The Old City of Quintus was an interesting complex of buildings.

In fact, it was only twenty years ago that it had been called the 'New City'.

And now, twenty years later, it was called the Old City by all Quintus, for no reason, everyone calls it that, and the few who know why are reluctant to speak.

And of course the dead do not speak.

The workers who used to live in the old town are now invisible even to the bones of their corpses, all of them completely buried, no graves, no tombstones, no names.

Death means losing everything, doesn't it?

But at least one person remembers.

One undead soul remembered.

Khalil leapt from the crumbling roof and dodged a vehicle patrolled by the Glorious Governor.

The motorcycle bounced over the potholes, and the two men on it cursed a few times at the bumps, neither of them knowing that at that moment, an obscure black shadow flashed overhead.

Karyl looked at him and his companion as they disappeared into the distance, shaking his head with a more or less regretful expression.

The patrols were cautious, or rather, the man who set the patrols was cautious: he set many routes along the highway, each of them intersecting, making a quiet kill a luxury.

As it was, the disappearance of one group would soon attract the attention of the others.

Khalil could erase the sound of a kill, but not the result.

With every stroke of his sword, someone would die - and death could not be hidden.

Khalil moved on.

He knew every detail of the old city, moving forward, turning corners, running into alleyways, jumping onto grim, spiked houses-it took him only twelve minutes to reach the destination of his journey.

A clock tower.

Once it was one of the many symbols of the old city, around the Clock Tower there were many neon signs and floating billboards from factories, the darkness of the night was colored, and the wars that broke out around the Clock Tower never stopped.

All the gangs wanted it.

It was silent, tall, and stood in the darkness as if it were some sort of symbol, compelling all who saw it to try to conquer it.

All of this changed forever with the arrival of the Great Purge and the creation of the new city center.

To this day, it could truly be called a ghost town, with only the general area still in use, and that too, not by the workers.

Very much in keeping with Nostramo's ethos, Khalil thought.

He couldn't help but pull the corners of his mouth into a cold smile.

Khalil stepped forward, scaling the ancient structure in between a few deft leaps, and when he reached the top and stepped through the small, domed doorway into the heart of the bell tower, he unsurprisingly didn't see the massive bronze bell here.

Had it been stolen, or had some nobleman taken it for his collection?Karil had no answer for that.

He came to the other end of the small round-arched gate, his eyes fixed on a highway.

It was a far cry from the pitch black of the old city, with incandescent lights every fifty meters making the entire highway bright and unlike Nostramo's creation.

The Glorious Governor had set up important defenses here, and if you wanted to put it that way, the previous posts and patrols were merely appetizers; the barriers set up every five hundred meters were the luxury meal.

There were armed men everywhere, and they even had Sentry Bikers - a group of truly low-intelligence iron golems built by the smiths of the Prym's Nest capital, and sold in astonishing numbers.

It's also worth noting that the highway's pavement is in good condition, thanks to the workers who rush out every two months to maintain the road.

...... But where are they now?

Khalil had no answers.

He let out a soft exhale, then bent down and brushed away the masonry that had piled up around the edges of the small, round arched doorway, brushing away some more dust before sitting down on the floor.

He would wait for them to arrive, as he had in the past, and as soon as he caught a whiff of them...... he would leap out of the darkness and slit his prey's throat.

But before this could be successfully executed, he needed patience.

A competent hunter deserved patience, it was an equally rare quality, and without it one could not do the job.

"Patience, Spectre," Khalil murmured. "Don't get hurt, don't let yourself down."

Yes, don't let yourself down.

He lowered his head and clenched his hands, keeping the sharp edges close to his skin.

-----------------

"Don't run," the ghost said. "You shouldn't run, you should take it all in."

"Get away from me, you monster!"

A man screamed and yelled, standing in a blood-covered attic with a gun clearly raised in his hand, but he didn't have the courage to pull the trigger on the Spectre.

In fact, his hand was shaking so badly that he could barely hold it.

Half a minute ago, he had emptied a magazine without even touching the corner of the Spectre's coat.

And if you rewind another half minute, you can see a dark figure instantly enter the attic and rip off the limbs of one of the two guards in two swings.

If you could have seen that mix of screaming and blood spurting......Perhaps you would be able to empathize with the man's violent fear at that moment.

In the face of the man's screams, the apparition merely cocked its head.

Was that what fear was for?

He nodded thoughtfully, finally beginning to understand why Khalil resorted to silence whenever he was on a mission.

Originally, he had thought that Khalil just did it because he liked it, but the Spectre didn't really believe that Khalil did it just because it was more effective.

They were simply unbeatable in the face of fear.

In fact, this had been the last post the Spectre had been responsible for clearing, but the crying man wasn't the first to collapse before the Spectre that night.

There had been many before him.

"Stay back, stay back!" the man said in pain. "Please don't come over, I don't want to die, I don't want to die......".

"Aren't you going to shoot me again?" asked Spectre softly, his voice hissing as he stood still.

"I-I......"

"Shoot," Spectre said quietly, "I want you to accept this."

"Accept what, are you sick?!"

The man broke down and screamed, his voice echoing through the shattered attic, his fat belly stained with blood, and behind him a quartered body watched in silence.

"Accept your death, Barry."

The Spectre replied in a whisper, his voice slow and low, his tone soft and natural; it didn't sound like he was threatening or pushing, in fact, it almost sounded like he was being normal with Barry......

Chat.

"We heard your conversation with Jovan, Barry.You have accepted to become a servant of the Skolewalkers, offering everything to them......".

"So why can't you accept your death?You don't want to die like this, but why?Why should you accept it?"

The Ghost asked the question in all sincerity, and he meant it, because he couldn't think of an answer, and he didn't want to bother Karil - and Barry.......

Barry froze, eyes wide.

His legs began to weaken in the next second and then, surprisingly, he fell to his knees uncontrollably.

We heard you talking to Jovan.......

We......

We.

Revenge of the dead.

So it was.

No wonder the bullets couldn't hit him, no wonder he was so tall, no wonder my screams didn't get the attention of the other groups, no wonder......Jovan suddenly became .......

So they were the ones who came for me.

Barry's face began to twitch as he began to gasp for air, and all the air being sucked in did absolutely nothing to relieve him.

His breathing became more and more rapid, his demeanor more and more broken, and by the end of the day he even fell to his knees and whimpered.

The sound of the crying was shattering.

"Don't cry," the ghost said softly. "Shoot me, Barry, and accept this."

"Snap."

A gun fell to the ground.Barry made his rejection in his own way, and the Spectre frowned and began to think back to Karil's words.

"Why....am I the one who hit this?"

Barry cried."Why don't you go to them?Revenge on the ghosts?Why don't you go after the people who made us do this?"

"What people?" asked Midnight Spectre, not wanting to correct Barry's mistake in naming for the moment.

"The Skolewalkers!"

Barry roared, his eyes wide and bloodshot, their cloudy orbs looking to the Spectre like glass corroded by acid rain.

"Why don't you go find her?!"

Faced with Barry's question, the Spectre simply crouched down, perched at the far end of the darkness in the attic, with the appearance of a monster waiting in the darkness for an opportunity.

His expression was calm and natural, full of patience.

Karil had taught him to make the other person feel a sense of respect when talking, and now he was already talking to Barry.

He continued, "What did they make you do?"

Barry froze, he was the one who had asked the question, but he didn't seem to have thought about what came after that question.

But the ghost had thought about it.

Or rather - Karil had thought about it.

The hissing voice of the Midnight Wanderer resounded in the darkness again, "They made you squeeze the workers, collect taxes, and suppress those who resisted, didn't they?"

"Right! Right!"

As if grasping at straws, Barry began to nod his head back and forth, an eerie madness flashing across his snotty face."Yes!They made us do it all!"

"So they made you cannibalize people, open butcher shops, murder, trade in human beings, kill people in the streets, and commit wanton robbery?" the apparition asked again.

Once again Barry froze, he hadn't expected this, it was all natural in his mind, being part of the gang meant gaining these privileges.

He had never imagined that one day these things would be questioned by others.

And, surprisingly, he had no answer.

"So, have they made you learn that they drive civilians who can't pay out of the nesting capital and leave them to fend for themselves in the wilderness as rations for wild beasts?"

"And have they made you learn that they are superior?"

The Spectre rose slowly.

"You have long since accepted the fact that you have become a servant of House Skolewalker, in fact you take to that status like a fish to water, Barry.You have accepted the benefits that come with that status, and you should accept the responsibilities that come with it."

"No, no, that's not true......"Barry shuddered.

"Yes, Barry."The Ghost whispered."Yes."

"No!"Barry growled with a scowl on his face.

"I'm doing this because I have to! I had to do it! I couldn't live if I didn't, I didn't want to get lung disease like those factory workers, I didn't want to cough up blood and be covered in dust like them-"

The Spectre nodded silently, he knew what Barry was talking about.

The workers in the factories were getting sick, they were getting all kinds of diseases, the most common was lung disease, and if one person got it, then the whole family got it.

He had seen it many times as he walked through the shantytowns-families or one person lying on the side of the road, coughing blood on the moldy hardwood floors of people who had already died, in immense agony, waiting for death to come.

For no apparent reason, a pang of annoyance rose in the Spectre's mind, and he took the initiative to interrupt Barry and end the conversation.

"--Sh, stop it, Barry. Accept it."

The apparition said quietly, then took a step forward.

Barry screamed in horrified agony, apparently unharmed yet, but already in pain as if he had been disemboweled.Irritating tears and snot ran down his fat face as the apparition, unmoved, continued to walk forward.

"No, please, don't......"Barry whimpered."I really didn't want to, I really didn't want to..."

The Spectre stopped where he was and stared at him for a moment.

Karyl was right, he thought.

They really do cry, they really do make a show of repentance.

But we can't forgive them, we're not in a position to forgive on behalf of our victims.

The apparition stepped forward, reached out with its right hand, and lifted Barry's chin.

"Don't cry, Barry," the apparition said softly. "Crying is a human prerogative, and you are not one."

There was rain outside the window and it began to pour.