I hate to admit it, but Nars is seriously one of the people I look up to the most. That’s a strange thing to say, isn’t it? But it’s true. Back in Midriver, everyone spoke about Alira in hushed tones because he led one of the city’s most powerful outfits, he had one of the largest followings out of everyone, he ruled the city’s drug game with an iron fist, and he was known for his cruelty and ruthlessness. The thing is, nobody talked about Nars, ever.

At the mere mention of his name, inns would instantly go silent and the entire room would turn to stare at whichever asinine fool would even dare carelessly mention the name of Alira’s most infamous captain. Even though Alira himself is known for his vicious nature, he’s actually overshadowed by Nars’s infamy by a pretty large margin even though Nars is supposed to be his subordinate. Realistically speaking, from all the things I’ve heard from Bertrand and Derriv, most of Alira’s bloodthirsty reputation can be attributed to Nars. Alira gives the order and Nars carries it out with his own unique interpretation of it.

Nars does whatever pops up into his head at that specific time and garners the city’s horror and trepidations while under Alira’s protection. All that dread and hatred gets directed to Alira while Nars gets off scot free and can keep doing what he does best. But for those that take part in Midriver’s darkness and know what truly happens behind the veil, Nars is the one to stay away from rather than Alira himself. When Nars earned himself the nickname, Gourmet, I learned two very important lessons that day as I watched a man get roasted alive as seasonings were used to baste his body.

The first thing I learned was that Bertrand was right about Nars. Somewhere along the line, Nars lost his sanity or perhaps his humanity and instead of being jailed or executed by the kingdom, he was given the position and power to live out his most twisted fantasies. I was incredibly lucky that night when Bertrand and I were running through Midriver’s streets, trying to divert Reed’s men away from the compound when Nars tackled me to the ground. If Bertrand wasn’t there to keep him in check… just the thought of what would happen if I was left alone with him sends shivers down my back. From the Gourmet incident onwards, I’d always do my best to stay as far away from Nars as I possibly could.

The second thing I learned was if you’ve lost your mind, you might as well make sure everyone knows it as well. With that having been said, I genuinely don’t think Nars built a fake persona for himself to frighten others as a way of keeping them in line. I do think he’s mad and that he actually loves the horrific things he does but I also think he enjoys the attention he gets for showcasing his madness for others to enjoy as well. Being a lunatic and loving the attention for being a lunatic aren’t mutually exclusive. I always saw Nars’s deranged reputation as one of his most powerful tools at his disposal.

If I’m going to survive down here without having anyone to watch my back, I’ll need to take a page out of Nars’s book and craft a demented persona for myself. What else can I do? If someone sneaks up to me while I’m asleep and slices my throat, then it’s all over. But if they’re too afraid to even attempt it because they’re frightened of what would happen in case they fail, then all of this is worth it.

Just like how Nars cooked a man alive with a bright smile on his face, I lifted the scarred man’s corpse from the ground and started to dance with it while sporting the brightest smile I could muster. The torch sticking out of its mouth was awkward to get around but I ended up just leaning my head against its chest like lovers would. This is one of the most intimate dances I know and with how close I’m hugging the corpse, my clothes are going to be utterly ruined after this. But that’s perfectly fine if I look like the world’s biggest psycho right now.

I actually learned how to dance from one of the brothels Bertrand brought me to. He’d choose whichever woman he fancied that night and head into a room he’d rent while I waited for him in the parlor. I’m still not quite sure why he kept bringing me along with him but I got acquainted with some of the ladies working there and one time they even taught me how to dance. I sure wasn’t expecting to put those skills to use here of all places and with a corpse of all partners but isn’t life more exciting that way?

As I shuffle back and forth with the corpse in my arms, its innards start spilling out from the cuts on its abdomen I made earlier but that was the intended effect I wanted in the first place. The dirty rags sticking out of the corpse’s eye sockets sway back and forth with each movement, giving our macabre little dance an odd sense of horrific allure. I suppose I should be feeling disgusted right about now but I don’t. On one hand, I’m too occupied with thinking about how everyone else here sees me right now to feel sickened with the corpse. On the other hand, the corpse’s heavy weight is making me feel nostalgic about the night me and Bertrand lugged Jerome’s and Humphrey’s corpses through Midriver’s back alleys and that’s giving me some comfort.

After about 15 minutes of dancing, I gently lay the body back down on the ground and give its face a delicate kiss before standing back up. Taking a few steps back, I spread my feet out with my left foot in front of my right, I put my left arm in front of my stomach with an open palm facing the sky, and my right arm gesturing behind me with an open palm. I bend my waist slightly until my head dips forward and keep that posture for a moment before straightening myself out. That’s a pretty gentlemanly bow if I’ve ever seen one.

Taking one final look at the body, I can’t help but feel appreciation towards the scarred man for becoming my guardian angel. I’d like to thank you for the dance tonight. You were a marvelous partner and I’ll be sure to keep your memory in my heart. With that, I head into my new cave and find a change of clothes in the several piles of rags scattered around. My new clothes are much bigger than my old ones considering the scarred man was a pretty big guy himself but I’m able to tighten it a little bit by tying a few knots. Lying down on the large pile of rags that I’m assuming the scarred man used as a bed, I stare at the cave’s ceiling until I drift off to sleep.

…

It’s been awhile since I’ve dreamt. I made sure to take some Schon every night before going to sleep during the entire journey to Ocean’s Rest and while we stayed in the city. It’s honestly a wonder drug now that I think about it. I don’t know what I would’ve done without it during these past few months. But that’s over now and I won’t be able to get my hands on any more Schon until I get out of this godsdamned hole.

I think I dreamt of the scarred man’s life but I’m not entirely sure because my dream felt cluttered with brief visions of the various other people I’ve killed. One moment, I was traveling along with a group of merchants as their escort until we ran headfirst into a forest troll. The next moment, I’m crawling through the forest with a bloodied face from the battle with the troll. I eventually get picked up by an odd group of people calling themselves The Fold and then they toss me into the most horrible place in the entire world.

But then my perspective violently shifts to someone else in a forest getting hacked to death by a red haired child with a pair of axes. The helplessness I felt while he overwhelmed me and kept lodging his axes into my ribs was terrible. What have I done my whole life that I couldn’t even put up a decent fight against a child who didn’t look any older than my daughter? I felt pathetic, I felt miserable, and my pitiful life came to an end as he slammed his axe into the side of my neck.

I desperately try to kill the red haired child in front of me before turning to face the awful woman who killed Westby. I don’t know how to fight. I’ve never wielded a sword seriously in my life. The only reason I’m here is because I need to protect my family from the snake but I’ll be damned if I go down without a proper fight in this smelly fucking tent. But his axes are too fucking fast and excrutiating pain comes from the top of my head before everything goes black.

The moment I get out of this fucking cave, I’m going catch that stuckup whore and I’m going to take my time to personally remove her fingers as I savor her screams. I’m going to enjoy every second of it and if that old bastard says a fucking thing to me, I swear I’ll cut his throat while he sleeps. I know his favorite prostitute pretty well and if I slip a hundred or so gold coins into her hands, she’ll let me into his room when he’s asleep. Fuck him and the empire he wants to build so desperately.

Mom died a horrible death because of that bastard and his fucking selfishness. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut and die on the frontlines like a good soldier. If he did that he’d be a fucking hero but no, he had to be a coward and drag in his family with his desertion. Now all he cares about is building a worthless empire in a shithole of a city in a secluded corner of a lousy kingdom. I’ll be the one to end it all and in the end, it’ll all be mine. Now who the fuck is smoking my godsdamned dungeon?

Mother, I'm sorry. I never wanted anything except to be together with you but I know that terrible man will ruin our lives if I don’t do as he says. I put up with it for so many years. His son abused me so many times but if it’s for you, I’m willing to endure everything. But this time, I’ll be making it back to you mother. I’m sorry and I love you.

I was supposed to be a knight. My father was the greatest knight I’ve ever seen in my entire life, but everyone makes mistakes. Those goblins came out of nowhere and they killed my father before making me watch them devour him. I was supposed to be his brave squire but all I could do was cower in fear as they danced around me and taunted me. I’m so scared. I don’t think I want to be a knight anymore if this is what it means to be a knight.

Why the fuck am I trapped inside this cave with this good-for-nothing kid? I’m supposed to be a proud, respected city guard. I should have took the offer and joined The Wolves when I still could but my godsdamned pride got in the fucking way. Gods I’m starving.

I thought the burning torch slammed in my face was bad enough but the moment that fucking kid shoved the torch down my throat, I experienced unimaginable pain. But at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel proud of him. He was nothing like me when I first got to The Pit and he never bowed his head. He never lost his dignity and he was strong enough to keep what was his. He’s strong, stronger than I was at least and he’ll be fine in The Pit. The moment I can feel my throat being slit, I wake up to my own screams reverberating throughout the cave and nearly shattering my eardrums.