The two men faced each other in silence. Nicola's hand rested loosely on his katana, calm as stone. Rokhan's halberd gleamed in his grip, his expression one of arrogant certainty.
Both thought the same thing: I can take him... but I don't know his sigil. Rushing in blind is dangerous.
Rokhan's lips curled into a grin.
Rokhan [internal]: Even if his sigil is built for combat, mine nullifies any strike. Dimension Walk makes me untouchable. I have faith in my reaction speed.
With a roar, he charged, halberd swinging with bone-crushing force. Nicola mirrored him, katana unsheathed but not drawn, steps measured, eyes sharp.
The distance closed. Ten meters. Six. Four. Just as Rokhan prepared to phase—Nicola vanished.
Steel clashed, sparks exploding as Nicola appeared at his flank, blade already descending. Rokhan barely blocked, arms rattling from the impact. The katana pressed hard, then came again, and again—fast, precise, merciless.
Danslief coughed blood from where he lay slumped, ribs cracked.
Danslief [internal]: How the hell... he's trading blows with Rokhan head-on? We couldn't even touch him.
Rokhan's eyes widened.
Rokhan [internal]: This isn't just a sigil... his swordsmanship is monstrous.
Nicola slipped inside the halberd's reach, ducking under a swing. Rokhan reacted too late, forced to trigger Dimension Walk. Nicola's katana passed through his intangible body, but when Rokhan swung in return, Nicola twisted aside—the edge cut shallowly across his chest.
Both stepped back. Rokhan smirked.
Rokhan [internal]: He read me. Even in my phase, he predicted the strike.
Nicola exhaled, steadying his bloodied breath. He slid his katana back into its saya, eyes fixed on Rokhan.
Rokhan lunged again, vanishing mid-step. Nicola waited, senses sharpened. Three seconds later, Rokhan reappeared behind him....
Nicola: "Caught you."
Steel flashed. For two seconds, the world froze within a four-meter sphere. Nicola moved alone, carving at Rokhan's hand. But Rokhan had already begun his phase the instant before the field bloomed. The strike still bit deep, severing fingers before he fully vanished.
Blood spattered. Rokhan howled, clamping his nerves shut with sheer strength.
Rokhan: "You... you can stop time?"
Nicola: "Good guess. Every time I unsheathe my blade."
Rokhan: "...Then why tell me?"
Nicola: smirks coldly "Would it make a difference? A weakling like you needs a handicap."
The insult snapped Rokhan's restraint. He stomped the ground, rage shattering the battlefield. Stone cracked, the earth itself collapsing beneath them. Both fell into the depths below.
They landed in an underground cavern, glowing green from veins of crystal, roots and stalagmites jutting like jagged teeth. Rokhan snarled, bleeding, furious. Nicola rose in silence, katana still sheathed, eyes unwavering.
Rokhan vanished again into Dimension Walk, circling unseen. Nicola's Sword Intent flared — an invisible pressure radiating from his stance. In the shifting silence, Rokhan felt an unnatural pull, as though Nicola's blade was tugging at his re-entry.
Rokhan [internal]: What is this...? He's dragging me out? No—it's his killing intent. He's mastered his blade so fully, it even reaches me in the other dimension.
Rokhan materialized in a burst of aggression, halberd tearing through the air. Nicola drew—time froze. But every stop burned his stamina like fire. His legs trembled, lungs heaved, vision swam. The cut landed shallow. Not enough.
Rokhan pressed, relentless. Dimension Walk again, strike after strike, his halberd carving blood from Nicola's body. An ear severed. Two fingers gone. His uniform soaked red.
Still, Nicola's eyes stayed sharp. His body screamed, but his composure never broke.
Nicola: "It seems... you won't let me use my sigil."
Rokhan sneered, convinced victory was his. He stomped once more, launching himself skyward.
Rokhan: "Meteor Glaive!"
The cavern shook as he descended, halberd aimed to impale Nicola with unstoppable force.
Nicola stood still, battered, swaying. Then his lips curved into a faint, cold smile.
Nicola: "The only reason I told you about my sigil... was to make you reckless enough to do this."
Rokhan laughed midair.
Rokhan [internal]: He's finished. Too slow, too drained to draw. I've won.
Nicola's eyes hardened. He waited, not for Rokhan's descent, but for the exact instant his hidden skill, Invisible Blade, activated. Rokhan re-emerged fully into reality, mid-strike, no escape.
The katana flashed one final time. Nicola performed a swift strike in the air. Seeing this, Rokhan was buffled but he ignored and expected it was his all-or-nothing. And then, a blade strike that came from nothing slashes Rokhan's chest, clean and final.
When the world resumed, Rokhan's eyes went wide. His halberd slipped from his hands.
Rokhan [internal]: I... was forced out? No... I was baited.
His body collapsed into the cavern floor, lifeless.
Nicola performed a swift strike in the air, but another unseeable same attack occured 2 seconds after, that is his Nicola's hidden skill, Invisible Blade.
Nicola [Internal] "Man, pulling that timing was extremely diffcult. I could've do that earlier, but I couldn't risk it. Thank God, he decided to be stupid and jumped in the air. I would've died if he continued his endless dimension walk combo. Rokhan, you were strong, but you let anger overtake you."
Nicola exhaled, staggering, every muscle screaming from the toll. He slid his katana back into its saya, gaze still sharp despite the blood loss. Victory hadn't come from raw power, but from discipline, deception, and timing.
After a somewhat long fight, Vria stood up and asked Nicola."
Vria: "Where is Geldric?"
Nicola: "The real Geldric is imprisoned in the Imperius."
Vria: "How did you manage to be Geldric?"
Nicola: "I was bored, so I gave myself a mission. I found a target in the newspaper—the Black Orb. As I dug through your operations, I noticed something strange for a so-called terrorist group: you don't kill. You steal resources, force people to bend to your will, but there's no bloodshed. So I asked myself—why? What's your real goal?
Catching all of you would've been easy, but I wanted something more entertaining. So when I noticed a particular individual I suspected was a member of the Black Orb, I followed him. I investigated until I had solid proof. Then I apprehended him and locked him up in my lab. We scanned his face, used our tech to create a mask—one that perfectly mimics his appearance, hiding my own.
I've been posing as one of you for a month now, watching, learning. I know everything—your base, your people, your secrets, your powers, your true purpose. And after all that, I've come to one conclusion: the Black Orb is an enemy of the Imperial Federation."
Nicola Zacarias stood before the Black Orb, his eyes burning with a mix of bloodlust and sincerity.
"Let me make this clear," he declared, "the Black Orb is an enemy of the Empire."
The members of the Black Orb instinctively took defensive stances, aware they faced a more formidable threat than Rokhan Bloodborne. They could barely grip their weapons, yet they knew they had no choice; they were ready to die by Nicola's katana.
"However," Nicola continued, "while you may be enemies of the Empire, you're allies of humanity. I know what I'm fighting for: to preserve peace and create a better world. The current Imperial Federation has lost its way. What was once a force for protection has devolved into a machine that massacres anyone who gets in its path."
He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "I will let you all live, but under one condition: the Black Orb will come under my command. We need allies like you. If you refuse my offer, I will end you right here."
Vria stepped forward, her resolve evident in her expression.
"Wait, sir!" Danslief called out, concern etched across his face. "This could be a trap!"
Vria pressed on, undeterred. "Trap or not, we don't have many options! If he truly wanted to kill us, we would have fallen the moment he defeated Rokhan. We need all the help we can get. I hate to admit it, but our recent position in this battle clearly states how powerless we are. We need more power if we want to save everyone. Also, I am not as useful as I am now, I lost my sigil."
Rosetta: "What do you mean?"
Vria: "Rokhan destroyed my eyes. IT was where the lifeline of my sigil was."
Rosetta: "W-what? I've never heard someone losing their sigil. Maybe it'll return once you heal your eye."
Vria smiled softly but firmly. "Maybe. It doesn't matter."
Vria took a deep breath and stepped closer to Nicola. "Deal."
From a hidden vantage point high above, someone watched the unfolding events with keen interest.
"Good choice," Nicola said, turning back to the others.
"What about the Prime Minister?" Danslief asked, concern etched on his face.
Nicola smirked. "I assume you're not planning to snitch on us, are you, Prime Minister?"
The Prime Minister stammered, "Y-yes! Why would I ever do that? You all risked your lives to save mine."
"Good," Nicola replied, his tone sharpening. "Because if you ever try anything funny, you know what will happen, right?"
"Y-yes!" the Prime Minister nodded vigorously, fear evident in his eyes.
Just then, Vria collapsed, unconscious on the ground.
Nicola's expression softened slightly. "Take your leader. He's injured. When you arrive at Imperius, someone named Xinyu from Zephyrion will be waiting for you. She's my assistant. Tell her I sent you and follow her instructions. I don't believe there are any other threats around."
Danslief stepped forward, still worried. "What about you, General?"
Nicola Zacarias straightened, determination etched on his face, calls out the Prime Minister, "You're the one who can move properly. Drive the caravan and go to the Imperius immediately before their injuries get worse. You should find my colleague Xinyu, they'll heal them.
Prime Minister: "How about the enemies?"
Nicola: "Don't worry I checked. There shoudn't be others anywhere. Also, I've got things to take care of."
The Black Orb, along with the Prime Minister, exited the cave and made their way toward Imperius with full speed. Nicola stayed behind, sensing a presence above him, a familiar bloodlust lingering in the air.
Nicola: "Assuming you wanted him dead since you didn't help," he called out, directing his words toward the shadow on the high ground.
Silence followed.
"This is a big win for us," Nicola continued, frustration creeping into his voice. "I don't understand what you gain from this."
He glanced back in the direction of the earlier bloodlust, but the watcher had vanished, leaving only a faint echo of tension behind.
A few minutes later.
The road leading to the capital was lined with merchants and bounty hunters shouting their wares. But today, none of them mattered. The Prime Minister's caravan thundered past at breakneck speed, the horses foaming at the mouth, the wheels bouncing dangerously over the stone path. People tried to wave, tried to greet, but the Prime Minister ignored them entirely. His eyes were locked forward, face grim. Something urgent was at hand.
Inside the carriage, chaos.
Vria pressed his bloodied hand against Noe's head, desperate to stop the bleeding. Noe's face was pale, his breath shallow.
Vria (yelling): "HOLD OUT, NOE! DON'T YOU DARE SLEEP! IF YOU DIE— I'M GONNA KILL YOU MYSELF!"
Noe gave no reply, only a faint groan.
Danslief gritted his teeth, clutching his ribs. "Can we even make it in time?"
Vria snapped back, his one good eye burning. "Yes, we can! We have to! Hurry the fuck up, Prime Minister!"
The Prime Minister cracked the reins harder, sweat beading on his brow. "I am! Chill! I'm going as fast as I can!"
As the caravan approached the capital gates, the guards spotted the Prime Minister's crest and his reckless speed. The lead soldier raised his voice.
Soldier: "Make way! MAKE WAY! Clear the road!"
The gates swung open, and the caravan raced through, barreling down the streets until it screeched to a halt outside the garrison—headquarters of the Imperial Police.
The Prime Minister leapt out, rushing to the nearest captain.
"Captain! Urgent news— and wounded! Also, is there someone here named Xinyu? General Zacharias said he could heal them!"
The captain blinked. "Injured? What the hell happened?"
A calm voice answered from behind
"I am Xinyu."
The man stepped forward, his uniform pristine, his movements deliberate. His eyes held a kind of theatrical confidence, as though he had been waiting for this moment.
The Prime Minister pointed at the bloodied group. "They're dying. The General entrusted them to you."
Xinyu raised an eyebrow, then exhaled in exasperation. "Hah. General Zacharias never changes... always throwing me work like this."
He turned to Captain Faron, producing his badge.
"Sir, I am with the Zephyrion Development. I require permission to use my sigil."
Faron didn't hesitate. "Granted!"
Xinyu strode toward the injured with practiced grace. Every step seemed rehearsed, as though he were walking onto a stage. He stretched out his hand, golden light beginning to flicker at his fingertips. Then, voice deep and resonant, he began to chant:
Xinyu:
"Golden breath of life,
weave through flesh, mend what's broken.
From despair, let warmth rise—
and may the body be reborn in light."
Officer 1: "Does his sigil require him to chant?"
Officer 2: "Not really. It's just his way of acting cool"
Golden radiance flared, cascading over the wounded like molten sunlight. Vria squinted against the brilliance as the gashes in Noe's head knitted shut, the blood receding as though rewound in time. Danslief gasped as his shattered ribs realigned and sealed, his pain vanishing in an instant.
The watching Imperial Police were struck dumb.
Officer 1 (awed): "That's him... the Flashy Healer."
Officer 2: "Not only does he heal your body... he makes you feel like you can rise again."
Officer 3: "Damn, now I see why they call him that. Look at him—like he was born to be the hero of his own story."
Xinyu finished with a flourish, lowering his glowing hand as the golden light faded. The air smelled faintly of ozone and warmth, like the first rays of dawn.
He flicked back his hair with a smug little smile. "You're healed. And not just your wounds—carry that fire in your chest. Because surviving isn't enough... you need to live."
The soldiers broke into murmurs of awe, and even the Prime Minister—usually quick to mock—was left speechless.
The golden glow faded. Wounds were gone, bones restored, and even Noe—who moments ago clung to life—sat upright, blinking in disbelief. The soldiers erupted in awe, whispering about the Flashy Healer.
But amid the relief, Vria froze.
His hand clenched, testing, searching for the familiar current of his sigil. Nothing. Not a flicker. It was as if a part of him—something intrinsic—had been carved out and left hollow.
Vria [internal]: No... this isn't right. My power... where is it?
His breathing hitched, his eye wide and broken with realization. For a man who had endured countless wounds, this was different. This was loss.
Captain Faron broke the silence, his tone sharp.
Faron: "Enough theatrics. What the hell happened out there?"
The Prime Minister stammered, words catching in his throat. "W-we—"
Vria stepped forward, steadying himself despite the tremor in his voice.
Vria: "I am Vria of the Extravagant Guild. We came to report: we were ambushed. The attacker was Rokhan Bloodborne—the Fifth Blade of Valoria, from the Empire of Majestus. He aimed to kill us... and the Prime Minister."
A ripple of shock ran through the officers.
Faron: "...What?" His eyes hardened. "Then how did you survive?"
Vria drew a ragged breath, his expression dark. "General Zacharias arrived. He fought Rokhan head-on... and killed him."
The garrison fell silent. The word hung heavy in the air—killed.
Faron's face drained of color. He glanced at his men, then back at Vria.
Faron: "You don't understand what this means. Rokhan was one of Valoria's Blades. If this is true... this isn't just an incident."
He clenched his fist.
Faron: "...This could lead to war."
Vria's report carried so much weight that Captain Faron personally escorted him to the higher-ups. But only one was permitted to enter the palace—Vria himself. The rest of the Extravagants stayed behind.
Prime Minister Johannes Rivcold, grateful for their service, approached them before heading inside.
"Thank you for escorting me safely," he said, bowing slightly. Then, with a nod to his aide, he added, "See that they're properly rewarded."
Not long after, the Extravagants found themselves with bags of gold in hand and an open invitation to drink freely at a tavern. Coincidentally, it was the same tavern where Van and Nico were.
Inside, Danslief immediately spotted Jeonne.
"Jeonne! What are you doing here?"
Jeonne leaned back casually in his chair. "Jaime invited us. You remember him, right? From the Viscous Blades."
Before Danslief could reply, Jaime stood and offered his hand.
"Nice to meet you properly," Jaime said with a grin. "Van and Nico are old friends, so I thought it'd be a good chance to celebrate together."
Danslief tilted his head. "Celebrate what?"
"The monsters we hunted, of course," Jaime answered proudly.
Danslief smirked. "Well, perfect timing then. We just got rewarded with bags of gold for escorting the Prime Minister. Drinks are on us tonight!"
Jaime's grin widened. He slapped a friendly arm around Danslief's shoulders as if they'd been comrades for years. "Now you're talking!"
Raising his voice, Jaime turned to the entire tavern.
"HEY EVERYONE! MY FRIEND HERE JUST GOT A HUGE REWARD, AND HE'S BUYING FOOD AND DRINKS FOR ALL OF US!"
The tavern erupted in cheers. Laughter, mugs clashing, and music filled the air.
Danslief blinked, caught off guard, then chuckled nervously. "Wait—what? Ah—heheh..."
But there was no turning back now. The room was already alive with celebration.
Danslief lifted his mug high. "Let the fun begin!"
The Extravagants hosted a vigorous celebration in the streets, their reward money fueling food, drink, and music that drew in villagers, soldiers, and bounty hunters alike. Among the crowd were Jeonne, Nico and the others, all swept up in the festivities that carried on well into the afternoon.
At one table, Nico sat quietly, his gaze straying again and again to Jeonne. Laughter and voices filled the air, but it was Jeonne's laughter—effortless, warm, magnetic—that struck Nico deepest. Jeonne spoke animatedly, weaving a tale that had the group hanging on his every word. Each genuine smile that lit Jeonne's face seemed to pull the whole crowd closer to him.
Nico's chest tightened. The more Jeonne shone, the more Nico felt himself sink into shadow.
"Look at him," a voice hissed inside his mind, cold as chains dragging across stone. "They adore him. But you? If they saw what you truly are..."
Nico flinched. His fingers curled tight beneath the table. No... it's nonsense, he told himself. But the charm on his skin—the mask that hid his true form—suddenly felt unbearable, suffocating. Each laugh aimed toward Jeonne pressed heavier against Nico's heart.
"Why should he have what you could never claim?" the voice pressed harder, seething, venomous. "You who must hide."
Nico squeezed his eyes shut, but the whisper clawed deeper. His pulse quickened. Then—pain ripped through him. A violent surge, icy and foreign, tore outward from within. He gasped as shadows spilled from his mouth, his eyes, his skin—long, skeletal hands of darkness clawing their way into reality.
Gasps cut through the crowd. Jeonne's voice faltered mid-sentence, his expression collapsing into horror. Around him, the faces that once beamed with joy now stared in shock as Nico's body cracked and warped, the demon buried deep inside him forcing its way free.
The ground shook as Kyrgos, the demon of envy, erupted from Nico's form—grotesque and towering, his aura a suffocating storm of ink-black malice.
Then came the explosion.
A shockwave of dark energy detonated outward, vaporizing all caught in the center—bone, flesh, and steel disintegrating in an instant. Beyond that inner ring, the darkness spread slower, like a creeping tide of decay, giving victims just enough time to glimpse their doom before it consumed them.
But before it reached those nearest—Jeonne, Vria, the Extravagants—Jaime surged forward. His hand flared with radiant energy, light blazing against the encroaching void.
"Totem of Tortoise: Ironclad Fortress"
A barrier erupted around the group, its brilliance locking against the seething darkness. A figure of tortoise shell was visible from Jaime's shield. The wave smashed against it, inches away, grinding and shrieking but unable to pass through. Jaime's teeth clenched as the protective wall shuddered under the force, yet it held.
The ground cracked beneath their feet as the barrier propelled them backward, away from the blast. Behind them, the city writhed under Kyrgos's wrath—streets splitting, buildings crumbling, screams drowned in the roaring tide of destruction.
And at the center, Kyrgos loomed, a monstrous shadow blotting out the sun.
[In the Heart of the Red District, Inner Explosion]
Inside a lavishly decorated brothel, laughter and conversation hushed, and a young man in mid-sentence stopped, his gaze transfixed by a pulse of dark energy outside the window. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the black fog slither between buildings, pulling tendrils of shadow along with it. Around him, men and women who moments ago reveled in companionship now scrambled, pushing one another in a desperate rush to leave.
"Get out! Everyone, get out!" a voice shouted, breaking the silence. However, no one could escape the light which vaporized everyone.
[In a Modest Home, Inner Explosion]
Across town, a small girl pressed her hands against the window, mesmerized by the faint glint of light deep in the distance. Her eyes widened as the flicker grew into a dark, pulsating glow. She ran to the next room, tugging urgently on her mother's skirt.
"Mommy, look! The sky... it's turning dark."
Her mother's brow creased in confusion, but as she looked out the window, her face drained of color. She wrapped her arms protectively around her daughter, a silent prayer on her lips as she watched the strange light in horror, vaporizing her and her child to nothing.
[At the streets of Imperius, Inner Explosion]
A weathered knight stood at his post, scanning the streets as shouts and hurried footsteps echoed from all directions. One of his men ran up to him, breathless and wild-eyed.
"Sir! It's—something is happening in the tavern district. A wave of black... darkness is coming this way. It—" He struggled to find words until the dark energy hit him, leaving the officer on the call disconnected.
[In the Royal Palace Tower, Outer Explosion]
The tower guards caught sight of the dark wave from their high vantage. A servant hurried to the hall, his heart hammering in his chest as he found the head guard and relayed the chilling news.
"The darkness... It's from the tavern district. It's spreading across the city faster than we can evacuate!"
The guard's expression grew steely as he reached for his sword. "Ready the mages! Alert the Council!" he ordered, praying that the palace's defenses would be enough to withstand the growing storm approaching their walls.
All across Imperius, the people watched in helpless terror as the dark energy advanced, an otherworldly force consuming the city in its grasp. Amidst the spreading panic, the Remnants braced themselves, watching as Jaime 's shield pulsed against the shadow, buying them precious seconds in an increasingly desperate situation.
In the midst of the chaos, a crimson veil started to appear in the center. The city was engulfed by bulging blood veins that come from a specific point of the city.
The ground shook, and another shadow towered over the city. The slithering figure of the horror born from the Envy of Lord Nico Dunebarren.
BOSS: APHOS (AXELLE P. MACABALE'S ORIGINAL ARTWORK)