"Understood."
Reiyell's voice was calm, but her eyes flicked to Keiya. The heiress gave a small nod in return, already rummaging through her pack for the black cloak folded at the very bottom. Reiyell searched for clean parchment, something to mark down routes, while the faint scratching of her fingers through her satchel filled the quiet.
Keiya, cloak in hand, turned—and her gaze landed on Klyden. Still tied gently to the chair, his head lolled to the side, mouth muffled by a strip of tape. Peacefully asleep. The sight made her brows furrow.
Silently, she walked over, peeled the tape from his mouth, then shook him by the shoulder.
"Klyden. Wake up."
"Mmhmm… yeah… I'm hungry…" he mumbled, still half-asleep.
Her eyes twitched. Plak!
Klyden jolted upright with a sting on his cheek, wide-eyed. "What, what, what's going on?!" His head whipped around as though he'd woken in the middle of a battlefield.
"We need to head out," Keiya said flatly, already turning her back to change into her cloak.
Klyden blinked, then paused—before breaking into a beam so bright it could rival the sunrise. "Ohhh! Now this is some action!" He grinned ear to ear, cheek still red from her slap. Effortlessly, he tore off the rope binding him, stretched like he'd just woken from a good nap, and darted out to change.
Behind him, Reiyell let out a quiet chuckle, covering it with her hand.
Moments later, he returned, dressed completely in black, a cloak sweeping behind him, sword fastened at his side. His hair was messier than ever under the hood, but his grin made it seem intentional.
He glanced at the girls. "So what am I gonna do?"
Reiyell began calmly explaining:
"You'll be our shield if things get noisy. But until then, keep silent. We observe first, then report. Keiya will map, and I'll coordinate."
Klyden nodded vigorously, thumbs up. "Crystal clear!" Then he tilted his head, frowning. "By the way, Kei… did you slap me? I swear I feel like my cheek's on fire." He rubbed the spot dramatically.
Keiya, unfazed, packed the tools into a small bag and tossed it at him. He caught it effortlessly with one hand.
"That's just your imagination." She brushed past him. "And don't call me that."
"Imagination hurts…" he muttered, still massaging his cheek and followed Keiya.
---
They moved quietly through the dim town, climbing over the low stone walls. The dam water cut through the town like a silver ribbon, flowing from the northern gates. Keiya crouched at the top of the wall, gesturing for Klyden to hand her the small bag. She pulled out the parchment and began to sketch the route.
"Your Highness," Keiya spoke softly into the communicator at her collar, eyes still on her drawing, "the dam water flows from the north."
"Understood," Reiyell's voice answered.
Klyden crouched beside Keiya, humming cheerfully—not loud, but not quiet either. He tilted his head at the stream. "Oooh, I bet it leads to—"
"—the second town," Keiya finished flatly.
"See! I was gonna say that," Klyden whispered proudly.
Keiya rolled her eyes, ignoring him, focused on her parchment.
"Woahhh, you draw really good," Klyden whispered, leaning closer like a nosy child.
Keiya said nothing.
"Like, wow… I mean, it almost looks like the real thing, but tiny!"
Still nothing.
"Hey, Kei—"
A sharp hand pressed against his mouth. Klyden blinked at her, muffled.
"Shh."
He tilted his head, followed her gaze. Down below, on the far side of the wall, two figures trudged along the road. Their voices carried faintly through the still night.
"…Tres shipment… should reach Threnz by dawn…"
Keiya's eyes narrowed. She tapped her communicator. "Your Highness. Two unidentified individuals outside the northern gate. They are discussing Tres… and a delivery to Threnz."
Klyden, unable to contain himself, tugged the end of Keiya's cloak. She glared at him, but he whispered anyway.
"Keiya… look at their arms. Weird tattoos. Like shapes, or something. Creepy."
His whisper carried through the still-active communicator, reaching Reiyell as well.
There was silence. Then Reiyell's voice, cool and commanding:
"Eradicate."
Klyden's eyes lit up like fireworks. His entire body buzzed with excitement. "Ooooh, I like that word." His hand went straight to his sword, grin sharp.
"Do not make a noise," Keiya hissed, glaring.
Klyden saluted. "Yes, ma'am."
Two seconds later, he jumped off the wall, cloak flaring.
"Klyden!" Keiya's whisper turned sharp with fury. She slapped a palm to her face, peeking down after him.
Below, Klyden landed with a flourish, sword gleaming faintly in the moonlight. "Evening, gentlemen," he whispered playfully to the confused men. "Care to repeat that bit about Threnz?"
"Those tattoos are pretty wild. They mean anything? Maybe something about… uh, Tres?"
The taller of the two blinked, then smirked, scratching the back of his neck with exaggerated innocence. "Tres? Never heard of it."
The other one chimed in, tone mocking, "Yeah, kid, maybe you're lost. This ain't a place for little scouts."
Klyden tilted his head, squinting as though he actually believed them. Then he snapped his fingers with sudden realization. "Ohhh, I see!" he said brightly. He spun around, waving his arm toward the top of the wall. "Keiya! They said they know nothi—"
He didn't even finish.
The shorter man lunged at him with a crazed grin, tongue lolling out, knife flashing under the moonlight.
WHAM!
The man's entire body went airborne, smacking into the trunk of a tree with a dull CRACK! before sliding down like a sack of grain. The leaves rustled from the sheer force of the blow.
Klyden stood with his fist still stretched out, his expression—rarely serious—shadowed with sharp focus. "...Okay, that's not nothing," he muttered, flexing his knuckles once.
The remaining man staggered back a step, eyes darting to his unconscious partner. "Y-you—!" His face twisted with rage, and he charged.
Klyden grinned wide. "Now we're talking!"
The two collided, fist against fist. The impact snapped like thunder in the night air. Klyden didn't bother unsheathing his sword—his body moved with the rhythm of someone who lived for this.
He leaned back just enough to dodge a wild swing, then tapped the man's shoulder with his knuckles. "Boop."
The man snarled, swinging again, but Klyden bent low, swept his legs, and sent him stumbling. Before the man could fall, Klyden pivoted and gave him a light jab in the ribs—playful, but enough to make him grunt and wince.
"C'mon, don't give up now," Klyden teased, weaving around the man like a predator who enjoyed the chase. His strikes came from every angle—quick hooks, flicking jabs, playful shoulder bumps. The man spun in circles trying to keep up, getting nicked on the cheek, chin, ribs, until his breathing came out ragged.
Desperation kicked in—the man yanked out a knife and slashed toward Klyden's chest.
"Uh-oh," Klyden sang, ducking under the blade with a playful whistle.
His hand snapped out, catching the man's wrist mid-swing. With a sharp twist—CRRCK!—the knife clattered to the ground. Before the man could cry out, Klyden spun his body, drove an elbow square into his nose—CRUNCH!—and sent him flopping flat onto the dirt. Blood smeared across his face as his body went limp.
Klyden stood over him, stretching his arms with a satisfied sigh. "Whew! That's two for—"
POINK!
A sharp slap landed on the back of his head. Klyden stumbled forward dramatically, clutching his skull. "Ow-ow-ow! Abuse! I'm filing a complaint!"
Keiya stood behind him, unimpressed, arms crossed, her glare enough to freeze lava mid-flow. "I told you not to make noise."
Klyden whipped around, still massaging his head. "I didn't! Look, see? Silent as the grave." He gestured wildly at the unconscious men sprawled on the ground. "They're the noisy ones! I mean, look at them snoring already—"
"You knocked them both unconscious." Keiya pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling deeply. "How are we supposed to interrogate them now?"
Klyden froze, eyes darting from one body to the other. His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. "...Oh." He scratched his cheek sheepishly.
Keiya didn't waste more words. She pointed to the men with the authority of a commander. "Drag them. There. Together."
"Yes, ma'am," Klyden muttered, crouching to hook one man under the arms and tugging him across the dirt with exaggerated groans. "Heavy. So heavy. My poor back. I'm too young to suffer like this."
When he went to grab the second, he did it in the most over-the-top way possible, slinging the limp arm around his shoulder as though they were best friends after a tavern brawl. "C'mon, buddy. Walk it off. You'll be fine." He half-dragged, half-danced him over until both men lay side by side.
Keiya crouched down between them, her hands glowing faintly as she began weaving the binding spell Sael. The air shimmered with soft threads of light that coiled around wrists and ankles like ethereal chains.
Behind her, Klyden squatted, resting his chin on his palm, watching with childlike wonder. "Man… your magic's really pretty, Kei. Kinda feels like I should clap every time you do it."
Keiya didn't even look up. "Shut up, Klyden. I told you not to call me that"
Klyden raised both hands in surrender, grinning. "Yes, Kei!"
———
The first thing was not Wads' footsteps, nor his figure cutting through the dim light.
It was Reiyell's voice echoing in his head, steady, like the hum of water flowing through an unseen vein.
"Wads, the dam flow is connected to northern part."
Wads exhaled through his nose, his breath escaping in a measured rhythm. The moment sharpened. The scene around him became clearer, the air heavy with the clash already in motion.
Moments before—
The fight had opened with Liora and Ashborne striking first.
Liora vanished into a blur of motion—her Speed Surge tearing through the air like a sudden gale. The burst was so sharp it dragged loose stones into a swirl, snapping, creating a brief sonic crack as she appeared directly before the cloaked girl. The girl's eyes widened, instincts flaring as she pulled a shimmering ward across her body—an iridescent dome of power just in time to deflect Liora's blade. The collision rang like glass under strain, and the recoil of impact sent ripples across the girl's barrier.
At the same instant, Ashborne's dual blades had already been moving. His right cut in an arc toward the bald man's ribs while his left snapped upward like a serpent's fang—only for him to feel something impossible. The steel rang against flesh. The bald man's body had hardened mid-swing, the muscles in his arm and torso darkening to an almost metallic sheen. The man grinned through the push, boots dragging but holding ground, as if his skin itself had become iron.
"Not bad," Ashborne muttered, twisting his grip, shoving harder to test that strange resistance.
Steel screamed. Sparks showered as his blade was forced back, but Ashborne's stance was firm, his eyes cold and calculating.
They clashed once. Twice. Thrice.
Enough for Wads to observe.
He had not revealed himself at first—letting his comrades measure their enemies, letting the rhythm of their breathing and the tempo of strikes draw out the opponents' strengths. His hand rested lightly at his side, eyes half-lidded, voice inside silent.
Then—he moved.
The world seemed to tilt.
The moment his foot touched the ground, reality itself bent. A crushing, unseen weight dropped from above—so fast the air cracked with sound. Both the bald man and the cloaked girl stiffened in horror, their knees buckling before they even realized what had hit them.
The Gravity Lexis pressed into them like an unrelenting hand, shoving their bodies into the earth with such force the ground split beneath their weight. Dust rose in violent plumes. They slammed down, unable to resist, bodies grinding into the stone ground as though they were nothing more than insects pinned by an invisible force.
The sound of their bones straining filled the room.
They trembled as they tried to look up.
And then they froze.
Because Wads was walking toward them.
Each step echoed unnaturally loud against the dirt floor, reverberating in their ears as though the sound itself was heavier than it should be. The dim light caught only half of his face, but that was enough—the half-lit gaze, sharp and merciless, was far more terrifying than any revealed blade.
If stares could kill, they would have died already.
The girl's breath rattled in her throat, words clawing their way out in panic.
"W-w-wait—!"
"Who is your boss?" Wads' voice was low, cold, and direct.
Neither Liora nor Ashborne moved. They had taken steps back, deliberately sheathing their weapons, letting Wads stand as the executioner in this moment. His presence drowned out everything else.
"I— I—" The girl's tongue faltered. The pressure on her back made her bones creak audibly, every syllable drawn out by the crushing force.
"Who is your boss?" Wads repeated, this time sharper, as though the weight of his tone itself pressed harder.
The bald man grinned despite the sweat beading across his forehead, blood vessels in his eyes bursting from strain. "You'll have to… kill me first."
Click.
Wads flicked his finger.
The gravity shifted, focusing narrowly—like a scalpel—onto the man's right hand. His index finger bent, then snapped with a sickening crack.
The man's grin twisted into a scream. His howl cut through the whole dam, echoing like an animal dragged to slaughter. His body writhed, but the pressure didn't let him move more than inches.
When the sound died down into ragged gasps, the bald man forced his eyes upward—only to meet Wads' gaze again. That half-shadowed stare bore no hesitation. No hesitation meant no mercy.
The realization crashed over him. This was not a bluff. This man would kill him if he stalled again.
"C-Caelith…" he rasped, spittle clinging to his lips.
"Caelith who?" Wads' tone didn't soften.
"We… d-do not… know… his surname…" the man coughed, throat choking against the weight.
The crushing force vanished in an instant.
The girl collapsed to her side, coughing violently, clutching at her chest as though her ribs had been crushed. The bald man wheezed beside her, both of them gasping like survivors dragged from underwater. Their faces were pale, sweat soaking into the stone beneath them.
Wads didn't spare them another glance. His voice was ice as he said:
"Bind them."
Liora immediately raised her hand, a web of glowing sigils wrapping around the two captives, chains of ethereal light snaking across their bodies until their wrists and ankles were bound.
Wads tapped his communicator at his collar.
"Your Highness," his voice was steady, "deliver a message to the ZAO. We need someone to take custody of the criminals we've captured."
A faint crackle of response flickered through the device, but Wads' gaze had already shifted.
He turned toward the shadowed doorway where the two enemies had first entered. The smell was faint but distinct. His boots ground against the dirt floor as he pushed the door open with one hand.
The inside was cramped, lit by a single lamp that swayed faintly from their earlier fight. Papers were strewn across desks—maps, scrawled notes, and transaction sheets. But it wasn't the ink that caught him. It was the scent.
He inhaled once, slow.
The smell of drugs. Not the potent, choking kind he had encountered before—this was weaker, diluted, as if the formula itself had been thinned.
They're adjusting the drugs, he thought coldly. Testing. Perfecting.
He pinched a small vial and slipped it into his coat as a sample.
When he stepped back into the open, his eyes immediately fell on the bound prisoners again. His stare, calm yet cold, made them shrink further into themselves.
"Liora," he asked without turning his head, "where do we place them in the meantime?"
Her answer was flat, emotionless. "At the cell. Where they tortured their victims."
Wads' gaze slid to Ashborne. "Do you agree?"
Ashborne's voice was low, steady. "I see no reason why not."
Dark shadows coiled around his feet, slithering outward like living smoke. The two captives shrieked in horror as the black tendrils rose, wrapping around their bodies, dragging them downward as if the ground itself opened to swallow them whole.
"N-no—! Wait!" The girl's tears streaked her cheeks, her cries raw, desperate. "Please—wait!"
But Wads had already turned away.
His back to them, his steps carrying him forward, his expression unchanged.
The shadows swallowed the prisoners whole.