The lawless mercenaries of the Red Claw Guild had rules too—both the formal ones set by the Liberian authority and the unspoken codes circulating among the underworld mercenaries. One of the key unwritten rules was this: never betray the client’s information without a good reason. Sharing war stories over drinks at a tavern was one thing, but giving away an employer's secrets could destroy a mercenary's reputation. After all, who would hire someone who would sell out their employer for a bit of gossip?

But the Red Claw mercenaries? They were different.

They didn’t care about trust or reputation. They specialized in jobs no one else would take—the dirty, brutal, and morally bankrupt. They were mercenaries who did anything for the right price, including murder.

"Just like always, right?" the hulking leader of Red Claw, Molden, said with a grin.

“Of course, no need to worry. We’ll leave no trace.”

Murder, kidnapping, theft, arson—nothing was beneath them.

“Got any particular requests? Male, female? Young and healthy?”

Molden chuckled darkly. “Bring me a female this time.”

This was the kind of crowd Max had fallen in with as he fled from the consequences of his crime. He had hired them to smuggle him out of Baltora, and perhaps even further if necessary. It had seemed like a good idea at first—mercenaries who didn’t ask questions, who would protect him no matter what.

But now, standing before the guild, with Molden’s ever-watchful eyes fixed on him, Max was starting to regret his decisions.

Meanwhile…

Asier stood in front of a grim-looking building far from Baltora’s bustling streets. The imposing figure of a man who once held royal authority now faced a group of mercenaries with unshakable confidence.

“I’m looking for a man,” Asier declared.

“Max. A mage with thin eyebrows and a nervous look. Know him?”

The shift in Asier’s demeanor—from casual to commanding—made Da-eun blink in surprise. She had known about his royal background, of course, but seeing him like this, exuding authority, was something else entirely. The way the mercenary in front of them suddenly tensed up and looked around nervously confirmed it—Asier had a presence no one could deny.

The mercenary gulped, sweat beading on his forehead. “S-sir, are you... a noble of the Empire?”

Asier waved the question off. “That doesn’t matter. Answer me.”

The mercenary straightened, his mind racing. He remembered a man who fit the description—Max. That morning, the mage had arrived in a hurry, carrying a large bag and asking for safe passage out of the city.

But instead of telling Asier, the mercenary saw an opportunity. Max had been desperate, and if this noble was looking for him, there was money to be made. His hunched posture slowly straightened as he tried to play coy.

“Well, maybe I know someone who fits that description. But... my memory's a little hazy, you see. A drink would clear it right up, but I’m afraid I’m too broke to buy one.”

Asier’s eyes narrowed. He had dealt with enough scheming courtiers and corrupt officials during his time as a prince to know exactly what was happening. The mercenary was angling for a bribe. Asier had no intention of playing along.

“Kana.”

“Yeah?” Kana responded instantly.

The mercenary blinked, confused as the small figure of a hooded girl stepped forward. “A kid?” He scratched his chin, trying to understand Asier’s plan. Then a grin slowly spread across his face.

“Oh, I get it. You’re offering the girl as payment? Not a bad trade.”

Before he could continue his disgusting line of thought, there was a sickening swish. He blinked, suddenly aware of the intense pain in his arm.

His hand—his entire right hand—was no longer attached to his body.

“What the—AAAHHHH!” he screamed, clutching at the stump, blood pouring from his severed wrist. His hand lay on the ground, severed cleanly as if by a razor.

Kana had already sheathed her weapon, her face calm. “Disgusting.”

Before the mercenary could utter another sound, she stuffed his mouth with cloth, silencing his cries. His eyes, wide with terror, reflected her cold, pink eyes. She had no interest in his pitiful state.

Elsewhere…

Max panted heavily as he pressed his back against a tree, his chest heaving with exertion.

“Come on, pal,” one of the Red Claw mercenaries drawled, his voice filled with amusement. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Let’s just make this easy.”

Max glanced around, eyes darting between the mercenaries that surrounded him. They had him boxed in, with no way to escape.

"I—I offered you more money!" Max shouted, his voice trembling. "I said I'd pay more once we got to the next city!"

The rotund leader, Molden, laughed, his massive gut bouncing as he approached. “Oh, I’m sure you would’ve. But my gut tells me there’s something more valuable in that bag you’re clutching.”

Max instinctively pulled the bag closer, his face pale as he realized his mistake. Molden chuckled, seeing right through him.

"What's in the bag, Max?" Molden’s voice was dripping with malice. “Let’s have a look, hmm?”

Max’s heart pounded in his chest. He was trapped. His grand plan was unraveling before him. Desperation surged through him as he realized there was only one card left to play.

“If—if you do this, the Empire won’t let it slide! You’re making a huge mistake!”

But Molden only sneered. “The Empire? Since when did they care about some washed-up noble from a dying house? You’re nothing, Max. Now hand over that bag.”

Max’s stomach dropped as he realized just how deep in trouble he was. The only option left was to beg.

“I’ll give you everything! Just... let me live,” Max pleaded, finally lowering his pride. “I can even enchant your weapons with powerful magic! Please, spare me!”

For a moment, it seemed like Molden was considering the offer. But the sadistic glint in the leader’s eyes told a different story.

"Enchantments, huh? That’s a tempting offer," Molden admitted. "But why should I bother? It’s easier to just take the bag... and kill you."

Max’s face drained of color. He had misjudged the situation completely. He had trusted the wrong people.

Just as Molden’s sword was about to come down, a soft, delicate voice cut through the clearing.

“Found you.”

The air around them seemed to freeze. All eyes turned to the source of the voice—a young girl with eerie, pink eyes, flanked by three figures that were far from human. Half-decayed, reeking of death, the three corpses lumbered behind her.

Max's terror-stricken mind could only conjure one word: zombies.