While Jareth descended into a massacre within a goblin settlement in the Nurwhir region, hundreds of kilometers away, another individual connected to Kiara journeyed quietly within a caravan, unaware that the threads of fate were tightening around them all.
Harrison was nothing more than a small-time merchant from Western Phoenix, the largest vassal state under the Phoenix Empire.
Years ago, Western Phoenix had stood as an independent kingdom ruled by House Veyne, proud and self-governed.
However, after an incident that reshaped its political fate more than a decade earlier, the territory had been absorbed into the Empire and was now administered by House Drake, one of the twelve major noble clans.
For most of his life, Harrison had traveled between towns within Western Phoenix, purchasing local specialties and selling them at the capital for modest but steady profits.
He understood margins, timing, and negotiation, but he was not a man accustomed to risk beyond calculated commerce.
That changed when ambition nudged him toward the Imperial City.
He reasoned that goods native to Western Phoenix would fetch higher prices outside their place of origin.
What he had not anticipated was how close his first journey beyond his homeland would come to ending in blood.
Bandits had nearly stripped him of both life and merchandise, and only the timely intervention of two passing adventurers had saved him.
It was during that chaotic rescue that he first laid eyes on a pistol.
The weapon had fascinated him instantly.
After purchasing several pistols from Kiara's Nexus Weapon Store and completing his trade in the Imperial City, Harrison prepared to return home. This time, he resolved not to travel alone.
Upon visiting the Adventurer Association, he quickly discovered that skilled protection required far more gold than he wished to part with. His purse protested at every quoted price.
Fortune, however, presented a cheaper alternative.
A passing adventurer informed him that a caravan of thirty-two members would depart for Western Phoenix the next morning. It would be guarded by five adventurers, each in the second-star realm. The cost of joining included modest transportation fees and five silver coins for protection.
It was affordable.
He accepted.
After resting in a cramped inn, he joined the caravan at sunrise.
For several hours, the journey unfolded smoothly. They crossed a small forest and even repelled a minor bandit attack without difficulty. Confidence returned to him, and he began envisioning the profits awaiting him back home.
Then they entered the Desmont mountain range.
The jagged peaks loomed like silent judges, forming a natural barrier between Western Phoenix and the heartland of the Empire. The valley path narrowed, cliffs rising steeply on both sides.
That was when the real ambush began.
This bandit force was nothing like the earlier rabble. Their numbers were overwhelming, and among them were numerous spirit warriors. The clash erupted violently as steel rang against steel and ether flared in the confined valley.
Some merchants fled in blind panic, only to be cut down during pursuit. Others dropped their goods and surrendered immediately, praying for mercy.
Harrison hesitated only briefly.
If the adventurers lost, his merchandise would be stolen regardless.
He rushed to his cart and opened two boxes. One contained bullets. The other held a single-shot pistol. His fingers trembled as he loaded the weapon, recalling the instructions he had memorized.
From a distance, he aimed at a wounded bandit engaged in combat.
He pulled the trigger.
Bang.
The explosion echoed through the valley, startling everyone.
To Harrison's horror, an allied adventurer screamed as blood spilled from his upper arm. The bullet had been too fast to track, and none realized its source except Harrison himself.
He had misfired.
Yet the realization that the projectile had pierced a two-star warrior filled him with awe.
The weapon worked.
This time, he carefully aimed at a cluster of bandits surrounding another adventurer. He closed his eyes instinctively as he fired.
Bang.
When he opened them, a one-star bandit clutched his neck before collapsing lifelessly. Confusion rippled among the attackers.
Several bandits noticed smoke rising from the strange metal object in Harrison's hands.
One charged toward him with a raised sword.
Harrison hurriedly reloaded, sweat dripping down his temple. As the attacker neared, he aimed directly at the man's head and fired again.
Bang.
Argh!
The bandit collapsed, screaming, clutching his lower body as blood soaked his trousers.
Harrison blinked in disbelief.
Another misfire, yet still lethal.
Confidence swelled within him.
As he prepared to fire again at two approaching bandits, a lightning-fast arrow struck the pistol. The weapon flew from his grip and clattered onto the ground.
Instead of reaching for another pistol from the box, he scrambled desperately to retrieve the fallen one. By the time he grasped it, three bandits surrounded him.
He sank to his knees, eyes closed.
At least he had fought.
Just as a blade descended toward him, a commanding voice thundered from above.
"Thorne, leave him."
The three bandits froze and immediately knelt, retreating to rejoin the fight elsewhere.
Harrison lifted his head, bewildered.
He saw no one.
In the end, fifteen survivors, including him, were captured. The bandits seized every crate and coin before blindfolding the prisoners and marching them away.
When the cloth was finally removed from his eyes, Harrison found himself in what resembled a fully functioning village nestled among steep rocky hills. Houses lined a dirt road, and people moved about as if this were an ordinary settlement.
"A bandits' village?" he murmured in disbelief.
He was dragged into a dim underground chamber where iron-barred cells held other captives. Thrown into one such cell, he sat in the corner, mind replaying his mistake.
"I should have hired higher-realm adventurers," he muttered bitterly. "Ten gold coins saved, and everything lost."
True to his nature, he mourned his merchandise more than his peril.
Minutes later, a bandit unlocked the cell and seized him roughly.
"Our leader wants to see you."
He was escorted into a large hall crowded with bandits. Some faces seemed strangely familiar, though he could not place them.
Then he saw the figure seated upon a makeshift throne.
His breath caught.
"Prince Icarus?"
*
Two weeks later.
Nexus Weapon Store, Imperial City.
Kiara bowed politely as she handed a wooden box containing a single-shot pistol and twenty bullets to a satisfied customer.
"Thank you for your purchase."
Seven gold coins clinked pleasantly into her possession. She returned to her seat, expression bright with satisfaction.
"After increasing my luck by one point, business truly feels different," she murmured thoughtfully.
Right then, a carriage halted before the store.
A nobleman stepped down majestically.
Whispers spread among nearby shopkeepers as he entered.
Kiara's smile faltered instantly.
"Oh no," she muttered under her breath. "Time to close the shop."
Just then, Zion moved forward smoothly. "Welcome to Nexus, Mr. Storm."
Lucian Storm did not waste time with pleasantries. He drew his sword in one fluid motion and pointed it directly at Zion.
"It is sparring time, Zion," he declared calmly. "Let us begin."
Staring at the figure, Kiara rubbed her temples. "I wonder why I accepted this obsessive maniac's proposal..."