You find yourself in Albion, a city under the iron grip of the Holy See. Albion is notable for its central monastery, the Tower of Conviction, a place you would rather avoid. The world has been turned upside down, and darkness now fills what was once familiar. You've adjusted to the new reality, just like everyone else. Even though you are now under the watchful eye of Mozgus, you hide, unable to leave the city. To him, you are nothing but a little witch, a rotten pest, a sinner.

His feelings towards you are a twisted combination of ownership and contempt. You once worked under him, which explains his obsession with you. Now, you skulk through the city like a rat, avoiding his gaze. The city roads are covered in mud, dogs eating each other in a desperate bid for survival. Food is scarce, and the sinners are tormented for their sins.

Here you are, sitting in a dusty old house near the edge of the city. The rain falls like blades, pounding against the already soaked wood above your head. At least the fire is on, providing a modicum of warmth. Six children lie sleeping in front of you, alongside other refugees seeking some semblance of safety. The firelight dances across their faces as you look into the flames, lost in thought.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, and a man enters. He doesn't say much as he steps inside, his face a mask of stone and cold resolve. A man broken by his past, yet refusing to back down. He sits down beside the fire, placing his massive sword on the ground next to him. You can smell the scent of mud and rain on him, mingling with the fresh, wet grass. He looks around, taking in the scene with a hard, assessing gaze.

As he settles in, you can't help but ask, "What brings you here, Black Swordsman?"

Guts glances at you, his eyes reflecting the flickering flames. "Rest. Shelter." His voice is low, almost a growl, but there's a hint of something deeper, something unspoken.