Anyone who kills often will tell you this:
Taking a life is easy. Disposing of the body is hard.
But that logic doesn't really apply on the continent of swords and sorcery. In a world where people die by the dozens each day—and where slavery is still legal in many countries—the idea of human rights is something of a luxury.
Corpse disposal? Not a problem. There's no need to "dispose" of bodies—just dump them.
Be it a foul canal outside the city walls or a crumbling tenement in a slum, there are always places for nameless corpses to disappear.
But Allen couldn't just toss the bodies.
He had planned to burn the evidence right after the massacre, but the battlefield was strewn with too many mangled pieces for that to be practical. So, he gave up on cleaning up.
And then, in the forest outside Rigait City, deep in the night, an unexpected helper arrived—someone who no longer looked at Allen with that half-lidded, indifferent stare.
Not only the corpses, but the entire bandit camp was consumed in fire—scorched clean, down to the ashes.
Murder and cleanup—when done as a duo—can go disturbingly fast.
The bandit stronghold outside Rigait City... was now gone. Erased completely from the world.
Give it a few days, and it would be just another patch of scorched earth no one remembered.
At least, that should have been the case.
But what if, from the very beginning of the hunt to the very end of the cover-up, someone had been watching? Observing the entire spectacle from afar?
Would this hunt—this ruthless purge of the Direwolf Bandits—be forever burned into their memory? Along with the vanished stronghold?
As the last flickers of fire died away, two small silhouettes leapt down from the cliffside, where the edge of the forest met the lake opposite the camp.
The dying flames licked across their figures.
One was an old woman—Reida Reia—currently the strongest living swordswoman in Water God Style. Allen's teacher.
The other was a girl—Isolde Cluel—Allen's childhood friend from the Water God main dojo, since he was four years old.
"...I was wondering who'd provoked Darius enough to orchestrate a covert execution with this much effort. Thought it might be some rogue master he wanted eliminated. Turns out—it's Allen."
"So, he didn't flee to Sharia after all. He stayed hidden in the Asura Kingdom to take revenge on James? Tch. Still the same as always—can't stand being humiliated even a little."
Reida's tone had the measured cadence of someone with both age and authority—part noble, part sword master. Her gait looked like that of a frail old woman, but any experienced swordsman would see that her movements bore not the slightest flaw.
Isolde followed behind, her long black hair flying in the wind. Though styled like a hime cut, it fluttered with a natural softness. Firelight shimmered along the edges, revealing faint blue outlines at the tips.
Unlike Roxy's cool, half-lidded gaze and thin lips, Isolde's features belonged to the strong-featured school of beauty—large round eyes, slightly drooping at the corners, giving her a warm and gentle aura. A tall nose gave her gentle look a faint trace of stubbornness.
She was tall for her age, nearly as tall as Reida. Likely due to her years of sword practice, her proportions were near perfect.
When Reida mentioned Allen, Isolde's eyes softened, and she smiled gently.
"Yeah... it's been nearly half a year since I last saw him. Shishou hasn't changed—still sharp as ever. Though… his face has gotten softer."
"...But his swordsmanship—"
Her expression darkened slightly.
"Still a genius. I knew he was holding back with North God Style. But Sword God Style too...? [Longsword of Silence]...? And even the major flaw in [Rockbreaker]—he's solved that too."
Reida's wrinkled face twitched with amusement as she turned to look at Isolde.
"He's already at the threshold of [Stream Sense]. He's without a doubt a Water Saint. Don't blame me for stopping you earlier—if you'd jumped in, you couldn't have taken him back to the capital."
Isolte lowered her gaze.
"But if you stepped in, Sensei, you could've done it, couldn't you? You don't want him to return to the capital?"
"You said last year he'd eventually inherit the Water God seat..."
Reida looked down at the burning corpses, her face unreadable.
"We've discussed this for months now. James doesn't have the power to rally so many elites to ambush Allen at the Upper Jaw of the Red Dragon Mountains. Looking at it now... Darius's hand was behind that assassination attempt too."
Despite her noble upbringing, Isolde couldn't help but pale at the name.
"You're not saying... Sensei, you wouldn't kill him for Darius's sake, would you?"
Reida shot her granddaughter a tired glance, raising one hand to stop her words.
"I heard Allen looked after you all those years not because he liked you, but because he pitied you—thought you were just a lonely girl whose parents died too young. That idiot Tantris failed his role as your big brother, always cold-faced, so Allen stepped in as your companion. Didn't he only give you a few snacks in return for that sword hilt you spent days picking out for his birthday when you were five?"
Isolte's mind flashed with the image of Roxy beside Allen just now. Her bangs had covered her eyes, expression unreadable in the shifting light.
"Sensei... what are you talking about? I'm asking if you'd kill him."
Reida narrowed her eyes at the hand Isolde had clenched around her sword hilt.
"What am I saying? Look at your reaction."
She chuckled softly.
"You wouldn't act like this if Allen were ugly, now would you?"
"Grandmother!!"
Reida smirked.
"Relax. He's still my student—I won't kill him. Darius may have saved my life, but Allen doesn't even know Darius is behind this. He poses no threat yet."
"Then why not bring him back to the dojo?"
"...Because, even if we sheltered him there, he wouldn't be able to live safely in the capital. To keep him safe, I'd have to lock him away, raise him as a hidden swordsman, only releasing him when he's strong enough to protect himself."
"But you know he's not the type to lie low and train in secret until he's mastered the sword."
Isolde glanced sideways at Reida, voice soft.
"Then I'll convince him. And if that fails... I'll drag him back by force."
Reida sighed and gently patted her on the head.
"...You rely on him too much. That's not good for him."
"...I don't know. But if it could work, would you allow it?"
"I would."
"Then I'm going after him right now!"
Reida blocked her path with the flat of her golden sword, her smile now sly with satisfaction.
"Of course you should be the one to bring your childhood sweetheart home. But with your current sword level—can you manage that?"
Isolte had just taken a step, her hair flying with joy—only to freeze mid-motion.
"...No."
Reida smiled, hands behind her back.
"Then come back with me. Train hard. When you reach Water Saint, I'll let you go. Whether or not you can bring him home then will depend on your own strength."
"Alright! ...Wait, no! What do you mean sweetheart?! Grandmother!!"
In the capital, Isolde always played the dignified noble lady. But whenever Reida teased her about Allen, her composure vanished at light speed.
Reida finally stopped teasing, her face growing serious again as she turned her gaze away.
If that day ever comes—if Allen returns, willing to train in secret—then on the day he learns the truth, the day he rises to avenge himself against Darius… that will be the day we cross blades.
I won't kill him. But if he truly tries to kill Darius…
Then he'll have to go through my corpse first.
If he can't defeat me, he doesn't deserve revenge. But if he can—then he'll be the next Water God.
Reida had no intention of telling Isolde about this inevitable collision.
Darius might've become a monster—but he was still the one who saved her life.
A debt must be repaid. Even if that meant carrying infamy. That was her resolve.
"Let's go. Back to the capital."
"Alright—wait! Hold on!"
Isolde dashed to a scorched pile of debris. Reida gave her a helpless look as the girl knelt down and began digging through the wreckage with her sword.
The charred stench clung to her. Smoke smeared her face in ash and soot.
Time passed as she dug, silent and focused.
Then—her eyes lit up.
From the blackened rubble, she pulled a broken sword hilt and cupped it gently in her palms, examining it with care.
The handle was cracked. Dried blood clung to the surface, crumbling away in flakes.
In the wind, her eyes sparkled.
"I will bring him back to the dojo."