Infernal Blade – Part 01
In the darkness of night, in a dark, isolated corner of an alley, a vagrant lay dying.
The Independent Trade City was warm even at night, as it always was this time of year. But despite the warmth, his body shivered violently beneath layers of filthy rags, as if caught in the dead of winter. His hoarse throat jutted forward, his Adam’s apple sharp as a blade under his skin. His arms and bony shoulders, peeking through the gaps of his ragged clothing, were hauntingly emaciated.
His left hand was missing three fingers—his pinky, ring, and middle.
“…”
He was starving. His eyes were dull and clouded, his grimy body splayed out on the cold, unforgiving ground. His trembling eventually ceased. He was barely alive. Clinging to life by the thinnest thread, he waited for death to come.
The city buzzed with life in preparation for the upcoming fair. Lively voices echoed in the night air—the sound of feasts in full swing, merriment from citizens and foreign visitors alike. But to the vagrant, all that felt distant, like a dream from another world.
The dark space around the vagrant was utterly still. There was no movement, no shaking, no flickering. The air that surrounded him felt frozen, enveloping him like a shroud, thick with the presence of death.
Or at least, that’s what he thought.
“…”
A ripple. A breeze stirred the stillness. He lifted his gaze.
Someone stood over him, peering down. Their face was obscured by shadows, a dark silhouette in the shape of a human. The Grim Reaper himself.
A shadow visiting a dying man, as his last breaths slipped away. It made sense to assume his time had come.
“Excuse me.”
Without a hint of politeness, the reaper grabbed the vagrant’s left hand. He didn’t have the strength to pull away. The figure lifted his hand—the hand missing three fingers—and examined it closely. The reaper snorted.
“Nothing beats the ones with experience. Amateurs are absolutely useless. They mess everything up—panic, get caught, and end up dead. They even revealed my cards. But this time, it’s your turn.”
The reaper was holding something between their fingers. A tiny grain, no bigger than the tip of a finger. They grabbed the vagrant’s chin, forcing his mouth open, and shoved the grain inside. The vagrant’s mouth didn’t even have the moisture or energy to swallow.
“Swallow.”
But the figure tilted his head back forcibly and whispered into his ear.
“Swallow. Swallow. Swallow. Swallow. Swallow. Swallow. Swallow. Swallow. Swallow. Swallow. Swallow. Swallow. Swallow.”
Their words sounded like an incantation for a curse. As his vision blurred, the vagrant caught sight of the crescent moon hanging in the night sky, framed between the rooftops. Its twin blades of light shone down on the alley.
With his last ounce of strength, he moved his eyes, and the reaper’s face came into view, illuminated by the moonlight.
Their eyes gleamed brightly, their lips curved into a perfect crescent, like the moon above. A radiant, innocent smile.
“Swallow.”
The vagrant understood then. This wasn’t the Grim Reaper.
“Swallow it.”
It was a demon.
“I’m Hannibal Quasar, Captain of the Third District’s Knight Guard.”
In the government office at the Third District of the Independent Trade City of Housman, a meeting was underway.
The setting was an auditorium, typically used for assemblies. Knight Guards from various districts crowded the relatively small space, their eyes fixed on the stage.
Though called knights, the Knight Guards, public servants of the Independent Trade City, bore little resemblance to traditional knights of monarchies. With no king to serve or a nation to defend, the guard functioned more as a voluntary militia tasked with defending the city. Its members were mostly former mercenaries or citizens with combat experience, with not a single noble among them. While they received some basic etiquette training upon joining, it was more of a formality than a requirement.
Thus, the composition of the guard was diverse. Some members were born and raised in the city, while others had moved here from foreign lands. As long as they held citizenship, anyone could join the Knight Guard, making it a mixture of races and ages.
But despite the variety, the vast majority of the guard were men. Female members were rare, and the uniforms—designed for men—required women to make their own adjustments. There were so few women in the Knight Guard that creating a female version of the uniform wasn’t deemed necessary.
Cecily Campbell, a rare female member of the Third District’s Knight Guard, stood among the men, her red eyes locked onto the person speaking on stage.
“I will now give a brief report on the mysterious deaths from last night,” Hannibal Quasar began.
Hannibal was a huge man with a stern face. He was bald, with dark-brown skin, and a flat nose. A cross-shaped scar ran from his cheek down to his neck. His massive frame was not from fat but from solid muscle. He wore a large sword at his waist—the kind usually hung from a horse’s saddle—as if it were nothing. Just standing there, he radiated an intimidating aura. It was hard to believe he was over sixty years old.
“As most of you have heard,” Hannibal continued in his deep, gravelly voice, “the Third District recently captured a gang of bandits that was planning to raid the fair that will take place in a week. Seventeen prisoners were being held in the underground cells of this public facility, and they all died last night.”
The news didn’t surprise the guards. They had already been informed before the assembly.
The incident had occurred yesterday. The bandits, locked in separate cells, all complained of the same symptoms—stomach pain, nausea, and dizziness. Their faces were unnaturally pale, and they writhed in agony. Doctors were summoned immediately, but despite their efforts, the seventeen prisoners suffered for hours before finally dying, blood pouring from every orifice.
It was a gruesome scene. Imagining the bloody cells and the lifeless bodies, the guards grimaced. Cecily, having fought against the bandits herself, bit her lip in conflicted silence.
“After their deaths, an autopsy revealed this.”
Hannibal held up a small, corked vial. Inside was a long, thin, white parasite, squirming grotesquely.
“It’s a type of parasite. It slowly eats away at the internal organs, killing the host from the inside.”
One of the guards raised his hand. “Was it intentional?”
“Yes. A method to silence them—and possibly a warning.”
The Merchant who had gathered the bandits was still being hunted by the Knight Guard while they increased security for the upcoming market. It was clear that the mass deaths were the Merchant’s doing, a way to prevent the prisoners from revealing anything.
“You understand what this means, don’t you?” Hannibal tossed a stack of report papers onto the table with a sigh. They slid off the edge and scattered across the floor. “We’ve been made fools of.”
Tension filled the hall, and every guard straightened up. Hannibal stared fixedly at his subordinates, lightly tapping the table with his fingers. What should have been a soft tap-tap sounded like the blunt thud of a club against someone’s skull.
“Prisoners. In other words, these bandits were in our custody. And they were slaughtered. This is nothing less than a challenge to us, the Knight Guard. Let me repeat—we’ve been made fools of.”
The collective sound of swallowing echoed through the room.
“We’ll be ramping up security for the fair. Everyone here should expect no days off until the festival is over.”
His gaze was menacing. Not a single soul dared to complain. They knew they would be beaten to death on the spot if they did.
The Independent Trade City of Housman prided itself on its open trade policy. Anyone could enter or leave the city without undergoing rigorous inspections, provided they weren’t applying for citizenship. This was especially true during this season, when visitors from other countries—whether from the Militant Nation, the Empire, or the Crowd Powers—flooded in, which made it impossible to inspect each individual. The city’s version of heightened alert simply meant putting more guards on patrol and issuing public warnings.
“There’s one more thing I should mention,” Hannibal continued. “What we should be ready for. The bandits were planning to hit the auction. That means there’s a very good chance the suspect will attempt a Demon Pact here, right in the very heart of the city. Those of you who were part of the last expedition should know how dangerous that could be.”
Cecily, one of those participants, swallowed hard.
If that demon were to rampage inside the city…
Her mind flashed back to the ice beast. If those icicle shards rained down on the city, the damage would be catastrophic. The mere thought made her break out in a cold sweat.
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