About the Blade, About the Mine Pit (End)

This was the first time the Wraith had seen Kael's fury.

He stood in the darkness, feeling a flicker of unease at the scene before him. It was not because of the impending slaughter, but because of Kael's state of mind.

"How many?"

Kael demanded aggressively, his tone colder than it had ever been. It made him sound less like Kael Lohars and more like someone else entirely.

A stranger.

He gripped the neck of a man wearing a blood-stained apron and hoisted him into the air. The man's left arm was missing from the elbow down, dripping blood incessantly.

A tremor was spreading across the man's face.

This man's terror was no different from anyone else's. The Wraith could see that on his face, but he could not see Kael's. He did not know what Kael was feeling right now.

After all, Kael had his back turned to him.

He stood under the light source of the butcher shop's basement, covered in blood.

"One... hundred and twenty-three," the man wheezed.

"One hundred and twenty-three people? How much did it cost?"

"..."

He can't answer you, Kael, the Wraith thought. You're choking him to death.

Kael released his grip the next second, letting the man collapse to the floor.

"No money was spent, my lord, no money at all!"

The man, nearly choked to death, knelt on the ground, his voice shattered and filled with terror, yet it still paled in comparison to the miner named Hakan.

The Wraith did not want to remember his face, but ever since they had left, that face and that voice had kept surfacing before his eyes.

"So, it was a trade of interests—you send half of them over after the work is finished, is that how it is?" Kael asked calmly.

"Yes, yes, it's already been sent! My lord, which gang are you from? Balier? By the Eternal Night, my lord, take whatever you want! Just don't kill me, I beg you!"

Kael laughed.

He hoisted the man up and slammed his head onto the only table in the butcher shop's basement. The table was made of iron, its surface covered in a strange, dark red rust.

Kael held him down and snapped his collarbone.

Piercing screams erupted, accompanied by tears and snot. The Wraith watched it all in silence, catching a glimpse of Kael's true emotions in a half-second of distraction.

Kael was laughing—but the real Kael, the person behind that smile...

He is furious, the Wraith thought.

"I don't want anything," Kael said. "Listen well, and remember my words—I don't want anything, do you understand?"

"Understood! Understood!"

"Good," Kael said calmly, then twisted the man's neck. The body slumped limply at Kael's feet, silent forever.

"One hundred and twenty-three."

A voice echoed through the basement.

It passed through the iron table, the butcher knives, the dozen or so sticky iron buckets used for offal, and the long, black-bagged objects hanging from the ceiling—finally, it reached into the darkness.

It reached the Wraith's ears.

One hundred and twenty-three.

He listened in silence, bracing himself, wanting to know what Kael would say next.

"I'm sorry," Kael said. "I lost control. My apologies, Wraith."

"...Why do you always have to apologize?"

"Because I made a mistake."

"But—"

"—Because this is not what I should be doing, Wraith."

Standing where he was, Kael spoke. "I told you that one should not mix personal emotions into their work, and now I have led by example in violating that rule."

He paused for a few seconds before continuing.

"All this time, I have been telling you what is right and what is wrong. I didn't realize that was a condescending attitude; I only just realized it now. That is the second thing I must apologize for."

The Wraith stepped out of the darkness. He wanted to say something, but he did not know how to interrupt.

Compelled, he continued to listen.

"And. There is this as well," Kael said in a low voice. "I found that I could not suppress the urge to do this. That is the third thing I must apologize for."

"Of course, I actually owe them an apology as well. I was once driven by a so-called noble morality onto a path of self-destruction, and along the way, I forgot many things. These people should have had a better end; their deaths are on my head."

"...You were a miner once. How long did you do it, Kael?" the Wraith asked dryly.

"Three years," Kael replied calmly. "Back then, I hadn't yet stepped onto that path. I wanted to see if I could ignite a flame, so I went among them."

"I haven't found soil that burns. They are already numb, like blocks of ice, thinking only of melting or freezing further; they would never dream of burning. In truth, a sane person shouldn't even try to make ice burn."

".So, you know them?"

"Yes, I spent three years in that mine. After I left, I would return from time to time. That is how I met you."

Karyl turned his head, his pale face holding a complexity that Wraith could not fathom.

"Don't end up like me," he said softly. "Don't spend your life chasing the firelight and forget what is right in front of you."

".I don't understand."

Wraith said, bewildered. "I really don't understand, Karyl. Your countdown is gone, and you said the flame has already been ignited, that the way forward would reveal itself... but now—"

But why are you still so sad?

"Is it because I wanted a knife?"

He lowered his head, then raised it again, asking cautiously: "I don't want it anymore, is that okay?"

Karyl stared at him calmly.

He did not answer, nor did he react; he simply stared. Then, he said, "No, this has nothing to do with your knife."

He laughed, and Wraith's eyes widened slowly as he realized the familiar Karyl had returned.

"Alright," he said, smiling. "Alright, sigh, Wraith."

He sighed.

"Thank you," Karyl said sincerely. "Thank you."

The death of a butcher means nothing in Quintus. In the Underhive, people die every day; why shouldn't it be a butcher?

Karyl knew they wouldn't care.

The Great Purge was coming. Even if someone wanted to care, they would force themselves to forget everything at such a critical juncture.

He sighed and sat on the edge of the Sanctuary, eating his nutrient paste as usual. Wraith had gone on patrol, far more proactive than before. He was always conscientious, but today he seemed even more eager.

Karyl knew the reason; he had fragments of evidence to piece together. Things like his loss of control, the look on Hakan's face, and the expression Wraith wore when he said he didn't want the knife.

He would keep these things in his heart forever.

But what he wanted to know now was how the other nobles in the Upper Hive would react.

This was crucial; this was tied to everything that would follow.

Karyl ate his nutrient paste expressionlessly and began to ponder another matter.

That Prometheus had said he would bring Wraith—or rather, he would bring the brothers of Konrad Curze—to Nostramo.

Karyl did not know when they would arrive, but he was certain of one thing.

That Prometheus was likely no ordinary man.

The evidence was as follows.

First, his memories, and what he had shown Karyl within those memories.

Second, Wraith's power.

A year-and-a-half-old infant who could tear apart an armored vehicle with a wave of his hand, who could maneuver through the darkness at speeds impossible for a normal person to perceive, and whose healing speed was astonishing—every visible wound could be mended.

This was not the definition of an infant. In fact, if Karyl were to strip everything away and use one word to describe Wraith, he would choose "weapon."

And that Prometheus called himself Wraith's father.

What kind of father would turn his own son into a weapon? And what kind of father could make his son into such a weapon?

But that was the crux of the problem.

If Prometheus simply viewed Wraith as a weapon, why would he plant that knowledge in Wraith's mind? And that innate sense of justice—it was all deeply suspicious.

Furthermore, Prometheus.

The Fire-Stealer.

Karyl narrowed his eyes and stopped eating, his thoughts becoming slow and cautious. He realized that the reactions of the things behind the veil had not been a lie.

How interesting, a Fire-Stealer. A Fire-Stealer feared by the things behind the veil, a Fire-Stealer who could communicate across the void, who could even resurrect me, and even change me.

Prometheus. The Fire-Stealer, the god who betrayed the gods.

God.

Forget it.

Thinking about this was meaningless; there was no way to know when he would arrive.

Better to focus on the task at hand, Karyl. Like finishing your food, then taking a trip to the Upper Hive. Then, observe how the workers who had previously stopped to watch the nobles' corpses were faring now.

A flame needs to be tended.

And then, and then.

He sighed slowly.

There is always a "next time."

You are always in the habit of planning everything out before taking action, yet plans can never keep up with changes. You had intended to settle those miners on the other side of the district, but instead, you charged toward the Upper Hive before that could even be done.

Now, they are dead, Kael Lohars.

This is your responsibility.

Admit it, you are simply not the type of person who likes to strictly adhere to a plan. You had originally intended to blow up the Upper Hive and end it all, but ended up changing your mind because of Wraith. You lit the fire, but you have no idea how to make these flames burn brighter.

Kael lowered his head with a bitter smile.

"Truly, what is learned from books is shallow," he muttered to himself.

Plans can never keep up with changes.

Thinking this, he slowly stood up, deciding to save the remaining nutrient paste for a few hours later.

It wouldn't go bad, anyway.

Five minutes later, he left the Sanctuary and headed toward the Upper Hive.

And eight hours later, he would feel the urge to tattoo the phrase "plans can never keep up with changes" onto his own body. As for that plate of leftover nutrient paste, he would likely never have the chance to eat it again.

First, I must offer an apology; readers who wanted to see a rebellion might be disappointed. For one, I don't quite dare to describe that aspect in detail. For another, if I were to continue writing by beating around the bush, this part of the content might extend indefinitely.

Then, this book might have to change its title.

Therefore, after comprehensive consideration, I have moved some events forward.