As soon as Slazar stepped out of his room, he found himself in a long corridor, dimly lit, as if soaked in the dust of forgotten memories. He could hear the voices of the guests echoing from the far end of the hall a murmur of laughter and low chatter.
Descending the stairs to the lower floor, the sound of his boots against the stone floor echoed like funeral drums in the hollow silence of the inn.
When his eyes landed on the vast tavern hall, the place was bustling with noise. Conversations overlapped like waves... until the moment his gaze fell upon them.
Silence.
They stared at him. He stared back.
A heavy pause, soaked in something ancient—fear, awe... or memory.
And then, emerging from behind one of the stone pillars, came the old man, William. His voice cut through the tension like a blade, calm yet commanding:
"Ah, don't worry, everyone. The slaughtering Season ended a week ago. The honorable Ri is here only to rest."
At his words, the tension dissolved.
People returned to their drinks and conversations, as though Slazar had vanished from sight. As though he had never been there at all.
William gestured for Slazar to follow him.
Together, they left the inn. Outside, Slazar was greeted by a quiet countryside view. Rolling, pale fields.
A distant village resting under a sky choked with gray clouds.
William sat down on an old wooden bench, creaking under his weight.
He looked at Slazar and said,
"Ask whatever you wish, Ri."
Slazar fixed his gaze on the old man.
"Where exactly are we?"
William chuckled, his voice a rasp like worn parchment:
"You're in the continent of Nargon—specifically, in the kingdom of Elshind, one of the three ruling kingdoms of this land.
Surely that stirred some memory in you... hasn't it?"
Slazar shook his head slowly.
"Not much. I'm still trying to remember.
And... what is this 'slaughtering Season' you mentioned?"
William raised his eyes toward the cloud-thick sky and replied:
"It's a month-long period sanctioned by the Three Churches...
A time when beings like you altar Demons are allowed to perform ritual slaughter freely.
A sacred, blood-soaked rite."
Slazar leaned forward slightly, his curiosity sharpened:
"But why?"
The old man took a deep breath.
"To replenish the self... and to feed the Great Altar."
That name echoed in Slazar's mind like a bell tolling for the dead.
The Great Altar—the beating heart of this world.
It lies at the very center of Nargon.
Only those of noble blood, high-ranking priests, or Sinsworn Demons may enter its domain.
Slazar's voice dropped to a near whisper:
"William... do you know anything about the slaughter Commandments?"
William looked at him for a moment. Then nodded.
"Of course, Ri.
In this world, power is not governed by justice or laws.
It is born from slaughter.
When you take a powerful soul, you don't just end a life you forge a Commandment.
A slaughter's Commandment etched into your being.
There are no other rules in this world…
Only two:
The law of slaughter… and the law of the Church."