NORTH OF FLOWER TOWN
The midday sun hung high over Flower Town, casting warped shadows between the cluttered stalls and shouting vendors. The noise of the market was constant — laughter, haggling, music — until something shifted.
A sound like thunder rolled down the cobblestone road.
And then they saw them.
Dozens of rough-looking men and women in tattered clothes spilled into the square, kicking over stalls and shoving carts aside like toys. Some dragged clubs or curved blades behind them, sparking on the stones.
At their head walked a tall, wiry figure with limbs too long for his coat and scars too many to count. Metal glinted from every inch of his body — piercings in his ears, nose, eyebrows, jawline, knuckles, and even the whites of his eyes. His wild, black hair stuck out in jagged spikes, and his most unsettling feature?
A long, glistening tongue that slithered out past his lips, licking across a silver tongue ring with slow delight.
Terry the Butcher had arrived.
"PLUNDEEERRRR!!!" he roared, arms flung wide, grinning like a demon. The townspeople screamed, scattering in every direction.
He turned to one of his subordinates — a shorter bandit with a crow feather tied to his shoulder. "Where is it? The Rock Beast?"
The bandit wiped sweat from his brow, ducking as a panicked merchant tripped behind him.
"It should be here soon, Boss," he stammered. "We tracked it to this town. A knight was talkin' about a weird horse—"
"A horse" Terry hissed the word, licking his lips again, eyes gleaming. "Hnhnhnhn. I LOVE horses."
Then, casually, he reached down and picked up a fleeing fruit stand by its edge — and flipped it like it was made of paper.
Melons exploded. Screams followed.
Terry stretched his arms with a loud crack.
"Bring it to me," he said softly. "And if anyone gets in the way… pierce 'em."
With that, the bandits fanned out like a wave of locusts, overturning market stalls, shouting, searching for gold.
***
EAST OF FLOWER TOWN
Matsu had just stepped back onto the main street, still thinking about what that weird granny said, the wheat tucked safely under his arm, when a thunderous crash shattered the rhythm of the market.
Screams erupted. Stalls overturned. People sprinted past him in every direction.
"What the—!?" Matsu spun around, eyes wide.
Then he heard it — an old woman's voice, shrill and terrified, just beyond a toppled basket of onions.
"Please, no!"
Matsu bolted toward the sound, weaving through the chaos. He rounded a corner and spotted her: a hunched, gray-haired woman cowering beneath a swaying canopy, her arms raised to shield her head.
Towering over her stood a hulking bandit with wild eyes and a jagged axe, already raised high.
Without thinking, Matsu threw himself forward.
CLANG!
Steel met steel — or rather, steel met rusty iron. Matsu's shovel caught the axe mid-swing, jarring both their arms with the force.
"Back off!" Matsu shouted, sweat flying from his brow.
The bandit blinked, surprised — then sneered. "You? A Level Two peasant with a shovel?"
Matsu didn't answer. He tightened his grip, feet steady, the shovel trembling slightly in his hands.
Behind him, the old woman scrambled to safety.
The bandit growled and raised his axe again. "You're dead, brat."
Matsu's eyes narrowed. "Guess we'll find out."
The axe came down in a wild arc. Matsu ducked low — just barely — as the blade tore through the canopy behind him with a violent rip. Before the bandit could recover, Matsu lunged forward, jamming the flat of his shovel into the man's gut.
WHUMP!
The bandit staggered with a grunt.
Matsu spun the shovel in his hands, planted his feet, and—
CRACK!
—slammed it across the side of the man's head.
The bandit's eyes rolled back before he crumpled like a sack of flour, face-first into the cobblestones.
Silence.
For a moment, all Matsu could hear was his own breathing.
Then, from behind a nearby cart, a merchant peeked out and whispered, "…He knocked him out."
Another voice muttered, "With a shovel?"
Matsu stood straighter, still shaking slightly. He looked at the shovel in his hands, then back at the unconscious bandit.
"Don't mess with old people," he said, breath still catching.
He turned to the old woman and knelt beside her. "Are you alright?"
She nodded, eyes wide. "Thank you, dear. You saved my skin."
Matsu smiled gently, the tension in his shoulders starting to ease.
He couldn't stand people who hurt the elderly. Not after everything his grandma had done for him — cooking his meals, mending his clothes, holding the pieces together when things fell apart. She was kind, steady, and strong in the quiet way that mattered most.
She was the best.
***
WEST OF FLOWER TOWN
The streets of Flower Town burned with chaos.
Stalls were overturned, flames licked the rooftops, and smoke spiraled into the sky. Bandits ran wild, laughing, shouting, kicking through merchant goods and pulling coin purses from trembling hands.
But then… they all froze.
One by one, each bandit stopped mid-step, eyes drawn toward the center of the square. Even the wildest among them went silent.
A figure stood alone amidst the smoke.
Tall. Cloaked. Armored in matte crimson steel, the plates etched with deep, elegant script. A single red feather swayed from his left pauldron, gleaming in the firelight.
Captain Erber.
The air around him shimmered from the heat radiating off his body.
"What the hell is a Heavenly Knight Captain doing in this dump?" one bandit muttered.
Another didn't get the chance to ask.
He charged forward, axe raised.
Then he stopped.
Two glowing yellow eyes stared back at him from beneath the captain's helm, full of quiet, merciless intent.
The next second, the bandit burst into flames.
He didn't even have time to scream properly before he turned to ash, collapsing in a heap of scorched bone and cloth.
"Scum," Erber muttered, his voice low and distant — like a verdict being read aloud.
The square erupted into panic.
Three bandits rushed him from different sides.
Erber stepped forward.
FWOOOM.
A pulse of flame erupted from his boots as he slid across the ground, almost weightless. One punch to the first man's chest — the impact snapped ribs like dry twigs and sent the body flying backward through a market stall.
The second swung a chain at him. Erber ducked, then grabbed the weapon mid-air. Fire coursed down the chain like lightning and ignited the bandit's entire arm. He didn't get to scream long before Erber dragged him forward and kneed him unconscious.
The last tried to run.
Erber raised a hand. A thin bolt of fire whistled through the air and pierced the man's back like a needle. He collapsed mid-step, twitching once before going still.
Within moments, six more fell — clean, precise, burning — not a movement wasted.
Captain Erber didn't breathe heavily. Didn't blink. Just turned slowly toward the next group, who were already dropping their weapons and running.
Behind him, two familiar knights came staggering down the road, coughing and out of breath.
"Captain!" Oldot called, waving a hand frantically. "The town's under attack—bandits, everywhere!"
Erber crushed the final attacker beneath his boot and turned to face them, embers still dancing in the air around him.
His eyes narrowed.
"Where have you two been?" he asked — calm, but laced with pressure so heavy it made the air feel sharp.
Oldot froze. Babel flinched.
"We—we were patrolling the west alley," Babel stammered.
Oldot jumped in. "Yes! And—and we saw something! A Rock Beast!"
Erber's gaze sharpened.
"A Rock Beast?" he repeated, slow and cold.
Oldot swallowed. "It—it got away. We tried to capture it, but it was powerful. Even you might have struggled."
Silence.
Erber raised one hand.
His fist ignited.
Oldot and Babel both took a step back, dread sinking into their bones.
Erber didn't raise his voice. "I hate useless things," he said flatly.
The flames flared.
"Try not to become one."
Then he turned and walked away, each step leaving a scorch mark behind him.
Oldot and Babel stood there, soaked in sweat, not daring to breathe.
***
CENTER OF FLOWER TOWN
Smoke curled above the rooftops as the sound of crashing wood and distant screams filled the air. Flower Town — once bustling with noise and laughter — was now breaking apart at the seams.
Geum stood at the center of the town's south side, sweat streaking down her face, flowerpot askew on her head. Her voice was hoarse from shouting.
"This way! Move quickly! Head south—into the woods! We've cleared the path, just go!"
Families rushed past her, clutching children, pulling carts, tripping over cobblestones. Some cried. Others looked back at burning homes. But Geum didn't stop. She pushed people forward, guiding them with outstretched arms and a voice that refused to falter.
"To the trees! Follow the fence line — don't stop until you're deep inside the forest!"
A child stumbled and fell. Geum dropped beside her instantly, lifting her into his arms and handing her to the mother behind. "Keep moving. Don't stop for anything."
The crowd flowed past him in waves.
But then she turned — toward the north.
Toward the smoke. Toward the sound of fighting. Toward the danger.
Because not everyone had made it out.
Geum clenched her jaw, adjusted the pot on her head, and sprinted the opposite way — back up the main street, toward the chaos.
"I need to pull more out," she muttered to himself. "This is my town."
Another explosion echoed in the distance.
She didn't flinch.
"This is my purpose."
Her boots pounded against the stone as he ran into the smoke, deeper into danger.