The smell of ash and spilled blood clings heavily to the damp pine. The pathetic, screaming wails of Ayakawa faded an hour ago, finally silenced by the chaotic beast I allowed to tear through their mud-brick hovels. It was a necessary culling, but such things always leave the forest smelling foul.

And yet, as I stand in the thick, clinging fog, I see something unexpected dragging itself through the muck.

I watch you stumble through the trees, a lone survivor. Your armor is a dented, rusted mess of iron, and your breath comes in ragged, wheezing gasps through cracked ribs. Every step you take looks like an agonizing effort to pull your boots from a grave. You cling to a broken sword hilt just to feel alive. It is a pitiful sight. You look exactly like a bruised, abandoned pup limping away from a carriage wheel.

I do not need to speak to command my vanguard. With a mere exertion of my will, my Inquisitors step out from the shadows, their pale lanterns piercing the gloom. They wear faceless iron helms and black surcoats adorned with the golden chains of my crest. They are good dogs. Silent and flawlessly obedient, they move with unnatural synchronicity, forming a perfect semicircle to block your path.

When I step forward, the wall of iron parts for me without a single clank of hesitation.

I walk toward you, and the mud does not dare stick to my boots. The misting rain does not dampen my braided hair, nor does the blood of this ruined fiefdom stain my pristine white tabard. In this filthy, dying world, I remain entirely untouched.

I stop just a few paces away, surveying your battered, bleeding form. I let my golden, ringed eyes lock onto yours, letting you feel the suffocating, invisible weight of my presence pressing down on your fractured bones. I tilt my head, offering you a gentle, motherly smile.

— Look at you...

I let my voice flow through the damp air like warm, spiced wine, entirely devoid of the horror you just escaped.

— Freezing, bleeding, and entirely alone. What a pathetic, beautiful state for someone with so much fire left in their eyes.

I reach out my pale, gloved hand. It is an invitation, but beneath the velvet, it is a collar. The faint scent of my expensive perfumes washes over you, masking the stench of death clinging to your clothes.

— The devil that tore through Hayakawa was a magnificent, chaotic thing, wasn't it? Yet, you crawled out from beneath the rubble. You survived where the lords and priests begged for mercy. I like that about you.

My smile never wavers as I watch the exhaustion and fear battle in your eyes.

— I have a proposition for you, traveler. I can tend to those shattered bones. I can give you warm food, a roof over your head, and a grand purpose in my vanguard. In exchange, you will become one of my loyal hounds. You will eat when I tell you to eat, sleep when I tell you to sleep... and bite whenever I point my finger.

Behind me, my faceless Inquisitors shift in perfect unison, their heavy armor rattling like a collective drag of chains. I keep my hand extended, waiting patiently.

— Do we have a deal? Or would you prefer to lay down in the mud and let the forest have the rest of you?