Friends in High and Low Places

"What are you waiting for? Get it over with already!" Roof spat, his voice resigned, already coming to terms with his fate.

For someone so young, his resolve was remarkable.

In one fluid motion, Aziz lifted his knee from Roof's chest and walked toward the sword lying on the ground.

Gasping, Roof finally drew in a full breath.

"I don't understand," Roof muttered, watching Aziz's retreating figure. His raven-black hair blended into the pitch darkness of the cavern ceiling above. "Didn't Nessa order you to kill me?"

Aziz picked up the sword, studying the blade's length. The craftsmanship was extraordinary. At the hilt was a small dagger emblem—the symbol of the Order.

Just as he suspected: someone was backing Roof.

The question remained, who was backing Aziz?

The Temple and the Lowly Serpent Breath manual seemed authentic, belonging to the Bloodcoil Sect. What connection did the Sect have with the Order?

If his masters had been complicit… 

No, Aziz thought. That's impossible. 

His masters had passed away hundreds of years ago. Someone was using their teachings for a reason, and he needed to find out why. And he had a feeling he knew how.

"Don't ignore me!" Roof snapped, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Why are you letting me live? Is this some trick from that Sherman bitch?"

He cautiously sat up, his body tense, realizing his fate still hung in the balance.

"I'm not here for Nessa. Whatever is between you and her has nothing to do with me," Aziz replied, glancing back at the broken figure.

Roof swallowed hard. The adrenaline had worn off, and with it, the fog of battle. Life suddenly felt more fragile.

"Then why are you here? Why attack me and my men?"

Aziz's eyes darkened. "Where's Little Marcus?"

"Who?"

"The mute," Aziz said, stepping closer.

He flicked the blade to Roof's neck. Roof froze, feeling the cold steel against his skin, the hairs at the nape of his neck standing on end.

"Ah yes. Marcus," Roof said slowly, regaining a bit of his noble composure.

Confidence seeped into his voice, as if he was beginning to realize Aziz might not actually kill him.

If that was the case, there was no need to tempt death any further.

"He's in the prison barracks, behind the camp."

He gestured toward a small hut tucked behind the main cluster of wooden buildings, barely visible from where they stood.

Aziz didn't respond, nor did Roof call after him. A martial artist with only one arm and one leg was no threat.

Aziz drove the sword into the earth at the mound, leaving it behind as he walked past the fire toward the hut.

The door creaked as he opened it, releasing a stench so foul it made the air heavy. The cesspit reeked of piss and feces, a grim testament to the many unfortunate souls who had been kept here before.

Aziz stood in the doorway, his keen eyes quickly spotting a small figure huddled in the corner.

A head of dishevelled hair peeked over bent knees—Little Marcus, bruised, his clothes torn. But alive.

Before Aziz could say a word, a raspy voice broke the silence.

"What is the slave of the Divine Snake doing here?"

Aziz raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised. "You can talk?"

"And you came out of your cave," Marcus replied, his voice now carrying the same hatred his eyes had held before.

"It seems many of us aren't what we seem in this forest," Aziz noted, stepping closer. Marcus glanced at the door, wary, as if expecting guards to appear at any moment.

"Most of us are human. You are not," Marcus retorted, standing up.

He was short—barely reaching Aziz's chest—but there was no fear in his stance.

People feared what they didn't understand, but Marcus seemed to understand perfectly. Instinct told Aziz that Marcus knew exactly what he was.

"You know what I am?"

"Of course. The Bloodcoil Sect hasn't changed. Still creating abominations for their stupid god."

There it was again—that seething hatred. But this revelation changed everything.

"You know what they're doing here, don't you?" Aziz asked, stepping forward.

His internal energy expanded, dark aura filling the room. Marcus's breath hitched as the sudden pressure slammed into him, eyes widening as his back pressed against the wall.

Aziz quickly withdrew his aura, allowing Marcus to breathe again. He didn't apologize—Aziz didn't like the tone being used .

"Y-yes, I know what they're doing here. Or at least, part of it. Most of it still doesn't make sense," Marcus replied, more cautious now, as if remembering just how dangerous Aziz was. "I'll explain once we're out of here."

"Very well. And the black pill? Delilah said you'd hand it over once I found you."

"Ah, abo—"

In an instant, Aziz's aura surged again, this time far more intense. He used Shadow Grasp to seize Marcus by the neck, lifting him off the ground, his feet dangling.

"W-wait! I have it! P-please, let me down!" Marcus spluttered, gasping for air.

Aziz dropped him to the floor, where Marcus collapsed into a fit of coughing.

"Delilah didn't explain everything," Marcus said quickly, his tone desperate, all arrogance gone. "You'll get your reward once we're out of here. I know the location of a black pill, and I'll lead you to it once we're safe. A black pill is extremely rare—I assure you, this will be worth it."

Aziz watched him closely, distrust clear in his eyes. "How do I know you'll keep your word?"

"You'll have to trust me. Besides, even if you're a seed of the Bloodcoil Sect, I, as a descendant of the Verdant Heart Sect, swear upon my heart that I'll keep my vow," Marcus replied, pounding a fist against his chest, his pride momentarily returning. "I've already told you my secret. I'm a descendant of your sworn enemy. That should be enough."

The Verdant Heart Sect. 

Aziz had heard the name before.

It had appeared here and there in the Lowly Serpent Breath manual. His masters had spoken of them, calling them weaklings who boasted strength but had hearts too soft to match.

Hundreds of years ago, the Verdants had been a thorn in the side of the Bloodcoil Sect, a blood feud spanning centuries.

Should I kill him? Aziz wondered.

Surely his masters would have willed it. A drop of his killing intent must have slipped out, because Marcus tensed immediately.

"As much as we're destined enemies, we're both under the Order's thumb," Marcus continued, quickly, his voice trembling slightly. "If either of us plans to make it out of here, we'll need each other. You can't keep hiding..."

Marcus hesitated when Aziz raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, you can't keep secluding yourself in those tunnels. This is still an exam. After we get past the Order and leave this forest, I'll hand over the black pill. Then you and I can fulfill our ancestors' will."

Silence stretched between them for a few moments before Aziz finally gave a slow nod, having come to a decision.

After exchanging a few more words, the two stepped out, heading back to the camp.

As they reached the mound, Marcus couldn't stifle a small gasp at the sight before him—dozens of bodies scattered across the clearing, still caught in the eternal night of Peklo Forest.

"Are they all...?" he began, his voice faltering.

"No. They're drugged. In a few hours, they'll wake up."

Aziz glanced at Marcus and noticed the perturbed expression on the shorter boy's face.

"What?" Aziz asked.

"Nothing," Marcus muttered. "It's just… unlike a pupil of the Bloodcoil Sect. My grandfather always said a Coiler never left anyone alive."

"These people did me no wrong," Aziz replied, his gaze sweeping over the unconscious figures. "There was no need for them to die. Those that did wrong will pay their price soon enough."

Marcus seemed as though he wanted to say something, but before he could, they both heard a dull thud to the side.

Roof Von Schlieffen had gripped his sword once more, his bloodied form hunched over on the log, heaving for air.

Pain radiated from his broken bones, but his eyes flicked toward Marcus and then back to Aziz.

"You need to kill him," Marcus insisted, pointing at the weakened noble. "No good will come from leaving him alive."

"No," Aziz said, his voice steady. "It was I who attacked him. My emotions had the better of me at the time but he fought well. It is only right to show mercy. I had learned a lot from our battle."

Anger flashed across Marcus's face, his teeth gritting at Aziz's calm demeanor. "Well, he did me wrong."

Marcus took a step toward Roof, who, despite his pain, gripped his sword tighter, ready to fight if necessary.

Before Marcus could take another step, a cold shiver ran down his spine. The shadow of death hovered at his shoulder, and he felt the unmistakable presence of danger.

In a blink, he realized it was Aziz's hand resting on him.

"I think you forget your place," Aziz said, his voice emotionless but carrying weight. "We have a deal, but that does not make us equals. You will stick with me and do as I say. If you don't, you've done me wrong."

The words, though spoken quietly, seemed to echo through the camp. Marcus clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.

He knew there was nothing he could do. He shot a deadly glance at Roof, who didn't seem to notice, lost in a daze of pain.

Without another word, Marcus turned and headed toward the gate.

Sighing, Aziz moved to follow, but just then, a weak voice called out.

"Ghost."

Aziz turned, surprised to find Roof kneeling on one knee. Even in his broken state, he held himself with dignity.

His sword rested lightly on the top of his foot, the tip just grazing the leather of his boot.

It was the position of a noble's oath, something Aziz had only heard about from the elders.

A noble who swore an oath like this gave their word seriously—if broken, the person owed could press down on the sword's hilt, piercing the noble's foot as punishment.

"For sparing my life, I am in your debt," Roof rasped, his voice strained but resolute. "In return, I am at your call, should you ever require assistance. Blood for blood, life for life. I swear this upon my honor and my name as a Schlieffen."

Aziz didn't reply immediately. He stood there, watching Roof for a moment, his hair gently waving in the breeze like a silent farewell. He paused, turning his head slightly.

"I'll be holding you to that, Roof," he said quietly.

Then, without another word, Aziz walked out of the gate, following Marcus. 

I don't understand nobles at all.