Back in his personal quarters, Vergil readied himself with the precision of a craftsman. He moved methodically, each action purposeful. His armor of black steel plates layered over light chainmail fit perfectly, allowing him to move with speed and stealth.
On his left hip, he secured his twin European-style sword, its silver edge polished to perfection. On his right thigh, his dagger was fastened in an easy-to-reach sheath. Hidden under his cloak, his wrist-mounted blade locked into place. Finally, his all special gear was put over his back, its sleek, enchanted barrel glowing faintly with runic inscriptions.
Freya checked her gear as well, strapping her two curved daggers to her belt. Her claws, however, were just as deadly as her blades. Her tail swayed with excitement, her wolf-like instincts already sharpening as she prepared for the hunt.
"Ready?" Vergil asked, his voice low and steady.
Freya grinned, her eyes like molten gold. "Born ready."
As they stepped outside, the fog that clung to Avalorne's outskirts was dense and heavy, swirling around their feet. Three squads of soldiers awaited them, each led by Captain Lucia, a tall, battle-hardened woman with short silver hair and sharp eyes like an eagle.
"Lord Vergil," Lucia saluted, her gaze unwavering. "Our squads are at your command."
Vergil stepped forward, his gaze meeting hers. "We move quietly and swiftly. No unnecessary casualties. I want their leader breathing."
Lucia nodded. "Understood. Orders are orders."
The soldiers moved with military precision, their weapons clinking softly as they prepared. The fog thickened as the sun barely pierced through.
Vergil's eyes scanned the treeline. "The main road at the forest is where they'll be. Move out."
The squads marched in unison, their boots crunching softly against the soil.
Freya glanced at Vergil, her smile sharp as a blade. "Time to see if these soldiers can keep up with shadows."
Vergil's gaze was like ice. "If they can't, they'll be left behind."
The forest awaited them.
The rhythmic thud of horse hooves echoed along the forest path, the cool morning air carrying the distant call of birds. Vergil and Freya rode behind Captain Lucia and her three squads, their dark cloaks billowing behind them as they moved swiftly toward the site of the attack. Vergil's piercing blue-sky eyes scanned the path ahead, taking in every detail with the sharp focus of a predator on the hunt.
Lucia, riding at the front, glanced over her shoulder toward Vergil. "We're almost there. The ambush site should be just beyond that bend," she reported, her tone firm and precise.
Vergil gave a subtle nod, his hand resting lightly on the reins. His other hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, a silent reminder that danger could come at any moment. Freya, riding beside him, sniffed the air, her wolf-like ears twitching.
"I smell blood," Freya muttered, her golden eyes narrowing. "Fresh, but not too fresh. It's been at least a few hours."
Lucia raised her hand, signaling her squads to slow down. The soldiers pulled back on their reins, the horses snorting as they trotted to a stop. In front of them lay a scene of chaos.
The wreckage of Godfrey Montclair's carriage lay at the center of the dirt road. Splintered wood, broken wheels, and the lifeless bodies of two guards and a coachman painted a grim picture. The guards lay face down in the dirt, arrows sticking out of their backs, their weapons still in their hands. Arrows jutted out from the side of the carriage, signs of a well-planned ambush.
Vergil dismounted his horse with a fluid motion. His cloak swirled behind him as he knelt near one of the guards, pulling the arrow free from the man's back. The arrowhead was sharp, barbed, and coated with a black residue. He rolled it between his fingers, then held it up for Freya and Lucia to see.
"Poison," Vergil declared, flicking the arrowhead to the side. "Quick-acting. They didn't want them alive."
Freya crouched near one of the guards, brushing away leaves and dirt. Her golden eyes scanned the area with the precision of a predator. "No signs of a struggle. They were taken by surprise. Archers hidden in the treeline," she said, pointing to the canopy. "Judging by the arrow trajectories, they had the high ground."
Vergil moved toward the back of the carriage, opening its cargo hold. Several crates had been smashed open, their contents scattered on the ground. Fine silk cloth, wine bottles, and trade goods lay broken and discarded. But something about the scene felt off.
"If this were just a robbery, they would have taken more," Vergil muttered, tapping the frame of the carriage with his gloved hand. He glanced at the open space inside. "They didn't take the valuables. They only took..." He crouched, his eyes locking onto a leather bag tucked into a corner.
He pulled it out, dusting it off. A merchant's ledger, marked with Godfrey Montclair's sigil. Vergil flipped it open, skimming the pages filled with notes on recent trades, client names, and business routes. His eyes stopped on one particular entry, his gaze hardening.
"They didn't just ambush him. They knew him." His voice was sharp and decisive, his eyes narrowing. "This wasn't random. This was targeted."
While Vergil inspected the carriage, Freya moved to the edge of the forest, her eyes scanning the soft earth for signs of tracks. Her wolf-like ears twitched at the faint rustle of leaves, her heightened senses picking up the trail. She crouched, brushing her fingers over footprints in the dirt. Her sharp eyes traced the path where it led deeper into the forest.
Lucia approached, her eyes flicking between Vergil and Freya. "How many of them?" she asked, glancing at the tracks.
Freya replied without looking up. "At least five. Maybe more." Her fingers traced the indentations in the dirt, the impressions left by boots and dragged feet. "They had captives. See here? Two smaller footprints. The boy and the mother, most likely."
"Five bandits, three captives," Vergil muttered, stepping beside Freya. His gaze followed the tracks as they led into the thick underbrush of the forest. He glanced at the broken twigs and snapped branches along the path. "They're dragging them. They won't get far."
Lucia furrowed her brow, tapping her finger against her armored gauntlet. "If they had a clear target, they wouldn't drag captives. They'd kill the guards, take the merchant, and vanish." Her eyes narrowed. "This isn't normal bandit behavior."
Vergil's eyes flicked to Lucia, his gaze sharp as a blade. "No, it's not. It's deliberate. Calculated. They knew Montclair's route, they knew his identity, and they knew he'd have his family with him."
"So who told them?" Freya asked, her eyes glowing with suspicion.
"Someone close," Vergil said coldly, standing up and dusting his hands off. "A relative. A rival. A hired informant." He glanced toward the forest path. "They wouldn't have had time to scout a moving caravan like this. This ambush was too clean."
Lucia crossed her arms, eyes focused on the trail. "What's your theory, Shadowmaster?" she asked, addressing Vergil with a rare tone of respect.
"Internal dispute," Vergil replied flatly, his gaze distant in thought. "It could be business rivals or internal family matters. Montclair's family has enough wealth and influence to provoke jealousy. Rival traders might pay to sabotage him, but if that were the case, they wouldn't take the family." He paused, tapping his chin. "No, this is personal. It's too precise. They wanted the family alive."
Lucia raised an eyebrow. "Alive? Why?"
Vergil gave her a knowing look. "Leverage. They'll use his wife and child to make him comply." He crouched again, picking up a scrap of torn fabric caught on a tree branch — a piece of a child's cloak. "If they only wanted him dead, they'd have killed them all."
Freya stepped beside him, eyes narrowing. "They're not going to demand money. They're going to demand control."
Vergil's voice was steady, cold as frost. "We follow them into the forest, quietly. Captain Lucia, your squads will maintain a silent and coincidence, pretend you and all your squad coming to this forest for hunting monster, huge one if you can said. But make sure your soldier always on high alert, Bandit mostly never want their base discovered incidentally or not. If you and your soldier can capture them alive, we need to know who send them"
"And you?" Lucia asked.
"Freya and I will go ahead, scouting and save them from back of their base" he replied, his eyes locked on the path ahead. "We'll move through the shadows. If they're smart, they'll have sentries, but they won't see us coming."
The fog lay thick upon the forest floor, clinging to the ground like a spectral veil. Shadows danced in the flickering glow of the campfire where the bandits sat, laughing and tending to their weapons. Their guard was down. They believed themselves safe.
High above, perched on a tree branch, Vergil's eyes glowed faintly like a hunter in the night. Below him, Freya crouched on a lower branch, her golden wolf-like eyes locked on the camp. Her ears twitched, catching every whisper from the bandits below.
"They're too relaxed," Freya whispered, her voice soft but sharp as a knife. "No sentries, no patrols. Overconfident fools."
"Overconfidence is a flaw we'll exploit," Vergil replied, scanning the camp with precision. His eyes fixed on a larger wooden structure at the edge of the camp — the warehouse. The faint sound of muffled sobs echoed from within. "That's where they're keeping them," he said with certainty.
A bandit near the campfire leaned back on a log, laughing. "Today is the day." he boasted to his companions, tossing a chunk of bread into his mouth. "That Anatoly lady's paying big, boys. We'll be drinking in gold once she shows up."
Vergil's eyes sharpened. "Anatoly Montclair," he muttered under his breath, recognizing the name instantly. "So she's the one behind this." He looked at Freya, his gaze intense. "We've heard enough. Let's regroup."
Back at the forest edge, Captain Lucia's soldiers crouched in the shadows, swords drawn and eyes focused. Lucia leaned against a tree, her sharp eyes watching Vergil as he approached. She recognized his familiar, deliberate gait.
"Report," Lucia demanded.
Vergil crouched beside her, his voice low but firm. "They're holding them in the warehouse. The woman behind this is Anatoly Montclair."
Lucia's eyes widened in disbelief. "Anatoly? As in Godfrey Montclair's cousin? His own family?"
"Greed and blood often mix poorly," Vergil replied, his tone cold. "She'll be here within the hour to pay the bandits. I say we let her think it's business as usual."
"What's the plan?" Lucia asked, eyes sharp with anticipation.
"Simple," Vergil replied, his gaze distant but deadly. "You and your squads will make your presence known. Pretend to be a hunting party tracking a beast. Keep them talking."
Lucia raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "And what about you?"
"Freya and I will slip in through the rear. We'll extract the captives one by one." His eyes flickered toward the camp. "When Anatoly arrives, you'll act like you're clueless. If she thinks you're just a soldier chasing prey, she'll drop her guard."
Lucia smirked, her eyes glinting with admiration. "You're more devious than you look, Lord of Avalorne."
"Devious gets results," Vergil replied flatly, unsheathing one of his twin swords. The dim light glinted off its pristine edge. "When you see me give the signal, move in. No hesitation."
"Understood," Lucia said, her eyes burning with resolve. "Let's crush them."
As the bandits lounged by the campfire, Lucia and her soldiers stepped into view. The sound of boots crunching twigs echoed loudly, drawing every bandit's attention.
"Who goes there?!" one of the bandits barked, rising to his feet. His eyes darted toward Lucia, recognizing the armor and insignia of a captain.
Lucia raised a hand, her face calm and unconcerned. "Relax, hunters," she called out, smirking confidently. "We're tracking a beast that escaped into this forest. Thought we'd stop by to rest."
The bandit leader, a large, burly man with a scar over his nose, stepped forward. His eyes narrowed with suspicion, but Lucia's nonchalant attitude seemed to ease his nerves.
"This ain't a hunting ground, Captain," the man growled, tapping the hilt of his axe. "Best move along before you cause trouble."
Lucia tilted her head, feigning ignorance. "Didn't realize the forest belonged to you," she said casually, glancing at her soldiers. "We'll only be here a moment. No need for trouble."
Her words bought time. Time for Vergil and Freya.
While the bandits' attention was fixed on Lucia, Vergil and Freya melted into the shadows. Moving through the underbrush with silent precision, they reached the rear of the wooden warehouse. No guards. No eyes. No chance for escape.
Vergil glanced at Freya, nodding once. Freya's claws extended slightly, and with one swift motion, she carved open the back lock. The wooden door creaked, but only faintly. They slipped inside like ghosts.
The smell of damp wood, iron, and fear hung heavy in the air. Huddled in the corner of the warehouse were Godfrey's wife and son, their eyes wide with terror. The boy clung to his mother, his face streaked with tears. The woman's eyes filled with fresh hope when she saw Freya and Vergil.
"We're getting you out," Vergil said quietly, his eyes calm and commanding. "No sudden moves."
Freya guided the woman and child toward the exit, her hand on the boy's back to keep him moving. Outside, they spotted a group of soldiers waiting in the brush. Freya handed the family over to them, motioning with a flick of her wrist. "Get them out of here. No mistakes."
The soldiers gave a firm nod, ushering them away.
"Time for round two," Freya said with a grin, eyes sharp with excitement. She glanced at Vergil. "Shall we?"
"We shall."
Back inside the warehouse, they found Godfrey Montclair chained to a post, his face bruised but his spirit unbroken. Vergil's eyes narrowed. With one swing of his dagger, he cut the chains loose.
"Lord Vergil?" Godfrey's eyes widened. "You came for us?"
Vergil reached out and pulled Godfrey to his feet. "It's over, Montclair. Time to go."
The sound of hooves echoed. A carriage arrived at the camp. Out stepped Anatoly Montclair, a woman in fine robes of blue and gold. Her confident smile faded as she spotted Lucia and her soldiers.
"What's going on here?" Anatoly asked, her eyes scanning the scene.
Lucia stepped forward, smiling warmly. "Just a hunting party. We stumbled on your little camp by accident." She tilted her head in mock curiosity. "And you must be?"
Anatoly stiffened but forced a smile. "I'm just here for business."
Vergil emerged from the shadows, his armor reflecting the firelight. His presence sent a shiver through the camp. His gaze locked on Anatoly like a predator sizing up its prey.
"Business?" he asked with cold amusement. "In a bandit's den?"
Anatoly's eyes darted, but it was too late. Lucia raised her hand.
"Now!" she barked.
Steel flashed. Soldiers swarmed.
Vergil's twin swords cut through the air like lightning, striking with precision. Bandits barely had time to react. Freya moved in tandem, her daggers flashing with lethal grace. Her every move was a dance of destruction.
The bandits fought back, but it was hopeless. Their numbers were too few. One by one, they were subdued, their leader pinned to the ground by Captain Lucia herself.
Anatoly stood frozen, her eyes wide with shock. She tried to run, but Lucia grabbed her arm and wrenched her back. "Not so fast, Lady Montclair," Lucia sneered. "You've got some explaining to do."
"I-I was only…" Anatoly stammered, eyes darting around for help. "I didn't—"
"Silence." Vergil's voice cut through the air like a blade. "I'll handle the interrogation."
He stepped forward, his eyes colder than the night air. "The web of deceit has been spun, Anatoly. And now, you're caught."
Anatoly Montclair fell to her knees, trembling.
"Please… have mercy…"
Vergil's eyes remained hard as stone. "Mercy?" He sheathed his sword. "We'll see, tell us everything....."
The dim glow of a single lantern illuminated the cold, stone-walled room of the Avalorne prison dungeon. The flickering flame cast long, jagged shadows across the walls, making the chamber feel even smaller than it was. At the center sat Anatoly Montclair, bound to a chair, her once-pristine robes now wrinkled and stained with dirt. Her disheveled hair clung to her face as beads of sweat rolled down her brow. Her eyes darted around in desperation, but she had nowhere to run.
Vergil stood before her, his gaze colder than the winter frost. His piercing blue eyes locked onto hers, emotionless yet suffocating. He didn't need to speak to inspire fear. His presence alone was enough to strip away any facade of bravery.
On his left, Captain Lucia leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, observing quietly. Her sharp eyes watched for any signs of deception from Anatoly. To Vergil's right, Freya crouched like a predator watching its prey. Her golden eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, and her wolf-like tail swayed slowly from side to side, a silent warning of her readiness to pounce.
"Shall we begin?" Vergil's voice echoed, slow and deliberate.
Anatoly remained silent, biting her lip as if to brace for what was to come. But Vergil was patient. He leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers, his eyes boring into her soul.
"I'll give you one chance," Vergil said in a low, commanding tone. "Who hired you? Who's pulling the strings?"
Anatoly's lips quivered, her gaze flickering between Vergil, Lucia, and Freya. She tried to maintain her composure, but it was clear her resolve was breaking.
"I… I can't," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper.
"Wrong answer," Vergil's tone was sharper this time. He reached for one of his daggers, slowly unsheathing it. The sound of metal scraping leather echoed unnervingly in the chamber. He turned the blade in his hand, letting the dim light shimmer off its edge.
Lucia stepped forward. "Listen, Lady Anatoly. The moment you're declared a conspirator against Godfrey Montclair, your house will fall. Your name will be erased from noble records. All your titles, wealth, and honor — gone." She walked behind Anatoly, placing a hand on her shoulder, her grip tight. "But if you tell us everything, perhaps Empress Eliza will show you mercy."
Anatoly squeezed her eyes shut. "They'll kill me if I talk."
"They'll kill you slowly," Vergil corrected her, leaning in so close that his breath brushed her ear. "I, however, am feeling generous. Talk, and I'll make sure you face a proper trial. Stay silent, and Freya here will make you wish you had spoken."
Freya bared her fangs in a grin, her claws extending ever so slightly. "I'm really good at making people regret silence," she said with a soft, almost playful tone. Her eyes locked onto Anatoly like a predator cornering prey. "I prefer the slow method. You'll have all the time in the world to reconsider."
Silence filled the room. The pressure was unbearable. Anatoly's will finally cracked.
"Alright! Alright!" she cried out, gasping for air like she had just surfaced from drowning. "I'll talk! Just… just don't let her touch me!" She shot a terrified glance at Freya, who merely tilted her head like a curious wolf.
"Names," Vergil ordered, stepping back. "All of them."
Anatoly lowered her head, tears streaming down her face. "It was… it was Darius Blackquill and his wife, Melisandre. They approached me with the plan." Her voice was shaky but clear. "They wanted Godfrey gone. Said they'd divide his trade routes, his warehouses, and his shares. They promised me a piece of it if I played along."
"What else?" Vergil asked, his tone sharp. "Who hired the bandits?"
"It was me," she admitted, guilt hanging on every word. "I paid them when I learned Godfrey would be traveling to Avalorne. I told them to use paralyzing poison so it wouldn't leave any lasting damage. They were to hold him until Darius's men arrived to make it look like an 'accident.'"
Vergil's eyes narrowed. His hand slowly sheathed his dagger. "Smart plan. If only you weren't so sloppy."
Lucia's eyes glowed with realization. "Darius Blackquill… he's been trying to corner the merchant guild's influence for years." She grinned slyly. "Empress Eliza will be interested in this."
Vergil turned to Freya. "How's the bandit leader?"
"Quiet," Freya said, her golden eyes narrowing. "But he squeals when pressed." Her tail flicked impatiently. "He confirmed it. Anatoly paid them directly. No middleman." She glanced at Anatoly with a sly grin. "You're not as clever as you think, Lady Montclair."
Anatoly lowered her head, shoulders trembling with defeat.
Lucia's soldiers dragged Anatoly and the captured bandit leader to the new Avalorne prison. Heavy iron doors groaned as they swung open, revealing cold, dim cells. Chains rattled as the prisoners were locked away. Lucia signed off on the report and sealed it with the Avalorne insignia.
"This will reach Empress Eliza by dawn," Lucia stated, watching the messenger prepare to ride. "She'll know every name involved."
"Good," Vergil replied, watching the prison doors close with a satisfying clang. "Let the Empress decide their fate."
"And Blackquill?" Lucia asked. "What do we do about him?"
Vergil's eyes narrowed dangerously. "We will wait for Empress orders. Freya and I will handle him."
Freya's grin widened, her canines showing. "Two birds, one stone," she echoed.
The journey back to Avalorne was quiet but tense. The morning sun barely peeked over the horizon, its pale light spilling through the forest canopy. Godfrey Montclair, his wife, and his son rode in the carriage, their faces weary but safe.
Godfrey leaned out of the carriage window, calling out to Vergil, who rode on horseback beside them. "Lord Vergil, I owe you a debt I can never repay."
"You owe me a favor," Vergil said firmly, his eyes forward, scanning the road. "But for now your survival is payment enough."
"Even so…" Godfrey glanced back at his wife and son. "If there's anything I can offer, my family is at your service."
"Then stay vigilant," Vergil replied, his gaze hard. "Your enemies aren't gone yet. Blackquill will come for you again. Be ready."
Night had fallen by the time Vergil, Freya, and the others returned to the Avalorne estate. The lamps lining the mansion's path flickered like fireflies. As they dismounted, a soft breeze carried the crisp scent of pine and damp earth.
Freya stretched her arms, her tail swishing lazily behind her. "Home at last," she muttered, her voice tinged with exhaustion.
"For now we will rest," Vergil said, walking up the steps of the mansion. "We still have work to do."
Freya raised an eyebrow. "You mean Darius?"
"Exactly," Vergil replied, his eyes sharp as steel. "Tonight, we plan. Tomorrow, we hunt."
"He won't see it coming," Freya said with a grin.
Vergil glanced at her, his eyes reflecting the light of the lanterns. "That's the idea."
They stepped into the mansion, and the heavy oak doors closed behind them, shutting out the world. The warmth of the hearth flickered in the distance, but neither of them sought comfort. Their eyes burned with purpose.
The soft creak of the mansion's grand oak doors echoed through the quiet halls as Vergil and Freya stepped inside. The cool night air clung to their cloaks before being replaced by the warmth of the hearth's glow. Faint flickers of firelight danced along the walls, illuminating the intricate carvings of Avalorne's heraldry etched into the stone.
Vergil pulled back his hood, revealing his white hair, still slightly damp with sweat from the long ride. His sharp blue eyes scanned the hallway with the calm vigilance of a predator checking its den. Freya followed behind, her wolf-like ears twitching, sensing for anything out of place.
"I'm heading to the armory," Vergil said, his voice low but clear.
"I'll check on the kids," Freya replied, stretching her arms with a yawn. Her tail flicked lazily behind her, a sign of her growing fatigue. "They should be asleep by now."
Vergil gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on Freya for a moment before heading down the corridor toward the basement stairs. Each step down was steady, deliberate, the clanking of his light armor echoing softly. He moved like a shadow, each footstep measured, each movement precise.
The cold air of the armory greeted him with a familiar stillness. The room was lined with weapon racks, armor stands, and rows of shelves holding various tools of war. Swords, daggers, crossbows, throwing knives, and spears adorned the walls like relics of a forgotten age. In the center, a long wooden workbench was covered with oils, whetstones, and maintenance tools.
But something was different.
As Vergil approached, he noticed five small figures moving around the room. His sharp eyes caught sight of his five adopted daughters — Mina, Aria, Elen, Lira, and Sylvi — their small hands reaching for weapons that were far too large for them.
Mina, the eldest, was holding a short sword, tilting it awkwardly, clearly misjudging its weight. Aria sat on the floor, holding a small dagger, her eyes filled with curiosity as she studied its craftsmanship. Elen and Lira whispered to each other as they marveled at a suit of armor twice their size, while Sylvi reached for a crossbow, struggling to even lift it.
Vergil leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. The sight took him back to his own childhood — he and his three twin brothers sneaking into their father's private training hall to "borrow" weapons far beyond their years. Memories of those innocent yet reckless days warmed his heart for a moment.
"You girls having fun?" Vergil's voice was calm but commanding.
The five girls froze instantly, like deer caught in a hunter's gaze. Their eyes darted toward him in panic, each one trying to figure out whether to flee, hide, or come up with an excuse.
"W-we weren't touching anything, Papa!" Elen stammered, holding her hands up defensively.
"Yeah, we were just looking!" Lira chimed in, hiding behind her sister.
"Looking, huh?" Vergil stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room. "And I suppose that crossbow lifted itself into Sylvi's hands on its own?"
Sylvi's eyes widened, and she quickly placed the crossbow back on the rack, acting as if nothing had happened. Her ears drooped in embarrassment.
"Sorry, Papa..." Sylvi muttered, shuffling back to her sisters.
"Curiosity isn't a crime," Vergil said, his smile soft but firm. "But handling weapons without knowing how can cost you a hand... or worse."
His words hung in the air like a warning bell. Each of the girls lowered their heads in shame, their eyes unable to meet his.
Vergil approached them slowly, kneeling down so he could meet their gazes at eye level. He reached out, placing a hand on each of their heads one by one, ruffling their hair.
"I'm not angry," he said quietly. "But I need you all to listen carefully."
Their ears perked up.
"If you want to learn how to wield a sword, throw a knife, or fire a crossbow, then do it properly." He gazed at each of them, his blue eyes sharp but sincere. "No more sneaking in here like thieves. If you want to learn, I will teach you."
Their eyes lit up like stars. "R-really, Papa?" Aria asked, her voice filled with excitement.
"Really," Vergil replied with a small chuckle. "But there are two conditions."
The girls leaned forward, eager to hear what the conditions were.
"First, you have to train seriously. No half-effort. If you want to learn, then you train like warriors. Understand?"
"Yes, Papa!" the girls replied in unison, their voices filled with determination.
Vergil raised a second finger. "Second, from now on, if you want to learn from me, you must call me 'Papa' or 'Father.' No more 'Mister Vergil' or 'Lord Vergil.' Understand?"
The girls glanced at each other, then nodded enthusiastically.
"Yes, Papa!" they shouted together, their excitement breaking into giggles and cheers.
Vergil let out a soft sigh, his eyes softening as he watched them. This is what family feels like, he thought. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this feeling until now.
"Alright, off to bed," he said, standing back up. "You've had your adventure for tonight."
"Aww, but we're not tired!" Elen pouted, clinging to Vergil's arm.
"You will be tomorrow," Vergil said with a raised eyebrow. "Training starts after papa dealing a duty from Empress."
The girls' faces turned pale as they realized what that meant. "E-Empress?" Mina asked. "But that's will so late!"
"A warrior's day begins with the sun, but also know how to rest" Vergil said, walking toward the weapon rack to return his equipment. "Unless you'd rather coughs sneaking around?"
"No, no, after duty is fine! after duty is fine!" Mina waved her hands in surrender, prompting laughter from her sisters.
One by one, the girls left the armory, their footsteps echoing down the hall as they returned to their rooms. Their giggles and whispers faded into the distance, leaving only the soft crackle of torches to fill the silence.
Once the girls were gone, Vergil approached the weapon rack, his eyes lingering on his twin swords. Their polished silver gleamed under the faint torchlight, the edges razor-sharp. Carefully, he removed the twin swords from his back and placed them neatly on the rack. The weight of the weapons left his shoulders, but the weight in his heart remained.
He began checking his other equipment — the hidden daggers, his throwing knives, and his magical sniper rifle, making sure each one was clean, sharp, and ready. His hands moved automatically, muscle memory guiding every motion.
Freya's voice echoed from behind him. "They're going to be strong, you know."
Vergil glanced back, seeing Freya leaning against the doorway. Her arms were crossed, her wolf-like ears relaxed, and her eyes warm with quiet pride.
"Yeah," Vergil said, his voice distant but thoughtful. "They remind me of myself and my twin brothers. We used to sneak into Father's armory just like that." He let out a short laugh. "We got caught too, and he made us train for days as punishment."
"Looks like you've become him," Freya teased, her eyes narrowing mischievously.
"Maybe," Vergil said as he set the sniper rifle into its stand. He gazed at the weapon, his fingers brushing over the cool metal. "But unlike him, I'll make sure they know they're loved."
Freya's grin widened. "That's why they'll follow you anywhere, Papa."
Freya's grin widened. "That's why they'll follow you anywhere, Papa."
Her words hung in the air, and Vergil glanced at her. He could see it in her eyes — respect, admiration, and something more.
"Get some rest, Freya," Vergil said as he wiped his hands clean. "Tomorrow, we prepare for Blackquill."
Freya nodded, her eyes sharp like a hunter's. "I'll be ready."
The armory fell silent once more. But even in that silence, the weight of shadows lingered. The hunt for Blackquill had already begun.