The boss of the small group was dumbfounded. He turned, this time really seeing the figure who had just knocked one of his crewmates out cold. He stared, taking in the person now standing before him.
In a calm, stern voice laced with intensity, he said.
"Talk?"
Lucid stepped into the tavern, his boots crunching against the glass shards scattered across the floor—that was a clear sign of a recent break-in.
"Hand over the students," he said calmly, "and let's all go home."
The man let out a loud, mocking laugh at the absurdity of Lucid's demand.
"What then? I hand 'em over, and we part ways like old friends, waving goodbye?"
By now, the other mercenaries had started to laugh too. None of them seemed particularly concerned about Lucid, despite what he'd just done to their fallen comrade. They began closing in, confident and careless. Lucid looked around in search of the owner who actually owned this place.
This place reminded him of his friend, Andrew—the one he'd first met after arriving in Andorrea. Something about this place echoed Andrew's charming personality and relentless work ethic. It had only been two days since they'd last seen each other.
'Andrew… you must be worried about me and Alice.'
Despite the resemblance between this broken tavern and Andrew's, something didn't sit right with him. What if it was Andrew's tavern? What if there was a slight possibility that Andrew's tavern would end up like this place?
"What did you do to the owner of this place?" Lucid asked sharply.
The boss stepped off the stool and walked slowly toward him, then pointed toward a dark corner of the bar—where a figure lay slumped. But something was off.
The body leaned against a wall smeared with blood.
"I killed him," the boss said flatly.
Lucid stared at the figure—not shocked by the death itself, but by the image now forming in his mind. He imagined someone else in that corner. Someone painfully familiar. Arms clutched around his stomach, blood soaking through his clothes by repeated stab wounds. Andrew.
"What if it was Andrew?" Lucid muttered under his breath.
The boss seemed to notice Lucid's lingering gaze on the corpse.
"Don't worry—we gave him a chance. But he kept shouting about how this place was his family's legacy, how he wouldn't give it up to the likes of us."
The mercenary paused, as if giving a shred of respect.
"I made it quick."
Lucid's eyes returned to him.
"I see."
The mercenary studied Lucid carefully now, his gaze dragging over him, taking in every detail, sizing up the threat—if any.
"Kid," he said coldly.
"By coming here and witnessing what we've done, you've signed away your life. No matter what you try, you'll die. And there's nothing you can do to talk out of this nor save those captives."
Lucid's voice was low and steady.
"Who sent you after these kids?"
"I'm afraid I can't say. Even if you're going to die."
Lucid's eyes narrowed.
"I see."
In that moment, Lucid seemed lost in thought. He wasn't angry. He wasn't sad. It was something else—like he had just come to terms with a truth so undeniable, so absolute, that no words could refute it. A cold harsh reality.
Even if he had come here to talk, to reason, to end things peacefully. He was still just a young boy who had just graduated high school. An innocent soul walking through a brutal world that he got sent to by some unknown force. The world wouldn't hesitate to swallow him whole.
His gaze was fixed on the floor. Then slowly, he looked up. Tears slid silently inside beneath his mask—covered by it, but betrayed by the slight tremble in his stance.
"Is… is he crying?" someone said out loud.
The group of mercenaries burst into laughter.
Lucid's voice was quiet, almost a breath.
"I'm sorry… Forgive me."
"Some of you have families and yet I gave you a chance."
The boy among the three captives—one of the few still conscious, watched everything unfold with sharp, intent eyes. His gaze followed everything that was transpiring, and then, suddenly, his eyes widened in shock.
What happened next, even Lucid couldn't fully register.
One moment, he was standing in the tavern, surrounded by mocking laughter. The next, he was airborne—launched backward as if struck by a force he hadn't even seen coming.
'Oh… that's right. He hit me.' It was as if his thoughts were a blur.
The boss of the mercenaries had struck him with such sheer power that it sent him flying out of the tavern's entrance. He slammed into the ground outside, with a crash that knocked the air out of his lungs. Pain exploded through him. For all his endurance and training, Lucid was still just human.
'Aika would probably be laughing at me right now'
He thought bitterly, a small, silent chuckle escaping in the back of his mind.
He hadn't activated any of his cards. Nothing, no techniques—he'd walked in prepared but hesitant. One thought had weighed heavily on him before he even entered the tavern: What if I have to kill?
Lucid had survived the confrontation with the Archmage by pure luck, and he hadn't taken a life then. But now? These mercenaries weren't as powerful, yet they were just as dangerous not him but others. If he wanted to protect the captives—if he wanted to make the mission a success, he had to hurt them. Even kill them.
The idea made him falter.
'Was the vow not to kill just a childish dream?'
After what he saw in the tavern—the blood, the corpse, why shouldn't he return the favor?
'I have no business killing people…'
'Is that what made me a coward in Aika's eyes'
Lucid pulled himself to his feet outside the ruined building, wincing slightly. His body ached, but his eyes remained sharp. From his position, he saw more than six mercenaries pouring out, their swords drawn, surrounding their tall and imposing leader.
Then, he looked up.
On the rooftop, partially hidden in the shadows, was a figure he recognized instantly.
'Shion… ah, that's right. The plan.'
He took a deep breath and looked toward the approaching enemies. None of them seemed to be mages.
Shaky at first, Lucid stood upright. He took a moment, steadied his breathing, and slipped back into his familiar stance—focused and ready.
His body might have been rattled. His heart might have been uncertain but his resolve had begun to return. With a single motion, Lucid shrugged off his coat and tossed it aside. In that same instant, a lone poker card materialized in the air—the Seven of Black Hearts.
From it, two shimmering blue figures began to form, one in each of his hands, pulsing with quiet energy as they solidified into a familiar weapon of his. He looked up almost sad beneath his mask and said.
"If heaven damns me for the sins of its own making, then I'll gladly lead you all into hell."
Inside the tavern
Shion moved like a shadow.
Silent and swift, she descended the stairs and struck the nearest guard with the edge of her palm, landing it sharply on his shoulder blade. The man crumpled before he could even cry out. Behind her, Alice followed closely—though not without stumbling once on the stairs. Her hand reached for the railing, just barely catching her balance.
Normally, Shion wouldn't have hesitated to kill. In fact, under normal circumstances, she would've left no witnesses behind. But things were different now—Lucid was different, and so was Alice. Their unwillingness to take life, even when necessary, had begun to affect her. And though she wouldn't admit it out loud, she respected that part of them. At least for tonight, she would hold back—for them.
They reached the captives.
Two of the students were still deep in slumber, unconscious and unaware. A third—a boy with broken glasses and a bloodied lip—was awake, his eyes wide as he watched the two girls approach. Shion knelt down and began untying the ropes that bound him, while Alice rushed over to the others, casting healing magic over their bruised bodies with a soft green glowing touch.
"They'll wake up," Alice whispered, her voice soft and sweet, "but not anytime soon."
"I see," Shion replied, her tone colder but calm.
The boy with the glasses, weak and confused, glanced at Shion as she cut the final knot.
"Are you with hi—?"
A sudden explosion cut his words short.
The air trembled. The sound of gunfire—or something like it, ripped through the silence of the night. Then came another burst, from a different weapon. Echoes filled the space outside. Alice gasped and covered her ears, shrinking into herself. Even the boy flinched, visibly disturbed.
But Shion didn't move. Her expression remained unreadable, though her eyes narrowed as she turned her head toward the doorway, half-tempted to go and see what Lucid had just done.
However, as she was making it to the open doorway to see how Lucid was doing, something catched the corner of her eyes, lying against the inside wall, half hidden behind broken chairs and glass—a corpse. It wasn't fresh. Someone who'd been here long before them. Blood dried to a dark crust beneath his head. A former barkeep, perhaps or the original owner.
The sight made Shion's stomach twist, not from guilt but from the deep gnawing recognition of what had transpired over here, but nonetheless this was a common occurrence in her line of work.
She turned back quickly. "We have the victims," she said, her voice clipped.
Alice nodded and helped the boy onto her shoulder. He was light—barely conscious—but she supported him the best she could with her small frame. Shion scooped the unconscious teenage girl into her own arms with practiced efficiency. The two of them began moving toward the exit.
But as they reached the threshold, Alice paused, glancing back toward the stairs. Her voice trembled.
"Wait… what about Big Bro Lucid?"
Shion met her gaze. She hesitated. A beat passed—just long enough for her expression to flicker with something soft, almost regretful.
"He'll be alright," she said.
Alice looked like she might protest, but she nodded slowly, trusting her. Trusting Lucid.
Together, they exited the building, just as a scream split the night open.
Outside the alley, another scream echoed. A long, agonizing cry of someone being torn apart—body and spirit before a loud crack echoed in the air. Alice flinched.
They didn't know what was happening back there.
They didn't know if Lucid was winning.
But one thing was certain—Someone was dying out there. And it wasn't a quick death.