The sky churned with thick, smoky clouds, the winds howling like vengeful spirits over Pyrovile. The earth quaked beneath the frantic townspeople as they flooded the streets, crashing against the towering great walls, desperate to escape. At the main gates, torches flared, pitchforks clashed, and cries of desperation filled the air—parents shielding their children, men falling to despair.
High above, mercenaries stood atop the city walls, their boots resting on the lifeless bodies of fallen guards. They grinned, entertained by the turmoil below. The entrance, once a towering gate, had been sealed shut—replaced by an unyielding wall of stone. Any who attempted to bring it down was met with a swift death.
"Open the damn gates! You don't understand who I am! My people will come for you!" a man roared, tugging his wife and child close. His voice cracked with desperation as he pounded his fists against the stone. "Please! We have families—just open the damn gates!"
The mercenaries chuckled, tipping their goblets over the edge.
"Quit your whining!" one barked, hurling his cup into the mass of people. "You're ruining my drink."
Rage surged through the trapped citizens. Flames crackled as they hurled torches at the gates. Despite the threats of the mercenaries above, some dared to scale the walls—only to be struck down by a rain of arrows.
The city itself was no haven. The streets ran wild with blood and fire, as mercenaries plundered and pillaged, their laughter drowning out the wails of the innocent. Pyrovile was on the verge of collapse, as every ember of hope slowly faded in the dark smoky town.
Pasta's eyes flickered with amusement as he observed the chaos from the dimly lit tavern. A slow grin crept across his face.
"If only they'd let me out there," he murmured, his fingers tapping idly against the windowsill. "I'd handle those jerks myself." He sighed, leaning back. "But that'd take too long, so I'll just relax for now."
They had been holed up in the tavern to stay hidden—Hack and his men were hunting them.
Across the room, Emilia sat on the couch, her jacket draped loosely over her shoulders as she read. The faint glow of candlelight reflected off her glasses. She had scoured the town's history, yet it only stretched back to the city's construction—nothing about those statues. Kot had gone to retrieve a book he believed might help, while Little Bobby stood beside Pasta, silently watching the unfolding nightmare beyond the window.
Pasta turned to Bobby. "You're not gonna fight them? You could take them on easily."
Little Bobby exhaled. "I see why you'd think that, but those mercenaries aren't weak." His expression darkened. "They may be drinking and celebrating, but their lifeforce... it's barely concealed beneath their revelry."
Pasta's grin faded. "What do you mean?"
"If Emilia's right, then none of this is accidental. Lord Tony doesn't make careless mistakes. The gate is far from the town, the walls too tall for any skilled warrior to use the buildings as leverage. Mercenaries patrol every section of the wall, armed with bows and blades. Some of them aren't even human—they're beasts bred to kill. And I wouldn't be surprised if more are lying in wait outside these suffocating walls." Bobby's voice was low, but there was an edge to it. His gaze hardened as he stared at the streets. "But to think Lord Tony has abandoned us…"
Pasta clenched his fists, bowing his head. So this is how a warrior thinks… He studies his opponent's strengths and plans accordingly. His jaw tightened. I almost charged into a battle I couldn't win. I would've been a fool—dead the moment I stepped on that wall.
For once, Pasta wished Mr. Swordsman was here. He hated to admit it.
From her seat, Emilia glanced at him. There were moments like this—moments where he was vulnerable, where he felt small. She hated seeing him like that. But she said nothing and returned to her book.
The door suddenly jolted, then burst open.
"I found it!" Kot exclaimed, storming in.
Little Bobby sighed. "Can't you knock?"
"Or open the door slowly?" Pasta added, his voice unusually low.
Emilia dropped her book onto her lap. "Perhaps don't shout?"
Kot plopped onto the couch beside her. "All for you," he said, locking eyes with her.
She cringed, inching away before picking up her book again.
Little Bobby scoffed. "The town is burning, and you're trying to get yourself a bride."
Kot waved him off. "That aside, I did find something." He pulled out an aged book. Its leather cover had darkened over time, thick with dust and speckled with mould.
Emilia's eyes narrowed. "What's that?"
"No clue. But it's old, which means it's important." He held it up with a smirk. "Found it among Sparrow's archives. He did give us the chart, right? So I figured he might have left a clue to help us solve this."
Emilia swiped the book from his grasp before he could continue gloating.
Kot merely grinned. "You're welcome."
She ignored him, flipping through the fragile pages—then suddenly stopped. Her grip on the book tightened. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to the others, her expression grave.
"You all need to hear this," she said. Her voice carried an urgency as she faced Pasta. "Even you."
#
"Travelers, they say they were. An energetic circle of youths. Their leader was dead, they say. Believed? Yes. Accepted? They became rulers. The era of hunters had just begun and we were the first to fall to their calamity. I pray that my sins, no, my people's sins, are forgiven. So they came, all ten of them.
They broke the village's shackles and stayed, ensuring our hands were always free from both the natural and supernatural forces that stood against us. They had names but secretly refused to tell us; all we knew them by was 'disciples.'
Disciples of whom? Their dead master? Their powers were extraordinary, and it was frightening to imagine what kind of monster they served. These disciples not only protected us but guided us towards the future, leading the way and illuminating our path. We conquered lands, calling it expansion. We succeeded and named it Pyrovile, the bright town to led us to the future.
Now, our tactical base serves as a fortress for invasion and underneath easy manoeuvring. If sometime in the future one wishes to use this path, guide your warriors toward the future and don't look back. There's a light ahead, and you must keep on heading forward with no regrets. Believe in yourself and may the lost gods of order be with thee.
My role serves no further purpose; my flesh and blood, like my people, belong only to this town."
#
The room fell into silence as Little Bobby stepped away from the window, arms crossed.
"So, they were the disciples," he murmured. "I remember they were once enforcers—guardians of the Nine Realms. But now… they hardly show their faces."
"Wait, wait, wait—Pyrovile had a king?" Kot blurted out.
Pasta remained quiet, his gaze drifting back to the turmoil beyond the window. The story gave him nothing of use. He still didn't understand why Emilia had asked him to listen.
Emilia's fingers glided over the brittle pages. "This book is nearly a thousand years old—maybe older. The calligraphy and these strange designs… they confirm that." She exhaled softly, snapping the book shut. "Pyrovile is a new town. I'm certain of it. This land was in ruins before the Greater Lords decided to build a settlement here."
Bobby gave a slow nod. "Yes, it's new. But some of these statues—they're ancient. Those must be the ten disciples the king spoke of. But what do we do now, Lady Emilia?"
Emilia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hands trembled for a fraction of a second, but she steadied herself, her gaze sharpening. No time to waver. No time for fear. The others are counting on me… but—
"I have no idea," she admitted, staring down at the book. "I thought we'd find a way to solve the puzzle, but…" Her fingers curled into a fist. "All we got was who they were. I need more time, but we don't have that either."
The room remained still until Kot stepped closer. "You don't have to push yourself so hard, Emilia. Just take a breath and focus," he whispered.
"Yeah," Pasta added, flashing a grin. "You've got this, sis."
Emilia lifted her head, "Thanks," she said, smiling back as she recalled the final paragraph of the letter within the book. Her lips parted.
"A fallen king," she murmured.
"What?" Bobby asked.
Emilia's grip tightened. "It all makes sense now. There is no pattern."
Bobby frowned. "No pattern?"
She shook her head. "No—there is, but not in the way we thought," leaping from her seat. "Let's go."
Without another word, she bolted for the door, the others scrambling to follow.
#
They emerged outside into chaos. Guards rushed past, working to keep the mercenaries at bay, their shouts blending into the crackling of distant fires.
Little Bobby drew his sword, his grip firm. "I'm sorry, but I need to assist them. Kot, Pasta—protect Emilia at all costs."
Kot gave a sharp salute. "Will do, boss."
Emilia turned to Pasta, who remained quiet, offering only a reassuring smile. She sighed and looked away.
Bobby handed her a small round ball. "Throw this into a huge fire. It'll lead me to your location."
"Okay."
Before she could pocket it, Kot snatched the ball with a grin. "Man, I love these things. I'll help you hold onto it, milady."
Emilia shot him a glare.
Bobby placed a firm hand on her shoulders, meeting her gaze. "I'll gather the townspeople. Let's save Pyrovile."
She gave a determined nod, and with that, they parted ways.
—
Emilia's team sprinted toward the nearest statue, positioned near the unfinished town hall. The grand structure was already half-consumed by fire, dark smoke billowing toward the sky.
The statue depicted a man, one hand gripping a mighty axe, the other holding a torch aloft. A straw hat shadowed his face, but his expression was resolute.
"You were a pretty tough nut to crack," Emilia murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Go get me a torch. Now, Mister Kot!"
Kot blinked. "Mister? I'm a young man, you know."
Emilia shot him a look.
He smiled and dashed off and returned moments later with a torch.
She wasted no time, using it to ignite the one in the statue's grasp.
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Kot frowned. "Uh, I hate to break it to you, but—"
"Look at the eyes."
The once-closed eyes of the statue slowly creaked open.
"Damn, that's creepy as hell!" Kot jumped back.
Emilia's smile widened. "We started with the wrong statue last time," she said, turning toward them. "The king abandoned his pride and let the disciples lead. He wasn't meant to be the first."
Kot and Pasta exchanged glances, blinking in unison before nodding as if they understood.
Emilia turned back to the statue, her resolve unwavering. "Alright then… onto the next one."
They raced through the burning town, weaving past collapsing buildings and desperate townsfolk. Ash and embers swirled around them, carried by the chaotic winds. Emilia glanced up at the smoke-choked sky but didn't slow her pace.
One by one, they reached the disciple statues, igniting their torches before moving to the next. Meanwhile, the volcano roared in the distance, spitting molten rock into the air. Fiery boulders crashed down, shattering homes and deepening the town's panic.
At last, Emilia stood before the king's statue. He was depicted with a crown in one hand and a torch in the other, his chiselled features exuding both wisdom and resolve.
Kot frowned as he stepped beside her. "There's still another disciple out there," he pointed out. "Shouldn't we light it first before getting to the king?"
Emilia shook her head. "No, it's not like that." She lit the torch in the king's grasp. The statue's eyes flickered open.
Pasta and Kot stared at her, their awe evident.
Emilia stepped back with a grin. "The king said he became like his people, so of course the disciples treated him as one." Her gaze swept over the market square and fountain. "He wouldn't be the last in the sequence. The final statue will be another disciple."
#
Emilia's eyes widened in horror as she stared at the last disciple's statue. The torch had been lit, yet nothing happened. The statue's eyes remained shut.
"What now, Emilia? We lit them all," Kot muttered, sinking to the ground in exhaustion.
"I-I don't know…" Emilia clenched her fists. We were so close… Why is this happening? Why did Sparrow entrust this to me? He could've done it himself. It's all his fault. His fault everyone will die…
Her knees gave out, and she collapsed.
"Emilia!" Kot yelled, scrambling toward her.
Pasta was already at her side, holding her shoulders. "Are you alright?"
No… Sparrow isn't at fault. I'm the one here trying to save these people. If anyone's to blame, it's me…
Emilia remained on the ground, staring up at the final statue—a woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat, a veil draping from its edges. One hand raised a torch high, while the other clutched a star. Even the king himself had seemed small in her presence.
Emilia shook her head, frustration boiling over. "Come on… There has to be something I'm missing," she muttered. "What is it? Something about the disciples? About the king? Why—"
She froze.
A single drop of sweat hit the stone floor before she bolted upright.
"Emilia?!" Kot called after her as she took off running, forcing him and Pasta to chase her through the burning streets.
She dodged falling debris and leapt over shattered carts, her destination set. The market square.
There, she grabbed a loose rock and smashed the torch from the stone king's grip.
She looked up to it, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
"You're not a disciple," she said through gritted teeth. "So there's no reason for you to hold a torch. You were just an ordinary man."
Emilia closed her eyes as Pasta and Kot approached her. The burning disaster slowly faded into the background. People screamed for their lives. The volcano rumbled, preparing to unleash its wrath. Yet, in that moment, all Emilia heard was silence.
And then—
A deep grind filled the air as the king's statue began to rotate. One by one, the disciples followed suit. The market square trembled as the central fountain shattered, revealing a hidden spiral staircase descending into the earth.
Emilia let out a breathless laugh, tears spilling down her cheeks. "A really tough nut to crack," she whispered.
Kot gasped in disbelief. Pasta smirked.
"We did it!" Kot cheered. "I'm not dying today, dammit!"
He pulled the small orb from his pocket and hurled it into a pile of burning rubble. A plume of multicoloured smoke burst forth, swirling high into the sky. The vibrant hues illuminated the square, capturing the attention of everyone in the blazing town.
Amidst the glowing mist, Emilia turned to Pasta, a bright smile playing on her lips as she mouthed—
Your turn.
The words struck him, sending a spark down his spine.
Pasta grinned, rolling his shoulders before drawing his blade. He rested it against his shoulder, eyes alight with determination.
"You don't need to tell me twice, sis." His smirk widened. "I'm not gonna let you take all the glory."
Little Bobby arrived moments later, a crowd rushing behind him. Kot ran forward, throwing himself into Bobby's arms.
"I'm not gonna die, man!"
Bobby pushed his face away. "Pull yourself together."
"Is this how you comfort a crying man? Quit pushing me!"
Emilia stepped forward. "You brought everyone."
"Not everyone, Lady Emilia. Most followed the smoke. Who would've thought there was an underground passage beneath the town?" Bobby said.
Emilia nodded, pulling out her worn book. "This tunnel must lead outside the city. The map in here shows an escape route."
"Got it." Bobby turned to the gathered crowd, murmurs spreading among them. He took a deep breath before raising his voice.
"Listen up, everyone! Our town is under siege by mercenaries, and the volcano could erupt at any moment. Thanks to our friends, we've found a way out. There's no time to waste—we need to move. To the remaining guards, adventurers, and anyone who can wield a weapon, I have no right to ask this of you, but…" He lowered his head in a deep bow. "Please help the civilians and guide them towards the passage. We can't leave those still trapped in town to fend for themselves."
A hush fell over the crowd until one adventurer scoffed.
"How can we risk our lives for people we don't even know? We're adventurers. If this ain't a commission, we have no obligation," he said, his comrades nodding in agreement.
Emilia's eyes flashed with fury. "So adventurers can be just as awful as mercenaries, huh?" She stepped forward, only for Bobby to place a firm hand on her shoulder. He shook his head and turned back to the crowd.
"And you call yourselves men?!" an elderly voice rang out. An old man stepped forward, gripping his cane tightly. "These strangers—outsiders—found the passage for us. They could've taken it for themselves and left us behind, yet they chose to help. Are they obliged to do so as well?"
The adventurers fell silent.
"The old man speaks the truth," another voice called. Lucas stepped forward, his guards flanking him. "While you were drowning in ale, these strangers were doing all they could to protect all of us," he said, then turned to Bobby. "Tony's head guard. My men will stand with you. Use their skills as you wish."
"Your generosity is appreciated." Bobby bowed slightly, studying the man. Dressed in such prestigious attire, he seemed every bit a noble, yet the lute he carried marked him more as a wandering bard.
The disgruntled adventurer muttered something under his breath before leading his group into the passage.
"We'll stand with you, Bobby." A guard stepped forward, voice firm. "The guards of Pyrovile won't abandon the town in its darkest hour."
More people followed. "We may be low-ranking adventurers, but we'll do what we can."
One by one, townsfolk picked up machetes, tools—anything they could wield in defence.
Emilia smiled and jogged up to Pasta, playfully punching his shoulder. "I'm heading out. Let's do our best."
Pasta smirked, scratching his nose. "Just go already. I've got a plan to deal with these weakling mercenaries."
Emilia rolled her eyes as Kot approached her.
"I must be blessed by the fire gods to accompany you, Lady Emilia."
She shook her head and continued forward, leading the civilians into the passage.
The underground passage swallowed the fleeing townspeople, their hurried steps echoing through the cavernous tunnel. Above, the market square remained restless, with more people pouring in as the volunteers rushed through the town, guiding stragglers to safety.
At the town square's entrance, Hack stood with a squad of mercenaries at his back. Their path, however, was blocked by Pasta and Bobby.
Bobby turned to Pasta, his voice low but steady. "Listen, Pasta. I know my words got to you earlier. But look at yourself—standing here proves your strength."
Pasta let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah, yeah. I hear you," he said, flashing a grin. "But what's this about, Bobby? You think I'm scared of these guys?" They might be strong, but my little sis is leaving things to me. That means I've got one job—slam their faces into the dirt. They may be tough, but that just makes it more fun, right?"
Little Bobby smiled.
"I've been searching this whole town for you, bandit," Hack said. His gaze locked onto Pasta before shifting to Bobby with disdain. "And you… You disgust me." He spat on the ground. "How dare you betray your household? Betray your master?"
Bobby unsheathed his blade. "Lord Tony abandoned us. He abandoned the people of this town."
Hack's expression twisted with fury. "What insolence! I'll—"
"Would you shut up already, old man?" Pasta interjected, stepping forward with a smirk. The guards around them moved into position, standing firm beside him and Bobby. "Who the hell are you calling a bandit? If you wanna talk to me, at least get my name right. Not that I'd bother telling a weakling like you. But I'll have the pleasure of claiming your life anyway."
Hack's knuckles went white around his hilt, his voice dropping into a whisper. "We're already dead." His eyes darkened. "Sparrow is nowhere to be found, which means we can't escape in time. So the mercenaries and I? We're just letting off some steam. But now that there's an escape route… we'll be taking that for ourselves."
Pasta's smirk widened.
In an instant, he bolted forward, sword raised. Bobby and the guards followed suit as steel clashed against steel.
Pasta's blade met Hack's in a violent arc, the force sending sparks flying. Both pushed against each other, their eyes locked in a challenge.
Hack sneered. "This has nothing to do with you, bandit. Why are you siding with these people?"
Pasta gritted his teeth, his arms straining. "I told you—I'm Pasta! Not a bandit. An adventurer!"
With a grunt, Hack shoved him back, his stance widening. "An adventurer? That makes more sense."
In a blur, he moved. His sword lashed out with terrifying speed, cutting through the air like a streak of lightning.
Pasta's breath caught in his throat—his muscles refused to move. The blade was too fast. Too close.
His body tensed.
Then—
Clang!
Bobby's blade intercepted the strike, forcing Hack's sword aside. He quickly drove his foot into Hack's gut, sending the man staggering backwards.
Hack landed hard, spitting blood onto the ground. As he stood, his gaze flickered to the side—and for the first time, his expression faltered.
A small blue bird stood near him, its beady eyes watching.
Bobby steadied himself beside Pasta. "You alright?"
Pasta exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. "Tch. He's fast."
Bobby's expression hardened. "Hack isn't just some thug. He's a veteran of the last war. Much like Tony and Sparrow, but on the battlefield, he's even more ruthless than both combined. Leave him to me."
Pasta's lips curled upward. His gaze burned with excitement.
"Insane, huh? That just makes me want to take him down even more."
#
Hudson lay face down on the scorched earth, his breath ragged and uneven. Above him, the sky stretched vast and dark.
Beside him, Mr. Swordsman remained still, his gaze fixed upward, his body drained of strength. His memories of the last fight was blurred as he wondered how he even won.
With a grunt, he pushed himself up, stumbling as he reached for Mr. Swordsman. "We have to keep moving. The townspeople are still trapped, and the volcano—" He swallowed. "It's going to erupt."
His legs trembled beneath him. Mr. Swordsman was far too heavy for him to support properly, but stopping wasn't an option. He had sworn to save everyone. That meant he couldn't stop now.
He tugged at Mr. Swordsman's arm, only to feel a firm pat on his head.
"You've done enough," Mr. Swordsman whispered.
"No way." Hudson shook his head. "I just don't want you to die, Mr. Swordsman. If you do… Emilia and Pasta would be devastated." His grip tightened. "So hold on."
Mr. Swordsman's expression shifted. His gaze lowered.
"They would, huh?"
"Of course, sir. We all would." Hudson glanced back at him, his lips curling into a small, tired smile. "They might not say it, but they really care about you."
A silence settled between them.
Then—
"You never even got to use your sword, did you?" Mr. Swordsman asked.
Hudson rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Well… I didn't really fight in the end. Ended up using a gun instead."
Mr. Swordsman sighed. "We should spar sometime, Hudson."
Hudson grinned. "Yeah, we should." He paused, glancing at the volcano in the distance. "That is… if we survive this."
Mr. Swordsman pushed himself upright, steadying himself. "Then… go ahead of me."
Hudson frowned. "I can't just leave you, sir. The volcano—"
"Trust me," Mr. Swordsman said, turning away. "And leave."
Hudson hesitated. There was something familiar about this… the way Mr. Swordsman stood, the way his body seemed battered yet unwavering. It reminded him of the last time—when he had burned with fever, only to recover unnaturally fast.
Hudson clenched his jaw, then turned and ran toward the camp.
Behind him, Mr. Swordsman's fingers curled around the hilt of his blade. His hands trembled, whether from exhaustion or something deeper, he wasn't sure.
His sharp gaze locked onto the looming volcano, its molten heart pulsing.
"Just one more time," he murmured.