As Roland and Leo left Old Spandau, they arranged to meet at a local inn in the Charlottenburg-Wilmersdorf neighborhood. Once there, they sat down and ordered food, with Roland footing the bill due to his loss in their previous bet.
"So, how does it feel to be the loser for once?" Leo teased, grinning at his old friend.
"Once? May I remind you that I have lost before?" Roland retorted with a smirk.
"Welllllllll… You do win 90% of the time."
"Oh, would you look at that. The idiotic gunslinger can actually count and do math."
"You little—" Leo gritted his teeth, a vein bulging in his neck.
"Don't tell me you're so easily aggravated by a bit of teasing, old friend."
"Of course not! Tranquility is my best characteristic!" Leo declared, puffing out his chest and rubbing his nose.
As their playful banter continued, their food arrived. Roland received a perfectly cooked steak, while Leo's meal was a feast: hamburgers, soups, bread, wine, and more—a veritable display of gluttony.
With the Knight and the Sharpshooter reunited, their conversation turned serious. They discussed their next move, where to go, and how to grow their resources effectively. After all, going into a fight without a plan was as good as courting death.
"So, share your grand idea. What are you planning to do?" Leo asked, sipping his wine.
"Bring down Kyros," Roland replied, cutting into his steak.
Leo choked, spitting out his wine in shock. He coughed violently before taking another sip to clear his throat.
"Are you insane?! I knew you were crazy, but that's suicide!" he whispered, glaring at Roland for his audacity.
"Trust me, it's the best course of action, my friend."
"It's just us two against an army of assassins and codex users with connections all over Berlin! I don't want to sound pessimistic, but think logically. We can't handle an all-out conflict!" Leo pleaded.
"I'm not saying you're wrong. However, think back to what we learned during those hellish training sessions and missions that lasted for months," Roland said calmly.
"You need not face an enemy head-on. Cut their limbs and weaken their power instead, for that is destined to make them fall," Leo recited instinctively.
"Exactly. We don't need an all-out war. We start small—gain control over the criminal underworld in Germany—then strike when Kyros is weakened."
"For someone who wields a sword and has a codex called The Black Knight, you're less of a knight and more of an assassin. Force of habit, eh?" Leo quipped, even in the seriousness of the discussion.
"While I truly appreciate you as one of the few people I call a friend, I will stab you one of these days. But now, allow me to explain my plan in greater detail."
Roland began outlining his strategy, hoping to convince his friend to join him. Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, someone else was preparing for their return to the Vaterland.
Moscow, Russia
Amid the unrelenting blizzard ravaging the Russian landscape, a towering mansion stood defiant. Inside, a figure cloaked in black strode through dimly lit halls until they reached a massive door.
The door, at least four meters tall, was crafted from the finest wood and painted white. As it swung open, a luxurious study was revealed, bathed in golden light emanating from the ceiling. Shelves of books lined the walls, fur rugs adorned the floor, and the faint strains of German opera played softly in the background.
At the center of the room stood a table with a half-finished chess game atop it. A high-backed chair faced a large window, overlooking the raging blizzard. From the chair, a hand holding a glass of wine extended into view.
"This blizzard reminds me so much of my old home—cold, wet, and enough to make me shake violently," the seated figure remarked, their voice carrying the weight of a man in his late 30s or early 40s.
"Yes, but you are now in the warmth of a better home, Mein Kaiser," said the black-cloaked figure, kneeling on one knee.
"Home? This place is not my home. It's a waste of space I bought out of pity for my followers, so they wouldn't freeze to death," the man replied coldly, his voice harsher than the storm outside.
"I have news: the 21 assassins sent by the French Chouette family have been murdered. The story is already making waves across Deutschland," the kneeling figure reported.
"Tell me, in detail, the condition of the bodies when they were found," the older man requested, his tone calm yet commanding.
"Multiple stab wounds, missing limbs, and white bullets embedded in some of the bodies. Only one corpse remained intact."
"Ah… so it's those two," the man said, rising from his chair. His regal snow-white attire and short white hair shimmered faintly in the golden light. He turned from the window, revealing pitch-black eyes that bore into the kneeling figure.
"Leo and Roland," he concluded.
The black-cloaked figure stiffened in surprise, their fists clenching. Before they could speak, the older man continued.
"It's time to return home and formally greet two of my best underlings." He stepped forward, pausing briefly to make a final chess move, sliding the bishop into position on the board. "I believe you, my daughter, can resolve this matter for me."
"For the honor of the Wulf family, I, Luna Wulf, will bring the two traitors to their knees, Father."
Placing a hand over her heart, the young woman stood tall as she and the man left the room. Moments later, the pair boarded a plane bound for Berlin, where a bloodbath awaited.