[A Few Days After Escaping Dogma]

  Forbidden Forest, Daytime

  Arcels was shabby, dirty, and smelly. His thin body showed his bones, as he hadn't eaten in two days. He had only one wish: to go to the city, meet his brother, and return home together to Westland.

  Arcels walked in the wilderness not knowing the dangers around him.

  "Rawr!"

  The tiger's roar could be heard in the distance, sending panicked birds into the air. Arcels immediately ran away, before the tiger realized his presence.

  However, a more terrifying danger than just a tiger was lurking-a 2-meter-tall figure lurking in the darkness of the forest.

  "A-Almost got eaten by a tiger..." Arcels panted, pausing for a moment after escaping the Tiger's reach.

  But, unbeknownst to him, a black figure with red eyes and a large human-shaped body was standing right behind him.

  Drip... drip... drip...

  The creature's saliva dripped, creating a small puddle on the dry ground. Its mouth was large with rows of sharp teeth, enough to swallow Arcels' head whole.

  Arcels turned his head slowly. Cold sweat ran down his temples, his hands trembling under his breath.

  That thing was a Trinker-a mindless demon that thirsted for human blood.

  Arcels already understood how to deal with Trinkers because it was common knowledge in his world.

  If I don't move and don't make a sound, they won't attack... Right? Arcels tried to remember his theory and tried to convince himself.

  However, that's just theory, there are many Trinkers who are not normal and have varied skills.

  Unfortunately, the abnormal Trinker was currently behind Arcels.

  Kraaaaaahk...

  Trinker opened his mouth wide, as if to crush Arcels' head.

  "SHIT!!!"

  Arcels immediately ran with all his might, his breathing ragged. The Trinker chased behind, his heavy steps hitting the ground, making a small vibration that was felt all the way to the soles of Arcels' feet.

  Although Arcels was a slave who was not supposed to go to the city in Southland, Arcels was forced to run towards the city.

  Alkhamsa City, Suburbs

  While almost being bitten by the Trinker, Arcels managed to get out of the forest. His eyes caught the towering stone walls of Alkhamsa City.

  "HELP!!! THERE'S A TRINKER!!!" Arcels shouted at the top of his lungs.

  "HAH?!?!?!"

  The residents turned their heads in unison. Their eyes widened at the sight of Arcels' blonde hair, fair skin, and blue eyes-a clear sign of a slave from Westland.

  "HAAAH?!?!?!?!?!?!"

  They were more shocked when they saw a 2-meter-tall naked black figure chasing Arcels with drool dripping.

  Now the Trinker is no longer just chasing Arcels, but also the people around him. This made it easy for Arcels to infiltrate the city.

  "Arghh!"

  Trinker roared, his burly hands grabbing a girl standing too close and intending to eat her whole.

  "MAMA!!! HELP ME!!!" The little girl around 8 years old screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  "NO!!!" screamed the little girl's mother, helpless to do anything.

  Trinker lifted the girl high, opening his mouth full of sharp teeth, ready to devour her whole.

  "Aaaaaa-"

  Srekkk!

  The sword swung quickly, passing through the Trinker's head. Blood spurted everywhere and the Trinker's head fell to the ground.

  Drops... drops...

  Fresh blood dripped slowly from the severed neck. Trinker's body collapsed with a heavy thud, leaving a pool of blackened blood on the ground.

  The little girl fell to the ground, sobbing.

  "Mom!" she screamed, and ran unsteadily toward a woman standing nearby.

  In the tree-shadowed sunlight, a man with a sword stood tall.

  He wore gleaming black armor with a black turban symbolizing Southland's power. The black cloak hanging down his back billowed softly, as if submitting to his majestic and undeniable aura.

  He is General Zaladin Abiyoye.

  A war general who now commands tens of thousands of troops, after years of being only a Commander Thousand.

  In the world, general is the highest rank of military leader-a title that can only be held by those who can destroy cities with their bare hands, fight thousands of troops without flinching, and stand tall even when their bodies are pierced by thousands of swords.

  "Thank you, Mr. Zaladin. You have saved my daughter." The mother bowed deeply, her voice trembling with gratitude. Her thin hands clasped her sobbing daughter tightly, her face lowered to the ground.

  "Raise your head and return home safely," Zaladin replied softly, his voice deep yet calm. His piercing eyes gazed at the mother of the little girl without the slightest hint of fatigue, as if the thousands of battles he had been through were nothing.

  "Adam!"

  Zaladin's voice was heard firmly calling out his right hand. A well-built man in silver armor immediately came forward and bowed respectfully.

  "Yes, Sir!" replied Adam firmly, his voice loudly echoing through the trees. His right hand clenched around his chest in a sign of respect.

  "Send more troops to patrol the Forbidden Forest more often!"

  "Yes, Master!" Adam bowed deeply before turning around with quick steps, giving orders to the soldiers.

  Zaladin looked at the reddening sky with a resentful face.

  At this rate, I'll be lectured by the Sultan of Southland... How inconvenient...

  [Arcels Seeks His Brother: Alkhamsa City]

  Alkhamsa City, Slave Market

  On the other hand, the Arcels had infiltrated the city. Stone walls and rows of dense houses crammed the narrow streets. The smell of sweat, blood, and iron wafted from the crowded Slave Market.

  Arcels hid his face behind a tattered cloak that covered his entire body. Worn-out shoes protected his nearly scuffed feet, while prosthetic glasses and a worn-out cloth covered his trademark blonde hair and blue eyes.

  "I have to find him... My brother..."

  Arcels' hands were clenched into tight fists, his breath held behind the mask.

  "Excuse me, are you selling an 18-year-old male slave with a height of 190 cm? If possible he's from Westland," Arcels asked one of the merchants, his voice trembling with hunger.

  "Wow... how specific is your request..." The merchant grinned, showing disgusting yellow teeth. "You better take a look at the slaves I have. It's much higher quality. It only costs 1 gold piece..."

  Arcels gritted his teeth. Without answering, he turned quickly and left. His heart was beating fast, between despair and anger.

  He approached one merchant after another, asking the same question with increasingly slim hopes.

  However, night falls. The sky turned dark, and the lanterns in the market were lit. Arcels stood panting in the crowd that seemed to suffocate him.

  "Nothing... Absolutely nothing..." he muttered, his voice almost drowned out amidst the noisy shouts of the merchants. His gaze swiveled, his breathing halting for a moment.

  "Brother... where are you...?"

  A Deserted Place, Slave Market

  "WHAT KIND OF SLAVE ARE YOU GIVING ME, HAH?!" shouted a man with a bloodshot face, his voice echoing among the rows of dirty tents.

  "I'm sorry, Master... I'll get you another slave to take his place," the slave trader replied, his voice trembling.

  "No need! Just give me back my money!"

  "All right, Sir. Here's your money," the merchant hurriedly returned the bag of coins, his face full of fake smiles.

  The buyer grunted in annoyance and left, leaving behind a slave boy who was pushed to the dusty ground.

  Arcels watched from a distance, his eyes narrowed.

  Is that you Follows?

  He thought, his breath held for a moment.

  "Again you are returned... You insubordinate slave!" growled the slave trader, his foot kicking the weakly lying slave in the stomach.

  "What's wrong with a little initiative?! Don't wait to be told to work first! Being told is hard too! You weird slave!"

  Arcels clenched his fists, his jaw hardening.

  Without hesitation, he stepped quickly over and said, "Excuse me, may I see the slave?"

  "Hmmm? There's another person who's going to be tricked into buying you huh... hehehe..." The merchant grinned widely, revealing his disgusting yellow teeth.

  Arcels approached them, his eyes sharp under the cover of cloth. "May I have a closer look at this slave?" he asked coldly.

  "Of course, Sir. It only costs 1 gold piece. His body is stocky, tall, and strong. This slave from Westland is only 18 years old. You will like him, Sir," the merchant licked his lips, his voice sounding like a whispering snake.

  Arcels looked down, staring at the slave's face.

  It's true, you are Follows, my brother.

  However, Follows had not yet realized who the man with the cloth cover was in front of him.

  Arcels brought his face closer and whispered softly, "It's me, Arcels."

  Follows' eyes widened instantly. Although weak and dusty, Arcels' blue eyes were impossible to forget.

  "Is that really you, Brother?" Follows whispered, his voice trembling between emotion and confusion.

  "Of course it's me. You still haven't changed. Follows The Obedient," Arcels replied softly with his soft voice.

  "What should I do, Bro?" asked Follows waiting for orders from Arcels.

  "Calm down and follow my instructions."

  The slave trader who saw them whispering immediately rebuked them.

  "Hey! So buy it or not, Sir?"

  Arcels turned around, a faint smile etched on his face.

  "Stand up!"

  "Stand up? What do you mean, Sir? I'm already standing," the merchant frowned in confusion.

  Apparently it was an order for Follows.

  The iron cuffs in Follows' hands rattled softly. With slow but steady movements, he stood upright. His nearly 2-meter-tall body completely overshadowed the merchant.

  "Heh? He can be so obedient, huh? So, does that mean you'll buy him, Sir?" The merchant smiled broadly, but his voice trembled. Sweat began to run down his temples.

  Arcels looked at him sharply.

  "Kill him silently!" ordered Arcels to Follows.

  The merchant was shocked and frightened, but helpless. "HUH?! WHAT-"

  "Understood." Follows replied without hesitation.

  Crunch!

  With both hands, Follows twisted the merchant's head until there was a horrible sound of bones breaking. The man's head turned 180 degrees with his eyes still bulging in disbelief.

  The corpse collapsed silently, wide-eyed and silent.

  Arcels' eyes widened slightly at how quickly and coldly Follows took someone's life.

  However, he doesn't have time to think about that right now.

  Follows turned his head, looking at his brother.

  "Are you okay?"

  Arcels was stunned for a moment, recalling his entire bitter experience as a slave.

  He held something tight in his chest, trying not to share the pain of the past with his brother.

  During his 4 years as a slave, Arcels hoped that Follows would not go through the same experience as him.

  Then, with a trembling voice, he said, "I-yeah, I'm fine... We haven't seen each other for four years...

  At least give your brother a hug..."

  Arcels looked away, afraid of his tears showing.

  Follows blinked, then smiled faintly.

  He stepped forward and hugged Arcels tightly.

  "I'm grateful that you're still alive...

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Forgive me for failing to do my duty to protect you, brother."

  Arcels hardened his jaw.

  "Stupid..." his voice was hoarse.

  "A big brother should protect his little brother."

  The two of them hugged each other tightly, crying in the silence of the night.

  But... there's no time to get lost in emotions.

  Arcels took a deep breath, then said firmly, "Already... Take care of this corpse first."

  Follows nodded.

  The merchant's clothes were soon stripped off. Follows wore it to cover his blue eyes, fair skin, and blonde hair - features that could be suspected of being a slave from the Westland Country.

  Not wanting to waste any time, Follows immediately dug the ground with his bare hands. In just five minutes, a waist-deep hole was ready. The body was buried quickly, and the ground was filled in again until there was nothing suspicious.

  "Let's go from here, to the Exit Gate, towards Westland!"

  [Nighttime: The Search for Slaves]

  North Exit Gate Post, North Southland

  The dark night was kept luminous by the torches that lined the 10-meter-high, 5-meter-thick wall-the outer defenses of Southland to the north.

  A cold wind blew in, bringing with it the still faint smell of sand and blood.

  "Greetings... I am Dogma, wishing to report the loss of a slave. Who is in charge of this post?"

  "A Commander who leads Hundred men. Commander Hunderd. Come in, meet him, meet him" replied a soldier standing tall in front of the post, a long spear held tightly in his hand. Iron armor gleamed in the torchlight, while silver helmets with closed visors made the soldiers' faces invisible.

  Dogma and his three men entered into a small, dimly lit base, a sort of checkpoint with a wooden table and a few rough chairs.

  Commander Hundred sat behind the desk, full silver armor still on, from head to toe.

  A combat helmet made of silver-ornamented steel covered his face, with only sharp eyes watching.

  A soft clang sounded as he removed his helmet, revealing his curly hair and piercing gaze.

  Dogma pulled out a chair and sat down slowly, a faint smile gracing his face. "So, I lost my slaves. They ran away simultaneously. Ten in total," he said calmly.

  Next, Dogma recounts the events of the slaves' escape, Deek's death, and Arcels' plan-complete with the physical characteristics and identities of the slaves.

  Hearing Dogma's report, Commander Hundred frowned, his eyebrows raised.

  "Why are you reporting this now?" he asked directly, his voice low but firm.

  "We were injured that time and had to repair all the damage."

  Commander Hundred nodded slowly. "Alright, we'll look for them right away-"

  "Greetings..." A deep, heavy voice cut through the conversation. General Zaladin stepped in silently, gleaming black armor and a turban wrapped around his body.

  His steps were calm, but every movement carried an air of authority.

  "Greetings, General!" replied everyone in the room in unison, some soldiers immediately bowed their heads.

  Instantly the atmosphere became tense.

  General Zaladin stopped right in the center of the room, a faint smile on his face that did not diminish his cold aura.

  "Just continue your conversation. I'm just here to drop by..." he said softly.

  Dogma gulped, cold sweat running down his temples though his smile was still in place.

  "D-Done, Sir. We've finished talking... I'll be excused then," Commander Hundred said quickly, his voice trembling. He put his combat helmet back on, covering his slightly tense expression, and his steps were heavy on his way out.

  Dogma and his three men stood up, bowing slightly.

  "You'll have to excuse us, Sir," Dogma said, his voice as smooth as possible.

  However, Dogma's eyes glanced at Zaladin warily, as if afraid that even a small movement could cause his neck to be cut.

  Nighttime, Alkhamsa City Streets

  The night was getting thicker, but the torches carried by the soldiers glowed brightly, creating long shadows along the cobblestone road.

  Heavy footsteps sounded in the night air, while lanterns swung in the hands of the Southland troops who spread out in all directions.

  They're not just looking-they're hunting.

  The cold wind mixed with the stench of blood and dust that flew from the footsteps of the fast-moving soldiers.

  Every corner of the city was checked, every alley was combed.

  The remaining nine slaves had nowhere to run.

  Their physical features are different from the Southland natives.

  Even in the dark of night, the differences cannot be hidden.

  The slaves could not hide.

  In a city full of betrayal and slavery, no one will help them.

  Their choices only ended up in three places:

  The Forbidden Forest, a place more terrifying than death.

  Slave Market, where they will be resold like merchandise.

  Falling asleep on the streets, only to wake up in iron chains the next morning.

  Because of this, no slave ever managed to escape. Those who tried would definitely be caught.

  "Capture them alive! Let no one escape!" shouted Commander Hundred, his voice hoarse and booming.

  The clink of drawn swords, the clatter of soldiers' feet and cries of pain are the backdrop to this brutal chase.

  It only took a few hours for the Southland and Dogma forces, 9 out of 10 slaves were captured.

  "Let me go!" cried a female slave.

  Her small hands clawed at the ground, trying to crawl away, but her hair was roughly grabbed as she was dragged away by Dogma.

  "HAHAHA!!! You guys have nowhere to go!" shouted Dogma, his evil grin spread wide

  From a dark hidden alleyway, Arcels and Follows watched the events from afar.

  "How is it, Bro?" whispered Follows, his eyes keeping a vigilant eye on the surroundings.

  Arcels gritted his teeth, his breathing heavy with emotion.

  "Follows, I have to confirm this... How many people can you fight?"

  Follows grinned faintly.

  "As many as you ordered."

  His tone was calm, without a hint of hesitation.

  Arcels snorted, then poked his brother's head.

  "Don't be arrogant!"

  However, before Follows could reply, a sharp sound pierced the night air.

  "I... FIND... YOU!!!"

  The coldness in that voice made Arcels' hair stand on end.

  From behind them, A Commander Hundred in iron armor appeared with a combat helmet and a sharp sword ready to slash.

  Swing!

  The torchlight reflected off the blade of his sword, swinging quickly in a horizontal slash towards Arcels' neck!

  "Stop him, Follows!" exclaimed Arcels looking at Follows.

  Follows bolted.

  His hands lifted the cuffs that held him right in the path of the sword.

  Cling!

  Braakk!

  The sharp blade made the handcuffs on Follows' hands slip free.

  "Damn!" exclaimed Commander Hundred, realizing his mistake.

  Grab!

  Before Commander Hundred could react, Follows gripped both his hands with incredible strength.

  Follows' grip was too strong, and the enemy's sword slipped out, falling to the ground with a metallic clang.

  Buk! Bak! Buk!

  The Commander Hundred's brutal kicks slammed into Follows' stomach time and time again, but Follows' grip would not let go.

  Bwaak!

  With one powerful counter-kick, Follows slammed into the enemy's stomach, knocking him to his knees.

  "DON'T UNDERESTIMATE THE WARRIOR!!!"

  Commander Hundred's roar was full of rage, his breathing ragged. With all his might, he tried to free his hand that Follows was holding.

  Grek! Tak!

  Follows' strong grip was released, but because it was so strong, both of Commander Hundred's hands were broken and immobilized.

  "Arghhh!!!"

  Commander Hundred cried out in pain, his face turning pale.

  Even though his hand was broken, he didn't give up.

  With his legs still covered in armor, he kicked Follows' waist repeatedly.

  Bak! Bak! Bwakk!

  Grab!

  On the last kick, Follows caught his foot.

  Crack!

  His leg bone broke instantly.

  "AHHHHHHHH!!!"

  This time his screams were so loud that the soldiers' steps could be heard in the distance.

  Arcels looked to the outside quickly.

  "Follows, we have to go-"

  Crunch!

  One quick move.

  Commander Hundred's neck was forcibly twisted to the left.

  His eyes widened blankly. His breathing stopped. His body fell heavily to the ground.

  Then, Follows moved quickly.

  With practiced hands, he removed the armor, combat helmet, and sword of the Commander Hundred and put them on himself.

  His body was thrown behind the rubble, hidden from view.

  The soldiers came, their torches swinging, highlighting the shadow of Follows who now stood proudly in silver armor.

  They immediately saluted as they saw that Follows as Commander Hundred had managed to obtain the missing slave, Arcels.

  "We heard screaming, Sir!" one of the soldiers exclaimed.

  Arcels, who was surprised, reacted immediately.

  "AAHHH!!!" he shouted, pretending to be in pain so as not to get caught.

  "That's his voice," Follows replied firmly.

  "Yes, master! That way all the slaves have been obtained! What are the next orders?" asked one of the soldiers.

  "Let's go to the North Gate!" ordered Follows.

  "Ready!" exclaimed the soldier with a perfectly erect stance.

  North Exit Gate Post, North Southland

  Under the fading night sky, the torches still burned brightly, illuminating the warrior base where Dogma and his slaves were gathered.

  There, the captured slaves knelt weakly, their faces dull, full of wounds, and their eyes hopelessly empty.

  Dogma stood in the center, his wide smile seemingly satisfied, his hands gripping the rough whip that was still covered in dried blood.

  "Hahaha! Indeed, Southland soldiers are very reliable... In one night, all my runaway slaves were able to return to me again."

  "This is the last one..."

  Follows arrived as Commander Hundred and handed Arcels over to Dogma.

  "Thank you for your help to this country, soldier!" Dogma's gaze was filled with pride, as if his slaves were merchandise that had just been rediscovered.

  However, hearing Dogma's words, something inside Arcels exploded, his patience shattered in an instant.

  "DOGMAAA!!!"

  Arcels shouted angrily, his eyes widened in hatred.

  Without thinking, he lunged, his fist raised high ready to smash Dogma's face!

  Bak!

  Arcels groaned in pain, looking at Follows with annoyance.

  Damn! I forgot that he's a stupid submissive brother...

  Follows just stared at Arcels flatly, not showing the slightest guilty expression.

  For him, he was just doing his part.

  Dogma laughed at the incident.

  "Good! That's how Southland soldiers are!" he said with satisfaction.

  He approached Arcels, grabbed his collar, and pulled him roughly.

  "Thank you, Commander! I will take care of the rest and return home with my slaves and men,"

  Just as Dogma was about to turn around, Follows spoke.

  His baritone voice was sharp, full of assertiveness that made everyone instantly fall silent.

  "Wait!"

  Dogma stopped walking, turning his head with furrowed brows.

  "Huh? What's wrong?"

  Follows stood tall, looking straight at him.

  "We, the soldiers, will escort you home safely."

  Dogma blinked a few times, surprised.

  "That's not necessary, Commander. I can take care of-"

  Follows ignoring the words of Dogma.

  "I need 10 people to come with me!" Follows ordered the soldiers.

  The atmosphere instantly turned tense.

  Follows' tone didn't sound like an offer. It was an order.

  Dogma gulped, his expression slowly changing.

  Follows' eyes were piercing, not showing the slightest hesitation.

  As if, if Dogma refuses, something bad will happen.

  Some of the other soldiers began to glance at each other, waiting for Dogma's reaction.

  The Journey to the Dogma House, Through the Forest

  The night air was damp. To the left and right were only the deep shadows of the forest.

  The torchlight of the Dogma troupe flickered weakly, trying to fight against the darkness that seemed to want to swallow them whole.

  In this group, there were 10 soldiers, 3 of Dogma's subordinates, 9 slaves, Arcels, Follows, and Dogma.

  The slaves walked in a long line, their hands cuffed and connected to each other with iron chains.

  In front, Dogma and his three men walked leisurely, their swords sheathed, as if there was no real threat.

  Behind, Follows rode a horse, while 10 soldiers flanked the slaves, standing guard at their sides.

  They lined up neatly-too neatly.

  However, Follows stared straight into the dark forest, his eyes flashing.

  As the streets began to quieten down, Follows pulled the reins of his horse, halting his steps.

  His movements were followed by everyone.

  His gaze wandered into the darkness of the forest.

  The leaves moved slowly, as if something was lurking within.

  You must not get caught. When the streets are quiet, pretend there's a Trinker in the forest and take the soldiers inside. Kill them one by one.

  Arcels' voice was still echoing in his head.

  Follows raised his sword high.

  His eyes widened, his face filled with false panic.

  "THERE'S A TRINKER!!! WARRIOR, FOLLOW ME!!!"

  Follows darted into the forest, followed by 10 soldiers who reflexively ran after him.

  The forest was silent, as if holding its breath waiting for something to happen.

  Srak!

  Slash!

  Craak!

  The sound of flesh being torn apart, followed by the sound of blood splashing through the leaves.

  In the dark forest, one by one, Southland soldiers fell without being able to fight back.

  "AHHHHHHH!!!"

  A brief scream broke out among the trees.

  However, the sound stopped abruptly, like a candle extinguished by a gust of wind.

  The light of the torches grew less and less, one by one falling to the ground, extinguished by a pool of blood.

  From outside the forest, Dogma and his men could only hear horrible sounds.

  The sound of slashes, the sound of broken bones, the sound of cries for help that were immediately cut off.

  The first corpse came out first.

  A soldier staggered to his feet, blood pouring from his nearly severed neck.

  "HELP...!!!"

  However, before it could reach Dogma, its body fell to the ground, its hands moving into the air one last time before it finally went lifeless.

  Dogma trembles.

  "Shit! How many Trinkers are there?"

  However, no one answered, as death was still taking place in the forest.

  Another soldier was thrown out, his body covered in wounds, his blood forming a puddle on the ground.

  Then, only silence.

  Dogma backed away slowly, cold sweat running down his temples.

  "Fuck off! We're going-"

  Craaang!

  Suddenly, the slaves moved.

  Without warning, they ambushed Dogma and his men.

  "FATHER-Hrk...!!!"

  Dogma tried to scream, but dirty, scarred hands grabbed his neck.

  Bugh!

  Dogma was knocked to the ground, his body rolling on the cold sand.

  The slaves pinned him down, strangled him, gagged him.

  Dogma's eyes widened, his body shook helplessly.

  His breathing was getting shorter.

  "Haa... haa..."

  And finally, Dogma was unconscious.

  From within the forest, a man slowly walked out.

  His steps are relaxed, calm and authoritative.

  His silver armor glistened in the torchlight.

  But now, it was covered in blood.

  Blood dripped from his iron gloves.

  Blood also soaked the sword he carried.

  Follows came out of the darkness, standing in the moonlight.

  And not a single soldier came out with him.

  He has killed them all.

  Arcels came forward, looking at Follows for a moment before extending a hand.

  Follows nodded, then took the key from one of the soldier's corpses and began to unlock the slaves' handcuffs.

  Crunch!

  Crunch!

  Cling!

  One by one, the handcuffs fell to the ground.

  The slaves looked at their now free wrists.

  However, once their hands were freed, something unexpected happened.

  Without hesitation, the former slaves immediately attacked Dogma and his men.

  Kicks, punches, scratches-all done with vengeance.

  Dogma's face was beaten to a pulp.

  Dogma's subordinates screamed in pain, but no one stopped the violence.

  Arcels was silent, watching everything.

  Dogma and his three men died on the spot.

  Glimpses of the Past: Deek Saint James

  Behind his blank stare, an old memory emerged.

  The voice deep in his mind began to echo.

  Deek Saint James-the old man, looked at him with eyes full of wisdom.

  His face was calm, full of the wrinkles of life, yet his gaze was sharper than a sword.

  "Remember, Arcels! Love your enemies even if they have done evil to you. There is no point in taking revenge, but rather do good to those who hurt you."

  Arcels laughed sarcastically in his memory.

  "What the hell was that? If I could, I'd kill all my enemies, especially Dogma!"

  Deek raised his hand.

  Plak!

  A hard jab landed on Arcels' head.

  "Don't take that name in vain, fool! It's your hatred that you need to kill, not the person you hate! Follow what this old man says! It's for your own good! There's nothing you can gain from vengeance!"

  Arcels rubbed his head, frowning.

  "You're not even my enemy, you're hurting me! You cheater!"

  Deek just laughed.

  "Oh yeah... Sorry! HAHAHA..."

  And finally, Arcels laughed along with him.

  Back to the Present: Dogma No Longer Breathes

  At that time, I didn't understand what you meant...

  Arcels snapped out of his reverie.

  "Brother, are you okay?" Follows' voice interrupted his thoughts.

  Arcels raised his head, looking up at the sky.

  "I'm fine."

  However, as his gaze returned to Dogma, who was now lying in a pool of his own blood.

  He understood something.

  After Dogma died, I still hated him...

  It's true, Deek...

  What I need to kill is my hatred...

  Not the people I hate...