Back with Nu'al, in the moment she was at war with herself, she let out a long sigh born from a seemingly endless well of doubt, a sound swallowed by the damp stone walls.
Nu'al: "What should I do? Even when the bell rings… there should still be guards outside, right?"
Her dull, disheveled white hair fell, obscuring part of her face. One of her eyes, a sharp brown, was alert and alive, constantly scanning the darkness. The other, a withered, sightless grey eye, was hidden behind a dirty, slightly loose bandage. She wore a tattered brown fur coat over a white shirt stained with mud and yellowing patches. Her blue jeans were torn at the knees—from hard wear, not by design. Her black boots were scuffed, and an intricate yellow tattoo encircled her thin wrist.
After a long, silent debate within her mind, Nu'al lifted her head. She looked up, observing the slice of the outside world through the iron grate that served as her window.
Nu'al: "Alright... it's death either way. Better to die running than to die on an altar."
Nu'al took a breath, an exhalation that felt like surrendering the last of her resignation. With a decisive motion, she tightened the bandage around her head, covering her blind grey eye securely. A final act of focus. She then looked up again, gazing at the nearly full moon through the bars.
Nu'al: "The moon will reach its peak. When the bell rings, I will run from here. But… what if I'm caught?...."
Nu'al: "I… I-I…."
She bit her lip, anxious and worried. Death was one thing, but she knew these cultists had cruel imaginations. There was the potential for something far worse. Her hands clenched so tightly that her dirty fingernails dug into her palms.
Finally, Nu'al noticed a drop of blood trickling from her clenched fist. She stared at it, sighed, and somehow, that small pain gave her conviction. A terrible backup plan formed in her mind.
Nu'al: "Even if I can't get out, I still have to make them pay… If I'm caught, I will use my phantom arm to tear and constrict the flow of oxygen to my own brain. I will be the one who ends my story."
Suddenly, a large, dark silhouette passed by the grate above, blocking the moonlight for a moment. Its movement was unlike the shuffling gait of the cultists. This was a steady, heavy stride. Nu'al flinched, her body tensing.
Nu'al: "I-is that… a cult member?"
She waited, listening. There was no dragging sound, no lazy grumbling.
Nu'al: "...N-no. The aura is different. There's none of that stench of incense and blind madness."
A desperate, foolish hope exploded in her chest. She no longer cared.
Nu'al: "H-hey! Hey! Wait! Please, come over here!"
She stood up and shouted at the passing figure, her voice hoarse but filled with an undeniable urgency.
***
Above, Oldred stopped in his tracks.
Oldred: "?"
He turned, and with the same steady stride, walked back. He came to the edge of a building's foundation, where the iron grate was set. He looked down, into the darkness of the cell, at the girl who had called out to him.
Below, Nu'al froze. Moonlight illuminated the expressionless steel mask. She instantly recognized the figure. A burning shame and guilt rose in her throat, but it was overwhelmed by a profound shock and astonishment. Her stomach twisted, as if squeezed by a giant hand. The man she had sacrificed to die now stood above her like a judge.
Seeing the man she had condemned now standing above her, free and whole, tied Nu'al's tongue in knots. A mixture of guilt, fear, and utter shock coiled in her stomach.
Nu'al: "Y-you?! You're the one from before!... No, forget that. How did you—"
She stopped, unable to finish. Something terrible was happening. It wasn't just a churning in her gut; it was an invisible, crushing wave of sheer density that slammed into her, radiating from the figure above. It felt like standing too close to a giant bonfire that was incinerating a thousand souls—at once cold and searing. The weight of countless sins pressed down on her, making the air heavy and hard to breathe.
Her throat suddenly pulsed. Her stomach roiled violently, rejecting this man's very presence.
Nu'al: "Hrk!… hkk!..."
**Hluuurrrppp!**
The meager contents of her stomach erupted, splattering onto the dirty ground below. She couldn't fight the sensation pressing on her from within. She felt as if she were being choked from a distance, as if her bones would be crushed by an unbearable spiritual weight.
Nu'al: *(Wh-what kind of sin is this?!... This… This isn't natural!... What has he done?!... This person… is insane!)*
Above, an impatient Oldred simply let out a long sigh. It was not a sigh of sympathy, but one laced with boredom, as if he were waiting for a late bus. Nu'al looked up, her eyes now red and watery, at the expressionless steel mask.
Nu'al: "This sin… you… how is this possible?!"
Oldred: "...."
He just stared at her in silence for a moment before finally answering flatly.
Oldred: "Is this a sermon?..."
Nu'al: "N-no, no! Forget it!"
She wiped her mouth with the back of her trembling hand. Her mind was racing.
Nu'al: *(This person… is this safe?... His aura alone nearly killed me. He could split me in two without blinking…)*
Nu'al's face soured at the thought. But what choice did she have?
Nu'al: "Hey! We have to get out of here!"
Of course, everyone knew that. Without waiting any longer, Oldred turned and prepared to leave. The heavy sound of his boots began to fade on the damp earth. One should never expect Oldred to be heroic...
Seeing him just walk away sent Nu'al into a panic.
Nu'al: "Wait! Don't go yet, hey! This forest is sealed by a giant, invisible magic dome! You need me to break through it! Hey!"
Oldred kept walking, as if he didn't care. However, in the distance, his eyes caught something. A tall structure like an old watchtower. But that wasn't the point. There was an observer up there. And it wasn't a cult member. The impossibly tall silhouette was the ram-headed skeleton from the World of Histories. Its curling horns challenged the night sky. It stood there, cloaked in seagull wings, like a raven perched calmly on a carcass. Thin smoke curled sideways from the pipe it held. It was just watching.
But suddenly, the oppressive silence was torn apart by a different sound. The sound of a horn, blown from a distance.
**GAAAUNG!**
The deep, hoarse sound echoed across the valley, a hunter's call. Oldred whipped his head toward the village bell tower. At its peak, a watchman was blowing the horn while pointing straight at him and shouting.
Alright… Oldred had been made. The time for a leisurely stroll was over.