To Tempt A Saint

The Thousand Valley of the North.

A land of legend. A graveyard of ambition.

The valley stretched vast and endless, a labyrinth of jagged cliffs, gnarled roots, and mist that coiled thick along the ground like ghostly fingers. No light from the heavens ever fully touched this place. The shadows ran too deep, the sins that slept here too old.

Ever since the essences were first felt in these lands, warriors, assassins, and desperate souls had gathered, drawn by the same insatiable hunger: the chance to claim one of the Seven Sins.

But the Sins were not relics to be stolen, nor blessings to be won. They were forces—living remnants of ancient power. To inherit a Sin, one had to embody its essence. A glutton had to consume. A sloth had to surrender to inaction. A wrathful heart had to spill blood without hesitation.

And where hunger converged, death was inevitable.

For some, the risk was worth it. Immortality. Dominion. The strength to alter fate itself.

For others, it was something simpler. Revenge. Redemption. Survival.

Nine and Aya had spent a month crossing war-torn lands and lawless roads to reach the valley's edge. Their journey had been relentless—bandits, feral beasts, sleepless nights listening to the howls of things that should not exist.

Through it all, Nine had kept them alive.

Not by luck.

By skill.

He was not like the nobles who trained under grandmasters, nor the warriors who inherited bloodlines of discipline and form. Nine had built himself through necessity. He had stolen martial totems, devouring their knowledge, twisting them into something uniquely his own. His techniques were brutal, unrefined—but lethal.

Yet, he hadn't come for glory.

He had come for the Sins.

---

"It's too dangerous for you to follow me into the valley."

Nine's voice was steady, his gaze sharp as he scanned their surroundings.

The village was little more than a battered cluster of stone buildings, their walls worn by time and violence. Strangers loitered along the streets—mercenaries, wanderers, those who had come seeking a miracle. The scent of damp earth and old blood lingered in the air, the weight of unseen eyes pressing against them.

Aya clutched the edge of his cloak, fingers curling tight. "With what money?"

Nine smirked. "I'm an artisan, remember?"

"An illegal drug artisan," Aya corrected flatly.

He laughed, unbothered, reaching out to pinch her cheek. "You're adorable."

She slapped his hand away, scowling.

They made their way into a dimly lit pub, where the air was thick with the scent of stale ale and quiet tension. Conversations hushed at their arrival. A few gazes lingered too long on Aya, weighing, assessing—but Nine's presence beside her was a blade unsheathed. None dared act on their thoughts.

They reached the bar, and Nine slid a single gold coin across the counter.

"A cup of milk and a shot of rum," he said lazily.

The bartender, a grizzled man with a missing eye, stared at the coin before wordlessly preparing the drinks. He placed them on the counter, pocketing the payment with the quiet efficiency of someone who asked no questions.

Nine nudged the milk toward Aya before speaking again, tone casual yet firm.

"I need a mercenary."

The bartender kept wiping the counter, his expression unreadable. "We've got a few."

"I need a woman," Nine clarified. "Not some bitch. Someone dependable."

The man remained silent.

Nine slid another coin across the counter.

The bartender's priorities shifted.

"Colla!" he called.

A woman emerged from the back—a striking figure, eyes sharp, smile easy. Unlike the hardened killers around her, she carried an air of warmth.

"New mission?" she asked lightly.

"What do you think?" Nine turned to Aya, gesturing toward Colla.

Aya studied her. Unlike the other mercenaries—cold, empty-eyed killers—Colla's warmth felt… out of place.

"...She seems okay," Aya admitted.

Nine nodded before turning to face Colla. "Good enough. You'll just have to keep her alive."

Colla grinned, saluting playfully. "Got it, boss!"

She tilted her head, studying them both. "Are you two siblings?"

Nine and Aya stared at her, unimpressed.

"Tch," Nine scoffed, brushing past the question. "We need a room with two beds."

The bartender handed him a key. Payment was made without hesitation.

Colla leaned in, still grinning. "Sooo, when do I start?"

"Now," Nine said. "What's your rate?"

Colla flashed a badge from her belt. "I'm a beginner! But I'm skilled! Five gold a day?"

Nine smirked, pushing the shot of rum toward her. "I'll pay you ten. Don't disappoint me."

Colla's jaw dropped. "Ten?! Oh, you won't regret it!" She downed the rum instantly.

Nine turned to Aya, nudging her forward. "Go with her."

Aya hesitated, fingers tightening around his cloak.

Nine sighed, adjusting his own hood. "I'll be back soon."

Her grip tightened.

"No, you won't," she whispered.

Nine frowned slightly, crouching so their eyes met. His expression softened. "Aya—"

She turned away before he could say anything else.

Nine exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Aya, we've talked about this. A hundred times."

She shook her head. Her grip remained unrelenting.

"Colla," Nine said, his voice sharper now. "Take her to the room."

Before Aya could react, Colla wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her with ease.

"No!" Aya cried out, struggling, her hand desperately reaching—

Tear!

A piece of Nine's cloak was ripped free in her grasp.

Aya's breath caught as Nine turned away without hesitation, disappearing into the night.

"Nine!" Her voice broke.

The pub fell silent. The other patrons watched but said nothing.

Colla carried her up the stairs, murmuring quiet reassurances. Aya barely heard them.

She was still holding the torn scrap of Nine's cloak, her fingers clutched around it like a lifeline.

By the time they reached the room, Aya collapsed onto the floor, silent tears streaking down her face.

Colla sighed, kneeling beside her. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice softer now, lacking its usual teasing edge.

Aya said nothing.

Her mind was trapped in one unshakable truth.

Nine was gone. She couldn't chase him now even if she escaped from Colla.

And the man who returned—if he ever returned—would not be the same.