Lately, I've been fighting barehanded. Why, you ask?
Because my friend, Arthur, promised to give me a new weapon.
So, until that happens, I'll just keep using my fists.
Right now, I'm heading to Havenvale Kingdom—because, finally, Arthur has prepared the weapon for me.
After arriving, my friends and I checked into a hotel. As soon as we got to our rooms, we started chatting.
"Arche, Lycaon and I will stay here," Zack said.
"Huh? You guys aren't coming?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Well, we kinda need a break," Lycaon replied casually.
I glanced at Chronia, and she met my gaze with a smile. "I'll go with you," she said.
"Alright, see you guys later." I waved at them and stepped out of the room, Chronia following close behind.
As we walked through the hotel corridor, a random thought crossed my mind. "Hey, in your world, do you know Arthur too?"
"Not at all," Chronia shook her head. "The Arche from my world and I have always been together—from being slaves to earning our freedom."
"...I see." I mumbled, letting that sink in as we exited the hotel.
"So, do you know where we're going?" Chronia asked, tilting her head.
"Arthur already set a meeting spot, so I don't have to waste brain cells thinking about it," I replied, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Hey! I told you not to bring that up again!" She pouted, puffing her cheeks.
Chronia suddenly reached for my hand. Our fingers intertwined naturally.
"It's not even cold, you know," I said, raising an eyebrow.
"I just want to hold your hand," she replied casually.
"...Weird woman."
"Rude!" She puffed her cheeks in protest.
We continued walking until we stopped in front of an extravagant restaurant. Two guards stood at the entrance, their expressions stoic.
"...Arche, are you sure this is the right place?" Chronia asked, eyeing the grand establishment with suspicion.
I let go of her hand and stepped forward, addressing one of the guards. "Hey, it's me."
The guard glanced at me, then at Chronia. "Mr. Arche, huh? And you brought your... girlfriend?"
"G-Girlfriend?! Ah... W-We haven't gotten that far yet..." Chronia stammered, her face turning red.
"No," I replied flatly.
The guard chuckled. "Ah, my mistake. I almost forgot—you already have someone you like."
The moment those words left his mouth, Chronia's expression shifted. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Hm?"
"A-Ahem. Please, come in," the guard said quickly, opening the door.
As we stepped inside, I immediately noticed something strange—the place was completely empty. Only one person sat inside, confirming my suspicion.
This restaurant had been fully reserved.
We walked over to one of the tables. I took a seat, and Chronia sat beside me.
Across from us, a man greeted me with a friendly smile.
"Yo, good morning, Arche."
"You brought a friend?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Let me introduce you—this is Chronia," I said, gesturing toward her.
Chronia gave a polite nod. "Nice to meet you."
Arthur returned the gesture. "Nice to meet you too."
Then, with a teasing grin, he added, "First you brought Elaina, and now her?"
Chronia froze. "...Elaina?"
Her gaze immediately snapped toward me, sharp and demanding. "Arche, who is Elaina?!" she asked, her voice slightly tense.
"A friend," I replied, keeping it short.
Arthur smirked. "Just a friend, huh? Don't you want more than that?"
"Can we not talk about this right now?" I shot him a look.
"No! Actually, Arche, explain—who is Elaina?" Chronia pressed, her curiosity turning into something more intense.
I let out a deep sigh and glared at Arthur. "This is your fault."
"Sorry," Arthur muttered, looking somewhat guilty.
With no other choice, I gave Chronia a brief explanation about Elaina. After hearing it, she seemed somewhat satisfied.
But then—
"Alright, now tell me all the beautiful women you know," she demanded, her tone carrying a subtle threat.
"...Huh?" I blinked. This was pointless. But if it would keep her happy, I had no choice.
"Let's see... Elaina, Riviere, Mina, Liella, Cynthia, Caroline, Estelle—she's pretty cute too..." I paused.
Honestly, there were a lot more, but listing them all would be a waste of time.
Chronia pouted. "That's so many! And my name wasn't even mentioned!"
"Anyway, what about the weapon?" I asked Arthur, shifting the topic.
"You're gonna be surprised," Arthur said with a smirk. Right on cue, someone walked in carrying a fairly large box.
Another person followed behind him—a man with an eyepatch. "Oh? Why are there pirates here?" I quipped.
Thud!
Arthur kicked my knee under the table. "Idiot, that's the blacksmith who made your weapon," he hissed.
I stood up and took a better look at the man. His hands were covered in burn scars—clear signs of years spent working the forge.
"Huh, what a careless guy," I muttered.
Smack!
Arthur smacked my shoulder. "I paid a fortune for this weapon, so don't screw this up!"
The blacksmith let out an annoyed sigh. "Are you two done bickering?"
I crossed my arms. "And you are?"
The man straightened his posture and smirked. "My name is Heinrich—the greatest blacksmith in this world!"
"Huh. Doubtful," I deadpanned.
Chronia, choosing to ignore my sarcasm, pointed at the large box. "And... inside that box—is that Arche's new weapon?"
Heinrich stepped closer, eyeing me from head to toe. "So, you're the one who'll be wielding this weapon, huh?"
"Are you even worthy to wield this masterpiece of mine?" Heinrich asked, his gaze sharp and challenging.
I smirked. "And are you worthy enough to craft a weapon for me?" I shot back, locking eyes with him.
His expression darkened. "And just who do you think you are?"
"Someone stronger than you," I replied without hesitation.
Arthur groaned. "Arche! Stop being so rude!"
Heinrich let out a low chuckle. "Oh? You think you're stronger than me? Want to prove it?"
He cracked his knuckles. "I was a knight, you know."
I shrugged. "Nobody asked. And nobody cares." With that, I casually took off my jacket and handed it to Chronia.
I stared at Heinrich standing before me. His gaze was sharp, calculating. Good. At least he wasn't stupid.
Without hesitation, I stepped forward, launching a quick jab at his face.
Heinrich dodged with a slight tilt of his head, trying to stay composed.
I deliberately left an opening, and just as expected, he immediately countered with a low kick to my thigh.
I almost wanted to laugh. Was that how he started a fight?
I let his kick land, then countered with a left hook to his ribs.
Heinrich blocked it, then slid to my side, attempting to press forward with a heavy cross to my chest.
I didn't even flinch.
I let his punch come dangerously close before twisting my body, dodging by mere millimeters, then slipping in with an uppercut that nearly shattered his jaw.
He stepped back, his face still unreadable. But I saw it-the brief flicker of surprise in his eyes.
"Slow," I murmured.
I stepped forward again, bombarding him with a flurry of jabs.
He was forced to defend, and that was enough to show the difference in our skill levels.
Heinrich finally decided to fight back-slipping to my right side, attempting to lock me down.
Before he could secure his hold, I slammed my fist into his elbow, making his arm waver slightly.
Then, without giving him a moment to breathe, I slipped behind him and slammed him into the floor effortlessly.
The sound of his body hitting the floor was satisfying.
I pinned his arm down-just a little more, and I could hear that delightful cracking sound.
But he struggled.
With a pathetic display of desperation, Heinrich broke free with an elbow strike to my ribs.
Painful? Maybe. But only for a second. I let him stand, just so I could watch his breath grow ragged, his stance begin to waver.
I taking a slow step forward.
"Is that all?" I asked, my voice dripping with boredom. "I expected more from someone who acts so tough."
Heinrich wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his expression cold. But I could see it now.
Arthur grabbed me by the collar and yanked me up. "What the hell are you doing, you idiot?!" he snapped.
Meanwhile, Heinrich stood up, dusted himself off, and patted my shoulder.
Then, with a satisfied grin, he turned me around to face him. "You are worthy of wielding my masterpiece!" he declared proudly.
Arthur let out a deep sigh of relief. "Thank goodness..."
Ignoring him, I stepped toward the man holding the large box. As he slowly opened it, I watched with anticipation.
But the moment I saw what was inside, my eyes widened. "...Huh?"
Nestled within the box was not a dagger like I had requested—but a pair of sleek, razor-sharp dual blades.
I turned to Arthur, my brows furrowed. "I asked for a dagger, not this."
Arthur crossed his arms. "Isn't a dagger kinda boring?"
I sighed and picked up the dual blades, testing their weight.
With a few quick movements, I swung them around, experimenting with different techniques.
To my surprise, they felt perfect. Smooth, balanced, almost like an extension of my own body.
A small smile crept onto my lips. Yeah... these will do.
"I crafted this weapon using the rarest materials in the kingdom," Heinrich began, his voice filled with pride.
"The forging process was extremely difficult."
He folded his arms. "In fact, there was only a 1% chance that this weapon could even be successfully made."
"One tiny mistake, and it would have been a total failure."
Then, with a smirk, he added, "King Arthurius even prayed every day for its success."
I turned to Arthur, grinning. "Aww, how sweet."
Arthur scowled. "Shut up."
"So... is this weapon really that great?" Chronia asked, tilting her head.
Heinrich's eyes lit up. "This is my masterpiece! I'm a perfectionist, you know?!" he declared passionately.
Chronia took a small step back, startled by his sudden outburst. "...Sorry, I didn't know," she muttered.
"Alright, then. I'll take my leave." Heinrich gave Arthur a polite bow.
Arthur returned the gesture before Heinrich turned to me with a grin.
"Take good care of them, alright?" he said, nodding toward my new blades.
I gave him a slight nod in return. With that, he and his men left the restaurant.
I turned my attention back to my new weapon. Along with the dual blades, there was also a sheath designed to attach to my belt.
I secured them in place, feeling a sense of satisfaction. Perfect. Now, it was time to move on to the next country.
"Eh? You're leaving already?" Arthur looked genuinely surprised.
"Yeah, I'm in a hurry," I replied nonchalantly.
Chronia clenched her fists excitedly. "Arche! With these weapons, we can finally destroy that organization!"
I raised an eyebrow. "Huh? That's not guaranteed."
Just as I turned toward the exit, ready to leave, two guards suddenly stepped forward, blocking our path.
Chronia tensed up beside me.
I frowned and turned my gaze to Arthur. "What's the meaning of this, Arthur?"
"Destroy the organization?" Arthur's voice was low, but there was an edge to it.
His steps were slow, deliberate, until suddenly—
Grab!
Arthur seized my collar, yanking me closer. His face twisted with frustration.
"You still want revenge on that organization?!" he barked.
His grip tightened. His voice rose.
"Are you still clinging to Luna's death?!"
Beside me, Chronia stiffened. "Hey, you! I know you're his best friend, but—"
I raised a hand, stopping her. "Don't bring up the name of the deceased." My voice was calm.
Arthur gritted his teeth, but I wasn't done. "I have let it go. But it wasn't just Luna's death, Arthur. That organization—"
My fingers curled into fists.
"You know what they did to me. They used me. Treated me like an experiment—like I was less than human."
I stared directly into his eyes, my voice cutting through the tension. "And now, they're planning to remake the world."
Arthur's breath hitched.
"They'll burn everything to the ground. Plunder. Conquer. Enslave entire nations!" I snapped. "And you want me to sit back and do nothing?!"
"ARCHE!!"
Arthur's shout shook the room.
"You're still trying to play hero?! You can't save everyone! Have you forgotten that?!"
His grip on my collar tightened, his knuckles turning white. His expression—anger, desperation, something else I couldn't quite place.
"You are not a hero, Arche. I repeat—"
His voice dropped to a near growl.
"NOT. A. HERO."
I stood there, silent for a moment, my chest tightening. Then, a heavy sigh escaped my lips.
"I'm not doing this to be a hero," I muttered.
A flicker of frustration crossed my eyes. "I just want revenge!"
Without warning, I lunged at him, my fist aimed straight for his face—but he was too fast. He dodged effortlessly, stepping back with a smirk.
"Arche! You're a fool!" Arthur shouted, his voice sharp with anger.
His eyes burned with frustration. "You're a fool who rushes headlong into danger—doing reckless things with no thought for the consequences!"
I felt a cold rush in my veins, but Arthur wasn't done. "I'm worried about you, Arche!"
"Don't you think Granny Rosa would cry if you died because of your stupid decisions?!"
His words stung, deeper than I wanted to admit. For a moment, I just stared at him.
Then, my lips twisted into a bitter smile.
"It's too bad," I said, my voice icy. "But Grandma Rosa has already passed away."
The words hung in the air, like a death sentence. "So if I die... no one will cry for me," I added, my gaze unwavering.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Arthur's face drained of color as the truth hit him like a hammer.
His mouth opened, but no words came out. Nearby, a guard started to move, but Chronia swiftly intervened, blocking his path.
Arthur stood frozen, as though the world had just crumbled beneath his feet.
I turned away, putting on my cloak once more. "Let's go, Chronia."
Chronia nodded, her expression unreadable. We didn't waste a second.
With a single motion, we burst through the window—too fast for the guards to react.
As we sprinted into the night, the sound of shouts and footsteps echoed behind us.
There was no time to waste. They'd be chasing us soon enough.
And I wasn't going to make it easy for them.
We sprinted through the maze of buildings, the sound of boots pounding against the pavement growing louder behind us. The guards were relentless in their pursuit.
"We're like fugitives, huh?" Chronia remarked, her breath uneven but laced with amusement.
"Aren't we criminals already?" I shot back without looking at her.
"Oh yeah, you're right. You've killed quite a few people on your way to this country, haven't you?" she teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
We dashed through a bustling marketplace, the scent of spices and grilled meat briefly mixing with the tension in the air.
I grabbed Chronia's wrist, making sure we wouldn't get separated.
"Arche! You just don't want to be apart from me, do you?" she teased again, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"Can you use your ability now?" I ignored her provocation, my focus locked on escaping.
"Ah, right." She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply.
Instantly, our movements accelerated, the world around us blurring as we surged forward.
"Time Acceleration, huh?" I muttered, feeling the unnatural speed coursing through my body.
Without hesitation, I scooped Chronia into my arms, carrying her like a princess.
"A-Ah... Arche, you're so bold!" she gasped, her voice carrying a mix of surprise and mischief.
With this newfound speed, I tore through the streets, leaving streaks of dust in my wake. But the guards weren't fools.
By the time we reached the market's exit, they were already lined up, weapons drawn, waiting for us.
Their blades gleamed under the afternoon sun, forming a wall of death between us and freedom.
Chronia sighed dramatically. "Honestly, they never learn."
She raised her hand, and in an instant, everything stopped. The guards, the marketplace, even the air itself-frozen in time.
Taking advantage of their immobilized state, I shoved them aside effortlessly, clearing a path. Then, without wasting another second, I ran.
I set Chronia down and quickly glanced over my shoulder. The streets behind us were swarming with guards, their relentless pursuit showing no sign of stopping.
We kept running, but no matter where we turned, more guards blocked our path.
It was too coordinated, too precise. They weren't just chasing us—they were herding us somewhere.
And then, we saw it.
The towering silhouette of the royal palace loomed before us.
With no other way forward, we stormed inside.
"Aren't we walking straight into a trap?" Chronia asked, her voice carrying an edge of amusement.
"Yeah, we are," I admitted, my lips curling into a smirk. "But we'll end this inside the trap."
Inside the palace, the chase didn't stop. More guards flooded the halls, forcing us to keep moving.
We had no choice but to ascend-higher, higher, and higher. Every corridor, every staircase, every breath was a race against the inevitable.
And then, we reached it.
A massive set of doors stood before us, the only path left. Without hesitation, we pushed through.
The moment we stepped inside, the overwhelming grandeur of the room became clear.
Lavish gold-trimmed walls. Ornate chandeliers casting a warm, flickering glow. Intricate carpets softer than any battlefield we had ever walked.
This was no ordinary chamber.
This was the king's private quarters.
A lone figure stood in the dimly lit hall, bathed in the golden glow of the torches. His regal presence was unmistakable.
The king.
My best friend.
Arthur.
He turned, his piercing gaze meeting mine. A faint smile played on his lips.
"I've been waiting for you, Arche."
I exhaled slowly, my fingers pulling at the clasp of my cloak. With a quiet rustle, it slid from my shoulders and pooled onto the cold marble floor.
"Chronia, guard the door," I ordered without looking back.
She nodded, stepping into position. The guards outside hesitated, unsure whether to intervene. But they knew—this wasn't their fight.
Arthur's movements were calm, deliberate. He unsheathed his sword, the steel catching the flickering light.
I reached for my dual blades, the familiar weight settling into my hands.
No words were needed.
"If I win," Arthur began, raising his blade, "you will step down and sever all ties with that organization."
I smirked, twirling one of my blades in my grip. "And if I win, you have to do one thing I ask of you."
Arthur's expression didn't waver.
"Fair enough." He nodded.
The air between us crackled with unspoken tension.
"It's been a long time since we last dueled, hasn't it?" he asked, his voice almost nostalgic.
"Yeah," I murmured, tightening my grip.
The world around us faded.
For now, it was just me and him.
And the battle that would decide everything.
Arthur stood firm, sword in hand, his stance calculated. He wasn't as strong, but every move he made was precise. Smart. Dangerous.
The weight of the blades in my hands felt natural, an extension of myself. No hesitation. No wasted movement.
Arthur struck first-a clean, measured slash toward my side.
The blades moved instinctively, one deflecting while the other lashed toward his ribs.
But his sword twisted at the last second, redirecting my attack with frustrating ease.
No hesitation, no wasted energy. Efficient.
The blades whirled, carving through the air in rapid succession. Fast, relentless.
Arthur moved like a shadow, his footwork precise, his sword always where it needed to be.
A parry, a sidestep, a counter-his movements were a step ahead, forcing me to adjust.
The blade in my right hand arced toward him, a decisive strike meant to break his rhythm.
A feint. He read it instantly. The moment I moved, his real attack came.
His sword cut toward my flank, forcing both blades into a desperate block. The impact jolted through my arms.
A second slower, and the fight would have been over.
He was reading everything.
Momentum. That was the answer. Speed alone wouldn't work, but overwhelming force-continuous pressure-would.
The blades became a storm, striking from every angle, testing his defense.
Arthur parried, sidestepped, each movement keeping him just out of reach. But even he couldn't keep up forever.
A slight shift in his stance-a crack in the defense. A final, decisive slash arced toward his shoulder.
And his sword was already there.
A perfect sidestep, a calculated trap. The moment the attack committed, his sword angled toward my wrist.
Too fast, too aggressive—he had used it against me. The blade barely withdrew in time, but his sword still grazed skin. First blood.
Arthur stepped back, stance steady, breathing even.
Blood dripped from the shallow cut. Nothing serious, but it wasn't about the wound-it was about control.
Arthur had taken the first clean hit, shifting the momentum in his favor.
The blades tightened in my grip. Hesitation meant defeat.
I surged forward, pressing the attack with renewed intensity.
My blades cut through the air in an unpredictable rhythm—high, low, feints woven into real strikes.
Arthur's sword met each one, his movements measured, his defense almost effortless.
Almost.
A downward slash forced him back. A spinning cut to the side made him step off balance. There. A crack in the defense.
The blades twisted mid-air, one arcing toward his ribs, the other toward his neck-a twin-strike meant to end it.
And then—His sword wasn't there.
It was gone from my sight, and before I could register why—
A force struck my wrist. My right blade flew from my grasp, spinning through the air before embedding itself in the ground.
A misstep. Just one.
Arthur had baited the opening, his sword shifting at the last second to slam against my arm instead of parrying my blades. A calculated risk. A brutal reward.
The moment of shock cost me. Arthur stepped in, closing the gap instantly.
His sword twisted again, this time hooking under my left blade and wrenching it from my grip.
A flick of his wrist, a precise movement-
And my last blade clattered to the ground.
Bare hands. No weapons. Arthur stood before me, sword raised, unwavering.
I exhaled sharply. He had taken control. Overwhelmed me.
Arthur stood before me, sword steady, ready to finish what he had started.
He had taken control, forced me into a disadvantage. But a fight wasn't won by weapons alone.
I moved.
The ground blurred beneath me as I lunged forward, closing the gap before his sword could strike.
My hand shot out, grabbing my fallen blade mid-motion, and with a twist of my body, I swung upward in a brutal arc.
Arthur barely evaded, his sword coming down to meet the attack, but this time, he wasn't the only one dictating the pace.
A second blade was back in my hand.
Momentum shifted.
Steel clashed in a blur of motion. The dance of blades resumed, each strike met with an equal counter.
Arthur's precision against my speed, his tactics against my instinct.
His sword weaved through openings, narrowly missing flesh, while my blades carved through the air, pushing his defense to its limit.
Neither could afford a mistake.
A thrust aimed for my ribs-I twisted just in time. A sweeping strike toward his shoulder-he parried and countered instantly.
Arthur's sword came in low, a precise thrust aimed for my ribs.
I sidestepped just in time, deflecting it with my left blade while the right slashed toward his exposed side.
He twisted away, narrowly avoiding the strike, but that moment-that tiny hesitation-was all I needed.
I saw it. The same trick he used before. The bait. The calculated opening.
This time, it wouldn't be his victory.
I moved—fast.
Instead of pressing forward, I loosened my grip, letting my right blade fall—just like he had forced me to drop it earlier.
Arthur's eyes flickered, recognizing the moment, preparing to counter.
But I wasn't done.
Before the blade even touched the ground, I twisted my body, using the momentum to drive my left blade into his wrist.
Not deep, but enough to throw off his control. His grip faltered. His sword wavered.
And in that instant, I caught my falling blade midair-just like before-but this time, it wasn't just retrieval. It was a strike.
With all the speed and force I could muster, I slammed the hilt of my blade against his sword arm, sending his weapon flying from his grasp.
The tables had turned.
Arthur took a sharp step back, his breath controlled, his expression unreadable. But the result was clear.
This time, he was the one unarmed.
Arthur moved.
The moment his sword left his hand, he spun on his heel, reaching for it without hesitation. Smart. Instinctual. But predictable.
I was already there.
Before his fingers could close around the hilt, a blade slashed downward, embedding itself into the ground just inches from his weapon.
A warning. A statement. His sword was no longer an option.
Arthur's body tensed as he shifted to retreat, but I didn't give him the chance.
A step forward. A flick of the wrist. The second blade curved toward his path, forcing him back, herding him into a corner of the battlefield where there was no space left to maneuver.
No sword. No escape. No more counters.
He exhaled sharply, his stance still firm, his mind still calculating. Even now, he was searching for a way out. But there wasn't one.
"You've lost, Arthur."
My voice was firm, my eyes locked onto him as he knelt on the cold floor, his sword slipping from his grasp.
Arthur let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "..You really are something else, aren't you?" he muttered, exhaling sharply.
I didn't respond. My grip on my dual blades tightened.
"Why do you keep trying to stop me?" I asked, my voice low but sharp.
Arthur met my gaze, his expression filled with exhaustion and conviction.
"Because only a fool would try to bring down an entire organization alone."
A slow clap echoed through the silent hall. "Speaking of fools…"
The raspy voice sent a chill down my spine. I turned—only to see Chronia slumped against the wall, unconscious.
The guards who had been outside? Gone.
And standing there, bathed in the dim torchlight, was a man I hadn't seen in a long time.
Arthur's royal advisor.
Conard.
"Well, well… It's been a while, Arche," the old man said, his thin lips curling into a smirk.
I narrowed my eyes. "Conard, huh? What do you want?"
Sheathing my dual blades, I stepped forward and pulled Arthur to his feet. My mind was already racing.
"And what did you do to Chronia?" My voice was laced with quiet fury.
Conard gave a small, amused shrug. "Maybe she was just feeling a little… sleepy."
The moment those words left his mouth, his entire body jerked—his limbs stiffening unnaturally.
From behind him, a blur of movement.
Chronia.
She had struck first.
With breathtaking speed, she landed a flurry of kicks, her movements fluid, relentless.
Then, in the blink of an eye, she vanished from his line of sight, circling him like a phantom.
But then—A single misstep.
Before she could react, an invisible force sent her flying backward, crashing hard against the wall with a sickening thud.
"Chronia!" I shouted.
Arthur's voice overlapped with mine—
"Conard!"
Conard straightened his posture, brushing off his suit as if nothing had happened.
His eyes, sharp and unreadable, glinted under the dim torchlight.
"Amazing… truly amazing," he muttered, a slow smirk creeping onto his face.
"You possess a terrifying ability, in the best way possible."
I ignored the praise. My patience was wearing thin. "So? What do you want to talk about?" I asked, my voice cold.
Conard shifted his gaze to Arthur, his smirk fading into something more serious.
"It's about you, Arthur."
Arthur tensed. "...Me?"
Conard took a step closer. "Tell me, do you know what today is?"
Arthur blinked, caught off guard. His brows furrowed as he searched his mind for an answer.
"Today…?" He hesitated. "...I—no, I don't know."
A deep sigh left Conard's lips. "Today marks the 50th anniversary of your grandfather's death."
Arthur's eyes widened.
"Huh?! How could I forget something like that?!" He clenched his fists, frustration written all over his face. "I must—"
Conard cut him off.
"Your grandfather left something for you."
Arthur froze.
Conard's voice lowered, the weight of his next words pressing down on the room.
"He told me that when fifty years had passed… I should finally tell you the truth."
Arthur swallowed hard, his breath hitching. "...The truth?"
Conard's gaze darkened.
"I will tell you the story of your grandfather, Aurelius."
Silence fell.
Even the flickering torches seemed to burn quieter.
I exchanged a glance with Chronia, who was still catching her breath from earlier.
During the illustrious reign of King Aurelius, grandfather to Arthur, the kingdom of Havenvale flourished in an era of unparalleled peace and harmony.
Aurelius was revered as a monarch of unmatched virtue—wise, just, and unwavering in his devotion to the realm.
Under his rule, Havenvale rose from the ruins left by his predecessor's failures, transformed into a beacon of prosperity.
To his people, he was the ideal sovereign. Kind yet resolute, humble yet commanding, a ruler whose presence alone inspired unwavering loyalty.
Yet, beneath the golden veneer of his reign, there lay a secret known only to a select few.
Aurelius had no heir.
It was a truth that burdened his heart, an ever-present shadow that darkened his thoughts.
If he were to perish, who would inherit the throne? Who would safeguard the future of Havenvale?
Troubled by these questions, he summoned his younger brother.
"You requested my presence, brother?" his sibling inquired, stepping forward with a respectful bow.
Aurelius exhaled deeply, his expression weighed with uncharacteristic uncertainty.
"I find myself troubled, dear brother. The matter of succession weighs heavily upon me."
His brother's brow furrowed. "...Succession?"
Aurelius nodded, his gaze distant. "I have no heir to take my place. Should I fall, who will guide our people? Who will bear the weight of the crown?"
A long silence stretched between them before Aurelius turned to his brother, his voice quieter now.
"Would you... consider taking my place?"
His brother's eyes widened momentarily before he let out a small sigh. "Forgive me, brother," he said, shaking his head.
"I cannot. I am not you. I lack the wisdom, the strength, the presence you command. The throne was never meant for me."
Aurelius studied his brother for a moment, searching for hesitation, for even a sliver of doubt. But he found none.
And so, the uncertainty remained, an unanswered question hanging in the air.
Who would rule after him?
Who would carry Havenvale into the future?
Several days had passed since Aurelius last held an audience with his people, listening to their grievances and resolving their disputes.
As he sat upon his throne, his younger brother—his most trusted advisor—stood by his side.
Suddenly, the grand doors to the chamber swung open, and a guard entered, cradling a swaddled infant in his arms. He dropped to one knee, bowing deeply.
"Your Majesty! I bring urgent news!"
Aurelius raised a hand, his voice calm yet authoritative. "Speak."
"While on patrol, I discovered this child abandoned in a dark alley," the guard reported.
"The baby was alone, with no sign of a guardian nearby. What is to be done, Your Majesty?"
Aurelius furrowed his brows as he gazed upon the infant. The child's cries filled the vast hall, echoing against the marble pillars.
A spark of thought flickered in his mind—an idea taking form.
"Bring him to me."
The guard hesitated only a moment before stepping forward, carefully placing the wailing child into Aurelius's arms.
The king peered down at the tiny, fragile being, his expression softening.
"Now, now, little one," he murmured, gently tickling the child's belly.
A miraculous thing happened—the infant's cries ceased, replaced by soft giggles.
The sound, pure and innocent, brought a rare smile to Aurelius's lips.
His younger brother, watching in silent surprise, saw the shift in his expression and sensed the weight of a decision yet unspoken.
"Brother?" he asked cautiously.
The king turned to him, his eyes resolute. "I shall raise this child as my own," he declared.
"He will be my son—and the future heir to Havenvale's throne."
His brother's eyes widened in shock. "W-What? But, brother, this child bears no royal blood!"
Aurelius exhaled, a faint sadness flickering across his face.
"If only my beloved wife were still alive... She would have adored this child." He gently cradled the infant closer.
"And blood alone does not define a ruler. This child was abandoned, left with nothing... Yet, here he is."
"If fate has placed him before me, then who am I to deny him a future?"
His brother hesitated, then lowered his gaze. "...If this is your will, Brother, I shall not stand against it."
Aurelius turned his attention back to the child, his expression soft but unwavering.
"A name... He must have a name."
He pondered for a moment, then his lips curled into a smile.
"Aldric."
The name rang through the chamber, as if sealing the child's destiny.
His brother—Conard—slowly nodded, accepting the choice. "Yes... That is a fine name."
Aurelius chuckled, lifting the child playfully. "You hear that, little one? You are Aldric, my son, and one day, you shall be king."
The infant cooed, blissfully unaware of the fate that had just been woven for him.
Hearing the story from Conard made us speechless, especially Arthur who couldn't believe what he heard.
"…Impossible…"
Arthur's voice trembled as he staggered back, his usually steady breath now came in ragged gasps.
"I…" His golden eyes flickered with disbelief. "I do not possess royal blood…? Then why… why am I the king of this kingdom?"
His voice was barely above a whisper, as if uttering the words aloud would shatter the very foundation of his existence.
Chronia, standing nearby, narrowed her eyes at Conard. "Then tell me, old man—if this happened fifty years ago, how are you still alive?"
Conard let out a dry chuckle, stroking his silver beard as he stepped forward.
His eyes, still sharp despite his age, gleamed with the weight of untold years.
"Because, child, I made a promise."
Arthur looked up, his hands balling into fists. Conard ignored his turmoil and continued his tale, his voice steady, unwavering.
Many decades ago, on the eve of King Aurelius's final breath…
The great king lay upon his bed, his once-mighty form now frail.
His breathing was slow, yet his eyes still held the fire of a ruler.
Beside him, his younger brother knelt, his hands trembling as he grasped Aurelius's weakened hand.
"Conard…" Aurelius spoke softly, his voice laced with exhaustion. "You must promise me something."
Conard swallowed hard. "Anything, brother."
"Keep the truth of Aldric's bloodline a secret." Aurelius exhaled, his gaze distant.
"I have heard whispers of a prophecy—one that speaks of his son, my grandson… A ruler who will surpass even me, bringing a golden age to Havenvale."
He paused, his fingers tightening weakly around Conard's hand. "But I fear… If he ever learns that he lacks royal blood, he may grow complacent."
"He must never know, not until fifty years after my passing."
Conard's breath hitched. "Brother, you cannot ask me to—"
"Swear it!" Aurelius's voice, though faint, carried the authority of a king.
"Stay alive… Protect him… And when the time comes, tell his son the truth."
A heavy silence fell over the chamber. Then, Conard bowed his head, his hands trembling.
"…I swear it, Aurelius. I will live. I will keep your secret. And when the time is right, I will tell the truth."
Aurelius's lips curved into a faint smile. A moment later, he exhaled one final breath—his hand slipping lifelessly from his brother's grasp.
Conard exhaled as if reliving that moment once more. "That night, I sought out an alchemist—one who possessed a forbidden elixir capable of extending my life."
"I did what was necessary to fulfill my oath."
Arthur fell to his knees, the weight of the revelation crushing down upon him.
His entire life—his purpose, his rule—had been built on a foundation of lies.
"I've sacrificed so many things..."
Arthur's voice trembled, barely above a whisper. His hands, once strong and steady, now hung limply at his sides.
"I've wasted all my time... I didn't even have friends when I was little…"
His golden eyes, once filled with determination, were now clouded with anguish.
His whole life had been spent in pursuit of something he now realized had never truly belonged to him.
"I did everything. I gave everything. I sacrificed everything just to be a good king."
He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.
"But in the end… I'm just an ordinary man?"
Arthur's voice cracked as the truth settled in—a truth that shattered the very foundation of his existence.
Conard watched him in silence before speaking softly. "Do not grieve, Arthur."
Arthur's head snapped up, his sorrow twisting into anger.
"Don't be sad?" His voice rose. "Don't be sad?! How dare you say that!"
His body trembled as he took a step forward, his frustration boiling over.
"I've been lied to my whole life! Do you have any idea how that feels?!"
Arthur's breath hitched, his vision blurring with unspoken pain. "I asked you—do you understand?!"
Conard met his fury with calm, unwavering eyes. "...Yes. And I apologize for deceiving you. But this is the truth."
Before Arthur could react, the old man moved. A sharp sting—then the warmth of something trickling down his cheek.
Arthur gasped, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch his face.
Blood.
Red blood.
His eyes widened as he turned to Conard—only to see the man press a knife against his own cheek and make a deliberate cut.
A deep, unnatural blue began to seep from the wound.
Arthur's breath caught in his throat.
Blue blood… the mark of royal lineage.
"You know the rules of this kingdom, don't you?" Conard asked, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of law.
Arthur stood frozen, unable to answer.
"If you have forgotten, allow me to remind you." Conard's gaze darkened.
"Only those with royal blood may sit upon the throne."
His words fell heavy in the silence.
"And that means, Arthur…"
The room felt impossibly vast, yet suffocating.
"You were never meant to be king."
The weight of those words pressed down on him, drowning him in a truth he could not escape.
And in that crushing silence, Arthur realized—The throne he had given his life for… was never his to begin with.
"This does not mean I despise you," Conard spoke gently. His voice, firm yet laced with emotion, carried across the silent chamber. "On the contrary."
Arthur did not move. He simply stood there, staring at the ground, as if the weight of his own existence had become too heavy to bear.
"You have achieved feats that even my brother, at your age, could not." Conard continued, his gaze unwavering.
"Arthur, you are a great man—no, you are a great King."
The words should have meant something. They should have held weight. But to Arthur, they rang hollow.
"Even if you are not of royal blood, you are still worthy of the throne."
Conard's conviction was clear. Yet, Arthur's expression remained unreadable, his golden eyes dull, his voice devoid of its usual strength.
"No. I am not worthy."
His words fell like a final judgment upon himself. "I have lied to my people my entire life."
"I have stood before them, proud and unwavering, claiming that I am their rightful king."
His hand trembled at his side. "But I am nothing more than a fraud."
Arthur turned to me, his expression unreadable. "Tell me, Arche. Do you think a king who deceives his people is worthy of the throne?"
I met his gaze, unflinching.
"A king who lies to his people is cruel."
Arthur's breath caught slightly, as if expecting that answer.
But before he could respond, I added, "However, every king has lied before."
The room fell into a tense silence.
Arthur's grip on his own existence had never been so fragile.
"I am still a king for now, correct?" Arthur's voice was steady, yet laced with something unreadable.
Conard hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yes… you still are."
Arthur took a deep breath, then exhaled sharply. "Then, as king, I hereby abdicate the throne and name you, Conard, as my successor."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Even Conard looked taken aback. "What…?"
Arthur pressed on, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. "I am not fit to be king. I am too young."
"I lack the wisdom needed to rule, and I can no longer bear the weight of this responsibility."
He let out a hollow laugh. "You may spread word that I have betrayed the kingdom if you wish. It no longer matters to me."
"I'm not worthy to be king."
The impact of those words was suffocating.
We all stared at Arthur, stunned beyond words. Of all the choices he could have made, this was the last thing I had expected.
"Are you certain?" Conard's voice was unsteady, as if he himself could not believe what he was hearing.
"Yes."
Without hesitation, Arthur lifted the crown from his own head and placed it upon Conard's.
A small, almost bittersweet smile crossed Arthur's lips. "It suits you, Your Majesty."
Conard exhaled sharply, his fingers brushing against the weight of the crown atop his head. "I… Thank you."
For the first time, Conard—who had lived in the shadows of kings for so long—was now one himself.
Arthur simply turned away, as if shedding his past like an old cloak.
"Then…" Conard hesitated before asking the question we were all thinking. "What will you do now, Arthur?"
At that, Arthur froze.
For the first time, he truly had no answer.
I cleared my throat, stepping forward. "You lost the duel against me, remember? And as per our agreement, you must fulfill one request of mine."
Arthur sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ah, right. But I'm not a king anymore." His expression was uncertain. "I'm afraid I can't grant you money or—"
"I don't need your money." I cut him off with a smirk.
Arthur blinked in confusion, while Chronia, on the other hand, already seemed to understand where this was going.
Conard raised an eyebrow. "Then what exactly do you want?"
I folded my arms and met Arthur's gaze. "I want you to join my team."
Arthur's eyes widened slightly.
"With your swordsmanship, you'd be a valuable asset to us." I tossed him a tarot card—the Justice card. Arthur caught it effortlessly.
For a moment, he stared at it, as if lost in thought. Then, a slow, knowing smile spread across his face.
"Are you coming with us?" I asked.
Arthur exhaled, gripping the card tightly. "Yeah… Count me in."
A grin tugged at my lips. "Welcome aboard."
With that, we turned and walked toward the door, but Arthur suddenly stopped.
He hesitated for a brief moment before spinning on his heels and striding back toward Conard.
Then, without warning, he pulled him into a firm embrace.
"You've taught me so much…" Arthur's voice was softer now, filled with genuine gratitude. "Thank you for everything, teacher."
Conard's stern expression softened as he returned the hug. "Hmph… Go, then. Make something of yourself."
Arthur pulled away, giving his old mentor one last smile before turning back to us.
With that, we stepped out of the room—Arthur now walking a different path than the one fate had once set before him.
Back at our hotel, I carefully dabbed a cloth against Arthur's cheek, cleaning the shallow cut he had received earlier.
"So… he's our new member now?" Lycaon asked, arms crossed, still looking baffled.
"Isn't he… you know, the king of this kingdom?"
I glanced at Arthur, then back at Lycaon. "Well, it's a long story."
Arthur, now sitting comfortably with his arms resting behind his head, smirked. "Yeah, let's just say I've been 'liberated' from that duty."
I set down the cloth and met his gaze seriously. "It's probably too late to tell you this, but…"
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"
I exhaled. "Joining us means stepping into the criminal world." I leaned forward slightly. "We're not some noble band of heroes, Arthur."
Arthur's expression didn't waver. "Yeah, I figured as much." He smirked. "But I don't mind."
I nodded in approval. "Alright then, let me introduce the others."
I gestured toward each of them. "That's Zack the Deathbringer, Lycaon the Wildbeast, and Chronia the Queen Of Time."
Arthur blinked, then chuckled. "Wait, let me guess…"
He turned towards me "You were the one who came up with the idea of having that kind of name, right?"
"Obviously," Zack and Lycaon answered in unison.
Chronia, ever composed, simply nodded. "Yeah."
Arthur burst into laughter.
I frowned. "What's so funny?"
Arthur wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "No, no… it's just that you still haven't changed, huh?" He smirked.
That struck a nerve. "Then how about you come up with better ones?!"
Arthur crossed his arms. "Alright, then. What nickname did you come up with for yourself?"
I hesitated, shifting slightly in my seat. "..Arche the Fool Hero.."
Silence.
Arthur stared at me. Then he sighed. "You do realize that sounds more like an insult, right?"
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
Arthur shook his head. "You sound like a nerd who got stuck with a bad name given by bullies."
I gritted my teeth. "Shut up!"
Chronia, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. "Then, what about you?" She asked.
Arthur blinked. "Huh?"
"You should have a nickname too," she continued.
Arthur crossed his arms, thinking. "Hm..."
I leaned back, watching him struggle. "No idea, name-giver?"
Arthur shot me a look, but before he could respond, I took a deep breath and said, "How about Arthur the Knight of Justice?"
Silence.
Then, in perfect unison, they all blurted out, "You thought of that yourself?"
I felt insulted. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Arthur chuckled. "That actually sounds cool."
Zack suddenly grabbed Arthur's arm. "Then, as a new member, you must receive a tattoo!"
Arthur's eyes widened in horror. "Eh?! A tattoo?! What does this mean?! Arche, help!"
I smirked. "You won't die. Don't worry."
Arthur paled as Zack and Lycaon dragged him off.
Meanwhile, Lycaon turned to me. "So, you've gotten a new weapon, right? Where are we going after this?"
I reached into my coat and pulled out a tarot card, flipping it between my fingers.
"To the Kingdom of Golden Sands," I replied.
I revealed the card—The Emperor.
"We might be able to recruit him."
You can't force everything to happen, but some things are worth trying for.