[System Functions Recalibration: 67.3%]
The mechanical voice pulsed in Zarus' head again. He didn't know what it meant aside from the fact that it's changing something within him.
They were deep in the backroom of a smuggler's den, an old and slightly dim tavern.
There were a lot of people wearing the same color of cloak as them, black.
Fortunately enough, there weren't any signs of hostility amongst them, giving them a breather.
But right now, they had a different problem.
And that isn't Lev.
"The deal was two shards and twenty figments," the bald man growled, slamming his calloused hand on the splintered table. His one good eye fixed on Rox like a blade.
"And the deal was clean papers," Rox shot back, not flinching.
Zarus stared at her, stunned. This was the same Rox who once cowered under Lev's shadow?
Now she was arguing with a scar-eyed thug who looked like he ate nerves for breakfast.
He shifted, just slightly — enough to be ready. If this turned ugly, he had no idea what he'd do… but he would do something.
"You really expecting clean papers for that price, young lady?" the bald man rasped, leaning forward. "You want dreams too?"
Rox didn't blink. "I want what you promised. Not half a death sentence with a forged stamp."
The bald man crossed his arms, visibly more irritated by Rox's defiance.
"Add one more shard and forty figments. I'll give you clean papers. Any less, and get out of my face."
Rox clicked her tongue, glancing at the pouch.
Three shards and seventy figments — that's all they had left.
Paying that much would leave them broke.
And they still needed to ride the right carriage to bypass the gates.
With a groan and a deep exhale, she slid one shard and forty figments across the table.
...
Outside the establishment, Rox kicked at the ground, fuming, while Zarus held her back to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.
"Freaking cheater! Freak! Freak! Dirty, stinking cheat!"
She kicked a nearby bucket, sending it clattering against the wall before Zarus pulled her into a more hidden corner where she could cool off.
Rox slumped down and leaned against the alley wall, staring up at the brick ceiling overhead — mossy, cracked, but still higher than the tunnel they'd ventured through earlier.
Zarus sat beside her in silence.
He listened to her groan in frustration, then asked curiously, "May I be of help?"
"You willing to sell your organs? I heard a liver goes for a decent price," she shot back, visibly upset.
Zarus raised his hands in surrender, flashing an awkward smile — hoping she was just venting.
"Gods, I wish I could choke the life out of that bastard," Rox muttered, pulling out the pouch and counting what little remained.
They'd be lucky to even afford a ride now.
Zarus looked down at his hands, wondering why Rox was doing all this.
Was it just survival?
The thought sat heavy in his chest. Now that he really thought about it—he hadn't done much. Not really. Not in there. Not when it counted.
All he'd done was save her once… and then become a burden. Again and again. She could've used that money for herself.
But Rox didn't seem like someone driven by self-interest. Not entirely.
"Should I take on a job?" he asked, hoping to be helpful.
Rox groaned, rubbing her temple. "Appreciate the gesture, but you'll be lucky to survive working here for more than a day."
Her eyes drifted toward a nearby dump where flies buzzed in lazy circles.
Zarus followed her gaze — a pile of soaked rags and bones rotting under a rusted chute.
The smell hit harder than expected. Familiar, even. If you'd ever been caught in the rain surrounded by it… the stench doubled.
[System Functions Recalibration: 68.9%]
The mechanical voice rang in his head again, more clearer than before.
Zarus winced. Something inside him was shifting.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
It was uncomfortable. Like his organs were being… rearranged. But Zarus dared not to burden Rox further—even though not painful, it still felt wrong.
Rox scratched the back of her head before standing up and dusting off her thighs. "Let's go get the little supplies we can while waiting for the papers," she groaned.
Zarus followed after, ignoring the discomfort gnawing at him.
But just as they stepped out, she stopped, pulling her cloak tighter around herself. Then she turned to him, adjusting his cloak without a word at first.
"We can't afford to be seen here if we're heading into Edict territory," she whispered.
Zarus raised an eyebrow. This coming from the same Rox who'd just thrown a tantrum in broad daylight?
She caught the look and quickly added, "We're going to the market. Of course there'll be more people."
Zarus just nodded. They both walked deeper into the alley, but he stopped abruptly, catching a glimpse of what seemed to be someone walking behind them.
But there was no one.
He looked from left to right, but still—nothing.
Was he hallucinating from the foul stench of this place?
"What are you doing? Let's go already," Rox called out to Zarus, who looked like he was spacing out.
"I... uh— nothing." Zarus hurried to catch up with Rox.
And after some twists and turns, Zarus was in awe with the way Rox made her way through this maze-like place
And not long after—
They reached the underground market—otherwise known as the black market of this place.
Shady figures crowded the area, bartering and trading with vendors.
Items exuded an ominous aura, tempting the weak-willed to draw near.
Brothels stood in the distance, with alluring women waving over passersby, prompting Rox to pull Zarus's attention back to their path.
"I'm starting to think you're just lying about your amnesia," she exclaimed, voice laced with hostility.
Zarus could feel it—even if he couldn't see her face clearly—but his eyes kept wandering, still unsure where exactly Rox planned to buy their supplies.
After swimming through the crowd, careful to avoid any bumps, they arrived at a rundown place in the farthest corner of the market with its doors shut tight—no lights, nothing.
Zarus figured they were visiting some abandoned spot to crash in, but Rox stepped forward and knocked on the worn-out door.
He thought it was weird. But then—
"Leave, I ain't got no money," an old man's voice called out, catching Zarus off guard.
"Old man, it's Roxanne," she replied.
There was a pause. Then hurried footsteps, followed by the sound of clicks and sliding locks.
The door creaked open slightly, just enough for a single eye to peek through.
"...It really is you," the old man muttered, gaze shifting to Zarus, who just looked confused. "Your boy—"
He didn't finish. Rox raised a hand, cutting him off.
"No. It's a long story," she said quickly, shutting down whatever he was about to say.
The old man raised an eyebrow before asking, "Can we trust him?"
Rox glanced back at Zarus, then back to the old man. "I guess we could? He did defeat Lev, after all," she whispered.
That caught the old man off guard—his eyes widened. "Lev? You mean that Lev?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing.
He shut the door again. Another sliding sound followed before it creaked open fully this time, welcoming both Rox and Zarus as he urged them to hurry inside.
They both stepped in, and the old man looked left and right, watching for any potential witnesses.
Once he confirmed there were none, he closed the door behind them and locked it once more.
Zarus glanced around the rundown home. Despite its crumbling exterior, the interior was surprisingly well-kept.
Dust clung to the shelves, sure—but everything had its place. It was the kind of quiet that only came from someone used to being alone.
"This is the second time you're spacing out," Rox called out, already halfway across the room with the old man beside her.
Zarus blinked and turned—only to find the two of them standing beside a slightly ajar bookcase, which now revealed a hidden stairwell descending deeper into the house.
He hadn't even seen them move.
Now that he thought about it, he never did ask Rox how they got into the tunnels in the firstplace. Then again, maybe it was better not to question things. Not yet.
"Coming," he said, jogging after them and slipping through the narrow doorway.
The air grew cooler as they moved downward.
The old man led the way, one hand skimming the wall like muscle memory guided him.
"You brought trouble, didn't you?" the old man muttered without looking back. His voice was dry and gravelly, like it hadn't been used in weeks.
"Should've known the moment I heard your knock," he added, his tone laced with something heavier than annoyance. "Same damn fiddle with your father's."
Rox winced at the old man's words and bit her lip, saying nothing.
Zarus caught the flicker of pain in her expression. He didn't press—he just watched her, concern simmering beneath his silence.
The old man's steps echoed down the spiraling stairwell as he continued, tone gruff but perceptive.
"Don't get on your high horse just because you took down Lev," he said, giving them both a sharp glance. "I can tell you barely crawled out of that fight alive."
His eyes swept over them, noting the bruises on Rox's arms and the dirt smeared into their clothes.
Then his gaze lingered on Zarus—narrowed.
"You," he muttered, a hint of suspicion in his voice. "You don't look like someone who fought to the brink. No fatal wounds. No limp. Not even a cracked rib?"
Zarus tensed but said nothing. Even he didn't understand what was happening to him.
They reached the basement at last—a low-ceilinged room lit by a single hanging bulb.
The walls were lined with old shelves and makeshift weapon racks, half-covered by draped cloth.
There was a table in the center, scratched and burned from years of use.
The old man turned, crossing his arms.
"So," he asked, voice low, "what's your plan now?"
Rox shifted uncomfortably, looking to the side as she held her wrist. She looked like she didn't want to say it.
Zarus noticed this and tried to step in. "We're actually—"
The old man cut him off with a sharp leer.
"That's suicide," he said in a low voice.
Zarus could feel the pressure in the air thicken.
"...Pardon?" he asked, uncertain.
"I already know what the both of you are planning." The old man's gaze shifted toward Rox—almost scolding.
"You want to go to the land of Temperance with a fake ID? After you messed with a Dictum?! You!? A f**king Null?!" His voice cracked with frustration, making Rox hide her face from his anger.
Zarus frowned, thrown by the old man's sudden anger — especially when Rox fell silent, a stark change from earlier.
The old man pinched his temples, then stared at Zarus like he'd made a fatal mistake.
"You really think you can just meddle with those bastards and walk away?" he barked, shifting his glare to Rox. "And you came here!?"
Rox looked down, saying nothing.
Zarus stayed quiet, confused — which only made the old man angrier.
"They're probably already sniffing you out," he muttered. "You don't have much time."
...
Unlike the usual crowd, where cloaks and masks hid every face, a group of men stood out—unmasked and clad in black leather jackets, moving with an unsettling confidence.
At their head was a man with a chiseled jaw marked by a deep scar, as if a part of his skin had been torn away.
His dark eyes scanned the bustling market, sharp and searching.
A thug-looking man accidentally bumped into him, smearing a dark stain across the leather jacket.
"Ack!" The thug struggled, but the grip was ironclad.
"...Hmm... this should satiate my hounds." With a low growl, two massive black hounds emerged from his shadow, drooling.
Without effort, the man tossed the thug into the air like a balloon. The hounds lunged, devouring him instantly—no screams, no struggle. He was dead before he could react.
The bystanders swallowed hard but looked away—just another idiot tangled with the wrong crowd.
Besides... they wouldn't want to mess with Dictums. Especially that guy.
As soon as the hounds finished their feast, not even a speck of blood remained.
The man pulled out a scrap of cloth and held it to their noses. "Go."
With a low growl, the hounds sniffed, then bolted into the shadows, weaving through the crowd like smoke.