Plundering Worlds: I Have a Shotgun in a Fantasy World-Chapter 54: Sanguis

[A Rooftop - Overlooking the Alley]

Two figures crouched in the shadows, their breath misting in the cold air. They had watched everything.

The first man shifted his weight, his hand still gripping the hilt of his dagger, his knuckles white.

The second man stared down at the alley below—at the bodies scattered across the snow, at the limbless woman still shrieking weakly, at the blood-soaked figure walking away.

"We still moving?" the first man asked quietly.

Silence.

"I said, are we—"

"No."

The first man turned. "What?"

The second man stood slowly, his eyes still fixed on the alley. "I’m done. I’m dropping the contract."

"You’re what?"

"You heard me." The second man turned and walked toward the edge of the roof. "I’m out."

The first man grabbed his arm. "You can’t just walk away. We took the job. We gave our word."

The second man pulled his arm free. "Then you do it."

"What?"

"You think you can take him?" The second man gestured toward the alley. "After seeing that?"

The first man’s jaw tightened. "We’re professionals. We wait for the right moment. We—" 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"There is no right moment." The second man’s voice was flat. "That man down there just killed five people in under a minute. He opened one of them from the ribs to the neck. He cut a woman into pieces and burned her wounds shut so she’d live long enough to suffer."

He stepped closer. "I saw it. Heat. No torch. No oil. It came from him."

A pause.

"He hasn’t crossed into the Transcendent realm. Not openly." His jaw tightened. "Which means only one thing—he’s awakened."

He let that hang in the air.

"You want to fight that? Be my guest."

The first man opened his mouth, then closed it.

The second man turned and walked away. "I’m not dying for this contract. Find someone else."

His footsteps faded into the darkness.

The first man stood alone on the rooftop, staring down at the blood-stained snow below. He looked at the bodies, at the woman, at the squad collecting their fallen comrade. Then he cursed quietly and turned away.

His footsteps followed the second man into the night.

[The Alley - Kogan’s Perspective]

Kogan stood over Jarek’s headless body, his jaw tight. He’d seen death before—too many times to count—but it never got easier.

He glanced at Kael, who stood a few paces away, staring at nothing. Blood covered him from head to toe—dried, thick, clinging to his hair, his face, his hands.

Kogan had seen that look before. On other soldiers, after their first real taste of violence, after they’d crossed a line they couldn’t uncross. Most of them broke. Some of them went quiet. A few went cold.

Kael looked cold.

Kogan walked over slowly and stopped beside him. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Kogan said quietly, "You get used to it."

Kael remained silent.

"Losing people, I mean." Kogan kept his voice even. "It doesn’t stop hurting. But you learn to carry it."

Kael’s hands were still shaking.

Kogan looked down at them, then back at Kael’s face. "First one’s always the hardest."

Kael finally turned his head, meeting Kogan’s eyes.

"It won’t be the last," Kogan said.

Kael’s expression remained flat.

Kogan nodded once, then turned away. "Griggs. Bren. Help me with the body."

Griggs moved forward, pulling a heavy canvas sack from his pack. Together, they lifted Jarek’s body carefully, lowering it into the sack. The headless stump disappeared into the canvas. Kogan tied the top shut with practiced efficiency.

Bren stood nearby, his face pale. He kept glancing at the woman lying limbless in the snow, still breathing weakly, her stumps cauterized and blackened.

"Griggs," Kogan said. "Tie her to a horse. Keep her alive."

Griggs nodded and moved toward the woman. Bren looked like he wanted to say something, but he swallowed it and turned away.

Kael walked back toward the others, cradling Jarek’s head in both hands. Kogan met him halfway. Kael held it out without a word.

Kogan took it, his expression unreadable. He wrapped it in a strip of cloth with steady hands and placed it carefully into the sack with the body.

He stood and looked at Kael. "We’re ready."

Kael walked toward his horse and mounted in silence. The others followed.

[The Road Back - Silent]

They rode in silence.

Kael rode at the front, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. Blood still clung to his clothes, dark and frozen. Behind him, Kogan rode with the sack slung across his horse. Griggs followed, leading the horse carrying the woman—she’d passed out from blood loss, her body slumped over the saddle. Bren and Silas brought up the rear, their expressions hollow.

The only sounds were the horses’ hooves crunching through snow and the wind whistling through the trees. Eyes stayed forward. Heads stayed down.

[Blackstone Fortress - Washroom]

Kael walked into the washroom alone.

The basin sat on a wooden stand near the window, filled with cold water. He stood there for a moment, staring at his reflection in the small, tarnished mirror on the wall. Blood everywhere—his face, his hair, his hands.

He looked down at his hands. The blood had dried, turning black and crusty, caked under his nails, between his fingers, covering his palms.

He plunged both hands into the basin.

The cold water bit into his skin. The blood began to dissolve—slowly, reluctantly. Dark tendrils spread through the clear water like ink, swirling and twisting.

Then the water began to warm.

Kael felt it—the Qi in his core, still roiling, still burning, leaking out through his skin. His hands radiated heat, warming the water around them. Steam rose from the basin in thin wisps, a faint hissing sound barely audible as the heat met the cold.

Kael stared at his hands beneath the surface. The water around them rippled, distorted by rising heat. The blood dissolved faster now, spreading in dark clouds.

He cupped the water in his hands and splashed it over his face. Once. Twice. Again. The water was warm now, almost hot. Blood ran down his jaw, dripping back into the basin.

He kept washing. Again and again, until the water was completely red and steaming faintly in the cold air.

Kael straightened slowly, water dripping from his face. He looked at the mirror again—clean. But the heat remained, beneath his skin, in his core, burning quietly.

He turned and walked out.

[The Dungeon - Interrogation]

The cell was cold and dim, lit only by a single torch mounted on the wall.

The woman lay on the stone floor, her limbless body wrapped in rough bandages. Blood had seeped through in places, staining the cloth dark. Her face was pale—deathly pale. Her breathing was shallow, ragged. But she was still smiling.

Kael walked in and crouched down beside her. For a moment, he just stared.

Then he spoke. "Who sent you?"

The woman’s smile widened. Her voice was barely a whisper. "You’ll... never... know..."

Kael’s jaw tightened. "What organization?"

The woman’s eyes gleamed with something close to amusement. "We’ve been... watching you... Captain..."

"Answer the question."

The woman’s lips moved, trying to form words. But her voice was gone—burned away by blood loss and pain. Only a faint breath escaped.

Kael leaned closer, watching her lips.

One word.

Sanguis.

The woman’s eyes flickered with mockery. "It’s... already... begun..."

Kael’s hand moved to his belt. He drew his dagger. The woman’s smile widened. "Go... ahead..."

He drove the dagger upward beneath her ribs and twisted. Her body jerked once. The woman’s eyes went wide. Her breath caught. Then her head tilted to the side.

[Aether: +5]

Kael pulled the dagger free, wiped it on her bandages, and stood. He stared down at her corpse for a moment.

Sanguis.

He would remember that name.

He turned and walked out.

[Command Building - Valen’s Office]

Valen sat behind his desk, reading a report when Kael entered. He looked up, took in Kael’s appearance—clean now, but still carrying the weight of what had happened—and gestured to the chair across from him.

"Sit."

Kael sat.

Valen set the report aside. "Give me your account."

Kael spoke evenly, his voice flat. He recounted the ambush, the fight, Jarek’s death, the interrogation. He left nothing out.

When he finished, Valen leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

"The woman is dead?"

"Yes."

"And she gave you a name?"

"Sanguis."

Valen’s eyes narrowed slightly. He was silent for a moment, then nodded. "I’ll report this to the capital. This changes things."

Kael said nothing.

Valen studied him. "Anything else?"

Kael’s gaze met his. "I want to disband the squad."

Valen’s expression remained unchanged. "Explain."

"Jarek died because I underestimated the enemy." Kael’s hands tightened slightly on the armrests. "Next time it’ll be Bren. Or Griggs. Or Silas."

"And you think going alone will solve that?"

"I think it’ll stop them from dying."

Valen leaned forward. "You’re wrong. Fighting alone is suicide, Kael. You know that."

"Maybe." Kael’s gaze held steady. "But at least I’ll be the only one who dies."

Valen stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. "Request denied."

Kael’s jaw tightened.

"You’re not thinking clearly," Valen continued. "You’re angry. You’re grieving. And you want to blame yourself." He stood and walked around the desk, stopping in front of Kael. "I’ve seen too many soldiers like you. They think they can control their anger, turn it into a weapon." He paused. "Then they charge into battle alone. And they die."

Kael’s fists clenched.

"So here’s what’s going to happen." Valen’s tone hardened. "For the next three months, you stay in the barracks. You train. You rest. You calm down. And when spring comes, I’ll reassess your state." He looked down at Kael. "Until then, you’re grounded."

Kael’s voice was quiet but firm. "Then let me take the barbarian mission."

Valen raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"The mission you mentioned when the squad was first formed. Deep into barbarian territory. Eliminate their camps." Kael met his eyes. "Let me do that."

Valen’s expression darkened. "Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"Because you’re not ready." Valen’s voice was cold. "You’re not thinking straight. Your hands are still shaking. Your eyes are full of blood." He leaned down, his face inches from Kael’s. "You just mutilated a woman and burned her wounds shut so she’d suffer before dying. Then you killed her in a cell. You think that’s the state you should be in when heading into hostile territory?"

Valen straightened. "The answer is no." He walked back to his desk and sat down. "For the next three months, you have no missions. No patrols. No assignments." He picked up his pen and returned to his report. "You rest. You recover. You get your head straight." He glanced up. "That’s an order. Dismissed."

Kael stood slowly. His fists were clenched at his sides, but he said nothing. He gave a short bow, turned, and walked out.

The door closed behind him.

Valen stared at it for a long moment, then exhaled slowly and returned to his work.

[Command Building - Third Floor Window]

Elira stood at the window, looking out at the courtyard below. She’d been there for an hour, watching.

She’d seen them ride in through the gate—the squad silent, one fewer than when they had set out, and one more sack than before. A heavy sack slung across Kogan’s horse. A limbless figure tied to another, slumped and barely breathing.

And Kael.

He rode at the front, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed straight ahead. Blood covered him from head to toe—dried, dark, clinging to his hair, his face, his hands. He looked like a ghost.

Elira’s breath had caught.

She’d watched him dismount and walk toward the barracks, moving like a man in a trance. The others had followed, but Kael walked alone. Always alone.

She’d watched him disappear into the barracks.

And now she saw him again—standing alone in the training yard, snow falling around him. His posture was rigid, his hand resting on his sword hilt. He’d been there for over an hour, just standing.

Elira’s fingers tightened on the windowsill.

She turned and walked quickly to the wardrobe in the corner. She pulled out a heavy wool coat—dark, finely tailored, the lining trimmed with soft fur. Her father’s coat. Too large for her. But warm.

She folded it carefully and walked to the door. A young soldier stood guard in the hallway.

"You," Elira said quietly.

The soldier straightened. "Miss?"

She held out the coat. "Take this to Captain Kael. He’s in the training yard."

The soldier hesitated. "Miss, I’m on—"

"Now."

The soldier took the coat and hurried away. Elira walked back to the window and watched.

[Training Yard - Night]

Kael stood alone in the center of the yard.

The snow was still falling, soft and silent, blanketing the ground in white. The training dummies stood in rows, their wooden frames dusted with frost. Kael’s hand rested on his sword hilt. He stared at the falling snow, his expression empty.

Behind him, the barracks were dark and quiet. Everyone was asleep. But Kael stood there, unmoving, as the snow continued to fall around him. His eyes were cold, hollow, waiting.

Footsteps approached from behind.

A young soldier stopped a few paces away, hesitant. In his hands was a heavy wool coat—dark, finely tailored, the lining trimmed with soft fur.

"Captain," the soldier said quietly. "Miss Elira asked me to bring this."

He held it out.

Snow gathered along Kael’s shoulders. After a moment, he reached back and took the coat. The fabric was thick, warm. He took it without question, without thanks.

He draped it over his shoulders, fastening it with steady hands. Then he stepped forward and walked back toward the barracks, disappearing into the falling snow.