A vast expanse of white stretched endlessly as a large raven let out a piercing squawk, its dark wings cutting through the falling snow. It soared over the frozen plains, weaving through towering mountains with blinding speed, its cry echoing alongside its companions as they swept over a bustling town below.
The town was alive with celebration. Men and women, their faces hidden behind intricately designed masks, laughed, drank, and gambled their voices mingling with the vibrant terrible music that filled the air.
At the heart of the festivities stood a tower.
On its uppermost floor, a man stood in the dimly lit chamber, his youthful face marred by the lingering marks of battle. Long, dark hair danced with the wind as his gaze swept over the town.
Herald, the town of hunters.
Without turning, he spoke.
"What happened?"
His voice was sharp as the long blade that hovered midair beside him.
The flickering flames barely lit the room, their glow casting restless shadows upon the hulking figure standing behind him.
Darius exhaled, stepping forward. "Your men at Pyrovile were simply incompetent." His tone was indifferent, but there his brown eyes were void of emotion. "Though, at the very least, they did bring good news. The swordsman has been found."
His boots thudded against the wooden floor before going silent as he stepped onto the large bear rug at the centre of the room.
He stared down, his face still frozen. "Didn't know you liked bears, Jinni."
Jinni's gaze didn't waver from the town below, though he turned slightly at the remark. "Things are spiralling out of control, and that's what you focus on? First, our mission in Pyrovile fails because of some amateur adventurers, and now this. But as always, you'll take care of it."
Darius moved toward the balcony, shrugging off his coat. The cold bit into his skin, but he welcomed it. Snowflakes drifted across his muscular frame, catching on the faint scars that adorned his body. "The cold not only freezes one's body. But the heart and soul as well. I am here for the tranquillity, for the quiet"
Jinni turned to him. "Then shouldn't that be more of a reason to take care of it?" he asked, lowering his voice. "Or would you rather I do it myself?"
Darius exhaled, his breath misting in the air. "Aren't you some saint? One who refuse to soil your hands with a hunter's work?"
Jinni's expression darkened. "And yet, I make the rules here, Darius. Don't test me."
The floating blade turned, its edge gliding toward Darius's throat. A single twitch and the steel would draw blood.
Jinni stepped closer, holding the hilt of the blade. "The adventurers are becoming a nuisance, especially in Rukashevya. My hunters are struggling to keep them in check. And on top of that, rumours speak of a rogue band of hunters, lurking around. I assume you know something about them… considering you sent your own brother to one."
Darius met Jinni's gaze. "Your blade is sharp. Yet, it's not sharp enough… to cut through fire."
"…And what exactly do you mean?"
"You're playing with fire, Jinni." Darius leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "First, it was that town. And now, you seek to challenge the very man I seek. Not to mention the others who are watching from the sidelines. I'd suggest ignoring the rogue hunters for now—they aren't interfering with your little empire."
Jinni's grip on his sword tightened as he looked up to Darius.
"This body…" he whispered, "fears no Bloodborne, no fallen man from heaven, not even the famed general of the Seventh."
A slow, menacing smile spread across his lips.
"Why do you think none of them have come to stop this?" He chuckled darkly. "I'll tell you why.
Because the one who rules over the Fourth… is me. Jinni, the strongest swordsman in the world."
He took a step closer, his blade resting on Darius' neck.
"You asked if I could cut through fire?"
His smirk deepened. "I would split the very heavens themselves… if it satisfied my goals."
Darius stood in silence, his piercing gaze locked on the swordsman. Then, a voice cut through the stillness.
"I'll handle the adventurers," Ryder said, arms crossed behind his back.
Jinni turned, his sharp eyes scanning the boy—a compact, dark-haired figure with an unsettling presence. They called him the Drummer, though no one truly knew why. According to what she told him, he has an extraordinary gift. Whispers claiming he wielded the three great powers as effortlessly as breathing.
But Jinni wasn't interested in rumours.
"I would prefer you handle it, Darius," Jinni said flatly. "That's an order. I have no intention of wasting more time on this."
Darius stepped forward, ignoring the blade scratching his neck.
His eyes, dark and soulless, bore down on Jinni. "My boy already said he'll handle it."
"But I want you," Jinni said unperturbed. "And if you've forgotten, I was the one who assigned him to you. This isn't your choice to make."
Darius sighed.
Outside, the wind howled, carrying the bitter bite of snow into the chamber.
"As stated, I am here for tranquillity. I'll do what was ordered… then I will leave this wretched kingdom—"
"—free from the infection that is you."
The air turned razor-sharp.
Jinni's sword was at his throat.
Not a warning. Not a threat.
But a promise that he'll slit the man's throat if another word escaped it.
Ryder said nothing, standing back with his hands clasped, observing.
Darius closed his eyes.
The howling wind halted and the snow stopped pouring in.
Jinni smirked, satisfied. Sometimes, you have to show them where they stand.
"I agree."
Jinni stiffened. His smirk vanished.
Did he just… read my thoughts?
Darius' eyes opened, unblinking, peering into his soul.
"Your mind is that of a child who has only just learned to throw a stone." His voice was low, calm. "How could I possibly read your thoughts... when your very soul screams them aloud?"
Jinni's fingers twitched against the hilt.
Darius leaned in, his presence drowning the room in his lifeforce.
"Humans dream. Whether it is something grand like ruling the world or something foolish, it remains nothing but a dream." He whispered as the skies darkened. "But one is always greater than the other."
Jinni's breathing grew shallow as he noticed the torches that once withstood the cold with his lifeforce were becoming fainter.
Darius held Jinni's head with his hand. "While you dream of becoming the strongest swordsman in this kingdom—"
Darius said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"I seek to be the strongest in the world."
"Now tell me…Why would the strongest man take orders from a mere swordsman?"
Jinni's grip tightened. His rage boiled over.
With a sharp inhale, he swung—
"Drop your sword, Jinni," Darius whispered.
Jinni's eyes burned with fury as he roared, slashing through the air.
Metal screeched.
All weapons in the room—knives, spears, axes all tore from their holsters, surging toward Darius.
"DIE!"
The air shattered.
And then—so did the weapons.
Every last one of them splintered against Darius' aura-coated body.
Jinni's eyes widened in horror.
Below, the hunters felt it—the sudden distortion in the tower and they hurried up the staircase.
Jinni panted, sword still in hand. He didn't move.
Darius barely spared him a glance.
He took Jinni's sword from him and dropped it to the floor with a hollow clang.
The room felt smaller.
Jinni stood there, shaken.
A man with no gift. Just an ordinary man—or so he had been told.
Yet everyone knew him as the strongest.
"Ryder," Darius murmured. "Seventeen of them."
Ryder sighed, snapping his fingers.
The walls below sprouted spikes, impaling the hunters the moment they stepped inside. Every single one of them.
Darius cast a sidelong glance at the boy.
He's different, he thought. Even without his full power, Ryder handled himself with perfect precision.
They turned toward the exit.
Darius stopped and didn't look back. "And Jinni," he said smoothly.
Jinni flinched.
"I'll get you what you want. But first..."
Darius stepped out. "I'll have my quiet."
He left without another word.
Jinni's trembling fingers curled into a fist. He picked up his sword, his heart hammering in his chest and his voice tore through the empty chamber.
"DARIUS!!"
#
Verdantia—the border city of the Seventh Realm. Towering walls, the grandest in all the realm, loomed over the horizon. This was where adventurers stopped to resupply before setting off for the Fourth or Third Realms.
Mr. Swordsman gazed at the colossal barriers from afar, their vast expanse seemingly stretching around the entire realm itself. Today, they would cross those walls, leaving behind the land of prosperity.
Passing through the mighty gates, they were greeted by an atmosphere both light and tense. The city pulsed with warriors, adventurers, and mercenaries—it felt as if there were more fighters than civilians. Bluebirds fluttered through the air, weaving between children who chased them with delighted laughter, while the few traders present quietly peddled their wares.
"Finally!"
Pasta unsheathed his sword, tilting it under the light as he flicked his wrist with precise, eager swings. "I heard the Fourth Realm is full of strong opponents, and I'm itching for real action. No more silly commissions now we draw blood like real men."
Mr. Swordsman cast him a sidelong glance, a faint, hidden smile forming beneath the brim of his hat.
Shielding her eyes from the sun, Emilia sighed. "A new realm... I'm excited, too."
Pasta's celebratory swings slowed. He caught it—that faraway look in her eyes. Not a gaze set on the Fourth Realm, but on what lay beyond it. The Second Realm. The end of their adventure.
His fingers curled into a fist. There was still so much left to do, so much to overcome. And this was his only chance.
Then there was his sister. Someone he had spent his entire life with, yet still couldn't fully understand.
Emilia was fearless, determined, and undeniably brilliant. And yet... she struggled with the simplest things.
A painful weight settled in Pasta's chest.
And here I am, thinking only of myself. But still... how can I help her?
"Alright," Emilia clapped her hands, pulling herself from her thoughts. "First things first. According to the Adventurer's Guild, it takes about twenty days to reach Rukashevya, the capital of the Fourth Realm, if we travel on foot and assume we don't stop to rest. A carriage ride, however, takes six to seven days. Merchants often hire adventurers for protection in exchange for passage, so Pasta and I will handle that part."
Mr. Swordsman raised a brow. "And what am I supposed to do, then? There's got to be something I can contribute."
Emilia pointed at him. "You should rest. You're still recovering from the whole volcano incident. And let's not forget that fight with the general of the Seventh."
Mr. Swordsman met her gaze evenly. "It's been over a month. I'm fine."
"No, no. I don't want to hear it." She waved him off. "Go get an inn, take a break. Read a book or something. Just relax for once."
Mr. Swordsman turned away with a sigh. "I should still come with you. Remember, I was assigned to protect you both."
Emilia smiled knowingly. "Look around. Not even a common food thief could get away here. We'll be fine."
With nothing more to argue, Mr. Swordsman walked off without another word, Emilia waving him off with a subtle flick of her fingers.
He strolled toward an inn, his boots thudding lightly against the worn cobblestone. As he reached the entrance, he adjusted his hat, stepping past the doorway.
"Guess I'll find something to keep me busy."
#
The Merchant's Guild was nothing like the Adventurer's Guild. Gone were the rowdy, drunken voices bragging about conquests and spoils. Here, the air was filled with measured discussions, the quiet scratching of quills against parchment, and the occasional clink of coins being exchanged. The grand hall resembled more of a business office than a gathering place, lined with desks where merchants debated trade routes and investment opportunities.
Here, power was not measured by strength, but by wealth and negotiation.
Emilia stepped forward, bracing herself for that familiar sensation. The weight of countless stares marking her as an outsider.
But nothing happened.
No one turned. No one spared her a glance.
The merchants were too preoccupied with their work, their worlds orbiting ledgers and contracts, uninterested in the presence of a mere adventurer who wanted the same thing as the others who had crossed those doors.
Emilia let out a quiet breath of relief as Pasta followed behind her, observing in silence.
At the counter, a bespectacled young man was engrossed in a stack of documents, muttering to himself as he skimmed through them. Only after a few moments did he acknowledge their presence.
"How may I help you, adventurers?" he asked, adjusting his glasses.
Emilia straightened, clearing her throat. "We're here to find a merchant willing to guide us to the Fourth Realm."
The man barely reacted. "And?"
She blinked. "Huh? That's it… right, Pasta?" She let out a small, nervous chuckle.
Pasta sighed, crossing his arms. "Right."
The receptionist exhaled sharply, returning to his documents. "That's your job, not mine. I won't ask every merchant in the guild if they want to take you along. Do it yourself."
"Ask them myself?"
"Yes, genius."
Emilia's gaze drifted over the room. There had to be at least twenty merchants present, all engaged in deep discussions. Her fingers curled slightly. She would have to approach them. She would have to talk to strangers.
What if they ignored her? What if they said no?
A shudder ran through her.
"I'll go," Pasta said, already stepping forward.
But Emilia's hand shot out, grasping his sleeve. She shook her head.
How many times would I rely on others?
I had ignored it for so long, pushed it aside like it wasn't there—but it was. It had always been there.
Talking to Mr Swordsman was easy. Saving Pasta was easy. Solving puzzles, staying up for night shifts, protecting the wedding—every single one of those had been easy.
So why?
Why was this so hard?
What's wrong with me?
Her breath hitched as memories of her father surfaced. Of that day, the very first day she met her brother.
—
"You're a shy one," her father said, his voice deep and rough. "Come now, go say hello to your older brother."
A firm hand nudged little Emilia forward.
She stumbled slightly, clutching the hem of her dress. Her soft chestnut hair framed her round, teary eyes as she stared at the boy before her.
Older brother?
This was the first time she had ever seen him.
Pasta, unfazed, idly picked his nose before offering her a wave.
Her gaze flickered to the strange markings on his arms—jagged lines and scars that she couldn't understand. They frightened her, freezing her in place.
Then, Pasta dashed toward her… and tripped.
He crashed face-first into the dirt, mud splattering everywhere.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then Emilia giggled.
She hesitated, then took a small, wobbly step forward. Then another. She reached down with tiny hands, tugging at his arm to help him up.
"Sowy," she mumbled.
Pasta wiped the mud from his face, grinning wide. "That was nothing! I am the mighty Pasta, after all!"
He puffed out his chest before flashing her a toothy smile. "Thanks for helping me!"
—
Emilia clung to the fabric of Pasta's shirt, her fingers curling into the cloth as if anchoring herself in place. The first step was always the hardest. Even if it ended in disaster, she had to take it. That was why she became an adventurer in the first place.
She took a shaky breath and released her grip.
Step by step, she approached a table where a group of merchants sat, deep in discussion over their latest ventures. She hesitated, her body stiff, fingers grasping the corners of her jacket as her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
It felt like every eye in the guild was on her, even if no one truly was.
Still, she forced herself to speak.
"I–"
A voice cut through her like a blade.
"Hey now. We know why you're here, and the answer is no. We don't want adventurers tagging along to the Fourth Realm," one of the merchants said dismissively.
Emilia bit her lip, lowering her gaze to the floor. Every fibre of her being wanted to shrink away, to disappear. No—she clenched her fists.
"I-I haven't even s-said–"
Laughter erupted around her.
"Hey, girl, what are you even trying to say?" one sneered. "Go on, scram."
Pasta watched in silence, his grip tightening on his sword hilt. He wanted to cut them down, to silence their jeers. But he didn't. Instead, he did the only thing he could for her at this moment.
Emilia's eyes stung, but no tears fell as she got swallowed by a cold and silent darkness.
Pasta could have handled this effortlessly. He was good with people.
Mr. Swordsman would have silenced them with a single look.
Yet here I am, standing frozen. Cowering. And worst of all—Pasta was watching. Watching how pathetic I am.
She forced herself to look up.
Pasta met her gaze, flashing her a wide grin. He mouthed the words, his lips forming them with warmth only she could understand.
"You can do it, Emi."
Those words. The very words her mother always told her.
A breath of wind brushed past her, carrying away the suffocating darkness. In its place, a golden light filled her vision. It was him. Her brother. The same light that had always guided her forward.
Emilia exhaled sharply, wiping the moisture from her eyes before slamming her fist onto the table with a resounding thud.
This time, every eye in the guild was truly on her.
"We are looking for someone to accompany us to the Fourth Realm," she declared, her voice firm. "I understand your concerns—the hunters, the dangers, the instability of power at the realm of the departed. But if you have urgent business there, my crew and I will provide you with the best security possible. With a B-rank and an S-rank adventurer onboard, there will be no safer escort."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the room.
A S-rank?
There were only eight S-ranks in the entire Nine Realms—or at least, there had been until one was recently discovered.
The merchants turned to take a closer look at the siblings. Recognition dawned on their faces. The saviours of Pyrovile.
Before anyone else could speak, one merchant stood.
"I would be honoured to have you accompany me to the Fourth," he said with a respectful nod. "Let's meet at the gates in three hours."
The others exchanged glances but held their etiquette in check, unwilling to chase the deal unless the adventurers sought better offers.
Emilia let out a quiet breath, bowing slightly. "We'll be there. And… thank you."
Her expression remained composed, but Pasta could see the small, victorious glow in her eyes.
Grinning, he ruffled her hair. "That's the Demon Queen I know. Better play your role right next time."
Emilia frowned, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her blade.
Then she smiled.
"I will, big brother."