A bard, clad in deep purple, plucked the strings of his lute, his voice carrying through the dimly lit tavern. Seated cross-legged upon a stool, he remained still even as silence followed his song. Then, the crowd erupted, tankards raised, voices clamouring for his name.
He exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on the rafters. "My name is… No. Please call me the Mauve Bard."
A fresh cheer rippled through the room, drinks clashing together in celebration. Yet, as the patrons revelled, the bard remained unmoved, his violet eyes flickering on the roof. A familiar aura—hidden yet undeniable—clashed against another on the second floor. He slung his lute over his shoulder and made his way to his room, calling it a night.
The heavy wooden door groaned as he pushed it open. Within stood two figures, their armour akin to that of the town guards, though their exposed arms bore the tattoo of a white rose. The bard entered, setting his lute upon a nearby desk before easing onto the edge of his neatly made bed. With a weary sigh, he kicked at the wooden frame beside it.
"Grand Noble Lucas E. Flocke," one of the men said, bowing deeply. "We have returned from our venture. Forgive our lateness."
"Yes, sire, forgive us," the other echoed, both kneeling with their heads pressed against the floor.
Lucas leaned back, undoing the clasps of his violet robe. "Report. Every detail."
"Sire, as suspected—entering the town was simple, but leaving is another matter entirely. We've been unable to send word to the council or the Nine Lords. Bandits roam the streets, mercenaries have taken the high ground, and we have yet to uncover Tony's true intentions. And… the Weeping Swordsman has been found dead."
Lucas strolled into the adjoining washroom, methodically removing his makeup. He wiped his face with a damp towel, relishing the coolness against his skin. Refreshed, he draped himself in the pristine white robe provided by the tavern—a mark of distinction for its esteemed guests. His reputation, it seemed, had earned him such small luxuries.
"Tony is a noble, just like me," Lucas murmured as he stepped back into the room, and sat on the bed. "He hails from the Ninth and has long played a crucial role in this kingdom. There is no evidence tying him to treason against the Realms. Even if the Realms wished to retaliate, they would be at a loss. Do you know why?"
The men remained silent, their heads still bowed.
Lucas idly twisted a lock of his hair. "Firstly, unity among the Realms is an illusion. The past ensured that. Secondly, Pyrovile benefits only a select few—those other lords smile at its ruin rather than mourn it. The lords who truly care for this town will attempt to reclaim it subtly, for an extravagant purge would be costly. Lives and resources would be lost—precious resources, as the lords would put it. Tony played his cards well, but what interests me most is why he chose this town to begin with. Beyond the obvious—bating war."
Lucas lay back on the bed, exhaling deeply. The Realms was getting more and more convoluted by the minute, he thought. How I wish to leave this town early. But alas, I must stay and perform my duties. I must make it to the Second at all costs and talk to Lord Missui.
The Nine Realms may have severed themselves from the world, but the world had not severed them in return. The secrets buried here and the identity of a strange entity— the mastermind of this turmoil. A being that should not exist. This information could not be given to just anyone but the very man he trusted. Lord Missui Falcrest of the Second.
And then, of course, there was the swordsman.
Lucas closed his eyes, only to open them moments later. His men still knelt, heads pressed to the wooden floor. He chuckled. "Apologies, my men. You may rise."
As they did, he tilted his head slightly. "Oh, and one more thing—the Weeping Swordsman is not dead."
The guards stiffened. "What makes you so sure, sire?"
Lucas smirked. "Nothing but an assertion. That's all."
#
Emilia stormed through the bustling streets of Pyrovile, arms crossed, cheeks puffed, and eyes burning with frustration. Then, with all the grace of an outraged child, she stomped her foot. Again. And again. And again.
"Arrgh! Tori!" she yelled, drawing more than a few confused glances from passersby.
Hudson reached out to console her, but the moment she snapped her head toward him with the intensity of an enraged beast, he recoiled.
"Like, why would she wear something so... Revealing?!" Emilia fumed, dramatically throwing her hands in the air. "I told her not to, but did she listen? Noooo! She just had to ignore me!"
Hudson sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "She was in a hurry, Em. Her grandd—uh, grandpappy means a lot to her. Of course, she'd want to check on him first thing."
Emilia huffed, turning to Mr Swordsman, who trailed behind them, as silent and unreadable as ever. Something about him had been off since the fight. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but...
Her thoughts screeched to a halt as Mr Swordsman purchased corn on the cob from a passing vendor. After taking a bite, he smiled to himself.
She shrieked, yanking Hudson closer.
"Hey! Don't you think he's acting weird?" she whispered, eyes darting toward him.
Hudson nodded. "I thought I was the only one! He looks... happy. The other day, he was burning up. I thought he was gonna combust! But then, all of a sudden he was fine."
Emilia's eyes narrowed. "You think it has something to do with him being the Weeping Swordsman?"
A shadow loomed over them.
"If you two wish to keep your conversation a secret," Mr. Swordsman said, standing directly behind them, his face stoic as ever while taking a slow, deliberate bite of his corn, "I suggest you lower your voices. And stand farther away from me."
Emilia and Hudson flinched, immediately straightening up, their bodies stiff as boards.
"S-So," Emilia started awkwardly, rocking on her heels. "Why do they call you the Weeping Swordsman?"
Her question was drowned out by the sudden, thunderous rhythm of drums. A group of performers flooded the streets, their dark skin adorned with golden tattoos as they pounded their instruments in a mesmerising cadence. Dancers twirled flaming hoops around their waists, the fire casting flickering patterns against the buildings.
Hudson and Emilia's eyes widened in awe as they watched the spectacle.
Meanwhile, Mr. Swordsman took another bite of his meal. "I don't know."
The two of them snapped their heads toward him.
"You don't know?" Emilia repeated.
Hudson furrowed his brow. "I thought it was 'cause whenever you show up, a cry is heard. That's what people say, right?"
Mr. Swordsman chewed thoughtfully. "Rumours," he said. "I haven't heard anyone cry upon my arrival. But more about me are all over the Realms, and I have no recollection of most of them. Which means they're false."
Emilia blinked. "Then how are you so famous?"
Mr. Swordsman turned to her, eyes blank. "My swordsmanship. And my gift. What else?"
As he spoke, his gaze drifted toward a statue nearby—a woman wearing a hat like his, a veil draping down from it. One hand raised a torch with no flame, while the other held a star. His expression darkened slightly before he looked away, feeling the sudden presence of someone keeping an eye on him.
Emilia sighed. "That's a shame. I was hoping you'd share some interesting stories with us—"
She stopped mid-sentence, noticing the swordsman's sharp gaze.
He turned away from her, subtly shifting Hudson with him.
Hudson blinked. "What's wrong?"
Mr. Swordsman remained still. "We're being watched," he murmured. "But luckily, they've only just arrived. They didn't hear us talking."
Emilia stiffened, eyes flickering toward the crowd.
Mr. Swordsman continued, his voice low. "Hudson and I are still branded criminals. They don't see you as our associate yet. We need to split up for now."
"Split up?" Emilia echoed, her attention flickering between the performers and the approaching figures in the crowd.
Mr. Swordsman nodded. "Tony and his men are moving toward the volcano along with the other mercenaries. That means Pyrovile is safe enough for you and Pasta," he said, his eyes scanning the crowd. "But I can't protect all three of you at once. This situation is beyond you two. You're too weak. So stay here, find Tori, and rescue Pasta. That, at least, you can manage."
Emilia clenched her fists. She looked up—Mr Swordsman was gone. So was Hudson.
She let out a long breath, turning back to the performance.
Then, gritting her teeth, she spun on her heel and stormed toward Tony's mansion.
#
Tori strolled through the woods, serenaded by the cheerful melodies of birdsong. The earthy aroma of damp soil blended with the sweet scent of wildflowers, creating a delightful tingling sensation in her nose. On one hand, she wielded her trusty scythe. In the other, the true weapon of indulgence—tacos.
Eating too much of this stuff was probably a problem. Probably. But overthinking would only ruin the taste, and she simply couldn't allow that.
Between bites, her mind drifted to a very pressing question—why did Pyrovile have so many meat-selling establishments? They are all sourced from the same animals, yet somehow, beef could taste like a divine masterpiece in one place and like a mother's regret in another. Cooking was truly a mysterious and powerful art.
She chewed, then sighed. No point getting lost in philosophy when she was already, quite literally, lost.
"Now," she muttered, stopping in her tracks and glancing around at the towering trees. "Where am I?"
Silence. The trees, birds, and possibly even the tacos refused to provide an answer.
Frowning, she flicked her scythe back into its baton form and tapped it against her palm. The last thing she remembered was searching for Grandpappy, knocking out some guards, being chased by those same guards, stealing some meat from a different guard, and then following some more guards out of the gate… and now she was in the middle of nowhere.
After a moment of deliberation—during which she finished the last bite of her taco—she nodded to herself.
"Grandpappy should be at the Highlands," she said confidently.
She had no idea where the Highlands were. But confidence was key in finding it. She stuffed the rest of the taco into her mouth and set off again.
Even in her predicament, her mind wandered. Where do animals even come from? And if humans are technically animals, does that mean—
She shook her head, brushing away the absurd train of thought.
With that, she continued walking, hoping that sheer luck would guide her.
Not realising, of course, that she was walking in the completely wrong direction.
#
The mansion had settled into an eerie calm, its usual bustle restored as if nothing had happened. Pasta had been returned to his cell, and for now, everything was back in order.
The heavy doors of the meeting room swung open, and a guard stepped in, bowing his head before speaking.
"My Lord, the preparations for your departure are complete."
Tony rose from his seat, a briefcase in hand, and turned to face his comrades. "The time has come. We all know our roles, don't we?"
Hack clenched his fists, muttering under his breath. "This is ridiculous. Sitting here, overseeing the situation—what if we don't make it in time?"
Sparrow, idly toying with his small companion, merely chuckled. "Abandon your worries, my friend. There's no sense fretting over things we can't control."
Tony nodded. "Precisely. This is our duty, and we must see it through to the end. Sparrow, you'll remain at the mansion with a few of the workers to maintain appearances. Hack, you'll lead the mercenaries in scouring the town for the bandits and the swordsman. As for me, I'll personally oversee the project."
Hack exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to his forehead as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. A bitter thought crossed his mind—if only he had never joined this movement.
Tony clapped his hands, summoning a butler who promptly stepped forward, carrying a briefcase. He placed it on the table and unlatched it, revealing a chart lined with markings that mapped out Pyrovile in meticulous detail.
"This town holds great historical significance," Tony said, handing the chart to Sparrow. "This information is invaluable. It will be instrumental in ensuring both you and Hack can escape when the gate is sealed from the outside."
Hack's brow furrowed. "Why give it to Sparrow when he's staying at the mansion?"
Tony met his gaze without hesitation. "Because he'll be the one operating the mechanism. That alone could accelerate the process. If worse comes to worse, his gift will be useful as well to provide a quick escape last minute," he said, turning his back. "Also Sparrow inquired for this information personally"
Hack scoffed and stormed out of the room, frustration evident in every step.
Sparrow, unfazed, adjusted his monocle as he studied the chart. A slow smile crept onto his lips. The ancient society that once thrived in this town… truly fascinating.