Prologue: A Realm in Chaos

The realm was left desolate, plagued by the aftermath of a brutal civil war and the downfall of the once-
mighty Aegregian Empire. Lawlessness and unrest spread like wildfire, as warlords seized control over
the five fractured territories. Order and stability were but distant memories, replaced by a palpable
sense of fear and uncertainty.

Within the heart of this turmoil, nestled amidst the ruins of what was once a glorious city, stood the
Citadel. This once-proud capital now served as the residence of D'evereaux Escobar, a usurper who had
cunningly driven out all those loyal to the fallen emperor. His grip on power was merciless, his reign
marked by cruelty and oppression.

Amidst the chaos, a lone huntsman emerged. Driven by a personal vendetta and a burning desire to
restore order to the realm, he embarked on a perilous expedition that would test his skills, resolve, and
the very limits of his humanity. This huntsman bore the name Dû-Cane, and his story would become
legend.
Chapter I: A High-Stakes Confrontation

A hot, sultry wind swept through the open doors of the Crimson Phoenix, carrying an air of intrigue. A
mysterious figure, cloaked in darkness, stepped inside. The crowd of boisterous gamblers fell into a
hushed murmur as the enigmatic stranger made his way towards the bar, navigating through the game
tables.

Whispers and judgmental glances followed the veiled man as he approached the counter. Two curious
men sitting at a nearby table kept a watchful eye on his every move.

The barkeep, busy pouring a frothy brown ale, glanced up and inquired, "Can I assist you, sir?" His eyes
shifted from the mug to the masked face of the visitor. The barkeep's initially friendly expression soured
into a scowl.

"I'll have an ale and some information," the stranger replied, placing a piece of parchment on the
counter. The barkeep obediently set a tall mug of ale before him, his gaze fixed on the peculiar mask
adorned with earthy tones and a hint of battle scars. The once cheerful barkeep's demeanor changed,
replaced by bitterness.

"Information, huh? And what if I choose to remain silent?" the barkeep retorted, crossing his arms
defiantly.

Undeterred, the cloaked man reached into his garment, retrieved a pouch containing bronze coins, and
placed three of them on the counter. "I'm searching for a man named Aldon del Santo. I have a warrant
for his arrest," he stated callously, gesturing towards the sketch of del Santo on the parchment. "He's
been seen here at the Crimson Phoenix. I need to know where I can find him," the stranger continued,
his voice rough and indifferent.

With a switch on his gauntlet, the man revealed his seared chin as the lower portion of his face became
visible. He took a swig from the mug and pressed the switch again, concealing his face once more.

The barkeep glanced at the sketch, recognition flickering briefly before fading. "My memory isn't what it
used to be," he replied. "I can't help you, son."

Suddenly, the screeching sound of chairs sliding on the crimson tile filled the air as two men from a
nearby gambling table rose. One of them firmly gripped the stranger's left pauldron.

"Is this dreg causing you trouble, Klaus?" a deep, booming voice rang out.

Without turning to face the men, the stranger warned, "It's unwise to interrupt a huntsman conducting
business. Remove your hand from my armor if you wish to keep it." His reputation preceded him, making
it clear that crossing him was ill-advised.

"Did you hear that, Braûn? He wants you to remove your hand from his 'iron jammies'!" the other man,
Snurtz, jeered, his nasally guffaw echoing through the room.

"I heard him, Snurtz!" Braûn chimed in, joining the laughter.
"My quarrel isn't with you, gentlemen," the stranger replied, growing annoyed.

"Seems like we have a quarrel with you, though. We don't take kindly to huntsmen lurking around here,"
growled Braûn as he forcefully turned the stranger around. The stranger’s back collided with the oaken
counter, causing a loud thud and spilling his ale. Braûn, a hulking figure with hands resembling
sledgehammers, appeared ready to deliver a powerful blow.

Braûn seized Dû-Cane by the collar, forcefully pinning him against the bar. Dû-Cane retaliated by striking
Braûn's arms and swiftly disabling Snurtz by targeting his foot and nose. With Snurtz incapacitated on
the floor, Braûn grabbed Dû-Cane's cloak, causing him to stumble and fall. As Dû-Cane's cloak gracefully
descended, Braûn advanced, launching a series of punches. Aware that he couldn't confront Braûn
directly, Dû-Cane relied on his wit to outsmart the formidable opponent. Patiently waiting for an
opportunity, Dû-Cane capitalized on Braûn's reckless punch and swiftly threw him headfirst into the bar,
rendering him unconscious.

"The man you're after, del Santo, right? You'll find him in the back, playing cards. Take him and leave,"
shouted Klaus, trembling with fear from behind the bar.

Acknowledging Klaus, Dû-Cane grabbed the parchment from the counter, retrieved his fallen cloak, and
secured it around his neck. Tossing two Coppers to the motionless Klaus, he added, "For your troubles."

Dû-Cane hastened toward the rear of the gambling house, hoping that the earlier commotion hadn't
alerted del Santo, causing him to escape through the back door. "Today, I'm not in the mood to pursue
Aldon del Santo," Dû-Cane contemplated as he made his way to the card-playing area indicated by Klaus.
Holding a glimmer of hope, he approached the table where del Santo sat, accompanied by two other
gentlemen, engaged in a game of cards, and enjoying their drinks. Dû-Cane suspected the two men to be
del Santo's henchmen or bodyguards. The dealer, standing at the table's head, announced, "Please place
your Coppers in the center of the table, and may luck favor you." Dû-Cane gestured toward the dealer
and then confidently placed ten Aegregian Coppers on the table.

"Deal me in," Dû-Cane declared, taking a seat across from a young man with disheveled brown hair, a
cleft chin, and a birthmark on his right cheek. The dealer cast a disapproving glance at Dû-Cane,
seemingly unwelcoming him at the table, then shifted his attention to the young man. The man also
placed ten Coppers on the table, exchanging approving nods with the dealer and a debonair grin toward
Dû-Cane. With bets set, the dealer distributed five cards to each of the four participants, and the game
commenced.

Dû-Cane's gaze remained fixed on his hand as he evaluated his cards. Assessing his options, he
confidently placed a flush on the table, only to be outmatched by the young man's four of a kind. "Better
luck next hand, chap," the young man taunted, collecting the coins from the center.

"We're just getting started. Let's hope your play is as good as your idle flux," Dû-Cane retorted
sarcastically.

The man leaned back in his chair, maintaining his debonair grin, then leaned forward again. "The name's
Aldon del Santo. I'm the best card player in these parts," he introduced himself. Dû-Cane glanced at del
Santo but remained silent.
One of the men abruptly rose from the table and walked away, much to Dû-Cane's relief, as he wasn't
one of his bodyguards.

The dealer interrupted the game, announcing that the next round was about to begin. He dealt another
set of cards to the remaining three players at the table. Carefully studying their hands, they placed their
bets. The man seated to Dû-Cane's left folded his hand in frustration and stormed away, muttering
obscenities. Aldon, however, confidently laid down his cards—a three of a kind.

"Hm... not bad, but my full house beats your three of a kind," Dû-Cane remarked dryly.

"Dag gummit!" del Santo shouted, expressing his displeasure by pounding the table with his fist. Dû-
Cane calmly collected the coins one by one and added them to his own pile.

"Why don't we make it double or nothing?" Dû-Cane proposed.

"Coppers to the center of the table, gentlemen," the dealer announced, distributing another round of
cards.

Aldon studied his hand, chuckled, and flashed a cocky grin at Dû-Cane. "Beat that! I've got a flush," he
said, reaching towards the center of the table.

"Heh, you've played a great game. You truly are a gifted gambler," Dû-Cane acknowledged.

Del Santo began to collect his winnings when Dû-Cane placed his cards on the table, atop the stack of
coins.

"A flush is a great hand, del Santo. Damn near unbeatable unless you have an Aegregian Royal Flush,"
Dû-Cane stated.

"Dag gummit!"

"Not bad, for a bail jumper," Dû-Cane stated matter-of-factly. He reached into his cloak and placed the
warrant parchment in front of del Santo. "A warrant was issued for your arrest for failing to appear at a
meeting with your parole officer, del Santo. You made a poor decision by fleeing to the Hraunsvelter
Plateau."

"What is this?" del Santo cried out, sinking into his chair, displaying his dismay. The once proud, debonair
smile had faded into a frown.

"It looks like you have a price on your head, and I've come to collect."

"Who are you, and who sent you?"

"Around these parts, few utter my name. Aldon del Santo, as a huntsman of the Wraith Guild, you are
under arrest for violating the conditions of your parole."

"Look, there must be some sort of mistake; I don't want to go back to prison."
"I can bring you in, in a pair of binding irons, or I can turn your corpse over to the undertaker at the
morgue. I get paid all the same," Dû-Cane replied callously.

As Dû-Cane approached del Santo to restrain him, del Santo drew a dagger from his sheath and lunged
forward, attempting to plunge the blade into Dû-Cane's chest. However, the blade recoiled off Dû-Cane's
chest plate, creating a shower of sparks. Dû-Cane swiftly seized del Santo's arm and slammed it onto the
table, disarming him. With his other hand, he struck del Santo in the jaw, sending him crashing to the
floor. Blood trickled from the corner of del Santo's mouth as he staggered to his feet.

Del Santo reached for the blade on the table, but Dû-Cane anticipated his intentions. He swiftly drew a
hunting knife and impaled del Santo's right hand. Del Santo let out an agonizing scream as the blade
pierced his hand, pinning him to the table.

The proprietor of the Crimson Phoenix emerged from his office, drawn by the disturbance. He stood in
astonishment as he witnessed a man with a knife impaled through his hand, while another figure, clad in
armor and wearing a mask, loomed over him. Dû-Cane approached the owner and reached into his
money pouch, withdrawing a handful of Aegregian Coppers. He placed them in the owner's hand.

"This is official guild business; I was sent to apprehend this fugitive. He attacked me with his blade.
Please accept my apologies for the chaos," Dû-Cane explained.

"Take him and leave. You huntsmen are all alike, causing havoc in your pursuit of targets!" grumbled the
disgruntled gambling house owner.

Dû-Cane retrieved his hunting knife from del Santo's bloodied and maimed hand. He swiftly secured him
in binding irons and collected the scattered Aegregian Coppers from the table, placing them back into his
coin pouch. "Start walking!" Dû-Cane commanded as he forcefully pushed del Santo toward the exit.

Before departing with his captive, Dû-Cane made a final pass by the establishment's owner. "I take my
leave," he uttered curtly, acknowledging his departure, and left with his hard-earned bounty.

Chapter II: Boats, Battles, and Burning Fields

The heavy doors of the Crimson Phoenix swung open. "Hurry up, Aldon! We don't have all day," Dû-Cane
grumbled, forcefully pushing him into the bustling streets. The warm breeze carried the remnants of
volcanic ash, resembling winter snow in the Frösténveldt. Menacing clouds shrouded the solitary peak of
Mōns Eldur.

They made their way through the crowded, ash-covered streets of the Hraun District, heading towards
the docks in the Hraunsvelter Lava Fields. Del Santo paused to observe a merchant meticulously crafting
and selling handcrafted lye soaps made from soot. Dû-Cane firmly grasped del Santo's shoulder. "Stop
wasting time, del Santo. I aim to reach the docks before nightfall."

"Release me, huntsman! I know how to walk."

"You will walk, or I'll fasten a cable and drag you," Dû-Cane growled with indifference.
Men like Aldon del Santo, the ones who ran their mouths and resisted arrest, were the kind that Dû-
Cane showed little mercy. He had eliminated bounties for far less. A deceased target still brought him
coins, but a living one would secure a complete reward.

They descended the rugged slopes into Eldur Dal, known as the Valley of Fire. The towering canyon walls
stretched endlessly on both sides, reaching heights beyond sight. The canyon, narrow and lengthy, was
filled with thickets and rocky formations. Dû-Cane couldn't help but think that it went on for miles and
would need to make camp for the night.

Dû-Cane forcefully pushed del Santo against the canyon wall. He gathered some thickets and assembled
them with a flint shard. With his hunting knife, he struck the flint, igniting a small campfire. He aimed to
ensure they wouldn't attract too much attention. The pass of Eldur Dal was seldom unoccupied,
notorious for bandit attacks under the cover of darkness. It was also home to numerous carnivorous
creatures that eagerly preyed on unsuspecting victims.

"We’ll camp here for the night, and at first light, we'll continue our journey. Take care of your wound,"
Dû-Cane instructed, tossing a worn-out rag to del Santo for him to use as a bandage.

"I wouldn't need it if you hadn't stabbed my hand," del Santo retorted bitterly.

"And you shouldn't have resisted."

The scorching heat had taken its toll on Dû-Cane, making him increasingly irritable. He walked beyond a
rocky outcrop, out of del Santo's sight. Surveying his surroundings, he ensured no prying eyes were upon
him. Taking off his mask, he placed it on a rock. From his weathered cloak, he retrieved a water skin, bit
the cork, and spat it out. He eagerly emptied the contents of the skin into his parched mouth.

After quenching his thirst and satisfying his hunger, Dû-Cane swiftly donned his mask once more. He
reinserted the cork into the water skin and tossed both the skin and a ration of food to del Santo. "Eat.
You're of no use to me if you're dead."

Dû-Cane relieved himself of his burdensome equipment, except for his armor. Placing his utility belt and
knife within easy reach, he settled down and leaned against the adjacent wall. Closing his eyes, he
allowed the soothing crackle of the campfire to lure him into a restless sleep. He ventured beyond the
boundaries of his own reality, entering the ethereal Realm of Dreams.

The crackling campfire sounds gradually transformed into echoes of a battle long past. The ethereal haze
that veiled Dû-Cane slowly dissipated, revealing a motionless corpse submerged in corrosive waters. A
sense of familiarity tinged his thoughts as he cautiously approached the figure in the mire. With every
step, the ground beneath him trembled, unsure if it was his own legs quivering or the earth giving way.
Upon reaching the water's edge, he halted, peering into its depths to find more petrified bodies, impaled
by spears and arrows. These corpses belonged to the Imperial Guardsmen, an almost extinct faction.
They had met their demise in the Saltmýre Ambush and the fall of the East Garrison, memories that Dû-
Cane had long suppressed. Uncontrollable weeping overcame him. Amidst his tears, Dû-Cane heard
whispers that escalated into agonizing screams echoing through the Saltmýre. He scanned his
surroundings yet found no one in sight.
"Captain, we're under attack!" The voice jolted Dû-Cane, who turned to face its source, only to find the
petrified guardsman. Echoes of distant cries reached his ears, drawing him towards the ruins of the East
Garrison. Once formidable walls now crumbled, consumed by invasive moss thriving in the marshlands.
"We can't hold them. They'll overpower us. Help us," desperate voices pleaded. As the fog lifted within
the forsaken fortress, skeletal remains of more Imperial Guardsmen came into view. "You failed us," their
voices whispered, haunting Dû-Cane.

His grieving for his fallen comrades was abruptly interrupted as he caught sight of a shadowy figure on
the opposite bank of the mire. Dû-Cane instinctively reached for his sword, yet before he could
unsheathe it, an arrow struck his left shoulder. Gasping, he awoke, clutching his shoulder, only to find no
arrow there. Examining the wound beneath his chest plate, he discovered it to be an old scar from the
Aegregian Civil War, long past. He sat, panting, attempting to regain his composure.

"You were having a nightmare," del Santo spoke from a dark corner of the canyon. The fire had
dwindled, casting faint illumination in the early morning hours before dawn. Dû-Cane remained silent,
still gathering his thoughts. "You were involved in the civil war, weren't you?" del Santo probed.

"My past is none of your concern!" Dû-Cane retorted with a hint of bitterness. He never spoke of his life
before taking the oath and becoming a huntsman. Let the past remain buried, alongside those who had
fallen, Dû-Cane thought. Recalling any happy memories from the Aegregian Civil War was an impossible
task.

"You mentioned a name in your sleep. Who was he?" del Santo inquired.

"Who?"

"Éryn. That was the name you repeatedly called out in your sleep."

"The fire, it's fading. We must rebuild it. It's not safe to let it extinguish," Dû-Cane deflected, attempting
to change the topic.

"Well, if you don't want to discuss the war, could you at least share your guild callsign? I'd like to know
the name of the person I'm addressing."

"Dû-Cane," he responded, hastily rising to his feet to gather more firewood and rekindle the dwindling
flames. Dû-Cane's fear of what dwelled in the darkness was justified. Perilous creatures lurked in the
shadows, ready to ambush their unsuspecting prey. Dû-Cane was all too familiar with the lurking dangers
that inhabited the dark corners of the Hraunsvelter.

From atop the canyon walls, a pair of yellow eyes observed their every move. Del Santo continued his
incessant rambling while Dû-Cane stacked freshly gathered firewood onto the dying embers, rekindling
the flames.

A solitary howl echoed in the distance, emanating from beyond the canyon. Dû-Cane froze, motionless.
That kind of howl could only signify one thing, he thought, and it wasn't favorable.

"What was that sound, Dû-Cane? Is there something out there?" del Santo exclaimed, alarmed by the
noise.
Halting his fire-building efforts, Dû-Cane listened intently, attuned to any signs of imminent danger.
Another howl pierced the air, this time much closer than before. Dû-Cane slowly rose to his feet, his gaze
scanning the surroundings. His hand reached for his hunting knife, holstered at his thigh. Holding the
blade up to the light of the fire, he began to twist the ornate pommel. With each twist, a series of gears
engaged, and suddenly, whoosh! The short blade of the hunting knife shot out of the hilt, extending to
almost two feet in length. Dû-Cane skillfully twirled and thrust the blade through the air with deadly
precision. Del Santo sat there, mouth agape and rendered speechless by the display.

"You possess a finely crafted blade there. I haven't seen one since the days of the Civil War. I was just a
boy back then, but I've heard tales that these blades were made specifically for the members of the
Imperial Guard. I suppose you've seen your fair share of battles as a Guardsman or perhaps stumbled
upon one during your missions. They say the Aegregian Imperial Guard is nearly extinct; the remaining
few have gone into exile," del Santo remarked with curiosity. Dû-Cane glanced in his direction but
remained silent.

The once-distant howling grew closer and more frequent. Dû-Cane scanned the canyon in every
direction, searching for the source of the eerie sounds. Del Santo continued his rambling until he
abruptly fell silent, startled by a piercing howl that erupted from the western end of the canyon.

Shriek! They were here. A group of amphibious creatures emerged, their marbled patterns contrasting
against their black hides. Standing upright on their hind legs, their maned heads reached the height of a
small child. Bony claws extended from their webbed hands with a grotesque crack.

"What the hell are those things?" yelled a terrified del Santo.

"Dí-Ignewara! Get behind that outcropping and stay hidden!" commanded Dû-Cane forcefully.

A pair of Dí-Ignewara charged towards Dû-Cane with alarming swiftness. Another climbed the wall,
attempting to flank him. He swung his blade, aiming for the shoulder of one of the creatures, only to
have it bounce off their impenetrable, diamond-like hide. In retaliation, a Dí-Ignewara swiped at his
armored midsection, while another sank its sharp teeth into his right bracer. Dû-Cane winced as the
creature's teeth pressed the steel into his forearm.

Reacting swiftly, Dû-Cane landed several powerful punches to the creature's eye, forcing it to release its
grip. He adjusted his bracer, then charged forward, leaping off a rock. With a fierce thrust, he plunged his
blade into the eye of one of the Dí-Ignewara. The creature writhed in agony, emitting a spine-chilling
screech, before collapsing lifelessly to the ground. Dû-Cane retrieved his blade from the socket.
Meanwhile, the other Dí-Ignewara's chest began to swell, ultimately unleashing a stream of liquid flames
from its mouth.

"Oh shit!" exclaimed Dû-Cane, narrowly avoiding the searing flames by taking cover behind the rock.
Seizing the opportunity, he swiftly advanced and dropped to the ground to evade another fiery assault.
Rising to his feet, he sprinted toward the Dí-Ignewara. The creature's mouth opened wide, preparing for
another fiery onslaught. With determination, Dû-Cane thrust his blade into its gaping maw, eliminating
two of the beasts.
Before Dû-Cane could recover, the third Dí-Ignewara leaped from the canyon walls, pouncing on him and
pinning him to the ground. Struggling desperately, Dû-Cane fought to free himself, unable to reach his
blade. Fangs pierced his left bicep, eliciting a scream of agony. He struck the beast in the eye, forcing it to
release its grip. Wedging his legs into the creature's torso, he exerted a powerful kick, finally freeing
himself. Although out of immediate danger, he knew the fight wasn't over. Retrieving his blade from the
mouth of the fallen Dí-Ignewara, he prepared to defend himself.

The Dí-Ignewara charged at Dû-Cane, who crouched down and raised his blade upward. As the creature
descended upon him, the blade pierced through its jaw, and both the beast and Dû-Cane crashed to the
ground. Neither moved. Aldon del Santo emerged from his hiding place, rushing to the aid of his ally. He
rolled the lifeless Dí-Ignewara off Dû-Cane, relieved to find him still breathing. Dû-Cane had survived.

"You gave me quite the scare, Dû-Cane. I thought you were a goner," remarked del Santo.

"Me too," Dû-Cane agreed, his voice filled with gratitude and relief.

"You're fortunate to have come out of that alive. Your armor is truly remarkable; I've never seen anything
quite like it."

"Aegregian Steel, first-generation craftsmanship. It’s hard to find a better craftsman outside the forges of
the Wraith Hallows."

Dû-Cane settled by the fire, rummaging through his utility belt. From its contents, he retrieved an
explosive device and skillfully disassembled it. Extracting the black powder, he carefully packed it into his
arm wound, wincing at the touch on his torn flesh. Heating a piece of metal until it glowed red-hot, he
swiftly applied it to the wound, cauterizing it with a searing flash.

As daylight slowly emerged over the canyon, Dû-Cane glanced at the sky. "It's time to move. We must
make our way to the docks." Del Santo took the lead without hesitation. They ventured eastward, the
canyon gradually widening and descending into sprawling lava fields that stretched as far as the eye
could see. The docks lay not far ahead, motivating them to quicken their pace despite the challenging
terrain.

Upon reaching the docks, they encountered an elderly man diligently securing the ropes of one of the
ferry boats. He paused his task and acknowledged the arrival of the two men. "How can I assist you,
gentlemen?" greeted the dockworker.

"I require passage for two, myself and my captive, to the Wraith Hallows," stated Dû-Cane.

"I don't have a boat departing for that destination until midday."

"I must cross the lava fields before midday. I'm willing to pay extra."

"If you're in a rush, I can provide you with a boat, but you'll have to make the journey on your own."

"Very well. Give me the boat," Dû-Cane replied, slipping coins into the docker's outstretched hand.

"Understood. Exercise extreme caution; the lava fields are treacherous."

"I can handle it. Many thanks."

Dû-Cane and del Santo boarded the boat while the docker released the rope that held it in place. They
set off towards Wraith Hallows, and the dockworker waved them farewell until the boat vanished from
his sight.

Chapter III: The Sinister Assignment

As the ferry reached the other side of the lava fields, they are greeted by the sight of Dû-Cane's
formidable 1-MAT vehicle, known as the Emissary. The vehicle stands there like a behemoth, its rugged
exterior bearing the scars of countless missions.

Dû-Cane's expression remains stern and unforgiving as he turns to face del Santo. With a cold glare, he
grabs del Santo by the collar and shoves him forcefully towards the back of the Emissary. "You've wasted
enough of my time, del Santo. Get in," Dû-Cane commands, his voice dripping with contempt.

Del Santo stumbles, barely managing to regain his balance. He looks up at Dû-Cane, a mixture of fear and
defiance in his eyes. "I've done what you asked, Dû-Cane. Show some respect," he retorts, his voice filled
with desperation.

Dû-Cane's features harden even further, his grip on del Santo tightening. "Respect is earned, and you
have yet to prove yourself worthy of it. Consider yourself fortunate that I even allowed you to
accompany me this far. Now, get in the damn Emissary before I change my mind."

With a forceful shove, Dû-Cane propels del Santo into the trunk of the Emissary. The metal door slams
shut behind him, leaving del Santo in darkness and isolation.

Dû-Cane's expression remains unchanged, his eyes fixed on the Emissary's entrance. He takes a deep
breath, his emotions concealed behind a facade of unyielding resolve. "Remember this, del Santo. You're
nothing more than a means to an end. Do exactly as I say, and perhaps you'll survive this ordeal."

With those harsh words hanging in the air, Dû-Cane strides purposefully towards the driver's seat of the
Emissary. He slides into the cockpit with practiced ease, his hands gripping the controls. The engine roars
to life, its powerful rumble resonating through the surrounding landscape.

As the Emissary begins to move, leaving the lava fields behind, the rugged vehicle plows through the
unforgiving terrain.

Inside the enclosed space, del Santo can feel the rough vibrations of the Emissary's movement, his mind
filled with a mix of fear and determination. He knows he must prove himself to Du-Cane, or else face the
consequences.

Hours pass as the Emissary makes its way through the rugged terrain. The harshness of the vehicle's
interior mirrors the tension between Dû-Cane and del Santo. Neither speaks, their thoughts and
emotions confined within the confined space.
As the Emissary comes to a halt outside the prison, the imposing stone walls of the prison loomed before
Dû-Cane as he led del Santo, shackled and defeated, towards the entrance. The air inside was thick with
the scent of dampness and despair, and the sound of clanging metal echoed through the corridors.

The guards stationed at the entrance eyed Dû-Cane with caution, their hands resting on the hilts of their
weapons. Dû-Cane knew that his reputation as a feared bounty hunter preceded him, eliciting a mix of
respect and wariness from those who encountered him.

The captain broke the long silence, "Bounty Hunter Dû-Cane, bringing in del Santo?"

Dû-Cane nodded; his gaze unwavering as he met the captain's eyes.

Dû-Cane: "That's right. The Crimson Hand Guild's most wanted is now in your custody."

The captain motioned for his men to unlock the heavy prison gates, and with a metallic creak, they
swung open, granting them passage into the dimly lit interior.

As they made their way deeper into the prison, the sounds of despair grew louder. The distant cries and
murmurs of the incarcerated reverberated off the cold, unforgiving walls. Dû-Cane's grip on del Santo's
arm tightened, a silent reminder that escape was futile.

"We'll take it from here, Dû-Cane. Del Santo will face justice for his crimes."

"See that you do, Captain. Crimson Hand will be watching closely."

With a nod of acknowledgment, the guards escorted del Santo into a cell, the heavy door clanging shut
behind them. Dû-Cane watched as the prisoner was swallowed by darkness, his expression unreadable.
As Dû-Cane turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of del Santo's desperate eyes through the iron bars.

Dû-Cane's footsteps echoed in the corridor as he made his way back towards the prison's exit. He
couldn't help but wonder if justice had truly been served or if it was just another chapter in an endless
cycle of crime and punishment.

Outside, the evening sunlight hit Dû-Cane's face, momentarily blinding him. He took a deep breath, the
fresh air filling his lungs as he let go of the weight that had accompanied him throughout the mission.
Del Santo was behind bars, and for now, that was enough.

The crimson glow of the setting sun painted the sky as Dû-Cane maneuvered the Emissary through the
crowded streets of Wraith Hallows. The tank's powerful engine echoed off the surrounding buildings,
garnering attention from onlookers who hurriedly stepped out of the way. Finally, he arrived at the
Crimson Wraith Guild headquarters, where a tense encounter awaited him.

"Del Santo is in custody, Captain. As per our agreement, I've brought him back alive."

Captain Sigurd, a grizzled veteran with a stern demeanor, examined bounty parchments on his desk
before turning his attention to Dû-Cane.
"Well, Dû-Cane, you completed the task given to you. But there's an issue. Del Santo sustained injuries
during the apprehension, and we're docking your pay to cover his medical expenses."

Dû-Cane's brows furrowed, a mix of frustration and anger welling up within him.

"Captain, that was never part of our arrangement. The bounty specified no deductions for the target's
condition upon capture."

"Times are tough, Dû-Cane. Guild funds are running low, and we need to cut costs wherever we can.
Consider it a necessary adjustment."

Dû-Cane clenched his fists, his eyes narrowing as he locked gazes with Captain Sigurd.

"This isn't right, Captain. I risked my life to bring in Del Santo, and now you're shortchanging me. I expect
fair compensation for my work."

Captain Sigurd's expression remained resolute, and a tense silence hung in the air before he finally spoke
again.

"I understand your frustration, but I can't override the decision. The Guild's word is final. Now, there's a
new assignment for you. You've been personally requested by a client."

Dû-Cane's curiosity piqued, though a sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. “To do what?”

“It’s - it’s a hit order.”

Captain Sigurd handed Dû-Cane a sealed envelope, his voice tinged with caution.

Captain Sigurd: "You'll find out when you report to the indicated location. But I'll warn you, these
warlords aren’t to be trifled with. Proceed with caution. Clearly no one told this to that target of yours.”

Dû-Cane's grip tightened on the envelope as he contemplated the potential consequences of accepting
the assignment.

"I'm no friend of warlords, Captain. But a bounty is a bounty. I'll take the job."

With the envelope safely stowed away, Dû-Cane left the guild headquarters and made his way back to his
living quarters within Wraith Hallows. The sun had long disappeared beyond the horizon, casting a veil of
darkness over the city.

Dû-Cane returned to his living quarters in Wraith Hallows, exhaustion weighing heavily upon him. The
weight of his battles and the burdens he carried seemed to seep into his very bones. With a sigh, he
closed the door behind him, shutting out the world and allowing himself a moment of respite.

In the dim light of a solitary bulb hanging from the ceiling, Dû-Cane removed his armor piece by piece,
revealing a body marred by scars and remnants of battles long ago. Each scar told a story, a testament to
the trials he had endured throughout his career as a bounty hunter.
As he unclasped the last piece of his armor, he stood before a cracked mirror hanging on the wall, its
reflection casting a harsh light on his worn face and burned figure. The flickering illumination
accentuated the rugged contours of his features, etched with a history of pain and survival.

His gaze lingered on the most prominent scar—a jagged line that traced across his left cheek, a constant
reminder of a close encounter with an enemy's blade. The burn marks that covered his arms and
exposed skin spoke of battles fought amidst explosive chaos and searing fire.

Running a hand through his unkempt hair, Dû-Cane closed his eyes, memories of past conflicts flooding
his mind. He remembered the comrades lost, the sacrifices made, and the enemies defeated. Each scar
served as a memento of those encounters, etching themselves onto his flesh as a reminder of his
resilience and determination.

But beyond the physical scars, there were deeper wounds, scars that could not be seen. They were the
memories that haunted his dreams, the weight of the lives he had taken, and the choices he had made in
the pursuit of justice. Those internal scars ran deep, carving their own indelible marks upon his soul.

Reaching for a small metal container on a nearby shelf, Dû-Cane opened it to reveal a collection of
healing balms and ointments. He carefully applied them to his scars, their cool touch soothing the
remnants of battles long fought. It was a ritual he performed, not just for physical relief, but as a
symbolic act of self-care and acceptance.

The silence of the room was broken only by the gentle sound of his breathing as he stood there,
vulnerable and exposed, confronting his own reflection. The scars that adorned his body told a story of
survival, of the resilience that had kept him going, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

After tending to his wounds, Dû-Cane donned a simple tunic, allowing himself a brief respite from the
weight of his armor. In that moment, stripped of the physical barriers that shielded him from the world,
he allowed himself a glimpse of vulnerability, acknowledging the toll his profession had taken on his
body and soul.

Du-Cane's living quarters were a stark reflection of his solitary existence. After a cursory glance around
the room, his eyes fell upon the simple bed that stood against one wall. Without hesitation, he crawled
onto the unadorned mattress, seeking solace in its familiar embrace. The lack of furniture and personal
effects in the room amplified the air of practicality that permeated the space. The closet, shrouded in
shadows, held a collection of tunics and trousers, each meticulously chosen for their functionality and
durability. In one corner, a compact shower stall offered a brief respite from the grime of his profession.
With his surroundings providing little distraction, Du-Cane surrendered to the exhaustion that weighed
heavily upon him, finding solace in the simplicity of his bed.

As Dû-Cane drifted into a fitful sleep, he found himself engulfed in darkness. The air was thick with an
eerie stillness, causing his senses to sharpen, alerting him that something was dreadfully wrong. A cold
shiver ran down his spine as he realized he was trapped in a haunting nightmare, reliving the horrifying
event that shattered his world—the murder of his beloved wife and children.

The scene materialized before Dû-Cane's eyes, blurring the boundaries between dream and reality. He
stood frozen, unable to intervene, forced to witness the cruel fate that awaited his family. A chilling mist
draped the landscape, obscuring his view and heightening the atmosphere of impending doom.
Voices echoed through the dense fog, distorted whispers laden with malice. Dû-Cane strained to catch a
glimpse of his family, but they remained mere shadows within the ethereal haze. Panic clawed at his
chest, as if an invisible hand squeezed the life out of him.

Suddenly, the mist parted, revealing a desolate courtyard bathed in the pale glow of a blood-red moon.
The grim sight that unfolded before Dû-Cane's eyes was etched into his mind, an image that would
forever torment his soul. His wife, Anara, and their two innocent children, Clara and Kael, were huddled
together, their eyes wide with terror, helpless against the impending horror.

From the darkness emerged a sinister figure, cloaked in malevolence. The embodiment of cruelty itself,
this shadowy specter exuded a palpable aura of sadistic pleasure. A wicked grin stretched across the face
of the assailant, and Dû-Cane's heart shattered as he recognized the chilling features of the one
responsible for his family's demise.

Unable to turn away, Dû-Cane watched as his wife and children were subjected to unspeakable acts of
violence. The air resonated with their cries, the sound tearing through his soul like a dagger. Time slowed
to a crawl, amplifying every agonizing moment. The pain etched on his family's faces was eternally
etched into his mind.

The air resonated with the haunting cries of his family, their pleas for mercy echoing through the night.
Finally, as the unspeakable act reached its devastating climax, the assailant turned his attention to Dû-
Cane. Eyes filled with malice locked onto his, and without a shred of remorse, the assailant struck Dû-
Cane in the head with a vicious blow, casting him into darkness and leaving him alone amidst the
shattered remnants of his family's lives.

As the nightmare reached its crescendo, Dû-Cane's body convulsed with a mixture of anguish and fury.
He awoke, drenched in a cold sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. Though shaken to the core, he
found solace in the fact that it was merely a dream—a haunting reminder of the past, driving him to seek
justice and redemption for the lives so brutally stolen from him.

At first light, as the soft glow of the morning sun cast its gentle rays upon Wraith Hallows, Dû-Cane
embarked on his preparations for the daunting journey to the Frostenveldt Tundra.
Dû-Cane discarded his usual black attire, opting instead for snow-white tunic and trousers designed
specifically for cold climates. The fabric was specially treated to provide insulation and protection against
the biting cold, while also offering camouflage amidst the snowy landscape. He adjusted the fit of the
garments, ensuring they allowed for ease of movement while still maintaining their practicality.

Leaving his living quarters behind, Dû-Cane made his way through the quiet halls of Wraith Hallows, his
white-clad figure contrasting against the crimson insignia adorning the walls. The guild's members
glanced at him with curiosity, noting the departure from his signature appearance, but understanding
the necessity of adapting to the harsh environment that awaited him.

With the preparations finalized, Dû-Cane made his way to the outskirts of Wraith Hallows the following
morning, at the break of dawn. There, the imposing figure of the 1-MAT tank, the Emissary, awaited him.
Its metal exterior had been painted in a stark white hue, blending seamlessly with the snowy landscape
and further enhancing Dû-Cane's ability to remain unseen.
Climbing into the cockpit of the Emissary, Dû-Cane settled into the familiar controls, the engine humming
to life. The tracks of the vehicle dug into the snowy ground as he expertly maneuvered it onto the open
road. The journey to the Frostenveldt Tundra stretched before him, and with each passing mile, the
anticipation grew.

As the sun bathed the frozen landscape in a pale glow, Dû-Cane's eyes scanned the horizon, his snow-
white attire mirroring the purity of the snow-covered expanse. The Frostenveldt Tundra awaited, its
unforgiving terrain and hidden perils calling out to his hunter's instincts. The wheels of the Emissary spun
with purpose, propelling him forward into the vast frozen wilderness, where his skills and resolve would
be put to the ultimate test.

Determined to equip himself with every advantage, he left his living quarters and made his way through
the guild's stronghold.

One of his first stops was at the blacksmith's forge, where the heat of the roaring flames welcomed him.
The blacksmith, a skilled artisan well-versed in the craft of weaponry and armor, turned to greet Dû-Cane
as he entered. Their eyes met, and without the need for words, they understood each other's purpose.

Dû-Cane approached the blacksmith, his gaze focused and resolute. "I need enhancements and a
replacement for my bracer, it was destroyed in battle," he said, his voice carrying an air of determination.
"The Frostenveldt Tundra is unforgiving, and I must be prepared."

The blacksmith nodded in understanding, their hands deftly working the molten metal with precision.
"I've heard tales of the Tundra's icy grip," the blacksmith replied. "I will enhance your armor to withstand
even the harshest of conditions. It will help regulate your core temperature."

As the blacksmith shaped a new bracer, Dû-Cane's attention shifted to his mask. "I need an edge," he
said, his voice filled with purpose. "Enhance my mask with thermal imaging capabilities. I need to see
through the frost and darkness."

The blacksmith paused for a moment, studying Dû-Cane's determined expression. "Thermal imaging,"
they repeated, a glint of curiosity in their eyes. "That will give you an advantage, indeed. I will integrate it
seamlessly into the mask."

As the blacksmith continued their work on the mask, Dû-Cane's eyes wandered across the forge from
under his veiling hood, spotting an array of concealed throwing knives. "And what about these?" he
asked, pointing towards the blades.

The blacksmith followed his gaze, a knowing smile playing at their lips. "Ah, those are not your ordinary
throwing knives," they explained. "These are bladed projectiles. When launched, they can pierce through
thick ice walls, allowing you to create your own path."

Dû-Cane's eyes gleamed with anticipation. The possibilities of such a versatile weapon intrigued him.
"Excellent," he remarked with a nod. "Add them to my arsenal."

With the final touches applied to the bracer and the thermal imaging system installed in the mask, Dû-
Cane admired the work of the skilled blacksmith. The enhancements were a testament to their
craftsmanship and Dû-Cane's unwavering commitment to his mission.
"Thank you," Dû-Cane said, his voice filled with gratitude. "Your skill has exceeded my expectations.
These enhancements will be vital on my journey through the Frostenveldt Tundra."

The blacksmith smiled warmly, their eyes reflecting a sense of pride. "May your path be guided by steel
and fire," they said. "Bring honor to the Crimson Hand Guild."

“Many thanks,” expressed Dû-Cane, placing a generous number of Coppers on the blacksmith’s work
table.

With the preparations finalized, Dû-Cane made his way to the outskirts of Wraith Hallows by mid-
morning. There, the imposing figure of the 1-MAT tank, the Emissary, awaited him.

Climbing into the cockpit of the Emissary, Dû-Cane settled into the familiar controls, the engine humming
to life. The tracks of the vehicle dug into the dusty ground as he expertly maneuvered it onto the open
road. The journey to the Frostenveldt Tundra stretched before him, and with each passing mile, the
anticipation grew.
 Chapter IV: Rumors of Transgression in the Fröstenveldt

The piercing wind whistled through the desolate expanse of the Fröstenveldt Tundra, biting at Dû-Cane's
exposed skin. He peered through the windshield of the Emissary, its metal exterior covered in a thin
layer of frost. The thermal imaging display on his mask illuminated the path ahead, revealing faint
footprints in the snow.

The tank's engine rumbled as it gradually came to a halt. Dû-Cane stepped out, his boots sinking into the
knee-deep snow. He adjusted the straps of his new armor piece, ensuring a snug fit around his arm. The
thermal imaging display highlighted the tracks leading towards a cluster of jagged rocks in the distance.

Amidst the relentless blizzard, Dû-Cane's keen eyes caught a glimpse of a faint glow emanating from
under a rocky outcropping. He cautiously approaches, his footsteps muffled by the howling winds. As he
draws closer, he discovers Anya, huddled in a makeshift camp, seeking shelter from the storm with his
hand clutched firmly on the hilt of his blade.

"Surviving out here in these frozen wastes requires more than just skill. You're resourceful," said Dû-
Cane, getting the drop on Anya Frostfallow, which was not an easy task.

Anya looks up, a mixture of surprise and wariness etched on her face.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" said the startled Anya

"You can call me Dû-Cane. And I know more than just your name, Anya. I recognize the mark on your
arm, you bear the mark of the Imperial Guard. I, too bear the same marking."

Anya's eyes widen, realizing the implications of his words.

Anya: "You're mistaken. I don't know what you're talking about. I've never been a part of the Imperial
Guard."

Dû-Cane: "I see. Perhaps I was mistaken. But what matters now is what we do next. I've been sent here
to eliminate someone causing problems for the warlord and his men. But seeing your mark, I can't bring
myself to harm you. We may have a common enemy."

Anya's expression softens, curiosity mingling with caution.

"Why should I trust you? How do I know this isn't a ruse?"

"Trust is a luxury we can't afford. But we share a common history, Anya. What I do know is that the
warlord's men are searching for something out here, and you've been sabotaging their efforts. The
Warlord of Hraunsvelter wants you dead."

“You… You were one of us? But I’ve never seen you before.”

“I survived the Saltmýre Ambush, but I forged a new path for myself. I donned a mask, forsook my former
life, and took the huntsman’s creed. Now isn’t the time to delve into the past. We need to get the
warlord off our tail. He’s a very dangerous man and will stop at nothing to ensure you are in your grave.”
"Fine, Dû-Cane. I'll trust you for now. But remember, I don't owe you anything. Together, we'll strike back
at the warlord's men and ensure they never find what they're searching for."

Dû-Cane nods, acknowledging her cautious acceptance.

"Agreed. Let's eliminate their presence in these lands and make them regret ever coming to these parts.”

Dû-Cane and Anya swiftly put their plan into action, working in perfect synchrony. Their movements are
swift and calculated, leaving no room for error. Dû-Cane's lethal skills are on full display as he dispatches
the warlord's men with precision, his every strike a testament to his mastery of combat. The clash of
steel echoes through the icy expanse, and the warlord's forces find themselves outmatched against this
relentless force.

After the last of the warlord's men fell defeated on the bloodstained snow, Dû-Cane and Anya catch their
breath. They exchange a knowing look, a shared understanding that their mission is far from over.

Anya unclasps the pendant hanging around her neck, a symbol of her identity. She places it gently in Dû-
Cane's outstretched hand, her eyes filled with a mixture of determination and gratitude.

"Take this pendant. It is my proof of death, my sacrifice to deceive the warlord. Let him believe that you
have fulfilled your contract, that I am no longer a threat. It will buy us the time we need to continue our
mission."

Dû-Cane nods, clutching the pendant tightly in his hand.

"Many thanks, Anya. With this, we can maintain our advantage and ensure the safety of the ruins. Go
now, vanish into the snow. We shall meet again when the time is right."

Anya gives a nod of acknowledgment, her silver hair blending seamlessly with the surrounding white
landscape. She melts into the snowfall, leaving no trace of her presence.

Dû-Cane stands alone amidst the aftermath of the battle, the weight of their task resting heavy on his
shoulders. He gazes at the pendant in his hand, a symbol of the trust placed upon him. Determination
hardens his eyes as he readies himself for the challenges that lie ahead.

Their alliance forged in the crucible of war, Dû-Cane and Anya embark on separate paths.
 Chapter V: The Midnight Meeting

As the biting winds of the Fröstenveldt Tundra continued to whip around him, Dû-Cane strides through
the deep drifts, his mind consumed by his recent encounter with Anya Frostfallow. Her presence had
ignited a spark within him, fueling his ambition to become the most feared and renowned huntsman in
all of Aegregia. With a heart filled with determination and a mind sharpened by vengeance, he makes his
way back to the warlord's domain, clutching the pendant that he deceitfully claims as proof of Anya's
demise.

Entering the warlord's stronghold, Dû-Cane's footsteps echo through the grand halls, each stride a
testament to the reputation he has cultivated as a relentless pursuer. The warlord, a towering figure
draped in dark robes, awaits him in a dimly lit chamber, surrounded by loyal guards and advisors. The
atmosphere crackles with tension as Dû-Cane presents the pendant, his face betraying no hint of deceit
hidden beneath his stoic facade.

With a commanding voice, Dû-Cane recounts the supposed events that led to Anya's demise in the
treacherous wilderness of the Fröstenveldt. He describes their fierce battle, painting a vivid picture of
the clash between their powers and the inevitable outcome of her defeat. The warlord listens intently,
his eyes narrowing with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity.

As Dû-Cane weaves his tale, he allows himself a moment of satisfaction, relishing the fear and respect
that his reputation elicits from those gathered. In his heart, he knows that the warlord's trust hangs on a
fragile thread, ready to unravel at the slightest hint of deceit. Yet, he remains confident in his ability to
manipulate the situation, to keep the warlord's suspicions at bay.

The warlord, his face hidden in the shadows, studies Dû-Cane carefully, his gaze piercing through the veil
of deception. Sensing the warlord's lingering doubt, Dû-Cane's mind races, formulating contingency
plans and escape routes should his ruse be exposed. He understands the risks he has taken, but the
desire for vengeance and the pursuit of his own notoriety drives him forward, pushing him to the edge of
perilous choices.

With a nod of acceptance, the warlord acknowledges Dû-Cane's supposed accomplishment. The guards
relax their grip on their weapons, and tension begins to dissipate from the room. The warlord wears a
self-satisfied smirk, his eyes gleaming with a mix of arrogance and curiosity.

"Impressive, huntsman. You've done well to eliminate this threat. Your reputation as well as your skills
huntsman does not go unwarranted."

"It was merely a matter of fulfilling my duty, sir. I do not seek praise or recognition."

"Hmph, modesty suits you. But remember, I expect the same level of success in all your future
assignments."

"Rest assured, sir, I will not disappoint you."

The warlord's gaze lingers on Dû-Cane, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. Dû-Cane meets his gaze
with unwavering resolve, a silent declaration that he is prepared to face any obstacle in his path. With
that, the warlord turns away, leaving Dû-Cane to his thoughts and the weight of his own ambitions.
As he departs the warlord's stronghold, Dû-Cane's gaze fixes upon the horizon, his determination
burning bright. He knows that his journey is far from over, that more challenges and dangers await him.
With each passing day, he inches closer to his goal—to bring down the warlord, to uncover the truth
behind his family's murder, and to carve his name into the annals of Aegregia's history as the most
feared and renowned huntsman.

Dû-Cane returned to Wraith Hallows, the fortress-like stronghold of the Crimson Hand Guild. He made
his way to the captain's quarters, his steps purposeful and his mind focused. Captain Sigurd, a seasoned
leader with a rugged exterior, awaited him with a warm smile.

Captain Sigurd: "Dû-Cane, my boy, welcome back. Come, sit with me."

Dû-Cane took a seat across from Captain Sigurd, feeling a sense of familiarity and comfort in the
presence of the elder captain.

"Tell me, Dû-Cane, how did the mission fare? Did you bring back the proof?"

“Yes, Captain. Anya Frostfallow has been dealt with, and I have the pendant as proof of her demise."

Captain Sigurd nodded, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and concern.

"Well done, Dû-Cane. Your skills continue to impress me. There's a substantial number of Coppers
waiting for you on my desk. Go on, go grab the case!"

With those words hanging in the air, Dû-Cane collected his payment, a large case of Aegregian Coppers.
Grateful for the captain's guidance, he bid his farewell and made his way back to his modest living
quarters.

Dû-Cane made a stop at a local merchant and butcher. He carefully selected a variety of fresh root
vegetables, vibrant herbs, and a generous cut of tender meat. He handed the merchant a generous
handful of Coppers, exchanged friendly banter and wished him good fortune before departing.

With his ingredients in hand, Dû-Cane entered his modest abode and set about preparing his beloved
stew. He skillfully chopped the vegetables, savoring the familiar motions, and added them to a sturdy
iron pot. The enticing aroma of the simmering stew filled the room, bringing a sense of comfort and
nourishment amidst his solitary existence.

Dû-Cane's meal was a simple yet hearty stew, simmering gently on a small fire. It consisted of tender
chunks of meat, root vegetables, and aromatic herbs, providing a comforting warmth on this cold
evening.

Just as he began to prepare his bowl, a gentle knock interrupted his solitude. Dû-Cane, puzzled by the
unexpected visitor, approached the door cautiously and opened it, revealing a figure cloaked in shadows
and adorned in an ornate blue robe with gold trimming.

"Who are you? And what brings you to my door?"

The stranger stood before him, the intricate embroidery on their robe shimmering in the faint light.

"It has been far too long. Do you not recognize me? I am Seraphin."

Dû-Cane's brows furrowed in confusion as he tried to recall memories from the depths of his past.

“Seraphin? The emperor’s loyal advisor? But... how?"

The stranger, now revealed to be Seraphin, smiled gently, his eyes carrying a hint of weariness and
nostalgia.

"Yes, my friend, it is I. I have returned to fulfill a promise, to unveil the secrets that lie dormant within
our shared history. May I come in so we may talk in private?"

“You may enter,” said Dû-Cane apprehensively.

Dû-Cane set the bowl of stew before Seraphin, who thanked him with a nod before taking a sip. The rich
flavors danced on his tongue, and he couldn't help but appreciate Dû-Cane's culinary skills.

"So, Seraphin," Dû-Cane began, his voice filled with curiosity, "what brings you here?

Seraphin paused; his gaze fixed on the depths of his bowl. He took a moment to collect his thoughts
before responding, his voice calm and measured. "Dû-Cane, your past holds more significance than you
may realize. You were not just a skilled guardsman or a mere servant to the late Emperor Aêgregon. Your
lineage runs deep, connecting you to the very fabric of Aegregia's history."

Dû-Cane's brows furrowed in confusion. "But why me? Why choose me for this task?"

Seraphin looked up, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and respect. "Because, Dû-Cane, you
possess a unique blend of skill, resilience, and determination. Your very being is intertwined with the
fate of Aegregia. You have faced darkness, endured loss, and emerged stronger. It is your destiny to rise
above the shadows and wield the power that lies within the diadems."

Dû-Cane's grip tightened on his own bowl, his mind swirling with a storm of emotions. "I understand the
weight of my past, Seraphin. But I left it all behind, including my name. I am Dû-Cane, and that is all that
matters now. Why should I risk my neck to seek out these diadems?"

Seraphin nodded, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "Indeed, Dû-Cane. It is not your name that
defines you, but rather your choices, your actions. You have forsaken your old life, but the echoes of who
you once were still resonate. The diadems hold the key to uncovering the truth, to revealing the legacy
you carry within you."

Silence enveloped the room as Dû-Cane contemplated Seraphin's words. The crackling of the firewood
filled the void.

Late into the night, as the crescent moon shined above, Dû-Cane and Seraphin found themselves seated
across from each other in a dimly lit room. The flickering fireplace cast dancing shadows on their faces as
they delved deep into conversation.
"The Diadem of Thunder awaits, buried deep within the unforgiving sands of the Rafsteinur Desert. Its
power is said to be unparalleled, capable of harnessing the very essence of lightning itself. It is said that
Emperor Aêgregon had the best craftsmen in the realm fashion him a crown adorn with six of the finest
diadems. When he was murdered and his crown was shattered, the diadems vanished. Rumor has
reached me that their powers no longer lie dormant. There are many that seek the power that these
diadems bestow, including the usurper Devereaux Escobar. We must prevent him from obtaining them at
all costs."

"So, you think I am worthy of possessing the diadems. I have heard that the bearer of these stones
endures a significant toll. What makes you believe I am the right person for this?"

"You were once Captain of the Imperial Guard; the most trusted member of Emperor Augustus Decimus
Aegregon XII’s council. Your skills, your knowledge, they are unmatched. You possess the qualities
necessary to face the trials ahead."

"I do not wish to get caught up in another war, nor do I wish to establish myself as the Lord Protector.
The profession of bounty hunting is intricate, but it has afforded me a reason to keep pressing on."

"Yet your past still echoes in the annals of history. The blood that runs through your veins connects you
to a lineage of guardians and protectors. You are the key to unlocking the secrets of the diadems, and it
is your duty to ensure they do not fall into the wrong hands."

Dû-Cane's eyes narrowed, a mixture of determination and doubt warring within him.

"You should know," Seraphin continued, his voice weighted with significance, "that your true identity
holds great significance. The legacy of who you once were, the esteemed Captain of the Imperial Guard,
A—"
Dû-Cane's eyes hardened, his gaze piercing through Seraphin like a blade. "Enough!" he interjected
sharply. "You tread on treacherous ground, Seraphin. You will not utter that name under my roof. As far
as I am concerned, he perished in the Saltmýre Marshes, along with his men. Let the past rest, for it
holds no sway over me anymore.”

“But the world needs to know the truth, to recognize the heroism and sacrifice you embodied,” Seraphin
started again.

“Heroism and sacrifice? Those are but words, Seraphin. The path I walk now is different,” said Dû-Cane,
coldly dismissing Seraphin’s words.

Seraphin's words faltered, his eyes widening with surprise at Dû-Cane's interruption. The unspoken
name hung in the air, unuttered yet heavy with unspoken memories. The weight of Dû-Cane's past
remained a shadow, a secret harbored within his soul, forever concealed from the world.

Seraphin took a brief pause, contemplating his next words carefully. “Very well, Dû-Cane. I respect your
decision to leave the past behind. But remember, the diadems have a way of revealing the truths that lie
dormant within us.
Restless, Du-Cane moved back and forth across the room, his mind consumed by Seraphin's words.
Gazing into the crackling flames of the fire, he immersed himself in deep thought. After a considerable
time, he finally turned towards Seraphin and posed a question, "If I embark on this journey, what awaits
us in the desert? What challenges lie in our path?"

"The desert is unforgiving, a testing ground for the worthy. Crackling electric storms, treacherous
mirages, and relentless marauders lie in wait to ambush unsuspecting travelers passing through; they
believe these sands belonged to their ancestors. All these serve as formidable obstacles, deterring even
the bravest of explorers on their perilous quest. But with your skills and my knowledge, we can navigate
the dangers and unearth the truth that lies dormant beneath the sands."

Dû-Cane's gaze softened, the flickering glow of the fire casting a shadow of resolve upon his face.

"Very well. Tomorrow, we shall rendezvous on the outskirts of Wraith Hallows at daybreak. You will serve
as my guide into the heart of the desert, and we will search for the Diadem of Thunder."

Seraphin nodded in agreement. “May our paths remain true, Dû-Cane. The fate of Aegregia rests upon
our shoulders."

Their conversation concluded just before daybreak, and Seraphin slipped quietly into the shadows of the
back alley, leaving Dû-Cane to make his preparations for the desert.

The coming days would be filled with uncertainty and numerous perils. He prepared his supplies, packing
his trusted weapons and donning attire suitable for exploration of the desert. He sought out Captain
Sigurd, informing him of his need to attend to personal affairs and assuring him of his eventual return.

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky with hues of gold and rose, Dû-Cane and Seraphin set forth,
leaving behind the familiar confines of Wraith Hallows. The desert awaited, and within its depths lay his
destiny. His vehicle known as the Emissary, an imposing armored tank built for traversing the
treacherous terrains of Aegregia. The steel behemoth’s powerful engine humming with anticipation.
With resolute determination, they climbed aboard, their footsteps echoing within the metal hull. As the
rumble of the engine reverberated through their bodies, they felt the weight of their mission settling
upon them. Leaving Wraith Hallows behind, the Emissary roared to life, its tracks grinding against the
sand as they embarked on their perilous journey. The city faded into the distance, swallowed by the vast
expanse of the desert, as Du-Cane and Seraphin ventured forth, their fates entwined with the destiny
that awaited them amidst the shifting sands. intertwined in a dance with the desert's ever-shifting sands.