The signal buzzed through every device in the crew's hands—it was time. The moment Shanya had called them here for.
Yumiko leaned toward the recorder with a small grin. "Yo, everyone, you getting this? Loud and clear?" She waited a beat, then chuckled as the confirmations started coming in. "Good. It's Yumiko. I'm here with Razor and Chiaki—we're in Iron Messa right now, and… yeah, it's bad. People are barely surviving thanks to the desert kingdom's twisted 'protection.'"
Her tone softened, but stayed firm. "Listen, Temoshí's still out cold. Until he's back, Chiaki's stepping up to lead. So here's the deal—it's time we move. Time to step in and put an end to this crap these people are stuck living with."
While the crew was receiving their updates, events were unfolding before the throne of the Desert Kingdom.
As the crew of Desert Fangs arrived before the throne, tension thickened in the great hall. Zevros stepped forward at the head of his men, who laid Temoshí's unconscious body on the stone floor. With a sharp kick, Venos was forced down to his knees, bound and frail, left to face the king's judgment.
"We caught these two at the docks," Zevros announced, his voice steady but sharp. "The elder was already restrained, and the white-haired boy hasn't woken since we found him. My guess? This old man knows exactly why." His hand shot toward Venos, who struggled uselessly against the ropes with trembling, brittle fingers.
"This is absurd!" Venos barked, voice cracking under strain. "I've done nothing to harm that boy—I only guided him across the sea! How could someone my age, this weak body, put a fighter like him in a coma? You've lost your mind!"
Zevros narrowed his gaze, ignoring the plea. "Causing a coma doesn't require brute force. There are dozens of methods—drugs, poisons, gas, tools crafted for the purpose. The point is, when my men arrived, you were the only one with him. And now? Reports confirm more pirates scattered across the Land of Armagh. The pieces fit, old man. You're all connected… and I'd wager your kind came here to plunder, sow chaos, and bleed this kingdom dry like every other pirate before you."
The king absentmindedly tugged at his beard as he spoke.
"These are the ones? The Desert Fangs informed me you're tied to someone else as well—someone who roughed up a number of their men. A girl who dances and plays music, isn't that right? Tell me about her. She's a threat to our society, and she must be dealt with."
Venos faltered, unable to come up with an answer that would satisfy the demand. He truly had no explanation.
"Look, I don't know her. I'd never even seen that woman before. She appeared out of nowhere, and I've got no idea why she chose to help us."
As his words stumbled out, the king suddenly slammed his hand against the throne.
"Lies!" he thundered.
The outburst left Venos shaken, his face tightening under the pressure.
"That woman went out of her way to save you—that much is clear from the report," the king pressed on. "And if Zevros himself claims she fought through his entire crew, then she is connected to you, one way or another. Let's be honest—until today, she had never once been spotted within this desert. Yet she appeared the very moment you did, even turning up right where you were cornered. Do not try to fool me, old man."
Zevros stepped forward. "If I may. I can confirm the girl didn't fit in with the rest. But here's the thing—on our way to the docks, we never actually ran into her. Some of your soldiers gave descriptions of different people, but none matched this so-called music girl. It's strange. Even if she does have some kind of link to them, that doesn't automatically mean she's traveling with them."
The king listened carefully, his face hardening into the stern composure of a ruler.
"Perhaps you're right," he admitted. "Still, I'm convinced these people share a connection we don't yet understand. They're hiding something—and we'll have to uncover it."
Venos immediately leaned forward, frustration breaking through his calm.
"Are you serious? I've already told you—we have no connection to that woman! We never even asked her for help!"
The king's fingers tightened around the armrests of his throne, his beard brushing against his lips as he leaned forward. His voice grew deeper, colder, every word dragging like a blade across stone.
"You insist you know nothing… yet the pieces line up too neatly. A strange woman, appearing the moment you were cornered. A boy in a coma, helpless. And you—an old man conveniently claiming innocence." His eyes narrowed, violet fire burning in his gaze. "Do you take me for a fool, Venos?"
Venos swallowed hard, his frail body trembling under the weight of the ruler's presence. "I'm telling you the truth… I have nothing to hide."
The king slammed his fist onto the throne, the echo cracking through the hall like thunder. "Then I'll make this simple. If I find so much as a thread connecting you to that girl, I will have your bones picked clean in the desert sun. And as for the boy…" his eyes flicked to Temoshí's unconscious body, "…perhaps his fate should be sealed before he wakes and brings more chaos to my kingdom."
The threat struck Venos like a whip, his breath catching. He wanted to speak, to defend, but his voice failed him, choked by fear and anger.
Venos shook his head desperately, his thin voice rising in protest.
"I swear to you, I have no ties to that woman! I've never even seen her before that moment—I have nothing to give you but the truth! How many times must I say the same thing?"
The king leaned back in his throne, his broad frame looming larger than life in the shifting torchlight. His eyes glimmered with merciless certainty.
"You waste my time, old man. I see no reason to play this game further. Guards—throw him into the cells. Let him rot until he remembers the answers I want."
The armored soldiers stepped forward, their boots grinding against the polished stone floor as they reached for Venos.
Then a sudden thunderclap of an impact shattered the moment. The massive doors of the throne room flung open with a violent crack, exploding off their hinges. Wood splinters and iron fragments hurled across the chamber, a shockwave bursting outward and rattling the chandeliers. The blast of smoke and dust rushed through the chamber like a sandstorm, forcing the guards to raise their shields and cover their eyes.
Through the swirling haze, a figure emerged—one leg still raised from the devastating kick that had obliterated the doors.
Ralphie.
He stood framed in the smoke, suit sharp and dust-free despite the carnage, his left hand balancing a tray as if he'd simply walked out of a fine dining hall. A cigarette clung lazily between his lips, its ember glowing faintly in the chaos. His gaze was calm, yet cheekily arrogant, as if none of this destruction was worth batting an eye at.
"...Apologies for barging in without a reservation," Ralphie said, lowering his leg smoothly before adjusting the tray in his grip. His voice carried a playful drawl, sharp enough to bite but light enough to mock. He tapped the ash from his cigarette with one finger. "But I heard someone ordered a special—served hot, with a side of pain."
The smoke parted further, revealing two more silhouettes stepping in behind him.
Shanya, her stance confident, the weight of the jungle's aura clinging to her like a mantle.
Nathaniel, stoic and unshaken, his expression carved from stone, eyes cutting forward without the faintest flicker of surprise.
Nathaniel's voice cut through Ralphie's theatrics with razor precision.
"Was that really necessary?"
Ralphie exhaled a thin stream of smoke, smirking without breaking stride as he started forward.
"Necessary? Nah. But stylish? Always."
The throne room, moments ago drowned in the king's control, now hung in stunned silence—every eye locked on the uninvited guests who had just kicked down the doors to his kingdom.
The stunned silence stretched until one of the king's soldiers finally found his voice. He stepped forward, raising his spear, his tone sharp but betraying a hint of nerves.
"Identify yourselves! Who dares disrupt the throne of the Desert Kingdom?!"
Ralphie didn't even bother to look at him. He shifted the tray in his hand, gave it a lazy spin, and then—without warning—flung it across the room like a gleaming silver discus.
The tray whistled through the air before smashing flat against the soldier's helmet. The impact rang like a gong, the man's knees buckling as his spear clattered to the marble floor. He collapsed in a heap, eyes rolling back, foam flicking from the corner of his mouth.
Ralphie dusted his hands together, cigarette bobbing in his mouth, and muttered,
"Guess service here really does knock people out."
Gasps and shouts rippled through the throne room. Every guard took a defensive stance, weapons drawn, as the smoke fully cleared to reveal Ralphie, Shanya, and Nathaniel standing boldly before the king's dais.
The king's eyes narrowed into a sharp, dangerous glare, his thick beard shifting as his jaw tightened. He leaned forward on the throne, his booming voice echoing through the chamber.
"Who are these people?!"
For a moment, no one answered. Then Zevros took a slow step forward, his tone calm but clipped, as if calculating every word.
"…I don't know them, my king." His eyes flicked briefly toward Ralphie with the smallest glint of recognition, but his face remained unreadable. "They're not part of my crew."
But before the king could reply, another soldier blurted out from the side of the room, panic lacing his tone.
"Wait—I know him! That one with the cigarette. He's the cook who was working in the palace kitchens! The new hire!"
Another guard chimed in, pointing with a trembling finger.
"Yes! He was serving dishes in the restaurant! I saw him yesterday with my own eyes!"
The king's gaze snapped back toward Ralphie, heavy with suspicion and irritation. His massive hand tightened against the carved armrest of his throne until the wood groaned under his grip.
Ralphie, unfazed, smirked and flicked his ash onto the pristine marble floor.
"Well, looks like the customer remembers me." He tilted his head, eyes sharp with mock amusement. "But I'm afraid today's menu isn't on the house."
As the throne room bristled with noise and clashing orders, Zevros' gaze shifted. His usual smirk faltered for the briefest moment as his eyes behind the mask locked onto Shanya, standing at Ralphie's side.
"…So it's really you." His voice was low, rough, a private storm that cut through the chaos. "I should've known you'd crawl back into my life sooner or later."
Shanya crossed her arms, her posture unshaken, though her eyes narrowed with sharp disdain.
"Funny. I didn't crawl anywhere, Zevros. I walked out. There's a difference."
A muscle twitched in Zevros' jaw. He tilted his head, chuckling under his breath, though his eyes glimmered with something far darker than humor.
"You always did think you were above the rest of us. My crew bled together, starved together—and you left them behind like they were worth nothing."
Shanya's lips curled into a bitter half-smile.
"No. I left you. Because following you was the real poison. And now look at you, bowing like a dog to a king who doesn't even care if you breathe tomorrow."
That jab hit its mark. Zevros' grin snapped back in place, sharp as a blade, but his fists clenched at his sides.
"You'll regret turning your back on me, Shanya. I'll make sure of it."
To be continued...