Tony stood at the edge of the molten crater. The ground trembled beneath his feet, and the air itself seemed to burn.
"So, you really came," Tony whispered, his gaze turning to Hudson, who lay on the floor, his arms sprawled out beside him. His eyes were wide with disbelief. Bats swarmed overhead, fleeing the heat of the cave, their wings a dark blur against the glowing lava.
"Pesky little critters," Tony muttered, swinging his suitcase nonchalantly. "These bats are a pain, aren't they, Hudson?"
Hudson slowly turned his head, his voice dark with confusion. "Why are you doing this?"
Tony sighed and placed it on Hudson's shoulder with a gentle yet firm hand. "Let's leave. We can talk about this later."
Hudson didn't move, his gaze fixed on Tony as he slowly stood. He turned to face him, his eyes filled with a quiet fury. "You plan to kill them. The people of Pyrovile. Why?"
Tony's expression twisted with anger. He swung his briefcase, hurling it toward Hudson with surprising force. "You ungrateful little shit," he snapped. "I gave you a chance to live. And you come back here, stirring up trouble for me. Even now, I'm offering you a place in my household, and what do you do?" He grabbed Hudson by the collar, lifting him slightly off the ground. "You come here with a group of bandits to ruin everything I've worked for!"
Hudson's eyes glistened with unshed tears, his voice barely a whisper. "You were never like this. This isn't you, Lord Tony. You always cared for everyone around you. I admire you… I wanted to be like you. Responsible, hardworking, and protective. That's the man I knew. That's the man I served."
For a moment, Tony's grip on Hudson slackened. His eyes softened, and his anger seemed to drain from him, leaving behind only exhaustion. "I'm sorry, Hudson," he said quietly, letting go of his collar. "But it had to be done. For peace to come, for this shattered kingdom to heal… some sacrifices must be made."
He turned, strolling toward the edge of the volcano. "There's no reason for us to stay here. I plan to relocate all the workers. We'll stay together, a family bound by love and compassion, as we always have been. I never wanted to leave you behind."
Hudson's gaze dropped to the floor, his tears no longer falling. He whispered, "But the town…"
"It doesn't matter," Tony interrupted, his voice firm. "The town is beyond saving. But your family can still be preserved. You are a protector, aren't you? Protect your family. Protect me."
Hudson's eyes flickered as he watched Tony retrieve his briefcase. "The man you brought with you—do you even know who he is? The things he's done?" He shook his head. "He can't be trusted. He'd probably kill you the moment he got the chance."
Hudson stood up, his back straightening. "Mr. Swordsman is not like that," he replied, voice steady, though tinged with pain. "I know who he is… I know the darkness of his past. But he saved me once."
Tony's face twisted in frustration. "That man will kill us both, Hudson. Why can't you see that?" He snapped the briefcase open. "He's not a man of reason. But with this," he pulled out a gun, "we can handle him."
He took a step closer to Hudson, the weapon in his hands. "This won't be easy, Hudson. He'll be cautious with me but not you. When he's off guard, I want you to pull the trigger."
Hudson's eyes locked onto the gun, his voice low and hesitant. "I can't. He saved me. I can't just kill him."
Tony's expression darkened. "Do you really believe he can stop this eruption? Keep you and your family safe. No, Hudson. He can't. Only you can by firing at him. That'll give us enough time to escape with the other workers."
Hudson's breath hitched. "I've never killed anyone before…" His voice cracked.
Tony's eyes softened, but there was a hard edge to his words. "You're becoming a man, Hudson. A man does what's necessary to protect his family. No matter what it takes. A man always delivers."
#
Blood dripped from Mr. Swordsman's blade, pooling at his feet. He cast a glance at the fallen men behind him before turning his attention to Lester, who remained still, unnervingly composed.
Lester smirked, the shadows coiling around his dark blade as if it were alive. "You're a man of few words," he murmured. "I've heard stories. The warrior who fell from the heavens, the one who toppled coliseums with his vengeful cries."
Mr. Swordsman said nothing, his eyes narrowing as they traced the jagged edges of Lester's weapon. The Dark Ale… A blade born of madness, forged by a fool who spent more nights in a drunken stupor than in the smithy. Yet his craft was undeniable. The sword pulsed with dark energy, not meant to sever flesh but to wound the soul—its mere touch capable of paralysing the entire body.
So he's the one who hurt Hudson…
His gaze shifted to the brute beside Lester—Gorrick. A hulking mercenary, standing well over six feet, his dark body a mass of scarred muscle wrapped in chains. A colossal hammer rested in his grasp, its power capable of shattering hills.
Gorrick exhaled a deep, guttural growl, his shattered mask barely concealing the madness in his eyes. A flask hung upside down from his waist, leaking water in slow drips. He exuded a dreadful aura, his guttural growls thick with menace.
Lester chuckled. "I may seem merciful, but I'm no fool," he said, his expression sharpening. "So tell me, swordsman—what business does a ghost of war have in a place like this?"
In an instant, Lester was behind him, his dark blade mere inches from Mr. Swordsman's back.
"One misstep," Lester whispered, his voice razor-sharp. "And you'll die an agonizing death, Weeping Swordsman—"
Mr. Swordsman ignored him and stepped forward—
Gorrick roared.
With monstrous strength, he swung his hammer. Mr Swordsman evaded, his blade flashing toward Gorrick's arm—only to halt as arrows whistled toward him from above.
He leapt back, his sword blurring as it cleaved through the incoming projectiles.
Gorrick clutched his head, his screeches filled with agony. "Arrgh! Voices! Kill, kill, kill—Swordsman!"
With terrifying speed, he lunged, hammer tearing through the air. When it struck the ground, a golden spiral erupted beneath them, warping the very gravity of the cave as the earth crumbled under its weight.
Mr Swordsman hovered midair, his eyes locked onto Gorrick's wild ones.
Then the mercenary leapt.
Swing after swing, hammer against blade. Mr. Swordsman parried each strike with deadly precision, slicing through another wave of arrows without breaking rhythm.
His gaze flicked upward. The archers…
Commanding the wind underneath his feet, he shot toward them, but before he could reach his mark—
Lester was there.
Before Mr. Swordsman could react, Lester was upon him, driving a vicious kick into his chest. The swordsman plummeted, crashing into the fractured earth below.
"Forget them," Lester grinned, landing lightly on his feet. "You have me and Gorrick to deal with first."
Mr. Swordsman pushed himself to his feet, his breath steady despite the relentless assault. "Those archers…" he muttered. "Annoying."
Lester and Gorrick surged forward in a blur, their weapons carving through the air. Yet, even together, they were no match for him. Mr Swordsman deflected Lester's strikes with ease, his blade moving faster than the eye could follow while sidestepping Gorrick's reckless swings.
He twisted past the descending hammer, the force of its impact sending tremors through the ground. Sparks erupted as his blade met steel—then, in a single breath, fire ignited along its edge. He carved a burning arc across Gorrick's chest, forcing the giant back, blood dripping from the deep wound.
Lester lunged, only to be met with a brutal kick that sent him sprawling. More arrows rained down, but Mr Swordsman weaved through them, closing in on Gorrick.
"I'll start with you," he whispered.
Gorrick slammed his hammer against the ground, cracking the stone beneath them. Though blood seeped down his chest, he stood firm.
"COME!" the giant roared, spittle flying from beneath his mask.
A flicker—colour drained from the world, and in an instant, Mr. Swordsman was gone.
Lester's breath hitched as his gaze darted around. "Where—?" His fingers curled into fists. "Damn it… I underestimated him. Of course, he has the second power."
A shadow loomed overhead.
Gorrick's eyes snapped upward just in time to see crimson gleaming in the darkness.
Mr. Swordsman whispered, "Finally, some peace."
The last archer gasped, his body falling limp as Mr Swordsman withdrew his blade from his chest.
The corpse hit the ground with a dull thud.
"Now," he continued, his voice calm, measured, merciless. "Let's continue."
Gorrick let out an earth-shaking roar, tearing his mask away. His long hair whipped behind him as he lunged forward, the ground splintering beneath his feet.
"No!" Lester yelled.
It was over in an instant.
Gorrick's charge faltered. His body jerked unnaturally—then his pupils dilated, his lifeforce severed before he even realised it.
Mr. Swordsman stepped forward, letting the archer's body collapse behind him. He barely spared it a glance as he fixed his gaze on the descending warrior. Time slowed, his blade stretching toward the giant. He leapt towards him, slicing his form in half.
Blood splattered against the cavern walls as Gorrick's bisected corpse crashed to the floor.
Lester's breath came in ragged bursts, his trembling hands tightening around his weapon. The heat in the cavern swelled, distorting the air around him.
"You," he spat, his voice shaking with fury. Darkness curled at his feet, growing stronger with his rage. "I'll make you pay for this, swordsman. I'LL MAKE YOU PAY."
Mr. Swordsman glanced at his palm. "Used too much energy," he murmured. "Need to be more cautious—"
"Damn you!"
Lester's blade clashed against his, the impact ringing through the cavern. "They were good men! They had families, dreams—and you cut them down like they were nothing! You're a monster!"
Mr. Swordsman leapt back, adjusting his hat as Lester panted.
"Good men?" His voice was low, cold. "Do you have any idea how many good men will die if you succeed?"
Lester growled.
Mr. Swordsman's gaze lingered on Lester, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hat.
"You intrigue me, mercenary. You condemn me for cutting them down, yet they were the ones who bared their fangs first. Do not weep for those who knew the cost of battle and paid it in full. The moment a warrior draws steel, he has already wagered his life, and cast his fate to the sword's edge. The battlefield does not comfort the depressed, nor does it grieve for the slain. That is the truth of war."
His blade rose, glinting ominously in the dim light.
"So do not mourn them as if they were promised a different end. If their deaths burden you, do not waste your breath on sorrow. Pick up your weapon," his voice dropped. "Avenge them… and fall as they did."
Lester roared, surging forward in a blur of shadow and steel. He struck with all his fury, forcing Mr Swordsman back with relentless blows. Yet his swings were reckless, his rage dulling the precision he once wielded.
It was futile.
Mr Swordsman countered all of his strikes with ease but as the fight drew out, Lester's patterns changed as well.
Then Mr Swordsman's eyes widened as Lester's weapon suddenly twisted, moving like a living thing. The shadowy steel veered from its path and plunged straight into Mr. Swordsman's heart.
Silence.
There was no wound. No blood.
Mr. Swordsman stood still, his hand resting lightly holding on his blade.
Lester's chuckle was uneven, laced with triumph. "You see what happens when arrogance blinds you?" The darkness thickened, swirling like ink in water. "First, your limbs will go numb. Then, you'll lose your sight. This is the power of the Dark Ale, swordsman. The power of true darkness."
A breath of cold air whispered past Lester's ear.
Then—a sound. A guttural, bone-rattling wail that did not belong to this world.
Lester's breath hitched. His skin prickled with something primal, something wrong. Shadows slithered along the walls, twisting into monstrous figures—grinning, horned, and all too familiar. They watched him with hollow eyes, their smiles stretching unnaturally wide.
The cave had never felt this small.
Then, a voice. Soft. Inevitable.
"What do you know of darkness, Lester?"
Lester's body locked up as he looked up—into the abyss beneath Mr Swordsman's hat. The swordsman's crimson eyes burned through the void, the weight of his stare suffocating.
The shadows crept forward.
Lester screamed.
His blade trembled in his grip. His breath came in ragged gasps. He could feel them—the hands reaching for him, the unseen weight crushing his mind. He panicked, rippling his blade free from Mr Swordsman's chest.
And then, he did the unthinkable as the cave swallowed his last cry.
#
The camp lay in ruins—tents reduced to shreds, and carriages overturned. Matthew staggered back, his breaths ragged. He had miscalculated. Tori wasn't just deflecting his attacks—she was redirecting them, returning his own force against him with frightening precision.
She took a step forward, her sharp gaze fixed on his gloves.
"Were those made here?" she asked, her scythe resting lightly in her grip.
Matthew straightened, rolling his shoulders. "From overseas," he admitted, eyes narrowing. "Your blade... it doesn't just block. It absorbs. How?"
Tori tilted her head slightly. "So they're not from around here, huh?"
"I asked—how?" Matthew asked, his frustration brewing.
Tori met his glare with one of her own. "The gloves aren't impressive, that's all. It's not about my methods." Her expression darkened. "And you insulted my grandpappy. You really think I'll let that slide?"
A smirk played on Matthew's lips as he clenched his fists. "Alright then." Sparks crackled along his gloves, electricity arcing between his knuckles. "I'll just have to crank up the power."
A shockwave burst from him, warping the air itself, tearing apart what little remained of the camp. The ground trembled beneath his feet as his force expanded, a sphere of destruction swallowing everything in its wake.
Still, Tori remained unmoved. She exhaled, stepping forward as she stretched her weapon. "Ever since I set foot in this kingdom…" Her voice was quiet but firm. "I've seen a lot—towns ruled by hunters, corrupt adventurers. And now this. Genocide? Not a good town for a vacation that's for sure"
Matthew chuckled, the power around him surging. "Oh? Are you mad?" His grin widened. "We're just doing our job, sweetheart. This is how the real world works. The powerful always get their way."
Tori lowered her gaze for a moment before whispering, "I may not be as strong as the swordsman…" She looked up, her eyes sharp as the incoming energy blast roared toward her. "But I can at least kill you."
In an instant, her scythe cleaved through the blast, parting it like water. Before the remnants of the energy could settle, she was already moving—a blur slicing through the air, her weapon arcing toward Matthew.
His fists met her scythe mid-swing, sparks erupting on impact. She appeared, holding her weapon and pushed down Matthew. The sheer force shattered the earth beneath them as their eyes locked.
Matthew shoved her back, and before Tori could fully regain her stance, he was upon her, his fist crashing down.
Her pupils flickered as she raised her scythe to intercept. The impact sent her hurtling backwards, tumbling through the wreckage, past fleeing maids and butlers, before she crashed through a tattered tent.
Matthew didn't let up. His gloves flared with energy as he hurled a relentless barrage of punches toward the fallen tent. Each strike sent shockwaves rippling through the air, the force alone scattering dust and debris in every direction.
Beneath the onslaught, Tori held firm. Her coated defences absorbed most of the attacks, but her clothing was slowly being shredded apart.
She exhaled sharply. "Should've listened to Emilia," she muttered.
Then, she threw her scythe.
The weapon cut through the storm of attacks, absorbing the energy blasts before homing in on Matthew.
His eyes widened.
The scythe moved unnaturally, twisting, slashing—attacking as if it had a mind of its own. He barely kept up, his fists clashing against the blade, but with each swing, the scythe's strikes grew faster, and stronger.
Before he could react, Tori was already in front of him.
The pins on her headphones spun. The edge of her scythe glowed as she grabbed it and aimed for his neck.
Then an image played on her mind- a blue masked man, staring at her.
She clenched her jaw and swung.
The blade severed both of Matthew's arms in one clean stroke.
He dropped to his knees, screaming.
Her scythe collapsed into a baton as she swung it down, striking Matthew's head with a dull crack.
His body slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Tori exhaled, glancing down at him before turning her gaze toward the volcano in the distance.
"The rest is on you, Hudson."
#
"Are you ready, Hudson?" Tony's hand clapped against his back, firm and expectant.
Hudson swallowed hard. "I... I'm not sure," he whispered.
Tony moved behind him, guiding his arm. "Just aim and pull this thing right here. That's all you have to do."
Hudson lifted the gun, his hands trembling as he aimed at the wall.
"Yes. Then you pull the trigger," Tony said, ruffling his hair. "I'm proud of you, Hudson. Always have been."
Hudson hesitated, glancing at Tony. "You have?"
Tony smiled, warm but knowing. "You've grown, Hudson. You're no longer that scared little kid I once knew. When this is over, I'll promote you—from head butler to a duke. We'll need strong men if we're going to reshape this nation."
Hudson turned sharply, eyes wide. "Why me? I'm not of noble blood."
Tony chuckled, glancing toward the cave's entrance. "That doesn't matter. You already have the knowledge, the skills... the heart of a duke."
A figure staggered in, gripping his chest. Mr. Swordsman leaned against the wall, his breaths ragged.
"Damn it…" he muttered. "Using my gift drained too much of my stamina…" His sharp gaze swept the cavern. "What's going on, Hudson?" he asked, his voice laced with urgency. "Where's the stone?"
Hudson's throat tightened. He averted his gaze as Tony stepped forward.
"I've heard a lot about you—the Weeping Swordsman," Tony smirked. "A man whose prowess with the blade is nothing short of legend."
Mr. Swordsman ignored him. His piercing eyes remained fixed on Hudson. "Where's the stone?"
Hudson exhaled shakily. "It's over, Mr. Swordsman," he whispered, staring at the ground. "We were too late. The town—it's doomed."
Then, he raised the gun.
"But we can still save the ones we can."
Tony's voice slithered into his ear. "That's right. Protect your family, Hudson. Just pull the trigger."
Mr. Swordsman's brow furrowed. "I don't have time for games. What do you mean the town will be destroyed?"
"I-I will fire," he said, voice cracking. "Don't even... bother to dodge. I-It's been... been..."
His voice broke. The gun wavered. Then, his arms fell limp.
"I can't do it, Lord Tony."
Tony's eyes narrowed. "Can't do it?" His voice sharpened. "He's right there, Hudson. Take the damn shot!"
Hudson shook his head. "Without Mr. Swordsman, I would've been dead long ago. He's not a bad man. He's a hero. Lord Tony… can't we—"
The briefcase slammed into the lava with a hiss.
Tony's voice cracked with rage, his face twisting. "You think this is a goddamn joke?! We're running out of time! Pull the trigger!"
"But I can't—"
"PULL THE GODDAMN TRIGGER, HUDSON!" Tony's roar shook the cavern. "HE'S RIGHT THERE! PULL IT!"
Hudson's grip tightened on the gun. His breath came in short, erratic bursts.
Tony took a step closer, his voice dropping into a venomous whisper. "Take the shot, Hudson. You think I need you? You and the workers are nothing. Replaceable. Insects living off my wealth like parasites. And you—what kind of protector
are you, huh?"
Hudson stiffened.
Tony's voice rose, filled with a furious, desperate conviction. "PULL THE DAMN TRIGGER AND BE THE PROTECTOR YOU PRETEND TO BE!"
The cave roared with gunfire.
Hudson stood still, his chest rising and falling, eyes glistening but resolute.
Behind him, Mr. Swordsman collapsed onto one knee, drained, unable to fight any longer.
Hudson turned toward Tony, his voice quiet but firm. "You're not the man you used to be, Tony. And as for me?" He let the gun slip from his fingers, the clatter lost in the cavern's rumbling. "I'm already a protector. Not yours. Not anymore."
Tony turned to the gaping hole on his shoulder. The ground beneath Tony cracked. He stumbled, eyes widening as the ledge beneath him crumbled.
His final words came as a whisper, bitter and resigned. "So that's how it is… Hudson."
Then, he fell. The lava swallowed him whole.
The cavern shuddered violently—the volcano nearing its peak.
Hudson gritted his teeth, turned, and rushed toward the fallen swordsman. He grabbed his arm, pulling him up.
"Come on," he muttered. "We're getting out of here."