Sparrow grasped the gun, its dark, solid frame fitting snugly in his hand. The edges pulsed with a faint purple glow, the intricate inner workings catching his keen eye. It was a weapon unlike any he had encountered before.
The room lay shrouded in darkness, save for the flickering fire in the hearth, casting restless shadows along the walls. Outside, the wind howled through the trees, rustling leaves in a ghostly symphony. The workers moved with efficiency, setting a fresh cup of hot tea before their master and his guest.
Yet Sparrow's attention remained on the weapon as he admired its dangerous beauty. One thing, however, was certain—this gun was not of the Kingdom. It hailed from a distant metropolis beyond the Nine Realms, a place where massive machines soared across the skies and men donned elaborate armour and extravagant hats. Though he was both a noble and a scholar of high esteem, having traversed the Nine Realms extensively, collecting all ranges of weaponry and artifacts, this was his first time encountering a firearm of such design.
Tony took a slow sip of his tea, savouring the exquisite blend of honey and saffron. The warmth spread through him, but another matter weighed heavier on his mind. Setting his cup down with deliberate care, he finally spoke.
"If I'm not mistaken, this is a weapon designed to kill the swordsman." His gaze lingered on the gun. "But it's just a gun. How is that supposed to help?"
"It's more than just a gun," he said, still running his fingers over its sleek frame. "From what I've heard, it doesn't fire bullets but concentrated light at immense speed." His voice carried a note of admiration. "You know how I have a taste for exquisite weaponry."
Tony let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "You don't need to remind me," he said. "I was surprised when you handed one of your collection pieces to that Matthew fellow. That's not like you."
Sparrow remained silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the gun. "The boy works under Lester, does he not? He harbours a grudge against the Weeping Swordsman… and now he's fought him." He raised the gun, pointing it idly at the far wall. "Strange, isn't it? That he would encounter the swordsman so soon… and that I would so conveniently provide him with a weapon." A chuckle escaped his lips. "Almost as if it were planned."
Tony studied him, his expression unreadable. No matter how one looked at it, Sparrow commanded far greater influence than Tony and Hack. Beneath his eccentric nature lay a mind both brilliant and dangerous. A man who also possessed a gift, the only gifted known to Tony. Among the high grand nobles of the Nine Realms, Sparrow was considered one of the most remarkable both in strength and wisdom.
Tony sighed, taking another sip of his tea and decided not to pry further. Instead, he returned to the matter at hand. "Even if it fires light instead of bullets, how do you expect it to kill the swordsman?" His gaze sharpened. "Can we really place our faith in this?"
Sparrow lowered the gun, his fingers caressing the weapon as he adjusted his monocle with his free hand. "A sword forged to slay a dragon must be stained with the beast's blood, yes?" he said, his voice almost playful. "Otherwise, it is nothing more than a hunk of iron."
Tony frowned. "What are you implying?"
"This firearm has claimed the lives of both the weak and the mighty in mere seconds," he said, raising his gun and fired.
The air itself seemed to freeze as the world lost its colour. The fire's flickering slowed, as if time had fractured. The guard he had targeted reacted instantly, his blade flashing to intercept the shot.
A beam of light sliced through the grey world. It struck the sword, shattering it in an instant, before tearing a gaping hole through the man's stomach.
Reality snapped back into motion in a blink. The workers remained poised, heads held high, their expressions unmoved as their colleague bled to death.
Tony let out a breath, his fingers tapping against his cup. A quiet applause followed. "A marvellous weapon indeed."
Sparrow laid the gun back into its box, leaning back in his chair.
He picked up a book from his side and began flipping through its pages. "I've done my part for our little… movement," he murmured. "Negotiations with foreign nations, establishing the foundation for future business and alliances… all to ensure a smooth transition once our leader has conquered the Nine Realms." His gaze flickered toward the weapon's box and back to Tony. "So you'll do your part as well, won't you, Lord Tony?"
#
The storm raged on, wind whipping through the streets of Pyrovile as its people scrambled for shelter. But Tori ran, her scythe trailing behind her, the downpour soaking her to the bone.
She skidded to a stop, breathless, eyes scanning the empty streets. There was no sign of Pasta and no trace of the mercenaries as well.
Her fingers curled tighter around her weapon as her mind flickered back—to him.
The Weeping Swordsman.
She clenched her teeth, lowering her head as rainwater dripped from her bangs. If only I were stronger... she thought. Then maybe I would have stood a chance against him.
"Mr. Swordsman..." she whispered, her voice lost to the storm. "How are you so powerful?"
He had closed the distance in an instant, stopping the blade as if it were effortless. No gift, not using any of the three powers, just sheer speed. It was unreal.
Tori twirled her scythe, the mechanical edges retracting into a compact baton. "I should leave Pyrovile," she said, her tears vanishing into the rain. "He was right after all. It's not like I'm needed anyway—"
"Tori!"
Her name rang out through the storm. She turned, eyes wide, just as Emilia crashed into her, wrapping her in a tight embrace.
"I've been calling you," Emilia whispered against her shoulder. "You looked so devastated when you heard about the Weeping Swordsman. It was like... you weren't yourself."
Tori stiffened but slowly returned the hug. "I'm fine," she said.
"You don't seem fine." Emilia held her closer. "It's okay to get angry. To lose sometimes. You said your friends survived, right? Be glad for that. Don't throw yourself away over this... please."
Tori said nothing. The rain filled the silence, punctuated by the sound of Hudson's footsteps sloshing through the flooded streets. He stopped a few paces away, watching the two girls at the centre of the storm.
Emilia's hand brushed through Tori's soaked hair, her touch warm despite the cold. "Now, let's get out of this rain, girl," she chuckled. "We can't afford to catch a cold while we're busy saving Pyrovile, right?"
Tori's breath hitched. "But…" She gripped Emilia's clothes. "I thought—"
"Damn Mr. Swordsman." Emilia huffed. "I don't care what he does. Goodness! We were the ones who hired him after all. And since Pasta's an idiot, that makes me in charge." She pulled back, grinning. "You're part of our party now. Whether he likes it or not."
Tori blinked, then let out a small, disbelieving laugh. Emilia laughed too, and soon the two of them were doubled over, laughing wildly as the storm raged on.
Hudson sighed, watching from the sidelines. Are they planning to find shelter anytime soon…?
#
The tavern exuded a warm, golden glow, defying the relentless storm outside. At the centre of the room, a musician clad in violet played his flute with a passion that wove tranquillity into the air. The melody softened the murmur of patrons lounging about, sipping their drinks and enjoying their meals.
A flustered server hurried over, towels in hand. "Are you three alright? The storm's quite fierce tonight," he fretted, offering them the clothes. "Dry yourselves off, yes, yes, and we'll have a room arranged for you shortly."
Emilia shot Tori a knowing smile before gently tugging her by the arm. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up." She led her toward the washroom, leaving Hudson standing awkwardly in a puddle of his own making.
Before long, they stepped into their designated space—small but well-kept. A single bed sat in the centre, neatly made with folded blankets on the side. The walls and floor were surprisingly pristine, lacking any sign of dust or wear, an unexpected luxury for such a modest establishment.
Tori barely took it all in before stretching her arms and flopping onto the bed with a satisfied sigh. "Goodnight, fam," she muttered, her words melting into a yawn.
Hudson pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's not even nighttime. It's just dark because of the storm."
"Same thing," Tori grumbled, face buried in the pillow.
Emilia shook her head and slung her bag beside the door. This was it—her very first night lodging as a full-fledged adventurer. She had imagined thrilling battles against monsters, unravelling ancient mysteries, crossing paths with a dashing elf prince, maybe escorting a rich noble to a designated town and fighting bandits on the way, falling in love with an elf prince, exploring lost dungeons together, and the most important thing on her list- marrying an elf prince.
Instead, all the monsters seemed to be running from the Lords know what, and she has encountered zero elf princes so far. And now the only guys in her life were a scary swordsman, a butler, and a human who had no worth. And the most unforgettable sight thus far? A stark-naked Pasta chasing Tori down the road.
She groaned, flopping onto the bed beside Tori. "Why in the Mother of Mikah is my adventure so boring?" she whispered into the sheets.
Tori, matching her despair, whined, "I'm so starving."
They both let out a collective groan, while Hudson stood stiffly by the door, fighting his own battle. His face burned as he swallowed hard, realising he would be spending the night in the same room as two girls. No, I have only one girl. Only you Mary. You can trust me. I won't do a single thing tonight. He clenched his fist, steeling his resolve.
Emilia blinked up at Tori's hip, her gaze landing on the compact baton. She recalled the way it had once been a scythe back at the fight.
"What kind of weapon is that?" Emilia asked, nodding toward it.
Tori, mid-groan, perked down slightly. "Oh, this?" She lifted it lazily. "Nothing special, really. Without my headphones, it's just a useless hunk of metal."
"Headphones?" Emilia tilted her head in confusion.
Tori smirked and playfully flicked Emilia's forehead. "You forget—I'm not from around here," she said with a smile. "I'll show you some other day"
The window burst open, rain and wind howling through the small room as Mr Swordsman perched on the sill, his drenched cloak dripping onto the wooden floor. His stoic expression remained unchanged as his sharp gaze swept over the group.
"Good. Everyone's here," he said coolly, stepping inside. "I see you failed to find Pasta. A simple task, and yet not one of you could handle it. I should have never placed my trust in you all."
Emilia went quiet, refusing to say a word.
Tori rolled her eyes, sitting up. "Yeah, yeah, like you're any better," she scoffed. "I seem to recall you looking pretty defenceless against the Weeping Swordsman. Without Emilia and me, you'd be dead. So maybe ease up on the self-righteous act." She pointed at the door. "Also, there's this thing called an entrance—you should try it sometime."
Emilia let out a small squeak as Tori's fingers pinched her side, prompting her to sit up. She turned to Mr. Swordsman, hesitating for only a moment. "Y-Yeah, you should be more grateful! We tried to catch up to the mercenaries, but they were too fast and they did have a headstart after all."
Mr. Swordsman remained unfazed. "I would have preferred using the front door," he said, "but remember, in Pyrovile, I'm considered a bandit." His eyes flickered toward the storm outside. "I'd rather not cause unnecessary trouble. The mercenaries likely spotted you two and Hudson as well. As of now, we're all criminals."
Hudson, who had been silently listening, turned to Emilia with a solemn nod. "You must be devastated about Pasta's capture. I'm sorry."
Emilia lowered her gaze, her fingers curling into the fabric of her pants. "He'll be fine. He's Pasta, after all."
Hudson offered a small, reassuring smile. "Since he was taken by the mercenaries under Tony, that means he's probably at the mansion."
"Yes," Emilia whispered, her expression hardened as she got to her feet, facing Mr. Swordsman directly. "I'm going to explain everything to Tori," she declared, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. "She deserves to know. And you should know your place. I appreciate that you're looking out for us—it's your job, after all—but this is my decision, and I'll take full responsibility for it."
Silence filled the room as Mr. Swordsman's gaze drifted downward, catching sight of Emilia's trembling hands before she tightened them into fists, forcing herself to remain composed.
"I'm not against that," he finally said, taking a seat on the bed and glancing at Tori. "She's a decent fighter. I wouldn't mind working with her."
Emilia's tense expression melted into a bright smile. Without a thought, she rushed over to Tori, who still seemed baffled that Mr. Swordsman hadn't protested.
Emilia told her everything—the moment they found Hudson in the bushes, the looming destruction of Pyrovile, and the true nature of their mission.
Time passed, and Tori paced the room, her hands clasped behind her back as she processed the information. "So, we're after a stone," she mused, her eyes lit up as she turned toward Emilia. "And not just any stone but one that could trigger an eruption? That's so cool!"
But then, her gaze snapped to Mr. Swordsman, who remained seated, his cloak still dripping onto the floor. A slow frown crossed her face. "Wait a minute…" She stepped toward him, her purple eyes narrowing. "And you thought I was working with this Tony guy? How—how—how absurd!"
Mr Swordsman didn't flinch, merely nodding in acknowledgement, offering no defence.
Emilia frowned. He was acting… strange—stranger than usual.
Tori exhaled, shaking her head. "Anyway, I want to apologize for thinking you were the Weeping Swordsman," she said, extending a hand toward him with a wry chuckle. "Let's start over… again."
Mr. Swordsman's gaze slowly lifted to meet hers. His voice was flat, devoid of hesitation.
"No need to apologise." He squeezed the water from his sleeve and met her gaze."I am the Weeping Swordsman."
The room plunged into absolute silence.
Tori froze mid-handshake, her forced smile twitching at the edges.
Emilia and Hudson stiffened, eyes wide and jaws slack, their mouths gaping open like doorways for any unfortunate insect to wander into.
And then—
A scythe came swinging for Mr Swordsman's face.