The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, the stage was soon blanketed in a cascade of vibrant petals and glimmering coins. Lucas tilted his head back, watching as the delicate flowers drifted around him. He caught sight of a few youngsters slipping through the bustling crowd, their attempts to remain inconspicuous painfully obvious to him—though the townsfolk seemed none the wiser.
Lowering his gaze, Lucas offered a bow before stepping off the stage. With effortless grace, he manoeuvred through the other contestants, his presence acknowledged with murmurs and nods, before making his way to the secluded back room.
His reason for joining the competition had been simple—boredom. Victory had never been his aim, nor did the grand prize of a thousand gold coins hold any true value to him. To others, it was a life-changing fortune. To him, a mere trifle.
At the back entrance, a lavish carriage awaited him, its exterior adorned with cascading purple flowers and sheer veils that fluttered gently in the late morning breeze.
Stepping inside, Lucas settled comfortably into his seat, a warm cup of tea already prepared for him. His newly acquired sponsors—eager to spread his name across the town—had arranged every luxury at his disposal. It had only been a day, and he was already on the path to entertainment grandeur.
He took a slow sip, savouring the aroma. "This scent… it reminds me of sun blossoms on a bright, blissful afternoon."
The driver inclined his head in gratitude. "I appreciate your kind words, my lord. Your drink not only pleases the palate but also restores vitality to the body. A refined blend of golden petals, finely crushed nuts, silver bee honey, and other rare ingredients… though I shall refrain from revealing the full recipe."
Lucas exhaled a short chuckle. "Hmph. Quite the talker, aren't you?" His gaze drifted to the window. "I might have enjoyed your words longer, but it seems… some guests of mine are on their way."
The driver stiffened. "Guests? I wasn't informed of any mee—"
The carriage wheels halted and the birds fell silent. The wind ceased its whispering, and the colours of the world faded into an eerie monochrome.
Lucas let out a sigh, swirling the remaining tea in his cup before setting it aside. "It does have a hint of medicine, now that I think about it." His voice carried the weight of inevitability. "Now then… what brings you two here?"
Before him, two figures appeared. Both were cloaked in deep black.
"I greet you, my liege," they intoned.
Lucas leaned back, his fingers lazily tapping against the armrest. "We don't have all day, boys. What do you have for me."
Verek, the bigger one lifted his head slightly. "There is a problem," he said. "The nobles are at their games again, and like a fly ensnared in a web, we have no clear escape."
Lucas's expression darkened. "Explain."
Still on his knees, Verek produced a scroll, holding it out.
Lucas took it, unfurling the parchment.
"That contains the orders discreetly sent to mercenaries stationed across the town," Verek continued. "Their intent is clear—total annihilation of Pyrovile."
A quiet chuckle escaped Lucas's lips. "So they aim to bring me down along with the town," he murmured, rolling the scroll shut. "I assume escaping won't be simple?"
Kite gave a solemn nod. "The city gates and all known exits have been sealed under the pretence of capturing the Weeping Swordsman and his companions. But in truth, it's nothing more than a cage for the people." He paused. "Even if we do manage to escape mercenaries have already surrounded the outskirts. Engaging them head-on would be unwise—we have no knowledge of their full numbers or strength."
Lucas set the scroll aside. "And the other nobles?"
"Only Tony is absent," Kite answered. "Sparrow has remained at the mansion, while Hack is currently surveying the town."
Lucas hummed at the mention of the name. "Sparrow, huh?" His fingers traced the rim of his empty teacup before he picked it back up. "Very well. Find another way out—we're running out of time."
Both men bowed their heads. The world's colour bled back into existence, and with it, the two shadows vanished.
"-ter Mauve?" The driver's voice pulled him back to reality.
Lucas turned to him, the same pleasant smile adorning his lips. "Ah, my mistake," he said smoothly. "I must have been mistaken about a meeting."
The driver nodded and returned his attention to the road.
Lucas leaned against the window, his gaze stoic as he whispered, "I was right all along… I'm not the only one aware of this secret."
#
Lord Tony gazed out the window, watching the landscape roll by. The Nine Realms had been embroiled in conflict for so long, and yet the question remained: when one realm finally reigned supreme, what would come after? Would it be peace, or simply another war wearing a different face?
"A beautiful day, isn't it, Lester?" Tony said in a conversational tone, tapping his cane lightly against the floor.
Lester stirred, cracking an eye open. "The weather's nice, I suppose."
Tony sighed, shifting his gaze back to the view. "In just a few minutes, all this greenery will be reduced to ash. A dreadful sight, no doubt, but a necessary one. Sacrifice paves the way for a brighter future—a world without war, ruled by order and resolution." He turned toward his companion. "And you, Lester? How do you feel about being part of this?"
Lester folded his arms, smirking. "You do have a habit of saying strange things out of the blue. Reminds me of Lord Sparrow," he said, scratching his eye. "Here you are, orchestrating a grand-scale massacre, and yet you speak of peace as if they go hand in hand. It's… a refreshing trait in an employer, I'll give you that." He let out a short chuckle. "As for why I'm here, well, I have two reasons."
Tony raised a brow. "I'm listening."
"First, I like you," Lester said bluntly. "You're a lot more fatherly than you let on. And an odd one at that."
Tony studied him for a moment before resting his chin on his clasped hands. "What makes you say that?"
Lester's grin widened. "That mysterious order we received—to spare your butler's life. That caught my attention but I knew at that very moment you were the one who ordered it. I wasn't against it but was just taken aback by your… what's the term? Ah, yes … Compassion."
Tony chuckled. "Yes, I chose to spare him. He's just a boy, a butler I had raised from birth. It'll be heartless for me to murder him just for a little bit of eavesdropping."
"Heartless, huh?" Lester mused. "You really do have a soft spot for your people. The lot of you act more like family than master and servants. It's odd."
Tony bowed his head slightly, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Odd… I rather like it that way."
"You're a strange man, Lord Tony."
"That I am," Tony said, adjusting his gloves. "Now, what's your second reason?"
Lester closed his eyes. "Money, of course."
Tony chuckled. "Ah, the ever-reliable lure of coin. But tell me, does mere wealth truly make all this worthwhile? To risk your life for something so fleeting—it seems rather… shallow."
Lester didn't respond immediately, feigning sleep. The answer wasn't so simple. It wasn't just about money. It was about survival. About providing for those who depended on him.
But he'd sooner die than admit that to this old man.
With a quiet sigh, he shifted to a more comfortable position and let himself drift off.
#
The camp trembled with violent explosions, tents and debris scattering around the clearing.
A devastating force ripped through the air, barreling toward Mr. Swordsman. He stood unmoving, his gaze fixed on the incoming blast. As it neared, he activated his burst—energy flaring for an instant before the attack vanished without a trace.
"I don't have time for this," he muttered.
Across the field, Matthew panted, his gloves crackling as they built up energy. His breath came ragged, but his eyes burned with fury. "You're going to pay for what you did, you brute," he whispered, drawing one arm back. With a sudden blast, he propelled forward in a blur, closing the distance in an instant.
His blade slashed toward Mr. Swordsman's neck.
Yet, as the strike neared, time twisted. The world turned grey, every movement dragging at an agonizing crawl.
Mr. Swordsman exhaled slowly. "I shouldn't use the second power this much," he murmured, stepping out of the blade's path. "But it doesn't seem like he'll let me leave that easily."
His gaze flicked to the distance, where Tori—frozen mid-stride—moved sluggishly through the warped time.
"She shouldn't be here," he whispered, his frown deepening. "That means the siblings are alone in the town… That's bad. They won't last minutes without assistance."
His attention snapped back to Matthew. His expression hardened. "I'll make this quick."
As the world burst with colours, Mr. Swordsman drove his foot into Matthew's face.
The impact sent him hurtling backwards, crashing straight into Tori.
They hit the ground hard, dust kicking up around them. Matthew groaned, rolling to his feet with a cough. "Damn that swordsman…" He turned his glare on Tori, irritation flashing across his face. "You must be another one of that naked idiot's comrades. Get out of my way."
Tori rose, her baton shifting into a scythe. "What did you just say?" she whispered.
Matthew ignored her, pushing past and dashing back toward Mr. Swordsman. "I'll kill you here and now, you damn—"
A sudden force surged behind him.
Instinct screamed at him, and he barely twisted in time as a scythe carved through the space he had just occupied. The sheer force alone sliced through tents and wagons in a clean, merciless arc.
Matthew landed, steadying himself. He turned to face Tori, who approached slowly, her empty, unblinking eyes locking onto him.
"I'll deal with those girls later," she murmured.
Energy crackled around her, the pins on her headphones spinning violently. The edges of her scythe glowed a deep, pulsing red.
"I'm curious…" Her lips curled into a smile, void of warmth. "If a human can survive without limbs," she said, her gaze unwavering. "Let's find out, shall we?"
#
Hudson stood with his arms crossed, eyes closed, as the chaos of battle raged around him. He had just finished explaining the truth—the plans of Lord Tony and his allies. The workers fell into uneasy silence, struggling to process the revelation.
Tony had been more than just a master to them. He was a father figure—strict, yet undeniably caring.
Hudson knew that feeling well. He had been abandoned, sold off like property, but Lord Tony had taken him in. There had been no need for another servant in his grand estate, yet Tony had made space for him. Instead of discarding him, he raised him and trained him—not just in the duties of a butler, but in culture, politics, and the intricate workings of the noble class.
Yet, never once did it feel overwhelming. As a child, Tony had made sure of that. He had read him bedtime stories, run through fields with him, and given him a home where he was more than just a tool for service.
Time passed, and more workers joined the household. Among the nobility, Lord Tony was revered for his leadership. He had singlehandedly managed the affairs of three domains in the Ninth Realm, earning him the prestigious title of Lord of the Three Domains and second-in-command to the realm's ruler.
But within the mansion, away from the formalities of power, life had been simple. Warm. Every morning had felt like a dream. Gordon would sometimes purposefully cook poorly, just to spite Tony for not replacing his utensils weekly. Mary and the maids would scold their master for his bad habit of drinking before breakfast. The halls were always filled with laughter and mischief.
Tony had grown lazier with age, leaving most of the work to Hudson. More lessons, more responsibilities—whether in the mansion or in the towns they travelled to, Hudson took on more than ever before. The workers began jokingly calling him "master" in jest. But over time, it had become something else. A title. A name they spoke with quiet respect.
A noble title given not by birth, but by the people he had come to call family.
Gordon clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "Why is he doing this? That fool," he muttered, turning to Mary. But she only lowered her gaze.
"So, what are you going to do, Hudson?" she whispered.
Hudson met her eyes. "I'll stop him."
"No." Mary's voice cracked, her hands trembling. "Hudson, you've done enough!" She clutched the front of his cloak, holding back tears. "You nearly died trying to fight back. What makes you think you can beat mercenaries?"
Hudson placed a firm hand on her shoulder, his expression unwavering. "Lord Tony must answer for his crimes. If we do nothing, Pyrovile will be destroyed."
Mary inhaled sharply. It had been a long time since she had seen those eyes—steady, resolute, yet kind. She had known Hudson for years, and he had never once gone back on his word. She trusted him. But she was afraid. This wasn't something he could control. He might die. So why was he so determined to do this?
She wanted to beg him to stay, to stay safe. But the words never left her lips.
Hudson turned away, joining Mr. Swordsman.
"I'm only letting you come because you asked," Mr. Swordsman said flatly. "Don't slow me down."
Without warning, he scooped Hudson up.
"Hey—hey! Not this again! This is embarrassing! Put me down!" Hudson protested, kicking his legs.
"You want to come or not?"
"I do, but—can't you carry me in a better position?"
"No."
Before they could take off, Mary ran into one of the tents, returning with a sword. She pressed it into Hudson's hands.
"I won't stop you… but be careful," she murmured.
Hudson nodded, gripping the weapon tightly.
Cumbleton stepped forward with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about us, Master Hudson. Gordon, Andy, and I—along with the others—have everything under control."
Mr. Swordsman gave no time for goodbyes. He kicked off the ground, dashing forward with such speed that the wind roared past Hudson's ears.
"WHY ARE YOU SO FAST?!" Hudson's screams echoed through the forest as the workers waved him goodbye. Mr Swordsman was faster than last time as if he was in a hurry.
The trip to the volcano lasted mere minutes.
Before Hudson could ask, he was flung straight into the cave.
"NOT AGAIN—!"
His scream cut off as he tumbled through the air and hit the rocky ground with a grunt.
Mr. Swordsman stepped forward, drawing his blade as a group of mercenaries emerged from the shadows.
"Looks like we got some uninvited guests," Lester sneered, brandishing his dark blade.
"Meat," Gorrick, a hulking brute, growled. Spittle seeped through his mask.
The mercenaries circled them. Mr. Swordsman gave Hudson a sidelong glance.
"Go," he whispered. "I'll handle this."
Hudson hesitated only for a moment before nodding. He sprinted toward the entrance leading deeper into the volcano.
Lester grinned, vanishing in a blur. "You think I'll let you pass that easily?"
His blade flashed toward Hudson's neck.
But before it could land, steel clashed against steel. Mr. Swordsman intercepted the strike with a single swing. His expression remained cold, unshaken.
"You should keep your guard up," he said, voice calm. "You are fighting me, after all."
Lester's smirk faltered as he watched Hudson disappear into the cave's depths.
Hudson ran, his breath sharp, his heart pounding as he drew his sword. He had never taken a life before. But he would if he had to. Thousands of lives depended on it.
At last, he reached the heart of the volcano—a vast chamber where a molten lake bubbled beneath jagged rock formations. The heat pressed against his skin, sweat dripping down his face.
And there, at the edge of the lava, stood Lord Tony.
Hudson's eyes widened in horror. A glowing stone tumbled from Tony's grasp, descending toward the molten abyss.
"No!" Hudson lunged forward, stretching out his fingers. The stone brushed his hand—slipped—
And fell.
Lord Tony gazed down at him, unbothered.
"I'm glad you could make it, son."