Nathan walked through the entrail-covered and blood-splattered ground. Paying no mind to the bodies that lay strewn around the room. He cared even less for the headless corpse that he stepped on as he made his way to the hidden room that the sparrow had tried to lure him into.

He stopped in the hallway and checked for traps, confirming that there weren't any laid here. He continued, the only sound in the stronghold being his footsteps. The place was dead silent.

The berserker made sure to tighten his grip on oblivion—there was no telling what exactly Sparrow had planned to do after he lured Nathan in.

"Now that's interesting," He grinned as he came out of the other side of the hall.

The room he'd just entered was a throne room—Sparrow's, if his guess was right. A glance around confirmed what he'd been suspecting. His old mentor had terrible tastes when it came to decor.

His former mentor's throne room looked more like a bird's nest than anything grand. The only reason Nathan could believe the old berserker had done such a thing was for symbolism. His mentor had no doubt thought to stick with a particular style.

Well, it isn't too far from me calling everything I own Blood something. I suppose this is how absurd mine would look to an outsider.

Chuckling at the thought, he twirled oblivion in his grip. Sighing at the absurdity of it all, he walked towards the throne, which was placed in the centre of a semi-circle of dozens of dried sticks. It'd been made to resemble a bird's nest. The throne itself was the only impressive thing about the setup. It seemed to be made of a mixture of some precious metals.

Even from where he stood, he could see the throne clearly, courtesy of the stained glass windows that decorated the throne room. Everything about the throne screamed power and wealth. The seat had a velvet cushion, golden armrests, and a Vantablack headrest.

He'd always believed that he was one of the blessed, and it's good to see that it hasn't changed.

Tearing his gaze away from the throne, he walked around the throne room searching for anything important that he could take, but he didn't find any. The throne room seemed to be bare of anything helpful. With a grunt, Nathan accepted the fact that the only loot he'd get from this place would be oblivion. Kicking his feet in frustration, he headed out of the throne room.

He didn't doubt for a single second that there were items he could loot, but he had to accept the fact that it'd take him a long time to get them. Time that he currently could not spare, every second he wasted in the blood-soaked stronghold was another second that Diane spent in the hands of that demon.

He reluctantly retracted his steps until he was back in the mini chambers, ignoring the blood and bodies as he went back into the Sparrow's dungeon; he had to get to all the prisoners who'd been kept down there as well.

The closer he got to the dungeon, the more noticeable the quality of change in the air was. The taste of Iron, which had dominated the air due to the massive amounts of spilled blood, seemed to be replaced by an even worse odor. The smell of feces, piss, and unwashed bodies filled his nose as Nathan cleared the floor to the dungeon. His eyes hardened as he stared face-to-face with the guard he'd kept alive.

"I-I kept them alive, sir, please…don't kill me," The guard whimpered, collapsing to his knees with tears streaming down his face.

Nathan looked past the whimpering guard, his eyes raking through the twenty or so malnourished prisoners who looked at him askance. He could see the questions in their eyes, but none of them had the strength to speak, and those who did had decided to keep their mouths shut. A wise move if they believed this was just a sick ruse by Sparrow to test their reaction to such a situation. The berserker had to admit that his brief stay in the dungeon had messed with his psyche; he couldn't imagine what these prisoners who'd been here much longer than he had endured.

"Get up," Nathan ordered. "I have no interest in shedding your blood today."

"T–Thank you, sir," The guard said, as he hurried to his feet.

Nathan ignored the man, focusing instead on the faces of Sparrow's former prisoners, none of whom had spoken since he'd stepped into the room. In fact, some of them seemed to prefer staring at the floor rather than at him, and he couldn't really blame them. He was covered in so much blood that he could have passed for an executioner, which was most definitely not the kind of person anyone who had recently been led out of a cell would want to see.

There was no doubt in his mind that these prisoners expected him to cut them down; to be frank, he saw the silent plea in the eyes of those who did manage to stare at him. In their eyes was the same plea for death that had been in his own eyes a day ago. These individuals were undoubtedly tired of life; almost all of them had sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, and their threadbare clothing hung loosely on their bodies.

"Sparrow is dead, and so are all his men in the stronghold except him," Nathan said, gesturing to the guard. "I am not here to kill you; on the contrary, I'm here to free you all."

It took a moment for the first of them to react. Then the reactions rolled like an avalanche; looks of surprise and joy coated the faces of the prisoners, and those who'd been staring down at the floor were now openly staring at him, their expressions a mix of surprise and wariness.

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Nathan couldn't help but sigh at the state of these people. Men, women, and teens made up the prisoners, each had been the recipient of Sparrows' cruel treatment, and he could tell that it'd take a lot of time to get them back to their best—a lot of time that he did not have.

"I can tell that you're all exhausted and not in the right frame of mind, so I'll have to leave you in the care of this guard." He gestured to the guard again. "He'll get you food and water, and in exchange, I ask that not one of you lay a finger on him, and if any one of you should fail to heed my warning. I'll kill them myself."

Most of the prisoners nodded slowly to show that they understood him, and that would have to be enough.

"Get them some food and water," he said to the guard, then leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I'll be leaving them in your care. Feed them and clothe them. Do not think of harming them for any reason, because I will find you and I will kill you…slowly."

His voice returned to its normal pitch. "The stronghold is yours if you want it, but none of these prisoners should be held here against their will, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir."

The berserker kept his eyes fixed on the guard, making sure his message was passed across clearly. He only broke eye contact with the guard when one of the prisoners spoke up.

"W-Who are you?" A voice belonging to a woman croaked.

"Can't you see it?" another prisoner croaked. "He's the Crimson King!"

Nathan smiled at being addressed by his recently earned moniker. The system had made his moniker visible to all, regardless of their level.

The berserker stared at the blank expressions on the faces of the other prisoners at the mention of his moniker, and he could tell that they certainly didn't know who he was or what he could do, but the moniker was his, and it'd serve the same purpose as his name.

Besides, every legend had to start from somewhere, and this could be his somewhere. So he smiled politely and nodded to the man who'd spoken up, then, without a warning, he disappeared from the dungeon in a flash.

Within seconds, the berserker was out of Sparrows' stronghold and underneath the open soft glow of daylight. The warmth of the day caressed his skin, and the wind ruffled his hair as he stood still for a moment, basking in his newfound freedom and his newfound Moniker.

He would've loved to take his time and enjoy the breath of fresh air, but he could not, so the berserker prepared himself to take off in a sprint, his powerful legs bunched up as he pushed off the ground with a deafening boom. Dirt sprayed into the air as he ran full speed. He was headed nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

His mentor had claimed that he could find the cult of Kabash further inland, but the old geezer hadn't given him a direction, and so he had no other choice but to run around the entire forest in circles until he found what exactly he was looking for.

He ran as fast as he could, even though a small voice at the back of his mind told him that this was all a big waste of time. Telling him that there was no way that his old mentor had just decided to help him out of the goodness of his heart, and that this might just be a way for the sparrow to screw him over one last time.

Nathan wanted to heed the voice, but he couldn't, because if he accepted what the voice was telling him, then that meant he had to accept the fact that he had no leads on where to find Diane.

Sure, the information that Sparrow had given him hadn't filled him with confidence, but at the same time, he had to admit that it was better than nothing, and he had to give it at least a try. His friend's life was on the line, and it was up to him to figure out a way to save her. He couldn't afford to let another person down.

I promised Yola that I'd do better… be better.

He gritted his teeth in frustration as he sprinted through the surrounding areas, moving so fast that their branches shook and their leaves fell to the floor. He had to find the priestess, and he had to find her before the demon prince Kabash messed with her head.

He had to find her before he lost that version of her.

******

Somewhere in one of the vast planets controlled by Ra'hal

"Share your report with the Council if you will." A youthful, feminine voice said. The voice belonged to one of the three hooded figures on the raised dais.

"Greetings, distinguished Council of Relas Touch." The messenger bowed and clenched his fist to keep them from trembling. The news he was about to deliver might very well be his death sentence. "I hate to inform you that we've lost control of the mine in the recently discovered baby world."

Absolute silence enveloped the council room at the messenger's words. A bead of sweat rolled down his head as he waited for those of the council to speak.

"Who was the commander of the mine?" Another hooded figure on the council asked. This one had a youthful male voice."

"Commander Sarion Bjorn. He hasn't checked back in over two weeks now, and our connection to the portal on the other side has been broken for around the same period." The messenger said. "We also believe that all the miners in the camp have been killed as well."

"I see," the youthful male voice replied. "So the fool from Moctera has finally met his end."

"A shame, really. I had high hopes for him." The hooded female voice sighed. "I'll have to find someone to replace him."

"I don't think that will be necessary at the moment," a grandfatherly voice said. It belonged to none other than the third and final hooded being on the council. "I vote to abandon the baby world for now. It seems like the demons were not enough to keep the inhabitants at bay."

"I vote to reclaim our mine. The inhabitants wouldn't even know what to do with that much tora." The youthful male said. "I suggest that we kill whoever has occupied our mines and reclaim what is rightfully ours."

"I agree with you, Inzid." The female voice said. "We should reclaim our mine, and the fool who thought to meddle with our affairs must be punished!"

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