Clyde was never the kid people talked to. Just the one they talked about.
He kept to alleyways and narrow back roads, always moving like he didn't want to be seen. In his town, anonymity was a shield—and he'd long since learned how to wear it. Ever since his brother left, the silence in his life only grew louder.
When Clyde stepped through the door of his weather-worn home, the smell of cheap liquor and old carpet met him. His father stepped out from the kitchen, beer in hand.
"Heey, Clyde," he slurred slightly, trying too hard to sound casual. "How're ya holdin' up?"
Clyde let his shoes drop by the door. "Same as always."
His father gave a lopsided smile and clapped a hand on his son's back. "Don't let 'em get to ya. Those people don't know a damn thing."
Clyde pulled away. "Then why won't anyone say what actually happened?"
His father blinked, confused. "What're you talkin' about?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Clyde's voice cracked—not from weakness, but pressure. "Why did they kill my mother?"
His father's grip on the bottle loosened. He took a slow step back, hitting the wall with a dull thud.
"I walk past people and feel them whisper. No one ever tells me the truth. Not you. Not the neighbors. Not even the police. I've spent my entire life living under her shadow, but no one's brave enough to let me stand in the light." Clyde's voice started to rise. "They don't even know why they hate me. They just copy what the adults do. Like I'm a stain they all pretend not to see."
His father didn't say a word. Just stood there, the bottle halfway to his lips, unsure whether to drink or speak.
"That's what I thought," Clyde said bitterly. He laughed, a hollow sound, and paced a few steps in a tight circle, gripping his hair. "I've been carrying this my whole life. And what do you do? Sit here every day, drinking yourself into regret while I try to make sense of a world that decided I'm guilty by blood."
"Clyde…" His father downed the rest of the beer and set the bottle down harder than he meant to. "I'm sorry. I didn't know being with her would cost this much."
He slid down the wall and slumped to the floor like a deflated balloon. "You're right. I should've told you. I should've done better. I just—I didn't know how."
Clyde turned his back to him.
"I don't need excuses. I needed a father. And I needed a mother. But instead I got silence. And stares. And a case the cops dropped before they even started."
He stood at the threshold of the hallway, the shadows long and still. "You lost her and gave up. Even on me."
Clyde reached into his jacket, fingers brushing against the folded letter like it weighed more than paper ever should. He pulled it out and stared at the official Astralis seal. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the opened envelope at his father's feet.
"I won't be here much longer." His voice was steel wrapped in quiet fire. "I've finally got my way out of this town. Just like my brother."
The letter floated gently down, landing against stained carpet.
"One day, I'll come back." Clyde's eyes flicked to his father—dull, sunken, broken. "And I'll make this place something more just."
⸻
The chain snapped.
What poured from Clyde's arm wasn't just power—it was retribution. Orange and gold mana coiled around his shoulder like living flame, spiraling down to shape into a radiant sword. Thin, elegant, honed to a perfect edge—like it had been waiting for this moment.
A hush fell over the battlefield.
The Judgement Blade shimmered, casting a long shadow behind him.
"Your actions," Clyde said, eyes fixed on Mira, "are no better than Lance Sterling's."
He spun the blade once in his hand, its edge singing through the air, and pointed it at her. His other hand opened, steady, commanding.
"I can't bear to let you exist longer than this."
Mira staggered to her feet, blood in her throat and a gleam of defiance in her eyes. "Your presence is a stain on my lord's name. I don't want you breathing either."
Clyde half-turned, calling over his shoulder. "Rin. Elowen and Reid—get them safe."
Rin met his gaze, her eyes flickering with concern. She gave a short nod and dashed toward the others, leaving him alone.
Mira laughed softly, hiding her mouth behind one hand. "Confident, aren't you? All because of a shiny little sword? It's fascinating, I'll admit… but meaningless."
Mana churned around her, thick and weighty. "My spells have an output five times greater than even high-ranking mages. When my core technique activates, I surpass all expectations."
The ground cracked beneath her. The air rippled.
Clyde didn't flinch. "You might kill me. Power is necessary to change things. I understand that."
His voice deepened. "But you've overlooked something."
Golden light threaded from the blade into the air around her, tightening like a noose.
"Your output doesn't matter—when the chains of judgement are crushing your core."
Mira's pupils dilated. She staggered back, glancing at her hands. Her mana faltered, slowed, like it had to claw its way out of her.
"You—what did you do?"
"My blade burns brighter in the presence of rot," Clyde said, stepping forward. "And your heart reeks."
She snarled. "Then I'll break your chain myself!"
Mira rushed forward, her limbs a blur, staff spinning in her hand like a cyclone. Light lashed out in spiraling arcs—deadly, fast, but Clyde slipped through them like a shadow skipping flame. The Judgement Blade moved once, and a shockwave of fire and light crashed into her side.
She gritted her teeth, stabilizing with a burst of wind magic that launched her backward.
Clyde chased. No hesitation. Every swing from his sword carved radiant trails in the air, clashing against her spells mid-cast, dispelling them with sheer intensity.
Mira tried to fly upward, but the moment she rose above the ground, a lance of golden fire pinned her cloak to the earth. She landed hard, rolling, twisting her body and hurling a radiant barrage that splintered into shards.
Clyde crossed his arms, his blade dispersing the projectiles in flashes of heat and brilliance. He burst forward again.
Her staff met his sword—barely.
The ground trembled under the force. Mira staggered as her staff cracked. Clyde pressed the blade to her neck.
"You don't understand," she whispered, voice hoarse.
Clyde's eyes never wavered. "That's the problem."
The light surged. Mira screamed, her core strained to its edge, but Clyde stopped. He stared at her, breathing hard.
"I don't feel proud. This is justice, not vengeance."
The Judgement Blade dimmed slightly, its time nearing its end.
With one clean, final strike, Clyde's blade cut through Mira's neck. Her body dropped to the scorched earth, head falling beside it, wide eyes still twitching with fury that never found resolution. Her blood pooled around the cracked symbol of Astoria she'd carved into the ground minutes ago, now broken and meaningless.
Clyde held the Judgment Blade high, light flickering at its tip like a dying flame. The weapon trembled, veins of golden mana crawling down his arm, each one fraying and unraveling until it all unraveled into soft embers. They drifted away, dissolving into the wind.
"I wish I could've done more in the final battle," Clyde muttered, his voice fading along with the glow of his blade. "Though maybe we wouldn't have made it this far… if I hadn't given up my power now."
He lowered his arm. The sword was gone. Only warmth lingered at his fingertips.
"It's almost complete," he whispered. "A world of justice built by my hands."
His knees gave out. Ren caught him before his head hit the dirt, dragging him back without a word. Blood smeared across Ren's shirt, Clyde's lips barely moving now.
In the distance, dust swirled in chaotic spirals. The land had been ravaged, broken. Fires burned low, some still climbing the charred remnants of watchtowers. At the center of the cratered battlefield, two figures remained standing.
Sosuke and Reece.
Rin stood on a ledge of stone, cloak whipping in the breeze. She stared into the heart of the chaos, arms crossed, her body tense with silent focus.
Ren stepped beside her, adjusting his grip on Clyde's unconscious frame. "Are we stepping in?"
"No," Rin answered. Her arm raised in front of him, halting his step. "He needs this. His mana's different now… sharper. Alive in a way I've never felt before."
"You sensed all that?" Ren arched an eyebrow.
Rin smiled faintly. "Of course. I'm talented."
"But it's still nothing yet," she added, and her voice was soft with pride.
———
"I think the reinforcements have stopped!" Nina shouted from atop a jagged section of the shattered wall. "There's nothing left out there!"
Arthur knelt beside a fallen soldier, tugging his sword from the corpse's chest with a grimace. "This part never gets easier."
"I figured someone like you would've been numb to it by now," Lyra called out, leaning against her scythe with one hand. "Not in a mean way. Just seems like your thing."
Arthur didn't look at her. "That sounds worse than just being called a killer."
"We should regroup," he added. "The others are bound to be in the center. If they're still breathing."
On the hill, Isabelle emerged from the tree line, her cloak soaked red on one side. Blood clung to her arms like paint.
Lyra took a step forward.
"Wait." Arthur raised his arm.
Lyra blinked. "It's not her blood… is it?"
Arthur shook his head. "No."
Lyra exhaled and looked away. "Right. Of course."
"Still," she continued, brushing dirt from her gloves, "we're running on borrowed time. Who knows how many more Imperial Knights they've hidden away. The fact that none have shown up yet is a miracle. Let's not waste it."
Nina dropped down from the wall with a bounce in her step, landing beside them. "I feel sharp again!" she declared with a grin.
Lyra glanced sideways. "You sure you're up for this? No shame in sitting it out if you're running on fumes."
Nina tilted her head. "Me? I'm great!" She laughed awkwardly. "Just needed time to think. I'm good now."
The group began to move toward the center of the fortress. Isabelle followed a few paces behind, quiet as always, her eyes watching the horizon.
Somewhere beyond the smoke and fractured earth, the battle was still raging. They could hear it.