Chapter 27
Title: an evening for two…. (and then four)
"Only those who risk going too far will find out how far they can truly go." - T. S. Eliot
– Darvin's POV –
(Two Days Ago)
The walls were damp stone. The floor, mud and rot. Strands of hay littered the corners. It was hot—too damn hot—so humid that sweat clung to the walls like dew.
The only light came from a flickering mana lantern outside the cell, casting faint shadows between the iron bars.
I sat in the far corner, my body a patchwork of bruises and open wounds. Dressed in nothing but a coarse potato sack that barely covered anything, I felt each rivulet of sweat sting as it dripped from my bald scalp into the cuts on my face.
I hadn't slept in… what, 72 hours? Maybe more. Every time I closed my eyes, pain woke me right back up.
It's hot.
It's too damn hot in this cell.
I can't sleep. I can't think.
I've pissed myself three times.
When is this nightmare going to end?
—footsteps?
Two sets, heavy boots on wet stone.
The cell door creaked open, and two men stepped in—dressed identically in all black, faces hidden behind skull masks. Rank badges sat on their shoulders like little trophies.
Church of Death executioners.
"On your feet, scum!" one of them barked.
I didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just kept my eyes glued to the filthy floor between my legs.
Why bother? I knew where I was going.
The interrogator's room.
Same place they dragged me the last three days.
And I wasn't in a damn rush to get back there.
Noticing my lack of enthusiasm, one of them kicked me hard in the ribs.
"Up! I said up, worm."
I just groaned.
One scoffed. They each took an arm, hoisted me between them, and started dragging me down the corridor. My feet scraped across the stone, peeling off strips of skin like bark.
"Shit," one of them muttered. "He stinks worse than yesterday. You don't think he crapped himself, do you?"
"I don't get paid enough to care. Let's just dump him off so we can finish that card game."
Honestly… I wasn't even sure myself. Sometime yesterday, I had noticed the smell getting worse. But I'd been too out of it to care where it was coming from.
We stopped in front of that door.
A simple wooden door—oddly well-kept compared to the others. But what lingered behind it… something unnatural. Something that crawled under your skin and wrapped its fingers around your spine.
Every time we got close, I could see it—feel it.
Like a giant, shadowy mouth yawning wider the closer I came.
I hadn't even realized I was shaking until I heard myself.
"No… No—NO, NOT AGAIN! PLEASE, I'LL TALK, JUST DON'T—"
They threw me in without a word.
I landed on my face. Gasped. Crawled beneath the single table in the room.
Same as last time. One candle. One desk.
Everything else—darkness.
I clung to the table leg like it was a lifeline.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite little piggy," a voice cooed from the void.
Knives scraped together in the dark.
"How are we today, hmm? Still juicy? Still tender?"
I said nothing. Barely breathed. Hoping maybe—just maybe—he wouldn't see me if I stayed quiet.
The scraping stopped.
Then—laughter.
That laugh. Giddy. Psychotic.
Closer… and closer.
"So," the voice sang, "where were we? Oh yes… you were just about to tell me who gave you the bodies."
Boots appeared at the edge of the candlelight. Nothing else. Just boots. Shined and spotless.
"Oh? Cat got your tongue today, little piggy? I do love when you play hard to get."
His boots disappeared into the dark.
"I told you everything," I gasped, poking my head out from beneath the table. "I swear! I told you all I know!"
"Ohhh, piggy… you and I both know that's a lie."
WHACK!
A rope, knotted at the end, snapped out from the darkness and smashed into my thigh.
"ARGHH!" I screamed.
"Ready to talk now?" he purred, chuckling.
"Okay! Okay, I'll tell you wha—"
The door opened.
A new figure stepped in—dressed the same: executioner's robes, skull mask, quiet steps.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" the torturer roared from the dark. "I SAID NO INTERRUPTIONS DURING MY PLAYTIME!"
The executioner said nothing.
I saw a flicker—just a flick of his wrist. Like he tossed something.
A whisper of silver.
The interrogator gurgled.
Then—THUD.
For the first time since I arrived here, I saw his face. Because it was no longer attached to his body. It hit the floor beside me with a wet slap.
I stared at it—jaw slack.
What… the hell?
I felt boots behind me.
The masked man crouched, then removed his hood.
A demi-human. Reddish skin. Eyes sharp.
"Wh—who are you?" I asked. "What do you want?"
"I am called Red," he said coolly. "The Master sent me to rescue you. What have you told them so far?"
I hesitated. A shiver ran down my back.
If the Master finds out I told them anything, I'm dead anyway.
"Nothing," I lied. "I swear, nothing."
Red tilted his head. "Yes, the Master said you'd say that. He also said you'd squeal like a pig if they pushed you too far."
"No—I promise! Just the bodies! That's all I told them! Just where I got the damn bodies, that's it!"
Red's gaze hardened.
And then the air changed.
Thick. Suffocating.
An aura like wet, black smoke filled the room.
I fell to my knees, choking on the pressure. My legs gave out.
Red's eyes glowed an eerie green-yellow, and when they locked onto mine… I knew I was going to die.
"All of you are so useless," he muttered.
And I understood the words only a second too late.
I felt the world shift. The angle was wrong.
Why am I looking down on a body?
WAIT— THATS MY BOD—
Darvin's severed head hit the floor.
His body slumped beside it.
Red wiped the blood from his blade and sighed.
"All of you… useless. I don't know why the Master gives you insects such important tasks."
He turned toward the door, stepping over the mess.
"I'll just tell him he was dead when I got here."
- Lace's POV -
An Evening for Two… (and Then Four)
Today's the day.
Me and Gyra. A proper date.
I woke up early, hit the barbershop, and picked out a decent outfit—something more casual and stylish than the usual military uniform. My silver hair was slicked back neatly, and for once, I was leaving the sword behind.
I checked myself over in the mirror.
Damn, I look good.
Just then—
"Sir Lace, you have a letter from the Church of Death," a soft voice called from outside my quarters.
The Church of Death?
I haven't worked with them in weeks. What could they possibly want?
I opened the door to see a young maid holding a silver tray with a sealed envelope resting on top. She bowed and handed it over.
"Thanks," I said, shutting the door behind me.
I slit the seal open with a knife. Two sheets of parchment slid out—written in clean, practiced handwriting.
Sir,
In recognition of your former rank and service to the Church of Death, I was assigned to interrogate Fregly Daravin on your behalf. Regrettably, I must inform you that Cell Block A of Black Mast Prison was raided. Several executioners were killed. Daravin, too, is dead.
We believe the culprit is Red, the assassin working under Hells Prince Agares in the North. Be on alert—if Red is eliminating loose ends, and you know what Daravin was up to in the mountains, you may be next.
Now to the more delicate matter… what I'm about to tell you is not public knowledge. As of now, only the Crown and the 3 Churchs are aware. During his final hours, Daravin revealed two names and a warning:
The first—Zian.
The man who supplied him with the bodies, schematics, and cores to create those abominations.
The second—Agares, Prince of Hell.
We don't yet know his role in all this, but he is no longer dormant.
Finally, the warning. Take it with skepticism—but Daravin spoke of the return of the King of Hell. I'm sure a man of your capabilities understands the weight of such a claim.
We'll write again when we know more.
Signed,
Your old friend from the Church of Death.
P.S. Burn this letter.
I stared out the window, the parchment resting on my desk.
The King of Hell. If that bastard returns, it'll be a repeat of the nightmare from centuries past. I'll need to speak to Basil soon. He's not going to like this one bit.
I held the letter over the flame of a nearby candle and watched it blacken, curl, and turn to ash.
I wondered briefly who the sender was. Maybe my old commander? But why sign it only as "your old friend"? Whatever—thinking about it now will just give me a headache.
The city's clock tower chimed in the distance.
Time to go.
I double-checked my breath, straightened my collar, and headed out toward Gyra's quarters. Once I reached her door, I gave it two steady knocks.
She opened it with a bright smile. "Hi, Lace!"
And just like that, I was speechless.
Her blue hair was pulled into a ponytail, with soft strands falling down the sides of her face. Her lips, painted a striking red, drew attention to the soft curve of her smile. She wore a blue and white sundress with floral embroidery that hugged her curves in all the right places.
I must've looked like a total idiot just staring.
"You look nice," she said. "I've never seen you dress like that."
Snapping out of it, I cleared my throat. "Thanks… and you look—"
My voice softened on its own. "Stunning."
She twirled a loose strand of hair, eyes a little shy. "Aha… thanks, Lace."
"So, ready to go?"
"Let's," she said, taking my arm.
We wandered through the capital's square, trying food stalls, browsing shops. Eventually we made it to a pastry shop Someone in the healer tent recommended Gyra.
The line wrapped around the building.
It smelled amazing. You could catch a whiff of fresh custards and buttered dough from streets away.
I didn't feel like waiting, so I did what any second-in-command of Black Legion would do—I used my status to skip the line and dragged Gyra with me.
We grabbed pastries and sat at one of the outdoor tables, enjoying the slow buzz of the evening.
"So… Dreadblade now, huh?" she teased. "Don't you think that's a little dramatic?"
"Hey, I didn't pick the name—Basil did," I muttered, scratching the back of my head.
She laughed. "Sounds about right." Then her tone shifted, more thoughtful. "Do you think he likes the Empress? During their duel, I noticed something… like they were exchanging more than just blows."
I forced a laugh. "Why? You like him or something?"
"I thought I did, but… I think it's more admiration than anything. He probably sees me as just a little girl, anyway."
The moment she said it, my stomach dropped.
So… today wasn't a date. Just two friends hanging out.
I should've known better.
"…Yeah, I don't know about him and the Empress," I said, colder than I meant to. "But he definitely doesn't like you."
Her eyes narrowed. "Well, you don't have to be so rude about it."
Damn it. She was right.
I took a deep breath. Then, quietly, I reached for her hand. A gentle breeze passed between us as our eyes met.
"You're right. I'm sorry. My head's just… been all over the place. And I need to say something."
She looked at me with curiosity.
"I've been trying to ignore it—pretend it's just because we're childhood friends. But it's not. I like you, Gyra. And not in some casual way. I really like you."
Her breath hitched.
"I figured something was going on," she said. "You've been… different lately. Softer."
She pulled her hand away.
"I liked you too, Lace. I did for a long time… but those feelings have faded. And now, I'm not so sure."
I forced a smile. "Then I'll wait. Not forever… but I'll wait."
I lied.
I didn't want to wait. My chest burned with anger. At myself. At her. At Basil.
But mostly at myself—for not saying something sooner.
"I knew you'd understand, Lace," she said gently. "You're kind, even when you're pretending not to be."
"My feelings haven't completely disappeared," she added. "Sometimes, when it's just us… my heart still flutters. But right now, I need to untangle this mess in my head."
So… there's still hope.
"I understand," I said. "Let's just enjoy the night.come on there's somewhere I wanna show you."
We stood and wandered through the city until we reached the Empress's statue in the central plaza. A man in a funny suit was playing piano beneath it.
"The Traveling Symphony," I whispered. "Apparently, he's played in every kingdom—even the Dwarf lands. Even my mother knew of him."
As the man played a soft, romantic melody, I looked at Gyra.
"Would you like to dance?"
She gave me a sly smile. "Sure."
We slow-danced beneath the stars. When the song ended, we wandered again—until Gyra tugged on my shirt.
"Hey, doesn't that figure look familiar?"
I followed her gaze—and sure enough, it was Basil.
"Yeah, that's him," I mumbled. "But… who's she?"
"Wanna follow him?" Gyra asked, her smirk devilish.
I couldn't lie—I was curious too. Basil's practically a loner. He doesn't go out much, not even with me or Gyra. And yet… he actually looked like he was enjoying himself more than usual.
I hesitated, then nodded. "Only for a bit. Let's not get caught—he's got freakishly sharp instincts."
We tailed them until they stopped at a bench.
We were about to turn back—
Then Basil shouted, drawing our eyes.
The woman turned.
Her hood slipped.
It was Mirian the empress.
I glanced at Gyra. Her face dimmed.
"Huh… never would've guessed," I said, forcing a chuckle.
"Yeah," she muttered. She stood abruptly. "Let's call it a night."
"I'll walk you back—"
"No, I'll go alone."
"…Alright. Good night."
I stood there as she walked away… then turned back to find Basil and the Empress gone.
What a shitty turn of events.
- Basil's POV -
The Next Morning – Training Grounds
Lace, Gyra, and I stood at the center of the training field. Lace held scrolls detailing scores, ranks, and eliminations.
Gyra stood beside us, her long coat billowing in the morning breeze. I'd asked her to come today. As a dragon, her mana aptitude was absurd, and she was easily one of the best mages I'd ever met. Showcasing some of her skills on the way to the capitol.
She was here to train the backline.
"Good morning!" I barked.
"GOOD MORNING, COMMANDER!" the legion answered.
I took the first scroll from Lace. "Today, I will announce those who have been eliminated—and those selected for the captain's assessment. If your name isn't called, you're safe—but that doesn't mean you stop pushing. Only the competent lead in my legion."
As I called out names, heads dropped one by one. I'd arranged for our Sentinel, Thomas, to hand out small bags—each with 20 fully filled (D)-rank crystals as a parting gift. A token of respect for making it this far.
Each crystal, when sold, was worth around 600 guardian coins. With over 75,000 filled during the final trial, and 400 being dismissed, we handed out 8,000 crystals. That left us with 67,000. If sold to the right buyers—kingdoms, lords, even academies—I could pull in over 40 million GC.
Enough to sustain the legion for half a year.
But it wasn't just about survival. We'd need land soon. A base. Somewhere permanent. Somewhere near the capital.
But that's for later.
"For the rest of you, I will now announce the candidates for the captain assessment."
One by one, I read off their names. This included the five group leaders, even Synn. His level might've been low—but he had leadership. I'd give him a chance.
"Those called, join the current 33 captains over there. Everyone else—pay close attention."
I gestured to Gyra.
"This is Gyra," I said. "An extremely talented water mage. She'll be leading all magical training for support, healers, and long-range combatants. For the next month—her orders are my orders. Understood?"
"YES, COMMANDER!"
"Good. If you were handed a 3, 4, 5, or 6 this morning, group up over there and await her instructions."
I turned to Gyra, handing her a thick folder.
"It's got all the names, ranks, and skill sheets. Train them up—hard. I want the best basic magic control in the Empire."
"I'll do my best. Thank you for trusting me, Basil," she said, her cheeks faintly red.
I gave Lace a nod.
"The rest of you with 1s and 2s—train with Lace. He's your second-in-command. Treat his words as law."
I let my eyes drift across the field.
"Train not like your lives depend on it—but like millions of lives do. Dismissed!"
I turned to Lace. "I'm relying on you. Train them to death if you have to."
He nodded. "Yes, Commander."
With that, I made my way to the captains. Their training would be different. They weren't just soldiers. They were the future leaders of this army.
Everyone snapped to attention as I approached. I met the eyes of a few, one by one, locking their faces into memory—burning each image into the back of my mind.
"My father once told me something," I said, pacing slowly. "Whenever I was too scared to face a trial, he'd put a hand on my back and say: Only those who risk going too far will find out how far they can truly go."
I paused.
"You are the leaders. Your men will look to you in chaos, in terror, in death. If you don't know your own limits—how will you lead them past theirs?"
I turned and faced them.
"Pair off. Choose a weapon. If you're a healer, pair with a fighter."
They moved quickly—except one.
Synn stood alone.
"Looks like no one partnered with you, huh?" I said.
He straightened. "Yes, Commander."
"Then you're with me. You go last."
A few others clicked their tongues in jealousy.
I smiled.
"Now… who wants to go first?"