By this time, the leader of the Red Wolf Mercenaries had finally recovered from the devastating punch delivered by Antares. Groaning, he pushed himself off the shattered remains of the tavern counter, his body bruised and aching.
As he stood up and looked around, his blood ran cold.
His subordinates—his comrades—lay strewn across the tavern floor, most of them mutilated beyond recognition. Blood coated the wooden boards, glistening under the dim lantern light. The eerie silence that followed the massacre pressed down on him like a physical weight.
Panic gripped his chest as he looked at the girl who had orchestrated the carnage with a smile and a few words—and then at the boy who had sent him flying before he could even react. The terrifying realization settled in:
That boy… is even stronger than the girl.
The thought sent a spike of fear through him. He knew he didn't stand a chance. Survival was the only thing on his mind now.
Without hesitation, he turned and ran.
He bolted across the tavern, leaping over broken chairs and dead bodies. Reaching the window, he didn't stop. With all the strength he could muster, he jumped, shattering the glass as he attempted to escape into the night.
But Antares had been watching him the entire time—not with urgency, but with the calm indifference of a predator who knows its prey has no way out.
An instant before the mercenary boss hit the ground outside, Antares raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
A spark ignited.
The fleeing man's body was suddenly engulfed in flames. He hit the ground with a thud and let out a blood-curdling scream. Fire licked at his skin, devouring his clothes and flesh as he rolled on the ground, frantically trying to extinguish the blaze.
Antares walked calmly to the window. His crimson eyes watched the spectacle below with detached curiosity.
Then, with a casual wave of his hand, the fire vanished.
The mercenary leader lay there, blackened and twitching, smoke rising from his scorched body. Gasping for air, he barely had time to register what was happening as a tiny ball of flame—no larger than a bullet—appeared at the tip of Antares's finger.
It hovered there for a moment.
Then it shot forward.
The fireball struck the charred man directly in the heart, piercing through him with surgical precision. His body jerked once, then went still.
Dead.
Antares lowered his hand. He turned back inside without a word.
Makima, already stepping over the corpses, casually pulled out a sealing scroll. Together, the siblings sealed the bodies of the Red Wolf Mercenaries, storing them away without expression or remorse.
With the job done, they walked out of the tavern—cool, composed, and untouched by the slaughter they had just orchestrated.
––––
In a dense forest somewhere in the Land of Hot Water, a large caravan made its way slowly down the dirt path. The wheels of the wagons creaked, and the footsteps of oxen and guards blended with the ambient sounds of the woods.
Suddenly, chaos erupted.
From both sides of the forest, armed figures emerged—some on horseback, others on foot—blocking the caravan's path. They wore mismatched armor and rough clothing, their weapons glinting under the forest light. Their numbers easily exceeded fifty.
The merchants panicked.
Inside one of the carriages, four men sat nervously, their expressions already drenched in fear. One of them grumbled, "I don't know what the Daimyo was thinking, sending just two boys and a few undertrained soldiers to protect this caravan. These so-called guards from the Land of Hot Water are barely stronger than civilians… and I have zero faith in those kids."
Another merchant nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Back in the day, we just had to pay a small toll and they'd let us pass. Now, suddenly, these Black Mountain Bandits are serious about robbing everything and killing anyone who resists."
All of them sighed heavily, resigned to whatever fate awaited them.
Unbeknownst to them, atop the roof of their carriage, a boy was lying. He had striking red hair and wore a flamboyant pink uniform, trimmed in gold. A rose twirled between his fingers as he gently brought it to his nose, eyes closed in tranquil appreciation of the scent.
Suddenly, he opened his eyes and looked to his left.
There, riding alongside the caravan on horseback, was another boy of similar age and the same crimson hair. He wore a kimono-inspired top, hakama pants, and a sword strapped horizontally across his lower back.
The boy on horseback said casually, "Will you deal with them, or should I?"
The boy on the carriage roof stretched and sat up, grinning. "I have a better idea. There are about fifty of them. Let's make it a game—whoever kills more wins. What do you say, Benimaru?"
Benimaru replied without hesitation, "I accept your challenge, Yoko."
In the blink of an eye, he vanished from his horse.
"Hey! No fair, you cheated!" Yoko shouted in mock outrage. But a moment later, he too vanished from the top of the carriage, leaving behind only a flutter of petals.
Inside the carriage, the four merchants sat stunned, eyes wide.
"Did… did they just say they're competing to see who can kill more bandits?"
"It's like they're picking berries…"
One of them whispered, "I don't know whether to pray for our safety… or for the souls of those bandits."
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