[Ten Hours After Meeting W]
Sacrifice sat in silence, her gaze sweeping across what remained of the group.
Twenty-three people.
That was all.
Fifteen from the Rockwood mercenaries.
Five from Reth's original team.
Reth himself.
And the two mentally unstable disasters.
A brief pause.
Then her eyes shifted toward the newest additions.
W was currently shouting enough profanity to qualify as artillery fire, while Scout stood beside her with the exhausted expression of a man trying to calm a rabid animal using patience alone.
A small pause.
[Sacrifice]: Why did you help us?
[Scout]: Well, we wanted to—
Sacrifice interrupted him immediately.
[Sacrifice]: I'll join Babel.
Silence.
W stopped mid-curse.
Scout blinked once.
[Scout]: …I haven't even finished speaking yet.
[Sacrifice]: I know.
Her tone remained calm.
Matter-of-fact.
[Sacrifice]: You're from Babel.
A slight tilt of her head.
[Sacrifice]: The uniforms gave it away.
A beat.
[Sacrifice]: Besides, our destination was Babel from the beginning.
Her gaze settled on Scout.
Steady.
[Sacrifice]: We were already looking for you so we could join.
Silence followed.
W and Scout exchanged a long look.
Then W rolled her eyes so hard it looked physically painful.
Scout, meanwhile, simply stared upward like a man questioning every life choice that had led him here.
A small pause.
[Sacrifice]: Can you explain why we're waiting here?
[W]: Because we're waiting for your—
She stopped herself for half a second.
Then failed completely.
[W]: —your insane, explosive, alcohol-drinking ass so Her Majesty Theresa can meet you when she passes through here.
A beat.
W glanced sideways.
[W]: Scout, when's Her Highness arriving?
[Scout]: Approximately one hour from now.
A pause.
Then he looked toward Sacrifice.
Carefully.
[Scout]: Assuming nothing explodes before then.
W snorted loudly.
[W]: With this group?
A grin spread across her face.
[W]: That's optimistic.
A scream echoed from somewhere nearby.
[Mercenary 1]: There they are! The Witch and that dangerous cockroach trying to get close to Her Majesty!
Another voice followed immediately.
[Mercenary 6]: Disgusting. I knew most of us were mentally unstable, but this is a whole different level.
A third mercenary spat on the ground.
[Mercenary 32]: Forget them—let's just find our former boss lady before that cockroach touches her and ruins her value.
Silence.
W's expression darkened instantly.
The air around her seemed to drop several degrees.
Slowly—
Very slowly—
She pulled out a detonator.
A pause.
Her smile twitched.
Violently.
[W]: Permission to commit several war crimes.
Scout rubbed his face with one hand.
Already exhausted.
Another distant shout echoed through the camp.
[Mercenary 4]: Protect Her Majesty from the roach!
A vein visibly twitched near W's eye.
[Half an hour later]
W sat on a crate with her arms crossed while Sacrifice re-bandaged the burn wound on her side.
The problem was—
W had caused it herself.
Accidentally.
By holding a live explosive while furiously ranting.
[W]: Ow—ah, can't you be gentle?
Sacrifice tightened the bandage without sympathy.
[Sacrifice]: This is gentle enough that I'm not using my knockout punch.
W immediately went silent.
A brief pause.
[W]: …Fair enough.
Nearby, Scout approached while reading through a folded document.
His expression looked tired.
More tired than before.
Which was impressive.
[Scout]: We received new information.
A pause.
His gaze shifted toward Sacrifice.
[Scout]: Her Majesty wishes to meet you earlier than planned, Miss Sacrifice.
Silence settled briefly across the camp.
Then Scout continued calmly—
[Scout]: So you'll come with me.
A beat.
His eyes moved toward W.
[Scout]: W, you stay here with the group.
Instantly—
[W]: Absolutely not.
[Scout]: It is Her Majesty's order.
That stopped her.
Not happily.
Not willingly.
But it stopped her.
W's jaw tightened hard enough to creak.
Her red eyes slowly shifted toward Sacrifice—
Filled with naked jealousy and deep suspicion.
Like someone watching a stranger walk away with her favorite explosive.
[W]: …I don't like this.
Scout ignored her completely.
A survival skill developed over many years.
[Scout]: The meeting shouldn't take long.
He adjusted his coat slightly before motioning forward.
[Scout]: Follow me.
Sacrifice stood without hesitation.
Before leaving, however—
She paused beside W.
A brief silence passed.
Then calmly—
[Sacrifice]: Try not to injure yourself again while I'm gone.
W looked away immediately.
Offended.
[W]: That happened one time.
A mercenary in the distance immediately shouted—
[Mercenary]: FOUR TIMES!
W pulled out a detonator so quickly that several nearby Sarkaz instinctively dove behind cover.
Scout sighed deeply.
[Scout]: …Please hurry before she kills someone again.
W pointed angrily toward the distant mercenary.
[W]: HE COUNTED THEM!
Sacrifice and Scout quietly walked away—
Leaving behind a camp filled with nervous mercenaries…
And one emotionally unstable Sarkaz holding a detonator.
Somewhere behind them—
A distant explosion echoed.
Scout didn't even turn around.
[Scout]: …I'm sure that was unrelated.
A pause.
[Sacrifice]: You say that with very little confidence.
The two continued through the rocky path overlooking the valley below. Campfires flickered across the hills in the distance while the cold Kazdel wind carried faint shouting from far behind them.
Then—
Scout glanced sideways at her.
Curious.
[Scout]: So… what's it like being a Diαblo?
Sacrifice answered immediately.
Completely serious.
[Sacrifice]: It's both good and bad.
A small pause.
[Sacrifice]: Sometimes I can close wounds faster and help maintain a patient's body temperature.
Another.
[Sacrifice]: But other times it becomes difficult to touch anything without melting or burning it.
She glanced down at her own hand briefly.
[Sacrifice]: And being a glowing torch does not help.
Scout blinked.
Once.
Then rubbed his forehead.
[Scout]: AAHHHH— no, I meant in combat.
A pause.
He gestured vaguely.
[Scout]: Like… how do you actually fight?
Another gesture.
[Scout]: Do you grab someone and melt their face off—
A beat.
[Scout]: —or just throw fireballs everywhere?
Sacrifice actually thought about the question.
Far too seriously.
Then—
[Sacrifice]: You know I'm a doctor.
A pause.
[Sacrifice]: I don't kill people.
Scout nearly tripped over a rock.
He turned toward her slowly.
[Scout]: Are you seriously a Diαblo talking about not killing people—
A beat.
[Scout]: —while also being a doctor?
Sacrifice looked genuinely confused by his reaction.
[Sacrifice]: Didn't I heal you?
Another pause.
[Sacrifice]: Besides, I never entered combat directly.
Scout stared at her for several seconds.
Then looked toward the horizon as if reevaluating every life choice that had led him here.
[Scout]: …That is technically true.
A beat.
He rubbed his temple.
[Scout]: Now that you mention it, Babel really is destined to gather the strangest people on this land.
Sacrifice tilted her head slightly.
[Sacrifice]: How exactly is your organization strange?
Scout opened his mouth—
Then immediately stopped himself.
A long sigh escaped him.
[Scout]: Ah… well…
A pause.
[Scout]: Explaining Babel is complicated.
Another beat.
[Scout]: We have a Sarkaz king who thanks about peace—
A finger lifted.
[Scout]: A mercenary woman who hates killing—
Another finger.
[Scout]: A doctor who likes to fight her patients—
A pause.
[Scout]: And now we apparently recruited a Diαblo doctor who insists she's non-violent while describing third-degree burns like medical treatment.
Silence.
Sacrifice considered that carefully.
Then—
[Sacrifice]: That does sound mildly concerning.
Scout stared at her in disbelief.
Before he could respond, movement in the distance caught his eye.
A large group approached slowly through the valley road ahead.
Babel.
Scout exhaled softly.
Relieved.
[Scout]: Ah… the main group is here.
A small pause.
Then his expression straightened slightly.
Respectfully.
[Scout]: And… is that Her Majesty?
Sacrifice followed the direction he pointed toward.
And froze.
At the center of the approaching group stood a woman with long pinkish-white hair flowing softly behind her. Bright pink eyes reflected the fading light of evening, calm and warm in a way that felt strangely unreal amidst Kazdel's endless violence.
Two black curved horns framed her head gracefully.
She wore a simple white dress reaching past her knees—
Clean.
Elegant.
Almost painfully gentle against the backdrop of war.
Small glowing Originium crystals protruded from the left side of her body, faintly shimmering beneath the fabric.
Yet despite them—
Despite the sickness slowly consuming her—
She smiled.
Not the smile of a ruler.
Not the smile of a conqueror.
But the smile of someone who still believed people could be saved.
For the first time in a long while—
Sacrifice said nothing at all.
[Chapter end]
Sorry for the delay—work's been piling up recently.