Back at the hut,
Hul remained seated as Nine strode out, his cloak billowing slightly in the dim light filtering through the gaps in the hut's walls. The moment the Lord of Lust disappeared into the streets, Hul's gaze dropped to the heavy gold bar left on the table.
His fingers twitched before he reached out, the cool weight pressing into his palm like a silent promise. He lifted it slightly, tilting it under the light, watching how the edges glinted like molten fire.
A slow, ugly grin spread across his face.
"Heh." A raspy chuckle escaped him, deepening into a wheezing laugh. "That brat… never changes."
He ran a thumb over the surface, feeling the indent of an old sigil—one that had been carved out long ago to erase its original ownership. Black-market gold, untraceable.
Hul caressed the metal as if it were a long-lost lover, then flicked his wrist, sending the bar clattering onto a wooden crate beside him.
A gust of wind rustled the papers scattered across the table, and a single slip fluttered to the ground.
Hul's gaze snapped to it.
A note.
Nine's handwriting.
He bent down, fingers plucking the paper from the dirt. His eyes flicked over the strokes, a barely legible scrawl left behind with intent.
His lips curled in amusement.
Instead of pocketing it, Hul casually stuffed the note into his mouth.
Chewed.
And swallowed.
With that, he leaned back, his chair creaking dangerously beneath his weight, and hummed an old street tune under his breath.
Nothing ever left his lips unless paid for in full.
And some things—some secrets—were too costly to be sold.
---
The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows over the desolate plains. Nine's figure blended into the darkness as he moved, his cloak fluttering in the cold wind.
Recruiting men was not as easy as he had hoped.
Most of the capable ones had already been swept up by the other Lords—Pride, Wrath, and Greed had begun their recruitment long before him, snatching up warriors, spies, and tacticians like vultures feasting on fresh carrion. What remained were either too weak, too untrustworthy, or too self-serving to be of any use to him.
And Nine had no patience for useless men.
Still, he wasn't desperate. Time was on his side, and patience was a luxury he could afford.
For now.
A sudden surge of emotion rippled through him—sharp, irritable, and laced with hunger. Not his own.
Aya.
Nine exhaled through his nose, pressing his fingers against his temple. Their connection, forged by the essence that now bound them, allowed him to feel her emotions as clearly as his own. And right now—
She was starving. And furious.
His lips twitched in exasperation. She refused to eat without my cooking again, didn't she?
Nine ruffled his hair before turning his gaze to the game he had caught. A trio of young boars lay at his feet, their bodies still warm. He crouched, his sharp eyes scanning them with practiced ease.
One was lean but tough. The other had a torn hide, likely from a struggle.
The last, however—
Nine's fingers traced along its side, noting the fine marbling of fat beneath its skin. Perfect.
Lifting the best of the bunch with one hand, he slung it over his shoulder effortlessly. The thought of Aya sulking—arms crossed, refusing to touch her food like a stubborn child—brought an amused glint to his eyes.
He would return soon.
Let her pout for a little longer.
A sudden surge of mana—sharp, suffocating, and aimed directly at him.
Nine reacted instantly.
His body twisted, barely dodging the incoming attack. A needle sliced through the air, grazing past his neck—so close he could feel its cold bite against his skin.
His grip on the boar loosened. It hit the ground with a dull thud as Nine fell back, his muscles coiled in readiness.
His gaze snapped forward—
Pride.
The moonlight cast long shadows over the imposing figure standing before him. Pride's presence was like an iron weight pressing down on the air itself. Unshaken. Absolute.
Nine sighed, already irritated. What now?
"Ah. Now what?" he muttered, rolling his shoulders before shrugging off his outer robe. The heat of summer clung to his skin, thick and oppressive. Too damn hot for this.
"You," Pride said, his voice sharp with command. "Bow down to me."
Nine blinked. Then tilted his head.
"The fuck?"
"You have a family," Pride continued, his words measured and deliberate. A knife hidden in silk.
Nine didn't react. No change in his expression, no shift in his stance. But his blood cooled, something dangerous stirring beneath the surface.
Pride raised a palm—slow, controlled—before curling it into a crushing fist.
A silent, unspoken threat.
Nine stared at him for a long moment. Then—
He laughed.
A low chuckle at first, before it unraveled into full-bodied, unhinged laughter.
Loud. Reckless. Almost deranged.
"That's it?" He clutched his stomach, gasping between bouts of mirth. "That's supposed to scare me?" His laughter rose, sharper now, a cruel edge lacing the sound. "And here I thought you were smart!"
It was the same laughter that unsettled Aya whenever she heard it. The same laughter that signaled something in him was about to snap.
From the shadows, a second presence stirred.
Reijin.
Nine's laughter slowed to a grin, his teeth flashing white in the moonlight. "See? You're even a coward." He gestured lazily at Reijin. "Bringing backup just to talk?" His tone dripped with mockery. "How embarrassing."
Pride's expression remained unreadable, but the atmosphere thickened. The tension coiled like a bowstring pulled taut—one snap away from release.
Then—
A sound.
A low, keening wail in the distance.
"Hungry… huhuhu… Not enough. More…"
Nine's grin faded slightly. His gaze flicked past them.
A massive silhouette emerged from the shadows, the very air quivering with its presence. The sheer hunger radiating from it was suffocating, seeping into the earth like a sickness.
Gluttony.
Nine exhaled, rolling his shoulders.
Two Lords.
The odds weren't in his favor.
But that just made things more interesting.
"Two Lords, huh?" His voice was smooth, teasing, but laced with steel. "Didn't think I was worth this much trouble."