The capital did not sleep.
Gas lamps burned along the main streets, their pale light reflecting off stone and steel—proof of the Empire's scientific might. Yet no matter how bright the city became, shadows still existed. Deep ones. Old ones. Places where light never reached.
More than thirty figures ran through those shadows now.
They moved fast, hard footsteps echoing through narrow streets as they fled the inner districts. This was not a retreat born of fear—it was survival. Orders had already been given: regroup outside the capital, reach the forces stationed near the western border, and prepare for the worst.
The distance was immense. Five hundred kilometers to the southwest. Too far for normal soldiers.
But these were not normal soldiers.
Every one of them was a superhuman—veterans, magi, killers, survivors of countless battles. If they ran without rest, they could reach their destination in hours.
Using the capital's teleport gates was impossible. Those facilities were heavily guarded, built for controlled transport, not mass escape. Forcing their way through would only invite annihilation.
So they ran.
Their leader—a former ruler reborn in a crafted body—kept her pace steady, eyes sharp, mind racing. She did not lag behind, despite the speed.
Her strength rivaled that of a greater majin now, honed through relentless training.
Still—
Something was wrong.
An alarm rang inside her head. Not magic. Not sound.
Instinct.
—This is bad.
That feeling had saved her life more times than she could count. She trusted it more than logic.
She glanced at the two closest to her—masked elites she trusted with her life.
"Send the recall," she ordered sharply.
One of them hesitated. "The messenger is already—"
"I don't care. Do it. Now."
There was no time to explain. The pressure in her chest grew heavier by the second.
Then she shouted to the rest.
"Scatter! Right now! Survival comes first—use your own judgment!"
She didn't finish her sentence.
A calm voice cut through the night.
"That's impressive. I thought I erased every trace."
From the darkness ahead, a man stepped forward.
Imperial uniform. Perfect posture. Cold eyes.
Lieutenant Tatsuya Kondou.
And he was not alone.
From rooftops, alleys, and blind angles, figures descended—silent, precise, lethal. Fifty of them, at least. Each one radiated danger so dense it pressed against the skin.
Someone whispered the truth.
"…The Imperial Guardians."
Kondou did not deny it.
"Correct," he said evenly. "Surrender now. You may earn the honor of dying for His Majesty."
Steel rang as weapons were drawn.
There was no panic—only grim resolve.
One of the wounded warriors laughed hoarsely. "Good. Saves us the trouble."
Another flared their aura openly, uncaring if the city noticed.
The leader stepped forward, placing herself between Kondou and the rest.
"So you're the one in charge," she said. "Let's see if you live up to the reputation."
Her goal was simple.
Buy time.
Seconds. Minutes. Anything.
Kondou sighed, as if annoyed.
"I despise pointless work," he said. "You cannot win with willpower alone."
She smirked. "Then I'll pray for a miracle."
"An ex–demon lord praying," Kondou replied flatly. "How ironic."
Her eyes narrowed. Very few knew her past.
"You underestimate me."
"No," Kondou said. "I understand you perfectly."
Then he added casually, "You're running toward a camp that no longer matters. The Emperor has already deployed a strike force."
Her breath caught.
"A strike force…?"
"Only the strong matter," Kondou continued. "Those with no chance to awaken are irrelevant. Everything happening tonight is according to His Majesty's design."
Rage flared—but she crushed it down.
He's provoking me.
A powerful ally beside her snapped, firing massive mana rounds without restraint. Buildings cracked. Alarms began to scream across the district.
Yet Kondou remained calm.
Too calm.
He drew a pistol in one hand and a blade in the other, moving with terrifying precision as chaos erupted around him. His subordinates advanced in perfect coordination, cutting down resistance fighters one by one.
The leader felt it then.
The truth.
Damrada wasn't the traitor.
He was controlled.
And the one pulling the strings—
—was standing right in front of her.
The realization chilled her blood.
Around her, the battle turned brutal. Steel, magic, blood. The night screamed.
And above it all, Kondou stood unmoved.
Because this was never a fight.
She knew he was strong.
But this was beyond strength.
Watching him fight at close range, the realization struck with crushing clarity—he was stronger than Damrada ever was. Not by a small margin. Not even close. This man stood on a completely different level.
Lieutenant Kondou did not rush. He did not shout. He did not even raise his voice.
He simply stood there.
In his right hand, a pistol—never fired.
In his left, a sword far too large to be wielded casually.
The blade itself was beautiful. A deep, flowing pattern ran along its length, the kind only produced by master craftsmen. It was not a mass-produced military weapon. It carried weight. History. Legacy. A family heirloom, passed down through generations.
And yet—
Kondou wielded it with one hand.
Not even properly gripping the hilt. Just holding the lower part, casually, as if the sword weighed nothing. To anyone watching, it was obvious.
He wasn't serious.
Two elite fighters attacked him together, pouring out power without restraint. Their auras roared through the street, cracking stone and shattering windows.
Kondou met them calmly, parrying, stepping
aside, redirecting blows with effortless precision.
This man is dangerous, she thought.
He's fighting multiple opponents—and still holding back.
Why?
If he wanted them dead, he could have ended this already.
That answer came to her all at once.
He wants something from us.
Her voice cut through the chaos.
"Everyone—be careful! He can manipulate people!"
Kondou didn't deny it.
In fact, he smiled faintly.
"You're right."
That alone was wrong.
Why admit it?
She searched his expression, her instincts screaming.
Then it clicked.
"…You're stalling too."
Kondou's eyes sharpened slightly.
"You finally noticed? Yes. I was the one playing along with your little delay tactics."
Her blood ran cold.
Every word.
Every exchange.
Every pause.
All calculated.
"I'll explain something," Kondou continued calmly. "They call me the information monster for a reason."
He stepped forward, sword lowering just a fraction.
"If I can manipulate people, why wouldn't I also have access to everything they know?"
Her breath caught.
This wasn't arrogance.
This was certainty.
"I never planned to fight you here," he went on. "The capital is inconvenient. Messy. I wanted to deal with you outside the city."
"So you've been holding back?" someone shouted.
Kondou sighed. "This was supposed to be easier."
That was the moment the air changed.
He put the sword away.
Then—slowly—he raised it again, this time gripping it with both hands.
The pressure exploded.
Everyone froze.
This was no longer a casual stance. It was the posture of a master who had decided the fight was over.
"Enough," Kondou said. "I'll remove your ability to resist. Not kill you. Not yet."
A fighter lunged at him, body wrapped in raw power, turning themselves into a living projectile.
A final attack.
Kondou moved once.
A single step.
A single slash.
"You should be honored," his voice echoed calmly, "that I used this."
The body fell apart in pieces.
Limbs severed cleanly. Blood sprayed across the street. The technique had been so fast that the sound arrived after the result.
Silence followed.
Kondou returned the pistol to his hand, as if switching back to a default state.
"This game is over," he said flatly. "Especially for you."
Hatred burned in her chest, but fear was stronger.
"You think I'll cooperate after this?" she spat.
"I don't need your consent," Kondou replied. "I already told you. Control doesn't require permission."
The pistol in his hand glowed faintly red.
That was when her instincts screamed louder than ever.
Too late.
The shot was quiet. Almost gentle.
The bullet did not pierce flesh.
It pierced the mind.
Her body jerked as if struck by lightning. Thoughts shattered. Resistance collapsed.
This was no ordinary weapon.
It carried the Emperor's will.
A domination round.
Her knees buckled.
"Yes," she heard herself say, voice empty. "As you command."
Kondou lowered the gun.
"Good. Have your people stand down."
They did.
One by one, weapons fell to the ground.
Those who could still resist understood immediately—this was over. Fighting now meant meaningless death.
The night grew quiet again.
Kondou looked over the subdued figures, expression unreadable.
"If you're going to hate something," he said calmly, "hate your own weakness."
He turned away, already done with them.
"In this world, justice belongs to the stronger will. Ideals only exist until they are crushed by something greater."
The streetlights flickered.
The darkness reclaimed the capital.