A Premeditated Honor Killing

The next day, Tina and Delin walked through the tribal streets together, asking the warriors how one might kill more efficiently.

This reached the ears of the War Chief's attendants. Kulan, who had been exhausted for days from the busy work of sending invitations to neighboring tribes, stared at the resolute-faced Tina and the fearful Delin hiding behind her sister.

"You are doing something foolish. Honor killings have long been forbidden. Even if you kill Kas, you are merely disturbing the Lady of Death, and this will only bring more punishment upon Blackheart."

An honor killing occurred when a person was branded with sin and, by the decree of the clan or spirits, condemned to wander the Land of Poverty forever to suffer punishment.

Their blood kin could then, in the name of the Lady of Death, launch a murder attempt against the person who caused their relative to bear such sin.

If the murder succeeded, it proved the accused was innocent, and the Lady of Death would have ravens carry the deceased into her realm.

But if the murder failed, the one who initiated it would suffer the same punishment, wandering the Land of Poverty in suffering for eternity.

This was a barbaric custom that turned blood feuds into a religion, dating back to before the Rishiman People realized the importance of "civilization."

Through the tireless efforts of successive Great Shamans, who declared that the Lady of Death would never sanction such acts, honor killings were permanently abolished.

Any attempt to initiate an honor killing was legally classified as murder and the promotion of a heretical faith.

Kulan could have arrested the sisters right then for promoting a heretical faith, but he merely cast a cold glance at the crowd gathering to watch the spectacle and ordered the guards to take away the ridiculous butcher knives in their hands.

"Kas is our honored guest. Do not do anything foolish; your actions will bring shame upon the clan."

After the attendants left, Delin stepped out from her sister's shadow and whispered, "It's enough. Everyone knows we want Father to rest in peace. He will be leaving soon."

While Tina remained silent, her fiancé emerged from the crowd with a smile.

He looked at his fiancée, whose face was obscured by long hair, making her expression difficult to read, and clenched his fist in encouragement:

"You certainly should do this, for it is the will of the gods. Everyone wants to witness a sacred honor killing. It will bring supreme glory to me, to you, and to our future children."

"Sister..." Delin looked cautiously at Evan, who seemed to be mocking their fate, and she felt it in her heart.

Since their father died, this man, who once loved her sister to the point of madness, seemed to have changed.

"Let's go find butcher knives. I will kill him."

On the third day, Tina, having bought a butcher knife from the meat shop, walked alone through the familiar tribal streets. She knew in her heart that this was an honor killing destined to fail.

But whenever she thought of the dream she saw last night, she felt a pang of agony in her heart.

A girl walked through the desolate, boundless Shattered Peaks. By day, the sun's ruthless scorching felt as if it were extracting the marrow from her bones; by night, the cold, sharp as a dagger, sliced across her cheeks.

A whirlwind kicked up sand from the ground, obscuring her vision.

She endured the dimming light as the wind and sand filled the wilderness and mountains, causing the stars and moon to sway and the earth to rumble, the sky filled with suffocating iron dust.

After the sandstorm, she saw her father nailed to the summit of Iron Peak Mountain. The agony of the scorching heat and the biting cold made him curl his body, praying for the eternal end to come quickly.

It was an omen. She ran desperately, wanting to flee from that painful fate, until she finally sat on the ground, hugging her knees and weeping loudly.

Her life was like a brightly blooming rose, yet it was destined to wither and die at its most beautiful moment.

"Look, my father. What suffering have I not experienced while alive? Shame, mockery, insults..."

That sandstorm was the oracle of the Lady of Death; she demanded that Tina bury her father, even if it meant death.

To her, that dream was reality.

On the fourth day, Tina and Delin parted ways. She walked the tribal streets once more, and everyone had grown accustomed to the ramblings of a madwoman.

They discussed her intent to commit an honor killing against Kas of the Zagwell Clan, and even the usually calm and persistent Kulan chose to give up.

"Let the girl be mad for a few days. Once Kas leaves, she will regain her composure."

On the fifth day, everyone in the tribe, even the newborns, knew that the daughter of Xipel Blackheart was going to carry out an honor killing, acting like a joke as she went to kill a warrior with a butcher knife.

That day, after Tina finished sharpening her blade, she went to the butcher to buy some meat as usual, and saw Kas of the Zagwell Clan standing in front of the shop, his hand gripping half a goat.

She stood in the street for a moment, and the crowd gathered, watching her next move with cold eyes.

Tina walked over, raised the butcher knife, and, in the madness granted by the oracle of the Lady of Death, stabbed at Kas's back—meeting her fate.

Kas was in the meat shop selecting goat meat of decent quality. After finishing his work with Radel, he had cheekily asked Shaman Baize to lend him some money.

He had been heroically pelted by the wealthy man, who simply handed him a heavy lump of gold nugget.

Miss Seneya was not only a big eater but also very picky. After eating the boiled meat set provided by the Larona Clan for a few days, she began to miss the tongue-searing stone-grilled meat.

As the caretaker of the... werewolf lady, Kas naturally satisfied this small request, leaving the White House to find ingredients in the Black Ember Tribe and incidentally pick up some tools he could use on the road.

He rubbed his chin, which had few hairs, and peered at the grey-tinged red meat hanging from the iron hook. He hesitated for a moment before asking the fierce-looking butcher:

"Do the sheep of the Black Ember Tribe grow up eating iron filings? How come even after the blood is drained, it's darker than my own manhood?"

"Then your manhood must be battle-hardened..." the butcher retorted, then explained patiently:

"Everyone eats it this way. You know, iron supplements—it's just the nonsense those Southerners talk about, saying eating iron makes you healthier."

"That's for replenishing iron, but your sheep's veins are practically filled with iron slag—how the hell am I supposed to eat that?"

Kas waved his hand, feeling that the Shaman's actions were absolutely correct.

If the Blood-Ash Furnace continued to operate like this, the entire Black Ember Tribe would be suffering from pneumoconiosis and symptoms of heavy metal poisoning within a short period.

Giving birth to a child, cutting the umbilical cord, only to find the floor covered in iron slag.

"Get me a clean side of mutton."

"That's going to be a bit expensive."

"Do I look like someone who lacks money?"

The butcher shrugged, pulled a goat slaughtered that morning from a linen-wrapped basket, used his axe to cleanly chop off the head, and sliced out half a carcass along the spine:

"Want the goat head? I'll sell it to you for half price."

"Better leave that for your tribe's witch doctor; I don't like fussing over things that don't even have two ounces of meat on them."

Taking the clean, milky-white goat, Kas nodded in satisfaction. This was what a natural, organic animal should look like; that black meat hanging on iron hooks was fit only for feeding xenomorphs.

He was just about to settle the bill when he felt footsteps behind him. He didn't pay much mind, pulling out the coins he'd exchanged earlier for gold nuggets, ready to head to the next spot.

But a sensation of danger made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, the sound of a blade slicing through the air piercingly sharp.

It was so close that as he side-stepped to dodge, the edge of the blade grazed his shoulder, carving a bloody line into his skin.