Within the Ruined Home, Mezrolash assembled all the tiefling refugees.
Regardless of age, gender, or status, every conscious tiefling in the refugee camp was summoned to the central square. It was their usual gathering place, the site where all momentous news was declared.
Mezrolash began by scanning his surroundings, gazing out over the emaciated, scarred, and tormented faces of his kin.
"I... did nothing wrong,"
Mezrolash murmured in a voice only he could hear.
Having finally resolved himself, he slowly raised his longsword.
"My people! I have had enough of roaming from place to place! I have had enough of this endless slaughter and pursuit!"
"Enough tiefling blood has been spilled!"
"What we need is not to run—"
"What we need is vengeance! An eye for an eye, blood for blood!"
The tiefling paladin, normally so calm and collected, spoke with impassioned ferocity, his pitch-black eyes blazing with a light entirely unlike his usual self.
Many tieflings who knew him well stared in disbelief.
"From this day forth, we shall join the Cinder Nest!"
"The great red dragon, Destroyer of the Eagle Guard, Lord Cassius the 'Flying Flame' shall become our master! He will grant us sanctuary and lead us in vengeance against the vampires and humans who persecute us!"
"We will reclaim Northwind Keep! We will take back the home that once was ours!"
"Lord Cassius will lead us to establish a new order—one of true justice!"
The crowd erupted in an uproar, voices colliding in heated debate and argument.
Many tieflings had lost entire families in that horrific massacre; vengeance had long since become their sole reason to stay alive. The fire in their hearts was instantly stoked by Mezrolash's words.
They raised their weapons high, roaring in triumph.
"Vengeance!"
"Vengeance! Vengeance!"
"Storm Northwind Keep!"
"Sever Duke Lackman's head!"
Yet many dissenting voices remained. Though they too were more or less scarred by that massacre, they still clung to faith in kindness and humanity, hoping to win a place in the world through peaceful means.
Rerysa was one of them.
The young tiefling woman stepped forward, her face full of shock and indignance, unable to stop herself from pleading:
"No, Mezrolash! We cannot become thralls to an evil dragon!"
"If we do this, how are we any different from that bloodsucking duke?!"
Quite a few tieflings voiced agreement, nodding along and calling out words of support.
Yet Mezrolash merely stared at her.
"Rerysa, you did not listen to what I said before."
His gaze struck her as strange; it held a trace of pity, or perhaps reluctance.
She paid it no mind, entirely focused on making her argument.
Rerysa shook her head continuously, desperately pleading her case.
"No, Mezrolash, you're wrong..."
"Those humans were only deceived by the duke! We can tell them the truth, rally them to stand with us in peaceful defiance against his bloody rule! That is the only right path!"
"I've already reached out to righteous allies across the region! If we become the lackeys of an evil dragon, everything will be ruined! I—"
Her voice choked off.
The sound of steel piercing flesh rang out.
*Schink!—*
Blood sprayed across Rerysa's face.
Her beautiful, lake-blue eyes stared in utter disbelief at the man who had just thrust a sword into her chest.
"Wh... y..."
It was as if she had never imagined such a thing could ever happen.
Those familiar, pitch-black eyes of Mezrolash now seemed horrifyingly cold, alien and chilling to the bone.
Before slipping into unconsciousness, she caught a faint parting of his lips. Having studied lip reading, Rerysa recognized the word he shaped.
—It was the Infernal word for "I'm sorry."
Her slender body collapsed slowly into the snow.
Warm blood gushed forth in a steady stream, staining the pure white ground crimson.
Mezrolash pulled his blade free in one clean, decisive motion.
He knew the cunning red dragon was watching all of this from the shadows. This was his pledge of loyalty, his proof that there was no turning back—that submission was his only path.
It was also a clear declaration of where he stood to every tiefling in the camp. The so-called "peace faction" no longer had any place here.
Rerysa was not at fault; she was simply too naive.
Naive enough to believe that mutual trust alone could erase all strife from the world—just as he once had. But now, this former Knight of Redemption had blood soaking his hands.
*I am sorry, Rerysa.*
*This is so our people... may live on.*
Blood slowly ran down his cheek as Mezrolash thought to himself in silence.
The surrounding tieflings were utterly stunned by the brutal spectacle. The air turned dead and stifling; every voice fell silent.
No one dared utter another word. Even those who had screamed for vengeance stood mute.
"Rerysa conspired with external enemies, leaking our intelligence..."
"Executed under military law."
Ignoring the blood on his face, Mezrolash raised the dripping sword with a frozen expression.
"Vengeance!"
he bellowed once more.
"Vengeance! Vengeance!"
"Reclaim Northwind Keep! A blood sacrifice for our kin!"
This time, far more tieflings joined the call, cheering in rhythmic cadence, even if unnatural strains lingered across some of their faces.
Abruptly, a dragon's roar shattered the sky.
*Roaaar—!*
The red dragon descended slowly from the heavens, perching upon the tallest boulder and gazing down at the gathered tieflings from on high.
Mezrolash chose that moment to turn and blend back into the crowd, saying not another word.
Cassius slowly spread his massive wings, casting a vast shadow over the assembly and pressing down on the tieflings with suffocating might.
"I, Cassius, Master of the Cinder Nest, welcome your arrival."
"I shall grant you ample sanctuary and support, bestow upon you honor and strength, and help you establish a town here."
"In return, you shall become my eternal vassals, waging war on my behalf to crush that greedy Eagle of the North Wind and seize Northwind Keep!"
Mezrolash stepped forward and said with deep respect:
"This town shall be born beneath your sheltering shadow. We beg you, Lord, to bestow a name upon it."
A gleam of mockery flashed in the red dragon's golden pupils.
"Since you are hailed as the spawn of devils, how about calling it the 'City of Baator'?"
Mezrolash's expression did not waver. Showing no outrage at the insult, he replied calmly:
"We thank you for your gracious gift."
Cassius narrowed his eyes slightly, watching the composed Mezrolash below. Truly, this was the man who had single-handedly driven House Lackman to wit's end for over a decade.
A mind possessed of a rationality so severe it edged on emotionless—what a terrifying creature.
Chapter 51