Joren turned to face Deus as he continued, “As I see things, why shouldn’t those trained killers hate you? You’re someone who jumped ahead of everyone else, and to them, there is no excuse or reason for it. You’re just some nobody.”

“Nobody?” Droh snapped back, “Deus isn’t some nobody! He’s probably seen more combat than—”

“Droh,” Deus spoke up, interrupting his companion. “There’s no need for that, I much prefer being some nobody, truth be told.”

“Hmph.”

Joren looked between the two of them as a grin began to form, “You two are quite peculiar. Well, don’t worry about it, I know better than them. I’ve been informed a bit about your case. Seems you’re definitely different, but it’s not like you’re the one who chose this fate.”

“How about this,” Joren said, “Come to me if you need anything, I’ve been instructed to help oversee your training within the Sword while master Roch is busy.”

“I appreciate it,” Deus thanked him.

Joren turned back around to face the sprawling door that sat closed before them. Searching through his gear, he lifted out a small bronze key, raising it into the air in front of him.

The key began to glow as an excruciatingly bright light spread throughout the emblem engraved into the door. With a heavy creak, the door began to slide open, revealing a massive chamber beyond. The air shifted as they slowly entered, the pressure seemingly becoming tighter and more severe.

‘This pressure....’ Deus thought to himself as he felt a shiver jolt down his spine, ‘It’s just like that red sky outside… it feels so heavy as to be painful even moving.’

Joren continued to walk forward as he twisted his head slightly to the side, to face them, “Welcome to the Sword, I suppose.”

From all around them, Deus could feel numerous pairs of eyes watching their every move, and yet as he glanced around, there was no one to be seen. The room was more of a hallway than anything, as the walls on both sides were littered in darkness, with several enormous pillars paced cleverly around on both sides.

Joren continued to walk forward as he nonchalantly carried himself, his arms wrapped behind his head as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Deus and Droh, on the other hand, seemed tense and nervous, as they could feel a wicked bloodlust lick across their flesh.

“Deus… it almost feels like being with Roland again…” Droh exclaimed as he pulled closer to his friend. His ears tucked down over his head while his tail wrapped close to his leg. He seemed to be unconsciously making himself as small as possible, perhaps in an attempt to appear as non-threatening as he could.

Seeing this, Joren couldn’t help but let out a sigh. “I’m still not entirely sure why your faun was recruited too, but that isn’t for me to decide. Just know that you both will draw the ire of your fellow soldiers… I’m sure it’s not too late for you to quit…”

“No,” Deus replied firmly, “I was dragged into this, so I doubt I can quit or leave even if I wanted to. Plus, I can handle a few people harboring hatred for me… after all, it’ll still be safer here than outside, where that Orion clan can get to us.”

Droh nodded his head, “Right, we can’t quit now… not with those people after us. We’ll just have to push onwards and survive.”

“Very well,” Joren said with a tight breathe, “I warned you, but it seems you know what you’re doing. Alright, follow me, I’ll lead you to your quarters and we’ll get you situated. Thanks to Master Roch, you’ve already been registered, so we can skip that process for now. Follow me, I’ll lead the way.”

Joren had the two of them move closer to him as he led the way through the darkened hallway. They pushed further on into the shadows, vanishing from view as a faint bloodlust scurried away.

Buzzed static echoed off the cavern walls, bouncing around throughout the darkened chasm. “Frequency request Ferno, report in. What is happening at Alpha location?”

Yet there was no reply, only more faint static.

“Dammit!” The shrouded man, in his anger, chucked the radio against the wall as he paced over toward the other side of the den. There, sat others wearing identical violet cloaks as him. They too had wicked expressions buried beneath their shrouded hoods, each of them giving off a disturbing pressure.

“So is that it? Have we lost so greatly so as it be dead? Are we supposed to simply roll over and face defeat?” One of them erupted out under heavy breathe.

“Roll over and face defeat? Are you an idiot?” Another snickered in response, “We must wait for the Lord's recovery, once that is done, we’ll make our move… we’ll force those fools to acknowledge their own idiocy.”

“How long will that take, though?” The first man replied, shaking his gnarled fist into the air, smashing it down against a slab of stone, shattering it into particles. “You saw that attack… any of us would’ve been dead the moment we were hit by it. Master survived, but just barely.”

“We must have faith and be patient, only then will our revenge be sweetest…”

A snide woman’s voice spoke up, interrupting the rest, “Enough of this, you’re all just wasting time and whining. What we must do is wait, but we shouldn’t sit around with our hands tied behind our backs.”

She turned to face one of her fellow companions as she ordered, “Send word to the monolith, our Alpha location seems to have fallen… Direfell is no longer safe for our operations, any surviving assets… return to headquarters, return to the monolith.”

The cloaked person nodded in response to her instructions as she turned her attention toward another, “You should worry about contacting our outside support… reach out to Mythgarde, see if they can help us recover… it was their fault we were caught out in the open without any assurances, at least they can fix things and get us out of this place.”

Everyone in the cave understood that amongst everyone here, the person with the highest power had been her, and her alone. Only Rol'an was mighty enough to suppress her power and declare himself her superior. However, as only their master, Rol'an, could match her, not one of them had any confidence in fighting her, the eldest and most mysterious of their group.

“Master will recover, so we need to get moving and take action before we find ourselves buried beneath the sand, lost within this dark world.”

“Regent,” one of the cloaked men spoke up in response as he shrugged over to one side of the cave, “What should we do with—”

Interrupting him, a loud buzzing tone sounded from the radio device that had previously been tossed wildly against the wall. This noise surprised everyone present, after all, they had received no incoming broadcasts for days. What had changed, they wondered.

“Go, check it!” She ordered as the man who previously threw it rushed over to recover the device. He wiped it slightly, removing any loose sand that had fallen over it.

“Repeat transmission,” he ordered into the device.

“Bzzz..” a few moments passed, “Ferno frequency, reporting activity from outside channels, please respond Lord.”

The Regent slowly paced over to the man holding the device as she extended out her grasp, opening her palm so as to accept the radio device. She lifted it toward her lips as she voiced, “This is Anita Herran, active Regent of Orion until the Lord has completed his recovery.”

“Salute, Lord Regent,” the stern voice replied over the radio. “Communications have been connected between Orion’s monolith and the territory of Mythgarde. This has reached the commander of Orion's intelligence operations, but without a standing Lord or Lord Regent, we were unable to act upon any information. Please, Lord Regent, instruct us.”

Anita slowly revealed a crooked smile that seemingly stretched across her face. “Very well. First, dispatch a unit to this radio’s location, ping it for our specific coordinates. We’re going to need transport, and prepare a medical wing and operators… the Lord is going to need a place to recover.”

“Affirmative, units have been dispatched, Lord Regent.”

“Next, repeat the message from Mythgarde, be precise…”

“As you command,” the operator replied as he began repeating long lines of dialogue, most of the information seemingly lost on him, as he spoke in a monotone and relaxed voice.