Chapter 3: 3v1
The moon hung high, bathing the estate in a ghostly glow. The embers of the dying fire from the training ground smoldered in the distance, yet the true storm was only about to begin.
Inside the house, Natashia sat by the hearth, her delicate fingers brushing along the pages of an old, leather-bound book. The flames flickered gently, reflecting in her soft, tired eyes.
Noel had been training the summoned heroes all day, and Rome had been called to handle security along the eastern border.
She was alone.
Or so she thought.
Creak.
The front door eased open with a low groan.
Natashia's eyes darted to the entrance. Her heart skipped a beat.
Footsteps echoed across the wooden floor.
"Rome…?" Her voice was soft, uncertain.
But the figure that emerged from the shadows was not her husband.
Leonhardt.
His fiery red hair caught the moonlight, but the smirk on his face was anything but noble. His eyes, filled with arrogance and twisted desire, locked onto her.
"Why, good evening, Lady Natashia," he purred, stepping further inside.
Behind him, Gareth entered with a grin that screamed danger. His blonde hair was disheveled, and his blue eyes scanned the room with predatory interest.
Veyron was last—silent as a shadow, blending into the darkness, his sinister smile barely visible.
Natashia's throat tightened. "What… are you doing here?"
Leonhardt stepped forward, his boots echoing ominously. "We came to visit, of course. After all…"
His smirk deepened.
"We couldn't possibly ignore such beauty in the hero's own home."
Natashia's heart pounded. Her instincts screamed at her—run.
"Excuse me?" she asked, taking a step back.
Gareth snickered, stepping beside her, his grip snatching her wrist.
"Come now," he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. "Don't play hard to get."
Natashia's breath caught as she tried to pull away. "Unhand me!"
"Why resist?" Veyron's silky voice echoed from the shadows. He leaned against the wall, his dagger spinning lazily between his fingers. "You should be flattered. We're the heroes."
"Disgusting…" Natashia's voice was cold, her gaze filled with defiance.
Leonhardt's smile faltered. His eyes darkened, his patience snapping.
SLAP!
The sharp sound echoed through the room as his hand struck her face.
Natashia stumbled, her cheek burning from the impact.
"Shut up, lady," Leonhardt hissed, his grin now gone, replaced by annoyance. "You should learn your place."
Natashia's eyes burned, but her spirit was unyielding. She glared at them, even as her vision blurred with unshed tears.
But then—
SLAM.
The front door burst open.
A gust of wind followed, scattering embers from the fireplace. The air grew heavy with a dangerous presence.
Rome.
The moment his boots hit the wooden floor, the temperature in the room dropped. His piercing gaze swept across the scene, and in that instant
He understood everything.
His wife. Bruised. Terrified. Surrounded by scum.
Rome's expression hardened. His jaw clenched as he stepped forward.
The weight of a thousand battles echoed in his every movement.
Gareth's grin wavered. "Shit… I thought Noel was staying on the border
Leonhardt, however, remained cocky. He scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "Relax. It's just his old man. No biggie."
Rome didn't speak.
His sword whispered from its sheath, the sound of steel echoing in the dead silence.
A low hum filled the air as his aura surged, the very ground beneath him vibrating.
"Just his old man…?" Rome's voice was deathly calm.
Gareth tried to play it cool, but the tension in the air was suffocating. "Look, no need to—"
But Leonhardt had enough. He took a step forward, fire crackling around his hands. "I'll handle this."
"Burn."
A wave of fireballs shot toward Rome, engulfing the space in flames. The heat was unbearable, melting everything in its path.
But—
CLANG!
A sharp, metallic clash echoed as Rome's sword cut through the flames.
The fireballs disintegrated as his blade, coated in glowing aura, cleaved through them effortlessly. Sparks danced around him, but Rome stood untouched.
Leonhardt's eyes widened. "What…?"
Rome's gaze was cold. "That's all you've got?"
Before Leonhardt could react, Rome moved.
WHOOSH!
In a blink, he was in front of Leonhardt.
"Swift."
A faint glow enveloped Rome's body, enhancing his speed.
Leonhardt's eyes barely had time to register Rome's movement before—
SHING!
A flash of steel.
Leonhardt's scream tore through the room as his hand hit the floor, severed at the wrist.
"AAAHHHH!!"
Blood spurted from the stump as Leonhardt fell back, clutching the bleeding wound. His face contorted in pain and disbelief.
"Y-You… bastard…"
Rome's expression remained unreadable. His blade, still slick with blood, pointed directly at Gareth.
"Next."
Gareth's cocky grin was gone, replaced by sheer terror. His body trembled as he stumbled back.
"Wait, wait—"
Too late.
Rome's figure blurred again.
Before Gareth could even blink—
SHING!
A clean, merciless cut.
Gareth's head rolled to the floor.
Blood splattered across the ruined furniture as his lifeless body crumpled beside it.
Leonhardt's eyes widened in horror. "He… he actually… KILLED him? FUCKING HELL!
His arrogance was gone, replaced by pure fear.
But the real threat was still lurking.
From the corner of his eye, Rome sensed it—
Veyron.
The assassin moved silently through the shadows, his dagger poised for a lethal strike.
Rome's heart pounded.
"Natashia!"
But it was too late.
SHLICK.
Veyron's blade found its mark.
Natashia's gasp was soft… but to Rome, it was louder than any explosion.
Her body jerked violently, the dagger lodged deep in her stomach.
"NO!"
Rome's vision blurred as Natashia crumpled to the ground. Blood spilled from her wound, staining the floor beneath her.
Veyron's smirk was short-lived.
Because the next thing he saw—
Was death.
Rome's grip tightened around his sword. His aura surged, filling the room with overwhelming pressure.
"You'll pay for that."
Veyron tried to retreat into the shadows.
But Rome's hand shot forward.
Like a predator snatching its prey, he ripped Veyron from the darkness.
Veyron's eyes filled with terror.
"Wai—"
SLASH!
HE THROWS VEYRON ON THE AIR THEN SLASH HIM MID AIR BUT BECAUSE OF VEYRON MAGIC HE DIDN'T DIE BUT GOT A BIG SLASH ON HIS CHEST
The assassin's battered body slumped to the ground.
Rome's chest heaved. His hands trembled. But it wasn't over.
A faint glow pulsed near Gareth collar.
The tracking device.
Rome's eyes narrowed.
"They're coming."
The faint sound of marching echoed from beyond the burning remains of the house.
Royal Guards.
Rome stood tall, his sword dripping with the blood of false heroes..
To be continued.