Nyx glanced over at the crowd gathered in the square. Nobles in lavish silks, guards in polished armor, the city's elite watching from balconies, and commoners packed shoulder to shoulder—all eyes were locked on him.
At the center of it all, Nyx stood with blades at his back, wrists chained, his expression calm despite the noose already tied and dangling from the gallows behind him.
Then a voice rang out, cutting through the noise like a butcher's cleaver.
The city lord stepped forward, his ornate robes barely containing his bloated gut, and a mocking grin stretched across his jowls. "Nyx Vaelthorn," he declared with false authority, "you traitorous bastard—you stand accused of high treason. You've defied the authority of the crown and murdered the noble Lord Vincent. I, as city lord, hereby sentence you to death by hanging!"
[I fully support you, fatso. Go on it.]
'Shut it, Bitch. Got something serious here.'
[The criminal is talking, throw some hot lava in his mouth before hanging.]
'... Can't I have a choice to reset this bitch?' Nyx stared at the crowd in front of him while being burnt alive by the closest enemy he had.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Even the guards shifted uncomfortably.
Farther back, two figures—Samantha and Valon—stood just within earshot, their expressions tight with concern. Samantha's hand hovered near her dagger.
But Nyx? He tilted his head with a bored look.
"You done, old man?"
That one line silenced the square.
Nyx's gaze swept over the crowd before locking onto the city lord. "Mind reminding me what exactly I'm being held accountable for?" he asked, voice cool, almost amused. "Because last I checked, I was just some kid who could barely climb a wall without panting."
A slow grin crept across his lips. "So please, enlighten me. How does someone like me—a guy who couldn't even swing a sword properly a month ago—kill a noble surrounded by guards? You sure you're not trying to find a scapegoat for your own mess?"
Murmurs broke out in the crowd. Doubts. Whispers.
"Or maybe," Nyx continued, voice rising, "you're just so greedy you can't stand letting a ruined house live in peace. Lost everything to you already, and still you want more?"
"You dare disrespect the city lord?" one noble barked, pointing a ringed finger at him.
"Am I supposed to lick his boots while he accuses me of crimes with no proof?" Nyx shot back, eyes sharp. "Hell, at least have the decency to stage this farce with some evidence."
He turned again to the city lord. "Tell me—me, a guy who's been limping through training, wiping out a noble household like it's nothing? That doesn't even sound stupid to you?"
"There are witnesses," another noble said, though his voice lacked strength.
"Oh, you mean the ones you paid?" Nyx scoffed. "Or the dogs that slobber over your heels hoping for scraps?"
The city lord's expression faltered.
Up in the balconies, a few lesser nobles exchanged worried glances. One leaned toward another and whispered, "This is getting messy. If they kill him without proof, the border houses might think it's a purge. We'll have chaos."
Still, no one stepped forward. No evidence. No defense. Just silence.
Nyx raised his eyebrows mockingly. "Is that it? That's the grand case you built?" He rattled his chains a little. "Feels like this was scribbled together by a toddler with a crayon."
The city lord's mouth opened—then closed.
Even the guards seemed uncertain now.
Then Nyx straightened and leaned forward slightly. "So here's the deal," he said loudly enough for the crowd to hear, "you're going to unchain me, drop this circus act, and we're all going to forget this little moment of shared embarrassment. Yeah?"
He stretched his bound hands toward the city lord. To everyone's surprise, the man hesitated… then extended his hand in return and shook it.
Nyx turned to the crowd. "False alarm, folks. Turns out our investigators are about as sharp as a spoon. Move along now."
A ripple of nervous laughter ran through the crowd. But as he turned back to the city lord, his grin dropped. He leaned in close and whispered, just for him to hear:
"Try something funny with me or my people again, and it won't take a minute before you join that piggy on a one-way trip to Luci."
The city lord's face turned pale.
With that, Nyx walked off the platform, chains clinking slightly, the weight of the moment burning behind every step.
---
"Pheww… now that was something."
Nyx slumped into his chair, exhaling like he'd just stepped out of a hot bath instead of a near-execution. Across the table, three pairs of eyes locked on him—cold, sharp, and laced with barely restrained concern.
"Something?" Valon snapped, slamming a hand down. "You nearly got executed, you lunatic. What the hell was that stunt for?"
He looked ready to strangle him on the spot, but then his expression twisted, eyes narrowing as the pieces finally clicked together.
"…Wait. That head on the pole—was that your doing?"
Nyx didn't answer immediately. He just smiled, slow and deliberate, like someone who'd stepped on a bug and enjoyed the crunch.
"Some mosquitoes tried to suck my blood," he said casually. "I just squashed them. Turned out kinda… paste-y."
[Tch. I was really hoping to see a bastard get hanged today. Guess we wait a bit longer.]
'Is it normal? System wishing the death of it's own host?' Nyx thought seeing the unique bitch connected to his sorry-ass.
'Figures. Even my cheat code's suicidal.'
His train of thought was suddenly derailed by a sharp slap across the face.
The sting lit up his cheek. He blinked. Then turned his head, slowly, like a puppet on strings.
Samantha was standing there, her hand still halfway in the air, eyes blazing with something wild and furious and broken.
'What the hell was that for?' he thought, genuinely caught off guard.
At the table, Ruby leaned close to Valon, whispering quietly, "I think we should leave."
Valon gave a short nod. Without another word, the two slipped away, leaving only the tension—thick and suffocating—behind.
Nyx and Samantha stood in the silence, eyes locked. The world around them blurred.
"…Sorry."
The word slipped out before Nyx even realized he was speaking.
He didn't know why she'd hit him, not exactly. But he felt the apology bubbling up from somewhere in his chest, from some emotion he couldn't name. Not guilt. Not regret. Just… something.
Samantha stepped forward and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him close.
"Sorry?" she hissed, her voice cracking. "That's it? An apology—for what, Nyx? For trying to get yourself killed? For standing in the middle of that death sentence like it was a joke?"
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
"You think this is normal?" she continued, her hands trembling as they clutched his shirt. "You think you're some lone fucking warrior who's just going to walk through fire and always come out fine? That you're invincible? Some goddamn god?"
Tears welled up in her eyes now, anger and fear tangled so tightly that they spilled out together.
"Do you even feel anything when we worry about you?" she asked, her voice smaller now—but no less fierce. "Do you even see what it does to us when you throw yourself into this crap like you've got no one left to lose?"
Nyx stared at her, frozen. Words. He needed words. But they wouldn't come.
He had never been on the receiving end of this—of someone caring enough to cry over him. His life had never offered that luxury. Concern was foreign. Love? Unfathomable.
And Samantha saw it. That blank, lost look in his eyes.
So she slammed her fist into his chest—not to hurt, but just to feel something back.
"Aren't you even going to say anything…?" she whispered, her tears finally falling.
He didn't know why but a familiar but distant face flashed across his face– long forgotten but still lingering there somewhere. He didn't know why but he grabbed Samantha into a hug before wishpering.
"I'm sorry, I was wrong."
They didn't say another word as they stayed in the moment of silence. Letting time flow as they gripped each other, something changing on both, probably for the better.
---
"I never really learned how to express myself," Nyx murmured, voice low, almost unsure. "Not before life decided to shove reality down my throat."
His gaze dropped to the floor. Distant and quiet, a memory bleeding through his tone.
"I don't know what it means to have someone waiting for me. Because I've always lived alone… just me, surviving, moving."
A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"But I do know what it feels like to lose someone I actually gave a damn about."
He paused, his jaw tightening. "And I won't let that happen again. Not if I can stop it. I'll fight through every bastard they send… even if I lose myself in the process."
'Because... I can't let that fate repeat. Not again. Not here.'
He didn't say that last part out loud. But it rang loud enough in his heart.
For a moment, silence settled between them. Then Samantha slowly reached out, her fingers hovering just above his hand.
"Then take me with you," she said softly.
Nyx's eyes flicked to her, startled.
"I don't know how much help I'll be," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly, "but I will take part of that burden. Even if it's just a sliver."
Nyx looked away, scoffing—not at her, but at himself. "The whole kingdom's going to be after me now. I made sure of that. You realize what you're saying, right? You're trying to ally yourself with a man they're about to label a walking death sentence."
"I know," Samantha said, her hand now firmly on his. "And I'm not asking, Nyx. I'm telling you."
Her voice sharpened, the weight behind it unmistakable. "You will take me with you."
Nyx blinked, taken aback. "…You do realize I don't like fierce women, right?"
"Then suck it up and learn to live with one," she replied with a smirk, the edge in her voice fading into something warmer.
For the first time in what felt like ages, Nyx let out a soft chuckle.
"…Gods help me," he muttered. "I'm building a party of lunatics."
---
Nyx parted ways with Samantha not long after, making his way back to the manor with a sigh on his lips and the full expectation of a Rhea-style verbal beatdown. He was already bracing for it. The sarcasm, the yelling, the maybe-slap if she felt extra dramatic tonight.
But instead… all he got was a normal greeting.
The doors opened, and there they were—Rhea and Karl—welcoming him in like it was any other night. No yelling. No passive-aggressive glares. Just dinner on the table, a few quiet words, and the usual clatter of cutlery. Then they all went their separate ways, no questions, no lingering stares. That, more than anything, unsettled him.
Nyx couldn't sleep. That alone was enough to fry his nerves more than a battlefield.
So, with a restless sigh, he wandered up to the rooftop in search of cool air and peace—or at least, something familiar. What he found instead was Karl, standing under the moonlight, wooden sword in hand like an old sentinel frozen in time.
As Nyx approached, Karl spoke first, still facing the moon, his voice calm but firm.
"That was reckless, young master. You could have gotten yourself killed."
Nyx scoffed, plopping down onto the tiles with a tired grunt. "Please. Don't act like you weren't ready to jump on that stage and slice your way through the crowd the second things went sideways."
Karl didn't deny it. He didn't even glance back. Just stared ahead at the night sky. Something in Nyx's tone—or maybe in his silence—made Karl look at him differently for the first time in a while. There was something off. Or maybe something buried.
"Want to spar a bit?" Karl finally asked, his lips curling into a faint, nostalgic smile. He tossed a wooden sword behind him. "I want to see how far that brat who used to whine during morning drills has come."
Nyx caught the sword, rising with a slow grin. "And I want to see if the 'ghost' still lives up to the bedtime stories."
Their eyes locked. The night fell silent. Then, with a shift of mana and a pulse of his upgraded stats, Nyx moved. His figure blurred, darting like smoke—only for Karl to pivot effortlessly, blocking and twisting, sending him skidding across the rooftop.
Nyx landed on his feet, sliding to a halt with a grin. "Still got that touch, huh?"
Karl didn't reply. He didn't need to. The fight said enough.
"How was Rhea doing?" Nyx asked, concern flashing over his eyes.
"She fainted when she heard about your execution. By the time she woke up, it was over. She hasn't really settled yet—but she's trying. Trying to adapt to what's changing… and what's about to."
They clashed again—steel on wood, grace versus grit. Nyx fought hard, but Karl was always a breath ahead. The gap was still there, but Nyx didn't care. He wasn't fighting to win. He was fighting to grow.
Between blows, Nyx muttered under his breath, "They probably won't touch the manor after today. Not with how the crowd shifted. I think we bought some time."
Karl faltered slightly, caught off guard by the sudden switch to strategy mid-duel.
Nyx didn't stop. "So don't worry about my old man's legacy anymore. This is just the start. I'll take it all back—everything those greedy bastards stole. I'll drag it out of their cold hands, coin by coin, title by title."
Karl stopped moving. His grip on the sword tightened. Something cracked open inside him, something raw. Images flashed—of a noble house in flames, of friends buried without names, of wine-stained floors and blade-scarred halls. His vision blurred.
Nyx noticed the tears, even under the moonlight. And then—thud—a fist landed on Karl's shoulder.
"Save those drops for later," Nyx said, voice quiet but cutting. "We still have work to do. Revenge to serve. Wrongs to repay. And trust me—by the time I'm done, they'll be begging to wake up from the hell I'm about to put them through."
Karl didn't respond—not with words. He just lowered his head, tears falling freely now, not from weakness but from release. Because in that moment, he heard something he thought was gone forever—hope.