On the Second Elyndar, the guild hall buzzed with tension, its rune-lit lanterns casting jagged shadows over Aazroth, Jame, me, and the squad, our gear clinking like a raid party's final prep.
My Sword weighed heavy at my hip, its sapphire dull, my F-rank heart hammering.
"It is almost night," said a grizzled adventurer, his axe notched from beast hunts, eyeing Solva's darkening skyline.
"Yes, let's get going, but before that here," Aazroth said, passing out vials of shimmering liquid to everyone but Jame, his cool unshaken.
"This is the invincibility potion."
"Are you sure, this will make us undetectable?" asked a wiry mage, her rune-tattooed fingers clutching the vial skeptically.
"Yes, I am certain," Aazroth replied, his voice steady as a guild master's.
"One last thing, let's go over the plan again, ok so we will let Jame go into the forest first and after a while after he go in, we will follow him and when Fovos attack we will all jump at him, got it?" Aazroth said, his eyes scanning us like a strategist.
Wow, Aazroth's got that shonen leader vibe. No wonder no one griped about a kid running the show—this kid was Aazroth. "Yes, got it," the adventurers chorused, their voices a mix of grit and nerves."If no one has any more questions then let's go," Aazroth said, shouldering his blade.
At Solva's South Gate, the moon hung like a scythe, its pale light glinting off Thistlegrove's distant trees, their gnarled branches clawing the sky.
"Let's wait here, Jame go now," Aazroth said, his tone clipped.
Jame nodded, his S-rank aura heavy, his scarred cloak billowing as he strode toward the forest, a lone warrior under the moon's gaze. Like an anime protagonist marching to the final boss, I thought, gripping my vial.
"If the letter is true, Can't Fovos be watching us right now?" asked a saber-wielding adventurer, her eyes darting.
"Probably but he probably can't hear what we are saying," Aazroth said, checking his pocket watch.
"But what if he has super hearing or something," pressed a hammer-toting brute, his knuckles white.
"Then we will have to hope for the worst," Aazroth replied, his calm cracking slightly.
Ten minutes ticked by, the squad's breaths misting in the chill.
"It has been 10 minutes, I think it is good to follow him," Aazroth said, pocketing his watch.
"Alright everyone today is the day that the terror of Fovos end."
Leader mode: maxed out, I thought, awestruck. Aazroth downed his invisibility potion, the liquid glowing briefly as he vanished, only a faint shimmer marking his outline.
The squad followed, and I chugged mine, the bitter taste burning my throat. My body tingled, then faded, my hands ghostly. Here we go. Goddess Don't let me die.
"Let's get going," Aazroth said, his voice a disembodied command. We marched toward Thistlegrove, my heart pounding like a boss fight OST.
"Wait, how can I see Aazroth and the squad if they're invisible?" I asked, jogging beside his shimmering form, dodging roots.
"Every invisibility potion has a feature that can see other people if they also drank a invisibility potion," Aazroth explained.
"Well that just for the cheap ones," he added, a smirk in his voice.
"Oh ok," I said, totally lost but nodding. Game and anime logic, I guess.
Thistlegrove loomed, its massive trees towering like ancient sentinels, their bark scarred, moonlight barely piercing the canopy.
"Let's move faster, Jame should be already deep in the forest," Aazroth urged, his shimmer darting ahead. We hustled, leaves crunching under invisible boots, until we spotted Jame's silhouette on a winding path, his cloak a dark beacon. Aazroth signaled, splitting us—six, including me and him, to the right, seven to the left, fanning out among the trees. Jame glanced our way, his azure eyes catching the faintest shimmer. S-rank senses, damn, I thought, crouching behind a root.
Suddenly, the forest's silence shattered. A dagger screamed from the darkness, its blade wreathed in black mana, aimed at Jame's throat. He conjured a lightning sword In a flash, its electric hum crackling as he parried, sparks showering the path. The dagger clattered away, swallowed by shadows. Fovos. My blood froze.
"Here he comes," Aazroth whispered to our group, signaling the left. But before we could blink, the shadows erupted. Fovos emerged, not as a man but a specter of death, his entrance a nightmare made flesh. His black cloak billowed like smoke, its edges fraying into the night, as if woven from the void itself. His eyes glowed red under a hood, twin embers of malice, and his daggers—one in each hand—pulsed with a sickly green aura, their edges dripping venomous mana. The air grew heavy, the forest's mana warping around him, leaves withering where he stepped. A low, guttural laugh echoed, chilling my spine, as he seemed to multiply, afterimages flickering among the trees, a phantom reaper stalking his prey. This is no mercenary—this is a demon, I thought, my F-rank soul quaking. Immediately, a second dagger, wreathed in green flames, spiraled at Jame, but he blocked it with a thunderous clash, his lightning sword sizzling.
"Come out Fovos," Jame said, his voice cold, unwavering.
"Why does everyone want to see me in person nowadays," Fovos's voice rasped, a venomous drawl, as he stepped fully into the moonlight, his silhouette sharp, daggers glinting like fangs.
"Now!" Aazroth shouted, and eleven A-rank adventurers—minus me and him—leapt from the trees, their invisibility fading as they struck.
"Huh, how will you do against 11 A ranks and one S rank at the same time?" Aazroth taunted, a faint smile breaking his panic.
"Trap?" Fovos said calmly, his eyes glinting with amusement. Then he moved, a blur of lightning speed, dodging a flaming axe with a twist, sidestepping a frost lance that shattered a tree, his daggers weaving a deadly dance. A swordswoman's blade grazed his cloak, but he spun, his dagger slashing her arm, blood spraying like ink. The mage unleashed a barrage of fireballs, their heat searing my face even from our perch, but Fovos vaulted over them, landing behind a hammer-wielder, his dagger plunging into the man's back with a sickening crunch. The adventurer collapsed, lifeless, before anyone could react.
"Come on come on strike at him all at once," Aazroth urged, his voice cracking, nails bitten to stubs. "And Why isn't Jame doing anything?" Jame stood back, his lightning sword steady, watching like a damn NPC.
The squad rallied, a swordswoman and an axeman charging together, their blades a silver storm, while the mage fired a homing fireball, its orange glow tailing Fovos like a vengeful spirit. He parried the sword with one dagger, impossibly fast, then grabbed the blade mid-swing, wrenching it free. In a blur, he swapped places with the axeman, positioning him in the fireball's path. The mage's barrage—ice, lightning, and flame—slammed into the axeman, his scream cut short as the explosion lit the forest, debris raining down.
Fovos, untouched, redirected the homing fireball toward the mage's group, sprinting at them with the stolen sword. "It always interesting how an Adventurer use his magic," he taunted, his voice chillingly amused.
"Shit he is coming towards us!!!" a mage screamed, scrambling back, but Fovos was already there, the stolen sword piercing her chest. The fireball detonated behind him, a deafening roar sending splintered bark and dirt blasting toward me and Aazroth, forcing us to duck behind a tree.
"Shit shit shit, how is he killing them?!?" Aazroth panted, his cool shattered, eyes wild."Hey, I think we should ru—" I started, my voice shaking, but Aazroth cut me off. "No!" he snapped, glaring back at "h" carnage.
"Why Jame isn't doing anything!!!??? Don't tell he is on Fovos Side?!?" Aazroth said, his panic spiking. The bloodshed was a nightmare—swords clashing, magic exploding, bodies falling. I'd never seen anything this horrifying. Maybe I shouldn't have come, I thought, regret choking me. Run, Kozuki! But my resolve hardened. No, I stay will till the end. Kozuki
sword's sapphire glowed faintly in its sheath, unnoticed, pulsing with a subtle power.
"Only 3 left," Fovos said, his voice cold, standing amid the carnage, blood dripping from his daggers. The swordless adventurer, a saber-wielder, and Jame remained, the rest sprawled in the dirt, their crests dull. Fovos moved like a reaper, his daggers flashing—first the swordless man, throat slit in a crimson spray, then the saber-wielder, his chest pierced before he could swing. Jame stood alone, his lightning sword crackling, untouched.
Jame alone remained, his azure eyes unyielding, long hair dancing under the moon amid the A-rank slaughter.
"Why didn't you participate in the fight?" Fovos asked, twirling a bloody dagger, his red eyes glinting."Because I want to fight you alone," Jame said, his voice steel, lightning sword crackling, ready for the duel.
"What are they saying?" Aazroth whispered, squinting at them. We'd relocated after the explosion, now crouched under a mossy rock, close enough to hear but hidden. Thank the Goddess he's calmed down, I thought. Aazroth had nearly lost it, ranting as the squad died.
"I should have went out to help them," he said, staring at the corpses littering Jame's feet.
"Well, you would die, if you do that," I said, my voice shaky. He didn't reply, his silence heavier than the blood-soaked air.
In the heart of Thistlegrove, where moonlight bled through shattered branches, the duel between Jame and Fovos raged, a tempest of steel and sorcery that shook the ancient forest. The air crackled with ozone, the ground scarred from fallen A-rank adventurers, their blood seeping into the roots.
Jame, his azure eyes blazing, gripped his lightning sword, its electric arcs illuminating his long hair dancing in the chaos. Fovos, a specter of malice, wielded twin obsidian daggers, their forbidden magic humming, his crimson aura pulsing like a dying star.
"So you don't care about those people?" Fovos said, his voice dripping with amusement, gesturing to the slain adventurers, his viper-like eyes glinting under the moon.
Jame answered with action, surging forward at light speed, his lightning sword a blazing comet that tore through the night. Fovos raised his daggers, their edges sparking as he barely blocked, the clash erupting in a shockwave that splintered nearby trees. The force hurled Fovos back, his boots skidding through blood-soaked earth, but Jame pressed the assault, chanting in a low, resonant tone. A barrage of lightning descended, jagged bolts raining from the heavens, each strike a deafening roar that incinerated trees into flaming husks, their embers swirling like fireflies. The forest glowed, a hellscape of smoke and ruin, the heat searing the air.
Fovos danced through the onslaught, his form a blur of shadow, dodging bolts by inches, their electric tongues grazing his cloak, singeing its edges.
"No wonder you are call the Carnival of Lightning, Jame! Hahahha," he cackled, his laughter wild as he charged, twin daggers slashing in a frenzied arc. Jame parried, his sword a crackling shield, and countered with a slash of lightning, a crescent of pure energy that carved a trench through the forest floor, its light blinding. The strike grazed Fovos's left arm, blood spraying, the wound sizzling under the electric heat.
"You will pay," Jame said coldly, his voice cutting through the inferno, and he lunged, his sword a relentless storm. Fovos staggered, knocked back, but Jame's blade found its mark again, grazing his flank, the cut shallow but searing. Fovos retreated, vaulting to a gnarled tree, its bark charred, but Jame pursued, his speed a blur of lightning. His sword struck, shattering the tree into a cascade of splinters, the explosion of wood and mana shaking the ground. Each of Jame's strikes landed a graze—Fovos's shoulder, thigh, chest—each wound a testament to the S-rank's fury, the forest trembling under their clash.
Fovos, panting, deflected a blow, his daggers flashing, blood dripping from multiple grazes. He ducked under a lightning arc, the bolt scorching the earth behind him, and hissed under his breath, "Damn it, at this rate I am going to die." Yet his eyes burned with defiance.
Jame, unrelenting, chanted again, his voice rising like a war hymn, and unleashed a massive lightning slash, a radiant guillotine that tore through Thistlegrove, its brilliance turning night to day. The slash carved a gaping scar across the forest, trees collapsing in its wake, their roots exposed like bones. Fovos dove aside, the bolt grazing his side, blood streaming, his armor torn, yet he rose, clutching the wound.
"Hahahhahahaha, I haven't fought an opponent like you for a long time hahahaha, our battle will be legendary," Fovos said, his maniacal laughter echoing, his injury only fueling his frenzy."
You are alive," Jame said coldly, poised to strike, when a barrage of demons erupted from the shadows behind him, their forms twisted, eyes glowing like coals, claws dripping with dark mana. Jame spun, his lightning sword flashing, slicing through the nearest demon, its body dissolving into ash, but the others vanished into the darkness. In that split second, Fovos struck, his speed a sonic blur, his dagger grazing Jame's chest, blood welling through his torn cloak.
"You! Never thought you would be working with demons," Jame said, anger flaring in his azure eyes, his sword crackling louder. Fovos said nothing, only laughed, a deranged cackle that chilled the burning forest. He pressed his attack, daggers weaving a deadly tapestry, while the demons reemerged, their claws slashing from all angles, forcing Jame to split his focus. A demon's strike grazed his arm, dark mana sizzling, but Jame held firm, chanting once more. With a roar, he swung his sword in a circular arc, a vortex of lightning that erupted outward, its electric tendrils obliterating the demons in a burst of ash and screams. The shockwave knocked Fovos back, his cloak smoldering, but he'd sensed the attack, leaping behind a shattered stump, though a fresh gash on his left arm bled freely, the lightning's bite deep.
"Hahahaha," Fovos laughed, undeterred, as a shadow-smoke cloud billowed behind him, countless demons clawing free, their numbers swelling, their roars shaking the canopy. Jame wasted no time, charging with a war cry, his lightning sword raised high, striking downward like a thunder god's judgment, the blade aimed to cleave Fovos in two as the demons surged forward.
Jame slashed his lightning sword downward, a radiant guillotine aimed at Fovos and the swarm of demons clawing from shadow-smoke, their horns curled, wings tattered, eyes glowing like molten coal.
Fovos twisted aside, his form a phantom blur, the blade missing by inches, its electric wake scorching his cloak. The demons surged, their claws slashing, but Jame spun, his sword carving a vortex of lightning, each stroke a thunderclap that sundered their twisted forms into ash, their screams swallowed by the forest's roar. As Jame battled the horde, Fovos seized the moment, charging from behind, his dagger gleaming with dark mana, aimed for Jame's spine. Jame sensed the strike, his reflexes honed by instinct, and pivoted, blocking with a crackling parry that sent sparks cascading. His counter thrust knocked Fovos back, the assassin stumbling over charred roots, his crimson aura flaring in defiance.
The demons pressed their assault, one sinking its fangs into Jame's left arm, dark mana seeping from the wound. With a snarl, Jame gripped the creature with his free hand, ripping its head free in a spray of black ichor, and hurled its writhing body at the advancing horde, toppling them like pins in a storm.
The forest trembled, embers swirling as the night stretched on, the duel a relentless marathon of steel and sorcery.
Jame charged Fovos at lightning speed, his sword a blazing comet that lit the canopy in stark relief. Fovos dodged, his agility defying his wounds, but the strike grazed his left arm, the electric bite sizzling flesh, the blast behind him engulfing trees in a maelstrom of flame, their branches collapsing In fiery ruin.
Fovos, bloodied but unbroken, adopted a new tactic, weaving circles around Jame at dizzying speed, a shadow blurring through the smoke, his daggers flashing like fangs in the dark. Jame stood resolute, fending off demons with precise slashes, each cut a burst of lightning that felled the creatures, their ashes piling at his feet.
In a split second, Fovos struck, his dagger aimed with deadly precision for Jame's heart, but Jame's blade met it, the clash a deafening boom that shook the earth, sparks raining like a meteor shower.
Jame countered, his sword a torrent of energy, and this time his strike landed true—a devastating blow that obliterated Fovos's right arm in a burst of lightning and blood, the limb reduced to charred fragments. Half of Fovos's right side burned, his armor shredded, his body a canvas of agony, yet his eyes burned with maniacal resolve.
Fovos retreated, staggering through the inferno, but Jame pursued, ignoring the demons that clawed at his heels, their roars drowned by the crackle of flames. The night wore on, hours of relentless combat painting Thistlegrove in fire and shadow, the forest a graveyard of both adventurers and trees.
Jame's cloak was torn, blood seeping from demon bites, but his fury was a storm unbroken. Fovos, gasping, ducked behind a smoldering oak, only for Jame to shatter it with a single slash, the tree exploding into splinters that rained like shrapnel. The assassin countered, his remaining dagger a whirlwind, grazing Jame's shoulder, but Jame's lightning sword answered, carving a shallow cut across Fovos's chest, blood steaming under the electric heat.
The demons rallied, a fresh wave erupting from the shadows, their numbers swelling, their claws weaving a net of dark mana. Jame chanted, his voice a low hymn of power, and unleashed a circular tempest of lightning, the arcs spiraling outward, obliterating the demons in a cacophony of ash and thunder.
Fovos, ever cunning, used the chaos to strike, his dagger flashing toward Jame's flank, but Jame parried, the clash igniting a burst of light that seared the night. The duel spiraled deeper into Thistlegrove, the combatants weaving through burning glades and shattered groves, their strikes a symphony of destruction that echoed till dawn loomed on the horizon.
Fovos, battered, his body a map of wounds, summoned a final gambit—a shadow-smoke vortex that birthed a legion of demons, their roars shaking the canopy, their claws dripping with venom. Jame, undaunted, charged, his lightning sword a beacon of wrath, slicing through the horde with relentless precision, each kill a flash of electric judgment. Fovos lunged, his dagger aimed for Jame's throat, but Jame sidestepped, his counter grazing Fovos's leg, crippling his speed. The assassin stumbled, blood pooling, yet his laughter rang out, a deranged hymn to chaos.
"This is the end," Jame yelled, his voice a thunderous decree, raising his sword high. With a final chant, he unleashed a massive lightning slash, a radiant cataclysm that tore through Thistlegrove, its brilliance blinding, its power setting the vicinity ablaze. The slash carved a canyon through the forest, trees vaporizing, the ground quaking, flames roaring skyward as the night burned, the duel's climax a testament to their relentless war.
As the sun clawed over the horizon, its pale light spilled across Thistlegrove, revealing a wasteland of devastation that made my F-rank heart skip a beat. The forest, once a towering maze of ancient trees, was a graveyard of charred husks, their branches reduced to ash piles, smoldering under a haze of smoke that stung my eyes. Jagged craters scarred the earth, some still crackling with residual lightning, their edges fused to glass by Jame's cataclysmic slashes. Blood-soaked roots twisted through the dirt, mingling with shattered guild crests and broken blades, the air heavy with the reek of ozone, burnt flesh, and demon ichor. A lone oak, split by a lightning bolt, groaned as it teetered, its fall shaking the ground, while embers drifted like cursed fireflies, painting the dawn red. This is what a final boss fight leaves behind, I thought, my Sword of Absolute Death trembling at my hip, its sapphire glowing faintly but unnoticed.
Aazroth and I stumbled out of our hiding spot—a scorched rock outcrop, its surface pitted from debris —our invisibility potions long faded, my legs wobbly from a night of cowering. Jame stood in the heart of the destruction, a lone titan amid the ruin, his lightning sword sheathed, his cloak torn to ribbons. Blood dripped from gashes on his arms and chest, his long hair matted with ash, his azure eyes dim but unyielding .
"Is it over?" I asked, my voice a croak, barely audible over the crackle of dying flames.
"You guys are still alive?" Jame asked, turning to us, his voice hoarse, surprise flickering in his battered face as he leaned on a charred stump for support.
"Yes, so is Fovos dead?" Aazroth replied, his navy tunic stained with soot, his cool masking the tremor in his hands, as if the eleven A-rank adventurers' deaths hadn't just carved a hole in his plan.
"Yes," Jame said coldly, his gaze distant, the weight of the all-night massacre etched in his stance. We trudged out of Thistlegrove, the crunch of ash and bone under our boots a grim anthem, my heart pounding with relief and guilt. Masamato, it's done, I thought, his death avenged, though my F-rank ass had done jack squat.
As we breached the forest's edge, the dawn's light hit us, and a thunderous clatter of hooves froze me in place. Lucian, Solva's grizzled Security Chief, charged toward us on a warhorse, his silver armor glinting, a squad of guards flanking him, their spears lowered, eyes wide with shock. Dust billowed, choking the air, as Lucian dismounted in a single leap, his scarred face twisting with horror at the smoldering wasteland behind us. The guards fanned out, some gagging at the stench, others muttering prayers, their horses snorting in panic as embers swirled. Oh crap, we're in deep now, I thought, gripping my sword.
"What happen here?" Lucian demanded, his voice a blade, eyes darting from Jame's bloodied form to the forest's ruin, his hand twitching toward his broadsword.
"Fovos is dead," Jame said coldly, his words final, before his knees buckled. He crumpled, but Lucian lunged, catching him, his armor clanking. "Take him to the healer!" Lucian roared, and a guard hoisted Jame onto a horse cart, its wheels creaking as it sped toward Solva, Jame's limp form swaying. Lucian whirled on us, his gaze piercing, the guards tightening their circle, spears glinting like a boss fight trigger. "You are going to tell us all about what happened here," he said before vaulting onto his horse with a grunt.I scrambled onto a guard's horse, my hands shaking as I gripped the saddle, the beast's heat grounding me. Aazroth climbed onto another, his face pale but composed. Finally, it's over. I didn't die, I thought, a grin creeping in. Masamato's avenged, even if I was useless. My inner voice snapped back: Useless? If you'd done anything, you'd be toast! I smirked.
Back in Solva, the guards rushed Jame to the Medical Center, its rune-lit wards buzzing with healers chanting over his wounds. Lucian marched us to the Security Department. Inside a Lucian office, Lucian grilled us, his eyes like daggers. Aazroth spilled everything—our hiding, the invisibility potions, the plan to bait Fovos, Jame's solo kill—like we weren't nursing bruises from flying debris, his voice steady despite the night's toll. I nodded along, my F-rank nerves jittery, adding nothing but a sheepish shrug.
Lucian's face fell when Aazroth mentioned the eleven A-rank deaths, his fist clenching, but relief flickered as he heard Fovos was gone. We keep the adventurers' deaths secret to prevent outrage. Only the guild and their families will know.
Liam, at the guild later, got the same news, his jaw tight, eyes shadowed, but he stayed stone-faced, ever the Guild Master.
The guild and Security Department spun a public tale: Fovos was defeated by Jame, Aazroth, and me, no mention of the A-rank bloodbath. Me, a hero? Pfft, I just hid, I thought, half-proud, half-ashamed.
The guild rewarded us with two stellar coins as a bounty reward, their gold glint making my otaku heart sing. We were meant to split them between me, Aazroth, and Jame, but Aazroth waved his off.
"I don't need it," he said, his voice flat, already planning his next move.
At the Medical Center, Jame, propped on a hospital bed, bandages wrapping his chest, snorted, "I don't want money," tossing his share to me, his azure eyes daring me to argue. I gaped, clutching the coins. Two whole stellar coins?! Baby, I'm rich! I crowed, visions of new gear and tavern feasts dancing in my head, my F-rank days officially behind me.
In the ravaged depths of Thistlegrove, where charred stumps smoldered under a dawning sky, a man slumped beneath a towering, scorched tree, clutching his wounds. His right arm was gone, a bloody stump, his body marred with gashes and burns, his black leather armor in tatters.
"I am alive," Fovos murmured, his voice a pained rasp, as he fumbled for a potion from his shredded cloak. The last vial, its glass cracked, held only a trickle of glowing liquid. With a grimace, Fovos swallowed the remnants, the potion's faint warmth seeping into his broken frame.
I stood in front of Jouki Blacksmith, The morning sun glinted off the shop's rune-etched sign, and my F-rank heart raced like I'd just pulled a legendary item.
"I am going to get that clothes!" I said with a grin, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Hey Garrick, long time no see!" I called, shoving open the door, the bell chiming like a quest notification. The shop smelled of armor and weaponey, racks of cloaks and tunics glowing faintly under crystal lamps.
"Well, if isn't the hero who kill Fovos," Garrick teased, stepping from behind the counter, his merchant's smirk sharp. His eyes glinting like he'd already calculated my wallet's weight.
"Haha, it's no big deal," I said, waving it off, though my chest puffed a bit. Hero, huh?
"Btw, do you still got that clothes?" I asked, my eyes locked on the prize.
"Which one?" Garrick said, raising an eyebrow.
"That clothes!" I shouted, pointing at a mannequin in the corner, its outfit screaming main-character energy. I zipped over in a flash, nearly tripping over a pile of boots, my sword bouncing at my hip, its sapphire winking.
"Oh, you mean that one," Garrick said, strolling over, his smirk widening.
"Yes, so can I buy it??" I said, bouncing on my toes, barely containing my hype.
"Yes, but it'll be one stellar coin," he said, folding his arms.
"Sure, here," I said, fishing a gleaming stellar coin from my pocket, handing it over with a proud grin. Take that!
"Hoho, it's all yours," Garrick said, pocketing the coin with a sly smirk. "Why don't you try it out now?""
Can I?" I asked, eyes wide.
"Sure, go ahead, you can change in the room behind the counter" he said, pointing to a room.
The outfit was straight out of an isekai anime: a crimson sash tied around the waist, part of it hanging down like a warrior's banner; a long crimson scarf or cloak draped over the shoulders, secured with a gold brooch that screamed royalty; and dark gloves matching the tunic, giving off a combat-ready vibe. I slipped it on, the fabric cool and light, like it was woven from clouds. Stepping out, I struck a pose, feeling like a level-up screen.
"Looking good," Garrick said, giving a nod of approval.
"So what can this do again?" I asked, smoothing the sash, already imagining epic cutscenes.
"Well, it's made from a special fabric only found in the Kingdom of Kazrundak," Garrick said, puffing his chest. "It has the best durability, tougher than the finest armor in the world, and you don't have to clean it—it'll never get dirty." His voice dripped with merchant pride.
Never clean?! My otaku soul sang. This is the ultimate lazy hero gear! "Wow," I said, stars in my eyes. "Thanks for the clothes!"
"No need, it's me who has to thank you," Garrick said, his business side kicking in.
"Come again!" he yelled as I headed out, waving goodbye, the door chiming behind me.I strutted through Solva's bustling streets, the crimson cloak billowing.
My adventure was about to begin! I thought, gripping my sword's hilt, the sapphire glow faintly under my fingers.
"This just got more interesting" said a mysterious figure who is wearing a cloak who is in front of a sapphire.
In a shadowed chamber deep within the Kingdom of Xipen, where forbidden runes pulsed faintly on obsidian walls, a man and a woman stood cloaked in secrecy, their silhouettes sharp against a single flickering brazier. The air was heavy with the scent of wax and treachery, the distant echo of Solva's chaos a grim reminder of the night's toll. Zarnkxild, her black cloak pooling like blood, fixed her cunning gaze on the man, his silver-ringed hand gripping a dagger's hilt, his face half-hidden in shadow.
"Is he dead?" the man asked, his voice a low growl, the question hanging like a blade.
"Yes, he is dead," Zarnkxild answered, her tone cold as a crypt, a faint smile curling her lips. The words reverberated through the chamber, sealing the fate of Fovos, the underworld's terror, whose lightning-scarred end in Thistlegrove had shaken the realm. Outside, a storm gathered over Xipen's spires, thunder rolling as if the gods themselves mourned—or mocked—the fallen assassin, unaware of the shadowed pulse of life that lingered still.