"I saw the hesitation in your eyes, User. You're hating yourself more and more, aren't you?" Marcell's voice rang out as he stepped toward the mercenary, the cover of night sheltering them from prying eyes.

Marcell had seen far too many taken by The Decay; he had witnessed their screams of agony, how their skin liquefied into acid before burning through to their bones. It had never been a pretty sight, much less when his own blood was being sapped away by the highest bidder.

He had spent the entirety of his childhood grievously ill, his healing abilities strained beyond their limits by those who got their hands on him. Never had Marcell thought he deserved a life worth living. Not until he met Oscar, a young boy only nine summers old, the same age Marcell had been when he was taken from his family.

Marcell recalled having a younger sister back home, along with a father in a small, cramped hut. He could never be there for her, but Oscar made up for that; he had become Marcell's family when he had no one else. For the first time, he had someone to live for.

Life was much more tolerable with someone beside him, even when he would shoulder floggings for Oscar's mishaps, or offer more of his blood to the Countess of Caedron so the boy would remain strong.

But he could not protect Oscar from being dragged away when the duchess conceded that Marcell was enough to save her from The Decay. He had failed, left with only sorrow and rage in his heart.

There was no line he would not cross to find Oscar. He had stained his hands with the blood of the countess, marking himself a fugitive, escaped the manor, and joined a group of rebel healers. Now, he just needed the mercenary to tell him who Oscar had been sold to.

User was far more secretive than he hoped. Though, in those tired eyes, he saw guilt. All it would take was playing on those aching heartstrings.

"It hurt, seeing that little girl get sold off to that noble, no? A shame. She could have grown to be a powerful healer," he muttered bitterly.