The air in the Gilded Chalice tasted like gold and dust—the specific, metallic tang of too many 'S-rank' egos vibrating in a space too small for their reputations. It was a private bar, the kind of place where you didn't just pay for the alcohol; you paid for the staff to pretend they didn't see you crying into your expensive wine about your daddy issues.
I leaned back in a plush velvet armchair, my fingers loosely curled around a glass of chilled apple juice. Around me, the room was a sea of blue and silver—the colors of Navina Caelwyn's guild, Crimson Eclipse. They were loud. Obnoxiously so. It was like a frat party for people who could summon lightning, which, as a rule, is a terrible combination for anyone's life expectancy.
I watched a group of high-ranking mages at the next table, their robes embroidered with silver ley-line patterns, laughing as they used miniature gusts of wind to float their shot glasses into their mouths. Across from them, the close-combatants—built like marble statues and scarred from years of frontline service—were engaged in a rowdy arm-wrestling match that made the heavy mahogany table groan. These weren't just soldiers; they were the elite. Most were high-rankers, veterans of the border skirmishes, looking relaxed but radiating the kind of effortless power that only comes from being the richest guild in the district.
Across from me, Pryce was clicking a silver coin across his knuckles—a rhythmic, metallic tic-tic-tic that was starting to harmonize with the bard's flat notes. He was usually the guy lurking in the tactics room like a sleep-deprived ghost, but tonight, he looked like a man who was desperately trying to remember how 'fun' worked.
"Guildmaster Navina really outdid herself this time," Pryce muttered, leaning heavily into the table. "Renting this whole place. Dancers from the Southern District. Even the bards are playing something that doesn't sound terrible!"
I looked at him—Pryce, the officer who had somehow decided I was worth his time. He'd been my 'handler' for the the last few days, but we'd moved past the professionalism into something closer to actual friendship. To him, I was the smart, slightly weird younger brother he never had.
"Being rich has a price, Pryce," I said, offering him my most cheerful, 'I'm-just-happy-to-be-here' smile. I lifted my juice in a small toast.
"And apparently, that price is ten barrels of high-shelf bourbon and a bard who knows more than three chords. It's a masterpiece of morale management. Or a very expensive way to ensure nobody remembers their own names tomorrow. Still, look at them—bro thinks that speech from earlier gave them all safety. Nahhh, they just want the free booze."
Pryce laughed, a genuine, warm sound. "You're a good man, Kaiser," he said, patting my shoulder with a heavy hand. "Young, but good. A bit too focused on the 'logistics' of a hangover, maybe, but you've got a good head on those shoulders."
"I try to keep it from floating away," I quipped.
Pryce snorted, the coin vanishing into his palm with a practiced flicker. "You're always so... clinical about it, Kaiser. Don't you ever just... enjoy the music?"
"I'm enjoying the music too," I lied smoothly.
"But enough about the chandeliers. You've been clicking that coin for twenty minutes. Is the mission to Sylvaris really that heavy on your mind, or are you just trying to see how long it takes for the metallic ringing to drive me insane?"
Pryce's knuckles whitened around his glass. He didn't answer immediately. He took a long, slow sip of his drink, his eyes scanning the rowdy guild-mates like he was watching a funeral progression that nobody else had noticed yet.
"It's not the mission," he finally said, his voice dropping to a dry, hollow rasp. "It's the inevitability. Did you see the report from the scouts? The black banners? Priority Zero Mission. I wonder if Valhalla will be present here..."
I tilted my head, my expression one of mild, innocent curiosity. "Valhalla. That's the guild that's renowned for its... power, right? I heard they were... disciplined? Like, 'everyone-wears-matching-clothes' disciplined?"
"Disciplined? Kaiser, that's like calling a supernova 'a bit bright,'" Pryce muttered. He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine, unadulterated fear in his eyes. He quickly masked it with a sneer of professional pride—the ghost of the elite soldier he used to be.
"I spent three years there as a Shadow-Step initiate. I was top of my cohort, kid. I could slit a man's throat and be back in my bunk before the blood hit the floor. I wasn't like these... pampered peacocks in their shiny silver plate. I knew what it meant to be a weapon."
Ah, there it is. The 'I'm-better-than-everyone' defense mechanism. Classic. He hates Valhalla, but he's still wearing their ghost like a medal. It's almost cute.
"Sounds intense," I said, adding a hint of genuine awe to my voice. "Most people would sell their firstborn for a Valhalla seat. You chose the 'rich and happy' life instead. Honestly? Smartest move I've heard all year."
Pryce didn't smile. He clicked the coin faster—clinkclinkclink. "I chose survival. I saw them become like him. Scar. He isn't just the leader; he's the architect of that nightmare. They call him the Sword Saint of Power, but that's a marketing term. In reality, he's a black hole. Everything—speed, reflex, mastery, technique—it all just... disappears when he arrives."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the music. "I tell myself I like the juice. I tell myself I like the bards and the soft chairs. But every time the wind whistles through a doorway, I'm looking for a gap in a rhythm that doesn't exist."
"Scar?" I repeated, making the name sound like something I'd never heard of.
"He's not a god, Pryce," I said, my voice softening, dropping the casual act for a moment. I could see the way his hand shook when he mentioned that name. "Man, I can see why it still keeps you up. Being that close to a monster like him... it's not something you just forget. But you're the one who got out. That takes more than just skill."
"Physics bows to him, Kaiser," Pryce retorted, his gaze sharp, though he looked grateful for the change in tone. "I saw him walk through a Tier-3 elemental storm like it was a light drizzle. He didn't even use a shield. He just... existed, and the magic broke around him. That's the problem with men like you—you think everything has a reason. Scar is the reason. He dual-wields swords with a speed that defies biology, then he merges them into that obsidian claymore—The Power-Eater. And... well, you may know what he did to other Guildmasters."
The stage flared with golden light. The provocative thrum of the drums intensified, and Riley stepped into the spotlight.
She was a vision of black silk and golden eyes, looking slightly older than the usual bar girls—a woman who possessed the kind of mature confidence that commanded the room. She moved with a grace that made the rest of the world feel like they were wearing lead boots. Her dress was a shimmering scandal, something right out of an 'proactive song', designed to catch every flicker of light and every wandering eye. She started to sing, her voice a smoky, melodic velvet that pulled the air out of the room.
"I left the whole world behind for you,
At least tell me what you truly intend..."
Pryce's gaze locked onto her, but he was clicking that coin again—clink, snap, clink—his mind still back in the duel six months ago. The sound was frantic now, a metallic pulse of anxiety.
"Six months ago," Pryce whispered, the song acting as a backdrop to a nightmare. "Navina challenged him. A 1v1 to settle the border rights. I was there, standing on the edge of the crater he'd already carved into the map. She was a blur—magic spears, ice bullets, reflexes that were trained to the point of precognition. In any other guild, she'd be a goddess of war."
Don't steal your glances away from me like this,
He paused, a full fifteen seconds of silence that only Riley's voice dared to break.
"Scar didn't even draw his swords until she was ten meters away," Pryce continued, his eyes wide. "He caught her ranged-magic bullets with his bare hands. I watched Scar for three years. He has no weaknesses. He is the strongest."
"Then he used Counter Break," Pryce whispered.
"He just merged those twin blades into the obsidian claymore and clashed with her once. Not a strike—a tap. The shockwave bypasses everything. It doesn't care about shields or dodging or deflection. The kinetic pulse traveling through the stone and her own sword shattered Navina's arm from her wrist to her elbow bones. He didn't even touch her. She fell, and he just... walked away. He didn't even check to see if she was alive."
"To him, she had already ceased to exist the moment he decided the fight was over. That's the rule with Scar, Kaiser. One strike, and you're finished. He did the same to the other three Sword Saints. It didn't matter how long they'd trained or what gifts they had. One clash, and their world ended."
Is that guy actually that dangerous? If he is, I gotta keep at least a 20-meter gap between us or he's gonna break my arm just by breathing too hard. That's a big problem. But... No problem. I also have legs. If he attacks, I run. Simple.
"What about Alina?" I asked, testing the waters. "The young Sword Saint. She's suppose to be a prodigy of technique, isn't she?"
Pryce snorted, shaking his head. "She has no chance. Technique is worthless in the face of absolute violence. Scar would make her lose before she even drew her breath. You can't out-skill an earthquake."
"I don't know," I argued, my voice casual. "Technique matters equally, isn't it? Scar's move itself—the way he transmits the pulse—that's a technique. It's just a very loud one. I'll believe violence beats technique when I see it with my own eyes."
Pryce looked at me, a flicker of jealousy crossing his face before he sighed. "I wish I had your confidence. Or Scar's talent. I wasn't born strong like Scar. If I was... I'd be famous. Powerful. Life would be so easy if you were just born a god."
"We shouldn't care about what we don't have, Pryce," I said, leaning in. "Happiness isn't something you find; it's something you build. Chasing happiness won't make you happy. But if you chase the struggles that lead to that happiness? You'll always be happy, because you'll always be moving forward."
Pryce stared at me for a long moment, the jealousy fading into genuine admiration. "If everyone thought like you, the world would be a much better place, kid. On my honor... I'll speak to Navina tomorrow. I'll tell her we need your 'analytical' mind. You're coming with us."
He reached out, and we fist-pumped—a solid, resonant thud between friends.
"You're all right, Kaiser," he said, then looked at my glass and smirked. "Even if you do drink fruit juice like a baby."
"Man, at least I'm maintaining my longevity," I countered with a wink. "Nice organs and lungs you'll have in the future, Pryce. Especially that kidney. I'll be the one visiting you in the infirmary while I'm still running marathons on this apple juice."
I looked back at the stage. Riley was leaning into the final chorus, the black silk of her dress clinging to a silhouette that was, frankly, too hot. Big breasts, hot eyes, sharp lines—she was the kind of woman any guy would lust over. Honestly? Good for them.
It's not like it affects me. She's... striking. The kind of attractive that made you forget your own name, or at the very least, made you reconsider the economic utility of ten silver coins.
As she held the final note, her gaze swept across the front row, pausing on me for a fraction of a heartbeat. Her golden eyes flared with a brief, sharp curiosity—a hunter recognizing a shape in the tall grass—before she offered a small, enigmatic smile and vanished into the shadows of the velvet curtains.
Okay. I take it back. That wasn't just 'hot.' That was a deliberate thirst trap. If I stay here any longer, I might actually start believing in 'intentions' and 'hearts'.
"I'll stick to the juice, Pryce," I said, finally tearing my eyes away from the empty stage and offering a small, self-deprecating shrug.
"It's cheaper, and it doesn't try to shatter your organs or make you question your entire life philosophy. I prefer my intentions to remain in one piece, thank you very much."
"You're a weird kid, Kaiser," Pryce said, finally offering a genuine, if weary, laugh. The tension in his shoulders seemed to bleed out, replaced by the resignation of a man who'd already seen his own ghost. "Everything is a joke to you, isn't it? Even a man who turns Sword Saints into regretful tales."
"If you don't laugh at the guy who treats life casually, you might reach for a deathbed earlier," I said, lifting my glass. "And I have a very low tolerance for being hungover. We shouldn't care about what we don't have, Pryce. You weren't born with 'Counter Break', but you were born with the sense to run when the ground starts shaking. Most people stay and try to bargain with the earthquake."
Pryce looked at me, a flicker of genuine admiration in his eyes. He reached out and bumped my fist. "You're all right. Tomorrow... I'll speak to Navina. I'll tell her we need your 'analytical' mind. I promised you a spot in the inner circle, and I'll get it for you. You're too valuable a 'resource' to let waste away on the sidelines. Just... don't make a joke if you see Scar. He has very little patience for 'analytical' humor."
"I'll try not to let it go to my head," I said, giving him a wink. "I already have enough trouble finding hats that fit my ego as it is."
I left the bar an hour later, the cool night air of Sylvaris a welcome relief from the scent of 'floral' alcohol and the heavy, ghost-filled silence of an ex-Valhalla officer. I looked back at the Gilded Chalice for a second, thinking of Riley.
She was really hot. No wonder everyone wanted her.
But not me.
I looked up at the stars. Cold. Distant. Indifferent to the fact that I'd just manipulated a tactical officer into thinking my sarcasm was 'insight.'
The satellite arrays need to be adjusted for low-frequency seismic resonance. Plus the mission they have on the 10th... I need to ensure they don't fail.
Hopefully, Lucas can clutch up and help both Requiem and Crimson Eclipse during their battle...
And Celia...
I tightened my grip on my coat.
I know I have no place or necessary to bother or plan more steps... I know they'll be fine but...
I'll protect her no matters what she thinks of me. I'll protect her at all cost.
I stopped at a stall, buying a cup of lemon sorbet.
Scar is really strong hmmm? Scar thinks he can break anyone's light using his ultimate violence-thumping tricks... he's going to find out what happens when the universe decides to punch back.
He's a black hole? Fine. I've always wondered what happens when you throw a supernova into a singularity.
"Ice cream this late won't hurt," I whispered to the empty street. "After all, the end of the world is much more manageable when your blood sugar is peaking."
I took a bite of the frozen sweetness, my mask perfectly in place, ready to play the 'helpful kid' for just one more day.