The room was filled with grimy-looking men. Their eyes were dim and around their neck were capes sewed with sigils of animals. There is a long counter, a man with a full beard placed his hand on the counter. His eyes reflected a grey-haired man wearing a hoodie and a cape that covered his outfit. He inspected the grey-haired man. He was young and underneath his cape was a leather body armor, behind his back was a dagger sticking out, carefully concealed. His gait was practiced and soft. His pace was silent as he pressed his hands on the counter.

"You're here in the Throes District," said the bearded man dispassionately. "What do you want from us?"

The grey-haired young man cocked his head. He stared at the bearded man as sigils of animals appeared on his eyes. The Dove of Thorns and the Snake of Woes appeared in his irises. The beaded man widened his eyes. His posture straightened up as he looked at the eyes of the young man.

"How far?" asked the bearded man.

"Reach Old Pale Pass."

The bearded man quivered. His face tightened as he frowns and looked down. "That far...how did you make it so far?"

"Took the Satin Path," said the young man with a mechanical voice. "Fell down the Stasis River and marched back here." He gestured with his right hand.

The bearded man sweeps his eyes over the young man. "You're badly equipped. Got done in by something?"

"Yes." He sailed his hand on the counter. "Bandits and Sand Eaters almost got me. Thought that I might get helped here."

The bearded man searched the counter. He brought a small crossbow, a belt of throwing daggers, a waterskin, and vials containing blue liquid. The young man's eyes sailed on the counter. He looked at the items and took one vial with his index and middle finger.

"You need to compensate us. You reach the Old Pale Pass and must have trekked the Stasis River. Pay in maps."

"Okay," he nodded. The bearded man pulled a parchment and charcoal. The young man took the charcoal and started drawing the maps in an obsessively detailed manner. He was preoccupied with drawing the map that he didn't notice that the other grimy men were watching his hand move.

"Satin Path, Old Pale Path, Stasis River, I recognize some of these paths from the maps in the headquarters. This one looks detailed. How the hell did you reach that far alone?"

"I didn't," he confessed. "I wasn't alone. I was with a group and they fell and I survived."

The one who asked crossed his arms and nodded. "They are good men."

"They are, and they all had eyes like me." The sigils in his eyes didn't disappear. The man saw that and nodded lightly. He continued watching the young man draw the maps with squinted eyes. The others kept silent, keeping a grim countenance on their faces. Their faces showed bleakness and a perpetual frown. Most of the men gathered around the counter, their eyes pointed at the maps that were being drawn.

The young man stopped his hand. He pushed the maps to the bearded man. "That should be it," he mouthed. The bearded man gently dragged the maps and studied them. There were ravines, details about monsters, the paths that should be taken as well as the dangers of each path. His brows rose and his forehead wrinkled.

"This is...can you write more details?" he looked at the table.

"I can. Add in some chainmail and a sword."

"Will do," the bearded man searched the storage behind the counter and brought the young man chainmail and a sword. He placed them on the counter along with the other stuff that he brought out. The young man nodded at the items and took the parchment that the bearded man handed. He wrote how to avoid the man-eating vines. How to keep out of sight from man-lizards with corroding spits. There was a line on how to break through a violet crystal and how to craft a mask that can be used to pass an area filled with paralyzing gas.

Bleak Walkers are natural Rangers, Explorers, Drifters, Scouts, and Soldiers. They trek the land in search of dangerous places and trod through them and map them out. They usually carry marking equipment that allows them to warn anyone from danger. They carry empty bottles and put letters on them in dead drops to help adventurers paid to exterminate nest or dungeons.

One of the men behind the young man made a low grunt. "Someone took you in since young?"

"Yes," answered the young man in an uncaring tone. His eyes still focused on the parchment, his right hand moving continuously without any emotion on his face. The man who asked grimaced and tightened his folded arms. His eyes pointed at the maps and parchment, carefully examining the things that were written.

If anyone would enter they would find them sticking close to the counter. They would wonder what would make a bleak walker so interested. A lazy streak of light entered from the left window of the room. The sound of charcoal and pen scribbling sounded out.

The lantern on the side slowly dimmed. By the time the sounds of scribble were gone the men who watched the young man draw the maps and write details were stroking their chin. One nodded as if he understood something, another one started writing on a scroll with a tube on the side.

The others scattered and took out their travel journals, writing the same details. The bearded man played with his beard, he studied the maps and table as he watches the young man wear the chainmail, the bracers, and the new pair of boots he had while strapping the item bag and the sheath carefully around his waist. He inserted the sword inside the sheath. He adjusted his bracers and rotated his wrist to see if the straps were wrapped tightly. The bearded man looked at the young man.

'I am Castro, what's your name?"

"Nolan Salvatore."

"I see," Castro nodded. "Nolan, you just save some lives."

"Hmm," Nolan cocked his head.

Castro has seen a lot of Bleak Walkers. Young and Old, men, and even women that are destitute enough to trek barren lands infested with beasts from hell. But it was his first time seeing someone who had two sigils on his eyes. The sigils cannot be faked for they are bound to the soul. In other words, this young man has been walking since young. At least that's what Castro thought.

...

Nolan sat quietly in the left part of the room. His right hand carefully dipping poison on the bolts. He focused on making sure that the bolts were coated well. He looked at the uncoated bolts. He took another and slowly dipped it on the vial of poison.

The Bleak Walkers were quietly studying maps and journals from passed bleak walkers. Nolan's face wrinkled and he took out a rag and slowly wiped the table. He carefully held the shaft of the bolts and put them inside the quiver. His hands pulled back, he curled his fist and drew his sword out of his scabbard. Faint glint reflected in his eyes, he closes one eye and inspected sharpness of the sword. He nodded and sheathed the sword back to its scabbard. He reached for the small crossbow he was given and tugged the strings.

Placing the crossbow on the table, he took out his dagger and used its pommel to move the metal part of the crossbow. He put his dagger back to where it was and aimed his crossbow at the wall. "Quite fine," he muttered. He placed his crossbow down and looked outside. The sun was lazily drifting away, his face shone by the lantern light.

"Night's coming," he thought. His face darkened as if a cold rage seeped out of his face. His face tightened. The image of men who would trouble the Oasis City appeared before his mind. These men were garbed in high-quality clothes. They wore gold and silver jewelry. Their neck fattened like a pig.

Nolan was penniless. He didn't have anything so he instead traded information in exchange for equipment. The Bleak Walkers usually has outposts in cities. He came here to get equipment, and that he did. He was now garbed well for battle, a chainmail to stop a dagger or a dart, bracers and the body armor to lessen strikes from weapons. It was wax-treated leather body armor but it was sufficient enough for Nolan.

He wore heavy armor once but he has forsaken it for light armor such as leather armor. He wasn't fond of heavy armor even though it can stop strikes effectively better than a leather body armor. Most Bleak Walker favored light equipment for their journey. Nolan shares the same opinion.

"Who should I go after first?" he stroked his chin. Nolan has been pondering who among the ten nobles who he should kill first. These nobles were the scum of the lowest denominator. They are Greedy men that would rather see the city burn than lost their fortune; they are empathetic men with calloused hearts.

Nolan has fought many forms of monster. He's familiar with two kinds of monsters. There are grotesque demons and there are humanoid men disguising themselves as humans, pretending that they know any humanity inside their heart. Nolan knew of monster disguised as humans, frolicking among the living despite their hearts being cold as stone.

To Nolan, these men don't deserve to live. They are nothing but sick dogs that need to be put down before they can bite and cause trouble.

...

The night was deep. Nolan walked out of the Bleak Walker's outpost, his cape billowing. The moon sheds light on the streets. A torch was burning ten steps away from him. A column of patrols trod the sandstone paved road with their boots crunching pebbles.

He silently crept into the shadows. He sneaked through the alleys that branch to many roads. He took several turns before he arrived through a manhole. He descended down the manhole. Nolan found himself under the sewers. It was tall enough for men to move around. His eyes were used to the dark so he trotted along the dirt and mud-ridden footpath and followed a tunnel that led to the noble district. He climbed up a wooden ladder and slowly opened a manhole and appeared on an alley.

He poked his head out. He looked forward. The road was well lit and he could hear the sound of armor clanking. He clambered up and sticks himself in the shadows. He grabbed an edge from a wall. He slowly climbed and uses the foothold and handholds to climb up the building. There was silence among the houses. His eyes gazed at the tiled roofs. He scaled the balcony and pulled his body up to the roofs. The city reflected on his vision. Flat roofs, curved roofs, and high towers.

There was no one guarding the rooftops so he passed by the roofs and arrived on a building facing a mansion. He eyed the mansion with cold eyes. He took out a coiled rope from his item bag and fixed it on the bolt. He aimed his crossbow at an adjacent building and fired. The coil of rope zigzagged as the bolt struck the building. He pulled the rope and then leaped off the building. He used his weight to swing across the walls of the manor and landed on the grass, he broke his fall by rolling. He pulled the rope and the bolt and retrieved it. He pocketed them and slowly crawled along a courtyard. The mansion had a second a floor. Two guards were watching the door. They were talking but they weren't looking around.

Nolan sized up the wall. He took four steps back and sprinted up as he then grabs an edge with the tips of his fingers. He moved to the right and slowly pressed his tiptoes on the balcony's rail. He took out his dagger. He inserted it into the lock of the balcony door and twisted it open. He opened the door quietly. A man with a bulging belly lay snoring with two naked women on both arms. He slowly approached the bed and looked at the man. His eyes seething with serene rage, his right hand held his dagger as he then covered the mouth of the man with the cloth he used to wipe the poison earlier. He slid his dagger into the throat of the man; the dagger slowly got coated in blood. He pulled the dagger back and wiped it with the cloth he used to cover the mouth of the man. The eyes of the fat man rolled back.

"That's one," he muttered. He crept out of the room and into the balcony. His figure was basked in the moonlight. He looked over his shoulder before vaulting down.