-- Ray --
Ray let his dark hair fall free from the knot atop his head, brushing a few strands from his face as he rinsed the last of the glasses behind the bar. Ulani was busy ushering out the final guests of the evening, her voice as sharp as ever when someone lingered too long.
It had been several weeks since Ray started working at the Dancing Stag, and by now, Marlow Bowe was thoroughly pleased with him. Not only was Ray dependable and responsible, he somehow seemed to draw in new customers. The bar was fuller than it had been in years. But the lingering stares from young women? Ray ignored them.
Ulani returned to the counter and dropped onto a stool with a tired sigh. Stretching her arms briefly, she pulled out the cash box and began counting the evening's earnings. Ray watched her quietly as she sorted the coins with practiced precision.
Eventually, she broke the silence."You made quite a bit in tips tonight, Ray. People really like you here."
He gave a noncommittal shrug and offered a half-smile."I'm just doing my job. Maybe they're just bored of everyone else."
Ulani shook her head and looked up at him."No, that's not it. I'll admit, I had my doubts about you at first. Figured you were just another arrogant guy with war stories, trying to impress the room."
Ray raised a brow and glanced across the empty tavern."And what changed your mind?"
She smiled faintly, setting the last stack of coins aside."You surprised me. You're not just some loudmouth. Behind that handsome face is a deeply unhappy young man… with a very real, very brutal story."
His brow furrowed. He wasn't sure how to respond. Her words struck a strange chord in him—one he wasn't ready to acknowledge."I never asked for pity. I don't use my past as an excuse. It's just… part of me."
Ulani leaned across the bar, locking eyes with him."I respect the way you carry yourself. You don't say much, but your actions speak volumes."
Ray felt something stir in his chest. A quiet warmth. His gaze dropped to the counter.
Ulani grinned wider."So, water warrior—let's keep this place what it is. A space where people feel they belong."
He had never seen her smile like that before. She should do it more often, he thought. Ray gave a quiet nod, even though he knew deep down that he wouldn't be staying forever.
Just then, the tavern door creaked open. Caleb slid in with a sleepy yawn, rubbing his eyes with his paws.
"Well, well," Ulani said with a smirk, her voice laced with dry humour. "What dragged the otter out of his den?"
Caleb yawned and smiled sleepily."Well, I went on a little midnight expedition and stumbled upon something special. Thought we could treat ourselves tomorrow with a proper nice breakfast."
Ray shot him a wary look, then glanced at Ulani."What kind of special? Please don't tell me you found sea cucumbers again. I was haunted by those things for days."
The otter chuckled softly, shaking his head."Relax, Ray. I've got something better this time. Oysters. Fresh ones. A warrior's breakfast, if you ask me."
Ulani arched a skeptical brow."Oh, how generous of you, Caleb. A delicacy for the true warriors of daily drudgery. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude."
Unbothered, Caleb's grin only widened."Come on, Ulani. It'll be a feast. We've earned something nice, haven't we?"
Ray couldn't help the smirk tugging at his lips.
Ulani sighed and gave in with a small nod."Maybe oysters in the morning will revive our weary souls."
"Exactly!" Caleb beamed, raising his paws like a toast."Let's finish up here and look forward to breakfast glory."
With newfound energy, the three of them dove into the remaining cleanup. The tavern grew quieter by the minute, the clatter of dishes giving way to a peaceful stillness. Ray felt the fatigue ebb from his limbs. Somehow, the promise of oysters and the company of his strange, endearing companions made everything feel a little lighter.
By the time the last table had been wiped down, Ulani stretched and smiled."Goodnight, you two. I'm off to bed—and I expect those oysters to live up to the hype."
She disappeared into the back, leaving Ray and Caleb in the soft hush of the empty tavern.
── ✧ ──
The next morning, Ray and Caleb did indeed find the promised oysters waiting for them—but no sign of Ulani. They sat down at one of the round wooden tables, sunlight slanting through the old stained windows, and Caleb slurped contentedly while Ray watched him with an amused smile.
"You and your oysters, Caleb," Ray said, shaking his head. "Should've known you'd eat half of them before I even sat down."
Caleb grinned proudly. "What can I say? Otters have refined palates."
Just as they were finishing their unusual breakfast, Marlow Bowe strolled into the tavern, stretching and humming like a man with no worries in the world. "Morning, boys. How's the ocean's bounty treating you?" he called, clearly in good spirits. He explained that Ulani had gone out to run some errands and wouldn't return until later that evening.
And indeed, much later—just as the tavern was filling with laughter and clinking mugs—Ulani returned. Without a word, she ducked behind the bar, grabbed a tray, and began serving the back tables with the grace und grim determination of someone trying not to bite anyone. Her expression was stormy, but not out of the ordinary. That was just Ulani.
Ray manned the counter solo. He was quicker and more charming than three servers combined. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ulani glancing his way—brief, unreadable. Friendly, perhaps. Or perhaps not.
Their gazes met.
Ray raised an eyebrow, grinned lopsidedly, and gave her a small wave across the bustling room. Ulani's brow twitched. Not quite a smile.
Then a woman slid onto one of the front barstools with practiced confidence.
Ray leaned over, flashing his tavern-ready smile. The woman returned it without hesitation. Ulani, from across the room, shook her head so vigorously that her tight bun wobbled. Ray chuckled softly. So much for earning back her approval.
He poured a glass of honeyed wine for the confident guest. She had been frequenting the tavern more and more since his arrival. Her long, glossy hair shimmered in a shade of lilac that matched her eyes—unnaturally bright and almost too perfect. There was something different about her. Not in the way of the giggling villagers who whispered about him when he passed—but something quieter. Sharper. Intriguing.
Ray studied her a moment longer, and she met his gaze directly.
A slow smile spread across her lips.
"I do love sweet wine," she cooed, "just like I love sweet men."She winked at Ray, batting her lashes with theatrical sweetness. He chuckled softly. With a subtle motion of her finger, she gestured for him to come closer. After a moment of hesitation, he leaned slightly over the bar.
Her lips drew so close to his ear that he could feel the warmth of her breath.
"You're not from around here, I can tell. Tell me…"She paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to stir tension."…are you the runaway water warrior?"
Ray's expression froze. His heart thudded violently in his chest. But before he could reply, the woman leaned back with a playful laugh.
"Well, didn't that startle you."
She burst into laughter—so unrestrained, so delighted by his reaction, that it made Ray all the more uneasy. This woman knew who he was.
She clapped her hands in teasing delight, just as a large hand gently nudged Ray aside.
"Well now, what's all the fun about?"Marlow Bowe had appeared beside him, a knowing grin on his face as he half-stepped into Ray's view, partly shielding him from the mysterious woman's gaze.
"You do know that flirting with my staff comes with an added charge, don't you?"With a thump, he slapped the bar in front of the woman and joined her in laughter.
Gesturing between her and Ray, Marlow continued,"Ray, meet Nao. One of our regulars. I'm surprised the two of you haven't met before. She's staying here too—an elegant lady from some far-off town who, for reasons only Mother Nature knows, has developed a fondness for our humble little Tsubuki."
Ray looked at her with confusion. She was living at the Dancing Stag as well?
His eyes drifted to her hands—and suddenly it clicked. She was the one. The person he had noticed every morning since his arrival, always seated with a newspaper in hand.
Nao winked again, as if she had read his thoughts, as if she knew she'd just been recognised.
"He, he, he," Marlow chuckled as he observed the layered glances, then broke the silence again."But I didn't come to introduce her, my dear Ray. I've got someone else in mind. Best switch places with Ulani."
They crossed the small tavern floor, stopping just behind the ash-blond barmaid.
"My dear, why don't you take over at the bar?" Marlow suggested.
Ulani snorted, eyeing Ray with theatrical scorn."Too much work for you now, huh?"
"Ah, ah, ah, my girl," Marlow chided gently.
Ray, meanwhile, couldn't quite fathom how a man as unfailingly cheerful and charming as Marlow could have a daughter so... different.
Ulani rolled her eyes and swept past them with a scoff, taking her place behind the bar. Marlow patted Ray's shoulder with familiar warmth.
"Don't take it to heart. She doesn't mean half of what she says. I daresay she's already grown fond of you. He, he, he." And with that, he turned toward a group of men at one of the nearby tables. "Well, well my dearest customers —shift change coming through, he, he, he."
While Ray started to move from table to table, collecting empty beer and wine glasses, Marlow extended his weathered hand to the seated men, greeting each one in turn. After the warm exchange, he motioned Ray closer to one of the tables.
"Let me introduce you to Yong Riki."
"A pleasure," Ray replied, quickly leaning forward to shake the hand being offered.
Two sharp, watchful eyes studied him from a sun-darkened, timeworn face. When the man smiled, deep creases formed at the corners of his eyes.
"The pleasure's all mine, young man."
"Yong is a blacksmith—actually, the finest smith in all of southern Shizen," Marlow explained. "Didn't you say you were looking for swords? Then you ought to have a word with this man right here."
He gave Yong a hearty pat on the shoulder, just as he'd done to Ray earlier, clearly proud of his personal connection to nearly everyone who passed through his tavern.
"Well then," the innkeeper added, "take ten minutes off and sort out whatever you need to."With a nod to Ray and a warm smile to Yong, Marlow drifted off to welcome a new batch of guests at a nearby table.
A little uncertain, the fugitive water warrior stepped closer, trying to make himself heard over the tavern's lively background hum. Hopefully, it wasn't a mistake to seek help from a stranger.
"I'm looking for a few proper weapons," he said carefully. "So far, I haven't found the right ones. Maybe you can help?"
Yong raised an eyebrow, giving Ray a quick once-over. "Not sure a tavern boy like you could afford my work."
"If I like your blades," Ray replied without hesitation, "I'll work until I can."
That kind of determination seemed to please Yong. He smiled faintly, his eyes now scanning Ray with more intent—eventually settling on the long, jagged scar that split his right cheek in a brutal vertical line. It didn't throb as much these days, but every now and then, pain would still jolt through that patch of skin—where his failure in Wa had been etched into his flesh forever.
"These markings," Yong muttered, more to himself than to Ray, "aren't the work of childish brawls. Only a warrior—resolute and brave—could be wounded like this and still stand before me like this."
His eyes narrowed to thoughtful slits as he folded his hands in his lap and spoke with a more businesslike tone. "All right then. Let's see what I can do for you. What's your fighting style, boy?"
"The way of Nitōryū."
Yong's eyes widened slightly. "Interesting… very interesting," he murmured again into the space where a beard might have grown. "It's been a long time since I forged blades for a water warrior."
When he saw Ray glance briefly over his shoulder, the blacksmith tapped a finger against his lips.
"Mum's the word."
He gave Ray a cheeky wink before leaning in and lowering his voice even further. "I've got no quarrel with the waterborn. Unlike some others around here. I admire your style. And besides…" His grin turned sly. "You lot tend to pay double."
With a bark of laughter, Yong raised his mug in a toast, though Ray didn't quite feel like joining in. He couldn't stop thinking about the paltry weight of his coin pouch—and how long it might take until he could afford proper weapons again.
"No worries," Yong said, lowering the mug. "I'll forge you two swords that'll outshine every blade you've ever held."
There was a spark of ambition in the smith's eyes, one Ray hadn't seen in a long time.
"Thank you, but I—" Ray hesitated. Of course he wanted the best swords. But he was painfully aware of just how empty his pockets were.
"We'll figure something out," Yong interrupted casually. "I like a challenge. And crafting a pair of thin katana fit for Nitōryū—now that's the kind of work that gets me up in the morning."
He took a long swig of beer before draining the mug completely and holding it out toward Ray with a grin.
"Now then, you'd best get back to distributing a few more of these."
── ✧ ──
Once the last guests had trickled out, the floor swept, and the glasses washed, Ray climbed out through the small attic hatch and joined Caleb on the rooftop. The otter sat silently, staring into the distance—westward. Toward Eliza's farm, the small patch of forest beyond it, and even farther still: the outer ring. Somewhere beyond all that lay the land they once called home.
With a sigh, Ray leaned back against the roof tiles.
"Three weeks, Caleb."
The night air was pleasantly cool, a welcome contrast after a long shift in the tavern. Breathing it in brought a rare sense of peace. "Three weeks, and we can finally stand against the Black Army."
Above them, the stars shimmered, and the moon cast a silver glow across the quiet rooftops.
Caleb shook his head.
Ray turned. "What's wrong, old friend?"
"It'll take more than three weeks…"
"But the smith said—"
"I'm not talking about your swords," Caleb interrupted. His voice had turned cold, almost scolding. "I'm talking about the fact that we can't just waltz into Wa—just the two of us—and expect to raise our homeland from rubble while cutting down a thousand soldiers."
Ray stared at him, baffled. "What are you saying? Surely by now, our friends—our comrades—have already begun resisting the occupation. At most, we'll be dealing with stragglers—"
"You need to stop being so naïve." Caleb sighed.
The water warrior fell silent, stunned by the sharpness of the words. Why was it so hard for Caleb to believe in him, just once? He'd been working his hands raw in that grimy tavern for weeks. Living in a strange city, among people who held no respect for spirits or his customs. Now that he finally saw a sliver of hope, was he really supposed to cast it aside?
He clenched his jaw, biting back frustration. Caleb might be his Nakame—his bound companion—but in moments like this, he felt more like an older brother than an equal. And right now, that grated.
Ray exhaled slowly, trying to release some of the tension. "You're certain things are that bad?"
Caleb nodded. "You know I've been asking around these past few weeks. Trying to find anyone—any group of rebels—we might rally to our cause."
Ray stiffened. His molars ground together.
"But all I've found are reports that Wa and the southern water tribe have already fallen."
"What…?" Ray gasped. His hands shot up, as if to block out the words. Caleb swallowed, but pushed on:
"They've pulled troops from the region. The only reason to do that… is because there's nothing left to conquer. Our homeland has been reduced to ash. Worse than what happened to the western and northern tribes."
Pain surged through Ray's chest like a blade. His homeland—the soft hills, the winding rivers—blurred in his mind's eye, smothered in smoke and flame. His fists clenched.
"Our women were killed."
The words struck like a hammer to the gut. Ray's entire body began to shake uncontrollably. He couldn't speak—couldn't breathe.
"An old man showed me a drawing the Black Army uses for propaganda," Caleb continued. "Hundreds of women from our tribe… lined up. Executed one by one. They want to erase water magic from this world completely."
Ray's vision swam with hot, stinging tears. The rooftops of Tsubuki blurred and melted away.
"They say a few hundred men were taken prisoner," Caleb went on.
"And the rest?" Ray's voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.
"The rest now wander the spirit world. Restless. Waiting for vengeance."
Caleb's tone had grown quiet, almost numb. Even through the veil of tears, Ray could see the redness around his friend's swollen eyes. Caleb had cried, too.
A warm paw reached out, gently touching Ray's trembling hand.
"I know how you feel," Caleb murmured. "But I won't let you walk into your death. We need an army strong enough to match the alliance. Only then will we stand a chance."
His voice cracked.
Ray didn't answer. His thoughts were spinning, spiraling deeper into pain. Still, he reached out and gripped Caleb's paw tightly.
"You'll become the leader we need," Caleb whispered. "You'll gather a force strong enough to stand against the darkness. I know you will."
Ray knew he meant every word. But never before had it felt so painfully clear:
He wasn't ready. He wasn't his father.
They sat there a long while—silent, hand in paw—gazing into the endless sky.
Hearts aching. Souls heavy with sorrow.
── ✧ ──
The next two weeks passed much the same. Every night, Ray served food and drinks to the people of southern Shizen, wishing for nothing more than to finally scrape together enough gold to leave this place behind. Marlow had been kind to him, but this wasn't the life he was meant to lead. He was supposed to be a chieftain one day—not a tavern boy scrubbing plates for drunken farmers.
Even the women of Tsubuki, once curious about the foreign newcomer, seemed to have lost interest. The idle charm and fleeting flirtations that had once broken the monotony were gone. In their place came cold stares and hushed whispers from the local men, who muttered about his olive skin and murmured behind raised mugs. Ray ignored it.
The only one who could still make him laugh, with cheeky jokes and a sly sparkle in her eyes, had been the mysterious Nao. But even that small delight had ended two nights ago, when she left the Dancing Stag without a word. He'd been sitting on the rooftop with Caleb, watching as she slipped quietly into the night, luggage in hand. She hadn't even looked back.
His feet itched to follow her. To leave this place behind. But the scattered coins in his pouch weighed heavier than they should, pulling him back down to the cold stone floor of reality.
Ray was still lost in that bitter thought when Marlow's voice yanked him back.
"Ray, I want you working in the back today. Dishes, kitchen work… that sort of thing." The barkeep's tone was firm—unusually distant.
Ray frowned. "Why? I'm good with the tables and—"
I need the tips if I ever want to get out of here, he finished the sentence silently.
"There's a Gladiolus Guard unit visiting tonight," Marlow said flatly. "And I'd rather… well. Let's just say it's better if they don't catch wind of your background."
The lines in the old man's face deepened. His voice carried concern, though he tried to mask it with his usual briskness. His brows drew together with a rare, quiet tension.
The Gladiolus Guard was a highly trained elite force—a kind of internal enforcer unit of the Shizen bishopric, tasked with upholding the Archbishop's will, by force if necessary. Their name was drawn from the gladiolus flower, whose sharp-edged leaves and bold blossoms symbolized strength, pride, and victory. The Guard was meant to embody these very virtues.
Each member was handpicked by the Archbishop himself, and their appointment was seen as a great honour—one that commanded reverence throughout the bishopric. The earth mages who served in this prestigious force were known simply as "the Officials."
What a ridiculous name, Ray thought. They sounded like puffed-up blowhards.
He shrugged, begrudgingly admitting that Marlow was probably right. His skin tone alone—or the fact that he didn't eat meat—could easily be construed as a violation of the bishopric's religious codes. The Archbishop and his inner circle weren't exactly known for their tolerance toward outsiders.
Still, he silently vowed to listen in on the Officials' conversations, if the chance presented itself. Despite Caleb's best efforts, they still hadn't been able to find out whether the Shizen bishopric had been targeted by the red-black alliance. The locals were unusually tight-lipped. But something must have happened here too. After all, the enemy forces had to march straight through the bishopric to reach the outer rings.
Ray recognized the Officials the moment they walked in. It wasn't just their pale grey uniforms, marked with a bold red gladiolus bloom across their shoulders and backs. It was their whole presence—slick, self-important, and utterly unaware of the room around them. They pushed past the other patrons as if the idea of waiting in line simply didn't apply to them.
There were five of them, all middle-aged men, each more polished than the last. But whatever dignity they wore on the outside dissolved after a few drinks. Their loud, sexist jokes filled the tavern like a bad smell, and they made no effort to hide their disdain for the local "peasant crowd" sharing the space.
Some regulars rolled their eyes and continued their conversations. Others—newcomers or simply too weary to tolerate such arrogance—quietly left their seats and slipped out into the night.
Back in the kitchen, Caleb leaned against the wall beside Ray, his ears twitching in annoyance. "Unbelievable. They really think they're some kind of gods. Makes my fur crawl."Ray nodded, drying a mug with just a little more force than necessary. "I don't understand why Marlow lets them act like this. It's got to be bad for business. People don't come here to be mocked."
He hadn't expected an answer, but Ulani, who had just come in to grab a tray of food, offered one anyway."They behave like that because they can. One word from the Officials, and my father could lose his license. They've got political reach far beyond this village."
Ray scoffed, resisting the urge to smash the mug he held. Everything about Shizen's power structure made his blood boil.
Ulani rolled her eyes and added dryly, "Don't act like everything's so perfect where you come from, water boy." And with that, she was gone, disappearing through the swinging doors with the tray balanced expertly on one hand.
Caleb stretched and let out a tired yawn. He had been out fishing before sunrise and was clearly ready to crash. "I'll leave you to this circus. Don't let them bite."
Ray gave Caleb a parting nod, raising his hand in quiet farewell. The otter slipped away with practiced grace, vanishing toward the rooftop quarters without drawing any unwanted attention from the guests, leaving Ray alone in the kitchen, the dull roar of the Officials' laughter bleeding in from the other room. A sigh escaped Ray's lips. Cooking and cleaning had at least been more tolerable with company. Now alone, he found himself tuning in more closely to the chatter spilling from the tavern floor—hoping that the Officials would finally say something of value about the state of the war.
But the hours dragged on, and the five members of the Gladiolus Guard downed one tankard after another. Their voices rose with every drink, and their company grew more insufferable. The jokes turned cruder, the insults louder, and their arrogance thicker than the stale air in the room. Yet, for all their noise, they had revealed little of substance.
Ray considered stepping closer—maybe even provoking them into revealing more—but before he could act, the energy in the tavern shifted.
"Heeey, don't be like thaaat," slurred one of the Officials, his voice syrupy with ale. Ray stepped to the kitchen doorway and froze.
The man had grabbed Ulani's wrist.
Her usually sharp expression faltered. Her ash-grey eyes shimmered with the threat of tears. Across the room, Marlow stood with his back to them—whether unaware or deliberately ignoring the scene, Ray couldn't tell.
"C'mon now, let's see 'em!" the Official barked, giving her arm a rough tug.
Ulani winced, twisting to free herself, but his grip was tight. The other Officials burst into raucous laughter.
"Oi, Willy—she clearly ain't into it!"
"Bet she's hiding some saggy jugs anyway!"
"Yeah, let her go already."
Willy—if that was the brute's name—had gone beet red, matching the dyed crimson of his once-slicked hair, now a mess falling into his twisted face. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils swimming in drink.
Ray's stomach churned. Had he heard that right? Had this man just demanded… that Ulani expose herself?
A cold rage crept through him.
"I said I want to!" Willy bellowed, now less man and more tantrum-throwing child, yanking Ulani closer with alarming force.
Ray's breath caught.
Ulani was trembling.
Her eyes darted toward Marlow—pleading, desperate. Ray followed her gaze and what he saw chilled him far more than the drunken laughter or the groping hand.
Marlow was staring right at her.
Expressionless. Cold. Calculating.
Then, as if answering an unspoken question, the old innkeeper gave a small nod.
And turned his back.
Ray blinked. No... no, that can't be right.
The always cheerful, hospitable Marlow. The man who'd joked about his daughter's sharp tongue. The man who had treated Ray like family.
He just… nodded?
Not to stop it. But to permit it?
A pit opened in Ray's stomach as he turned his attention back to Ulani.
What he saw made his blood boil.
Her slender fingers, shaking like brittle twigs in a storm, had begun to unbutton her grey checkered blouse. Willy let out a drunken cheer and kept his grip firm on her arm. One button came loose.
Ray's fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. The Official was panting now, saliva clinging to the corners of his mouth like froth on a rabid beast. He leaned forward eagerly.
Another button.
"Yeah! Go on, show us!" he howled.
Ulani hesitated—then reluctantly reached for the third.
Enough.
The dish towel hit the floor with a soft thud. Ray vaulted over the counter in a single motion, yanked Ulani behind him, and slammed his fist on the bar with a deafening crack. The whole tavern froze.
Every glass in the room seemed to shiver.
Two dozen eyes turned his way.
Ulani stood behind him, silent except for a small, broken gasp—somewhere between relief and fear.
Willy, red as a boiled lobster and twice as drunk, sputtered with fury and spit.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?! Who the fuck do you think you are?!"
Ray glared at him, voice low and sharp as a blade."Someone raised with better manners than you vermin."
It was too late now. Ray knew the moment his hand struck the counter that he might as well start packing. There was no way he'd be allowed to stay after this.
The other Officials burst into laughter.
They banged their fists on the bar, guffawing and belching like drunkards at a backwater fair. One of them jeered, "Oi, Willy! Looks like the kid's got more spine than you!"
Ray hadn't thought it possible, but Willy turned even redder. His face now matched the velvet upholstery of the wine-stained lounge chairs in the back. Spit flew from his mouth as he snarled, "No one has more guts than me! You all know that!"
But instead of retaliating against Ray, he spun to his comrades.
"I was the one who—"
"Oh shut it, Willy. As if you had any say in that."
"Yeah, don't act like you weren't just the messenger boy."
Their mockery rolled on. Ray, still stunned, slowly released Ulani's hand. He hadn't expected the Officials to turn on each other.
Willy slammed a fist on the bar. "You cowards wouldn't have gone near that undead bastard if your lives depended on it!"
"Maybe that's because you were expendable," one of them shot back, smirking. "If that thing turned on you, no one would've missed you."
Undead? Pacts?
Ray's attention sharpened like a drawn blade.
Another Official, still chuckling, turned toward him. "Hey, kid. What do you think of our brave Willy here?" He slapped Willy on the back hard enough to rattle his drink. "He got to tag along with Vincit. Sat right across from the devil himself."
Ray raised an eyebrow. He wasn't following.
"Oh, right," the man chuckled again. "Farm boys like you wouldn't know a thing about what matters. See, no one cares about your little heroics—wasn't even worth a footnote."
At that, Willy's head snapped back toward Ray.
He was shaking with rage now.
"You think this place still stands because of your luck? No. I was there when Vincit met with Samael. I watched as he shook hands with that damned angel—or demon, or whatever the hell he is."
Ray's vision tunneled.
"I stood guard. I made sure that bastard could pass through Shizen unchallenged. I helped set up the ceasefire that let the red-and-black army waltz through—straight into your precious southern lands!"
Ray didn't think.
He moved.
His fist rocketed forward and struck Willy square in the jaw. The Official's crimson head snapped sideways like a ripe tomato hit with a hammer.
Blood spilled from his nose—but on his flushed skin, it barely showed.
Ray's chest heaved, eyes wild, fury blazing in his gut like wildfire.
They let them through.
They. Let. Samael's Army. Pass.
Right into his homeland.
The Shizen were no allies.
They had helped destroy his homeland.
With a single leap, Ray vaulted over the counter. Ulani reached out in a panic, trying to grab his shirt—but her fingers slipped through the fabric like water.They're to blame, pulsed through Ray's head.
Now face to face with Willy, he struck again. The second punch split the man's lip open, blood mixing with the flushed red of his face. That seemed to jolt the remaining Officials from their stunned silence. They sprang from their stools and surged toward Ray, fury in their eyes.
Ray ducked under a clumsy punch and delivered a blow to the nearest one's ribs. Chaos erupted in the tavern. Guests scrambled away, pressing themselves against the walls, their faces pale and stricken. Some called out for them to stop, others simply watched, frozen.
But Ray was past hearing.
They were responsible.
They had let them pass—straight into his home. His family. His people.
He roared, striking out with everything he had. His fists were fueled by more than rage—they were an answer to all the ghosts whispering in his ears. Punch after punch. Cry after cry.
Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind. Ray spun, arm cocked to strike—only to find Marlow's furious face inches from his own.
Ray's hands dropped in surprise.
The next moment, pain exploded across his jaw as a fist slammed into the side of his face, right on the old scar that had already begun to throb. Another figure—Rupert—moved in to help Marlow drag Ray from the fight.
The tavern went still again as the two barkeeps pulled Ray away like a wild animal.
"You ungrateful mutt!" Marlow shouted, voice hoarse with rage. "I knew it. You're just another savage!"
Ray stood frozen, disoriented. Marlow's voice—usually warm, joking, almost fatherly—was now cold as iron.
"Do you even know what I risked, taking in a wretch like you?!"His voice cracked with fury. "Get out! Go on, get out of my tavern!"
Marlow flung the door open.
The cold night air kissed Ray's split lips. His head throbbed violently, echoing the dull ache in his scar. Then—without a word—Marlow shoved him out.
A second shove. A kick.
Ray stumbled, sent sprawling into the cobbled street outside. The uneven stones of Tsubuki's roads dug into his ribs. He landed hard, breath escaping with a gasp. His old scar flared up—fresh pain layered over old shame. That bastard of an Official had aimed perfectly.
Blood pooled in Ray's mouth. He spat, the crimson spit painting the stones.
Behind him, a window creaked open above the tavern. Moments later, his belongings came tumbling down—shirts, belts, his dagger-roll, even the threadbare satchel he'd once carried through the frost of Wa.
Ray twisted around, catching what he could. From the same window, a furious voice thundered down.
Caleb.
Of course he was yelling. Of course he'd be furious. They had lost everything—work, shelter, food—for what? For one punch?
Ray clenched his fists and slammed them against the stones. Again. And again. His knuckles split open.That should've been his face I was smashing in.
Then—creak.
A flood of warm light spilled into the alleyway behind him. The tavern door opened again. The muffled din of drunken laughter and clinking mugs poured out.
Ray turned sharply, fists raised.
But it wasn't the Officials.
Just a single, thin man in the doorway—his gait uneven, steps dragging. Behind him, a smaller shape followed, padding lightly.
The door shut behind them. Darkness returned.
Ray squinted. The small figure rushed forward—Caleb. He clutched the last of Ray's belongings in his paws, lips pressed tight.
And the man beside him…
Ray's eyes widened.
It was Yong Riki.
Without a word, the old smith extended a calloused hand. Ray hesitated only a moment before gripping it. With surprising strength, Yong hauled him to his feet.
"Pick up your things," the smith said, his voice rough and steady. "And let's leave this cursed place behind."
He spat into the dirt near the tavern door.
And with that, they turned their backs on Tsubuki.