"Hey… hey, calm down, mate," Remy spoke, walking towards the man, his hands raised to show he was no threat.
"Stay away from me! What… are you going to silence me too? Ha! Well… come on then, I'm not afraid… Come on then!" The man shouted, staggering on his feet. In his hand, a shining blade was clutched tightly. His speech was impaired, sort of like a man who was fighting against himself.
The man charged at Remy, a mad scowl stretched across his face. Moments before he struck, Remy sidestepped, and the man stumbled past him, crashing to the ground further ahead.
A small crowd had formed. "Someone call the Saint Knights," a feminine voice boomed, but it was neither pleading nor scared; it was sort of a bland amusement.
As the man rushed by, Remy caught a glimpse of the crowd watching. His stomach twisted. They weren't horrified—instead, wide grins spread across their faces. There was no fear, only unnatural smiles and dead eyes staring at the wounded man.
"Chad, there's something weird about this place. Look at them—a man's gone mad here, and they're just grinning," Remy said, turning from the fallen man.
"What are you talking about? They all look frightened to me," Chad replied, frowning.
Puzzled, Remy glanced again. Sure enough, the people looked terrified now—some even shielding the eyes of their children.
"What…? But I swear they looked delighted."
"You saw it too, Charles, right?" Remy asked.
Charles gave no response.
"Charles… Charles!" Remy called.
When Charles finally turned, a huge grin was plastered across his face.
"What's so funny? Why are you smiling?" Chad asked, uneasy.
"What are you talking about?" Charles asked, his tone puzzled.
"Come on, man, look at yourself!" Remy's voice boomed.
Charles's hand crept up to his face, fingers tracing his mouth.
"Ha…! I guess I am smiling. I wonder why…"
The man rose from the ground, a crazed smile stretching across his face. His skin was pale, and his hair began falling out on its own; his eye fell out, and a void was left where it once hung.
From the distance came the thunder of hooves—galloping down the streets. "They've come! The Saint Knights!" someone cried.
The knights rode in silver armor, atop white steeds. Their blue capes fluttered in the wind. Unlike the gate guards, they wore no helmets; their faces were exposed—handsome, proud—an ideal reflection of the city itself.
"Make way! The blades of the law will handle this," a pale man called. He seemed the commander. His mount was different from the others—dark, twice the size of the rest, its eyes blacker than ink. A large banner trailed from its harness, the emblem of the Saint of August embroidered upon it.
The commander dismounted and walked past the boys without so much as a glance. His walk showed grace and confidence.
"Yes… the Saint has heard your prayers. She always answers," the man spoke as he walked.
An elderly woman whispered, dropping to her knees. "Truly—what a glorious being."
"I, the blade of justice, shall extinguish you, fiend," the commander declared, drawing a sig-blade. Its hilt was silver and shaped like a rose; when unsheathed, the blade pulsed with a cold blue glow.
"You will die for what you have done," the crazed man shouted, charging the knight.
The two blades clashed, sparks of light flashing from the impact. The knight was pushed back a little as his hand flew awkwardly.
"Be careful, Sir Clementine!" one of the girls in the crowd cried out.
"Oh… truly a crazed fiend, one who does not know god," the knight declared, stepping back. His words struck the crowd, drawing gasps from the onlookers.
"Save us from the beast, Sir Clementine!" the girl repeated.
"Don't worry, my dear. The saint and god are on my side—there is no way I will lose," Clementine replied, driving his blade against the madman's weapon.
Clang!
The steel blades chimed as they struck each other.
"Chad, doesn't this fight seem a little off to you?" Charles asked, his face back to normal.
"What do you mean?" Chad replied, keeping a sharp eye on Charles for any sign of strangeness.
"Well, that man… They call Clementine—he's clearly stronger, right? So why doesn't he just finish it?" Charles's eyes followed the knight's graceful movements.
"It looks to me like he's just putting on a show," Remy muttered.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the madman's head rolled to the ground. Loud cheers erupted from the crowd.
"Wuuu! Cheers for the ever-victorious Blade of August—you have defended us once again!" the people shouted.
Clementine gave a bow, then mounted his steed. Raising his glowing sword high, he turned and left. His soldiers gathered the body, wrapped it in red cloth, and carried it away.
"Bloody hell…" Chad muttered, his voice sharp. He had caught a glimpse of the dead man's reflection as they hauled him off—eyes pitch black, swallowed entirely by darkness, no blood splattered about as he was dragged. It was almost as if he wasn't human.
Soon, the crowd disbanded, and the boys continued on their way until they reached the town hall—a giant structure carved from pale silver stone. Enormous banners fluttered high above, dancing wildly in the wind. Labor Department, they read in bold, sweeping letters.
The plaza outside buzzed with energy—men and women moving briskly, voices raised in hurried conversation. As the boys stepped through the tall glass doors, a strange symphony greeted them: the clatter of typewriters, the ring of coins, the murmur of shifting bodies—discordant, chaotic, like an out-of-tune band.
The floor beneath them gleamed: polished marble, white and veined with a green hue, so spotless it mirrored the people who walked by. Along the far wall, dozens of parchments had been tacked up—job requests, scrawled in various hands.
Ahead stood a row of brown-paneled offices, each enclosed behind thin glass partitions. Within, women in uniform sat poised behind their desks, their movements sharp and efficient.
The boys approached the booths, each drifting toward a different station, hesitant but curious.
"Good day, sir. How may I assist you today?" One of the women asked. Her voice was cool and practiced—yet oddly comforting, like a familiar lullaby in an unfamiliar land.
"Nweeeee… Nweeee," A cry of a baby added to the chaos.
"AHHHHH!"
A scream cut through the noise, sharp and piercing, catching everyone's attention.