The day of the festival arrived, and the village of Rimuru was transformed. Brightly colored banners hung from the buildings, and the town square had been adorned with flowers and symbols of unity. Villagers and Outcasts alike moved through the streets, their faces cautious but curious as they prepared for the celebration.
Padrino stood at the edge of the square, observing the preparations with a mixture of hope and unease. His decision to hold the festival had been controversial, especially with Galdros looming over them like a stormcloud. But he knew that Rimuru needed more than swords and strategies—it needed to remember why it was fighting.
Beside him, Hinata adjusted her ceremonial robes, the silver and white fabric catching the light as she scanned the crowd. Her usual calm demeanor seemed more fragile today, and Padrino could sense her nervousness.
"How are you feeling?" Padrino asked, his voice low.
Hinata smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Nervous. This festival is important, but I can't help but feel we're walking a fine line. If this doesn't work…"
"It'll work," Padrino said, though he wasn't entirely sure. "It has to."
Hinata nodded but remained quiet. The villagers and Outcasts, while mingling, still kept a respectful distance from one another. The rift between them had not been healed, merely patched over with diplomacy and careful words. Today's festival was supposed to bridge that gap, but it was clear that trust was still a long way off.
Marko appeared beside them, his eyes scanning the gathering crowd. "Security's in place. Garrik's men are stationed at key points, but they'll keep a low profile. We don't want to intimidate people."
"Good," Padrino replied, though he could feel a knot of tension forming in his chest. Despite the festive atmosphere, the threat of Galdros—and the unease within Rimuru itself—was never far from his mind.
Hinata stepped forward to begin the ceremony. As she raised her hands, the crowd fell silent, eyes turning to her as the village's most revered figure prepared to speak.
"People of Rimuru," Hinata began, her voice carrying across the square. "Today, we gather not just to celebrate our survival, but to honor the unity that has carried us through our darkest times."
Her words were careful, each one designed to bring the villagers and Outcasts closer together. She spoke of the battles they had fought, the sacrifices made by both sides, and the hope that still burned within them.
As she continued, Padrino allowed himself to relax—just a little. The festival was proceeding as planned. Perhaps, just perhaps, this would be the first step toward true unity.
But as Hinata's speech drew to a close, something caught Padrino's attention. At the edge of the square, near one of the alleys, he spotted a figure moving through the shadows, far too deliberately for someone simply watching the festival.
He tensed, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. "Marko," he muttered, nodding toward the figure. "Do you see that?"
Marko followed his gaze and narrowed his eyes. "Yeah. Something's off."
Padrino didn't wait. He moved quickly through the crowd, careful not to draw attention, Marko following closely behind. The figure disappeared down the alley, but Padrino kept his pace steady, determined to see who it was.
As they reached the alley, they found it empty. But there were signs of recent movement—footprints in the dirt, leading further into the narrow streets.
"This way," Padrino whispered, motioning for Marko to follow.
They moved deeper into the winding alleys, the sounds of the festival fading behind them. The narrow streets of Rimuru twisted and turned, and it wasn't long before they reached a secluded courtyard, half-hidden by the surrounding buildings.
Standing in the center of the courtyard was a man Padrino recognized instantly—Brant's brother, Lars.
Lars looked up, his eyes wide with shock as he realized he'd been followed. His hand hovered over a concealed dagger at his waist, his body tense.
"You," Padrino growled, stepping forward. "What are you doing here?"
Lars' face twisted in anger and fear, his voice a low hiss. "You killed him. You killed my brother."
Padrino didn't flinch. "Your brother betrayed Rimuru. He gave information to Galdros that could have cost us everything."
"That's a lie!" Lars shouted, his voice rising. "Brant was loyal to Rimuru. He would never betray the village. You set him up!"
Before Padrino could respond, Lars lunged. His dagger flashed in the dim light of the courtyard, aimed directly at Padrino's heart. But Padrino was ready. In a fluid motion, he sidestepped the attack and disarmed Lars, sending the dagger clattering to the ground.
Marko moved in quickly, pinning Lars to the ground before he could make another move.
"Let me go!" Lars snarled, struggling against Marko's grip. "You're all traitors! You think Rimuru's safe under your rule? Galdros will burn this village to the ground, and it'll be your fault!"
Padrino stood over Lars, his expression unreadable. He wanted to believe Lars was simply acting out of grief, but the venom in his words suggested something deeper—something more dangerous.
"Why were you sneaking around the festival?" Padrino asked coldly. "What were you planning?"
Lars spat at Padrino's feet. "You'll find out soon enough. You think you've won, but Galdros is already inside your gates. You're all dead."
Padrino's heart raced. The threat was real. "Marko, we need to get back to the festival—now."
Marko nodded, tightening his grip on Lars. "What do you want to do with him?"
Padrino glanced down at Lars, his mind racing. He couldn't afford to leave any more loose ends.
"Bring him with us," Padrino ordered. "We'll question him further. If what he says is true, we need to be ready."
They hurried back through the alleys, dragging Lars along with them. As they neared the square, Padrino could already sense that something was wrong. The atmosphere had shifted—the once lively celebration now felt heavy, as if the crowd itself had caught wind of the danger lurking beneath the surface.
As they emerged from the alley, they saw it. Standing at the far end of the square, dressed in the colors of Galdros, were three men—armed and dangerous.
The festival came to a grinding halt as the crowd noticed the intruders. Gasps and whispers spread like wildfire, and in an instant, the festive atmosphere dissolved into chaos.
Padrino's eyes locked onto the men. They hadn't drawn their weapons yet, but the threat was clear. This was no coincidence.
"Lars wasn't lying," Padrino muttered under his breath. "Galdros is here."
Marko released Lars, shoving him to the ground before drawing his sword. "What's the plan?"
Padrino's mind raced. The festival had been meant to unite the village, but now it was on the brink of falling apart. The enemy had infiltrated their ranks, and if they didn't act quickly, Rimuru would descend into panic.
"We deal with them quietly," Padrino said, his voice low and steady. "No one else needs to die today. But if Galdros thinks they can send spies into our home, they're sorely mistaken."
He stepped forward, his hand tightening around his sword. The three Galdros men watched him closely, their expressions unreadable. Behind them, the crowd held its breath, waiting for the next move.
Padrino took a deep breath, ready for whatever came next.
The festival had turned into a battlefield, and the fight for Rimuru's future was far from over.