.

  I rose quickly, surged forward. His blade came down but I knocked it wide with mine, twisted my hips, and in one clean motion—took his arm off at the shoulder.

  He screamed.

  “I’ll enjoy this,” I hissed.

  He staggered, fumbling at a vial around his neck. Too slow.

  His other arm came off with the same precision, and the same brutal lack of ceremony. Flesh, bone, and pride fell to the floor in wet ruin.

  He collapsed forward, groaning, cursing me between ragged breaths. I stepped in, caught the vial dangling from his throat and tore it free, tossing it against the stone wall. It shattered uselessly. Nothing happened.

  I tilted his chin up with the edge of my blade until our eyes locked. His were bloodshot, wild.

  “What was the vial for?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  He coughed, sputtered. “That… that would’ve made me your worst nightmare,” he growled.

  I kicked him hard in the chest. He landed on his back with a hollow grunt.

  I stepped forward again, planting my boot on his ribs. Not enough to break them—just enough to keep his breath shallow. He squirmed. Useless.

  “You hate my people,” I whispered. “You offended me. Humiliated me. Held my friend hostage. A quick death would be a mercy. You don’t get that.”

  I drew my blade across my palm, slowly. Let the blood gather. Then, without hesitation, I leaned down and let the coldian blood drip—onto the raw, exposed stump of his arm… his face… into his mouth and nose.

  The Corruption took root immediately.

  He gasped, gagged, tried to scream—but couldn’t. The terror in his eyes grew. He knew what it was. Of course he did.

  The Corruption—Sheer Cold’s curse. It worked slow, cell by cell, corrupting living tissue and turning it into frozen matter. Not frost. Not ice. Something worse—something alive. Dark, deep blue. Irreversible.

  On the dead, it spread sluggishly. On the living, it bloomed like death’s own flower.

  Arnell scuttled across the ground like a wounded rat. “Please—remove this… kill me!”

  “There is no cure,” I said calmly, removing my helmet so he could see my face. “Only the strongest among us can purge it. I am not one of them.”

  He begged for nearly an hour. His bleeding had stopped; the Corruption had frozen the vessels shut. But the rest of him was unraveling—nerves going dead, organs beginning to fail. His shivering grew more desperate by the minute, his words garbled through chattering teeth.

  Eventually he stopped pleading. Then he stopped breathing.

  He died with his eyes open, teary, locked on mine.

  Not yet frozen, not fully—but dead in all the ways that mattered. The mind went first, with the soul close behind.

  I turned away from the husk that had been Arnell, and cast a glance toward Liam. Still unconscious. That hit from the captain had done its work.

  Satisfied, I turned to the display case and approached the sword.