Morning arrived gently, like a quiet promise the world wasn't sure it could keep.
The sun rose over the city, spilling soft light onto the streets where people moved about their lives—ordinary, unaware. It was a peaceful morning. The kind that felt almost undeserved.
At Richard's place, however, peace did not linger.
Rick stood in his room, packing his belongings with a calm, deliberate focus. Every movement carried certainty. He wasn't hesitating. He wasn't reconsidering.
He was leaving.
Once he finished, he lifted his bag and made his way downstairs, where Richard was already waiting at the table. The faint aroma of food filled the room, but it did little to soften the tension that hung between them.
Rick placed his bag beside his chair and sat down.
"So… what's for breakfast?" he asked casually, as if nothing were about to change.
Richard didn't answer.
The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.
Finally, Richard spoke, his voice tight with worry.
"You know… you don't have to go back, Rick."
Rick paused mid-motion, but didn't look up.
"You'll die there," Richard continued, his tone sharpening with fear. "That place isn't safe."
A faint scoff escaped Rick.
"Well, thank God then," he replied dryly. "Since I have a family there to keep me safe."
The words hit harder than they sounded.
Richard's expression darkened, anger rising to meet concern.
"Family?" he snapped. "The same family that tried to kill you when you were eleven?"
Rick leaned back slightly, unfazed.
"Well," he said with a cold, almost mocking calm, "I'm still alive… as you can see."
The room fell silent again, but this time it wasn't empty—it was filled with everything they weren't saying.
Richard clenched his fists, his voice lowering, almost pleading now.
"Then why?" he asked. "What's there that you have to go back to? What is it, Rick?"
Rick exhaled slowly and placed his hand flat on the table.
"I'm not going back for power," he said. "Or to become some lord. Not for money either."
He leaned forward, his gaze steady, unwavering.
"I'm going back because there are things that need to be done."
A pause.
"And I'll make sure they're done."
His voice carried no anger. No hesitation.
Just certainty.
Richard let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair.
"For fuck's sake…" he muttered, shaking his head. "You're just like her. Stubborn… and angry all the time."
Rick didn't react immediately.
Then, a faint smirk touched his lips.
"Well," he said calmly, returning to his food, "in that case… you already know you can't stop me."
Richard looked away, defeated, though the worry never left his eyes.
Rick finished eating in silence. When he stood, the sound of the chair scraping lightly against the floor echoed louder than it should have.
"And one more thing," Rick added, picking up his bag.
"I'm taking Andrew's old sword."
Richard glanced at him, startled.
Rick continued, almost as an afterthought—
"And I'm returning the one you gave me. It's… on the verge of breaking. But it should still be good for decoration."
A faint, humorless smile crossed his face.
Then he turned toward the door.
Rick stood at the threshold, the weight of departure resting quietly on his shoulders.
The door was already half open when a voice called out from behind him—
"Rick."
Richard.
Before Rick could turn fully, Richard closed the distance and pulled him into a tight embrace. It wasn't the kind of hug given lightly—it was desperate, firm, as if letting go might mean losing him forever.
"Just… don't die," Richard said, his voice breaking despite his effort to hold it steady. "I don't want to lose my child again."
For a moment, Rick froze.
Then slowly, he returned the embrace—tighter.
"I won't," he said softly. "Old man."
It was the closest thing to reassurance he could offer.
After that, there were no more words. Only a quiet understanding.
Rick pulled away, stepped outside, and closed the door behind him.
The morning light greeted him—but he wasn't alone.
Lucifer stood just beyond the steps, waiting silently.
Rick raised an eyebrow.
"You should've come in."
Lucifer shook his head slightly.
"I didn't want to interrupt… your moment."
Rick studied him for a second, then let it pass. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a sword and held it out.
"Here," he said. "Andrew used this when he was young."
Lucifer took the blade carefully. His eyes lingered on it, as though trying to understand the weight it carried—not just of steel, but of history. After a brief pause, he fastened it at his waist.
"So," Lucifer asked, glancing up, "where are we going?"
Rick turned and began walking.
"We?" he said flatly. "There is no 'we.'"
Lucifer blinked, caught off guard, then hurried after him.
"What do you mean by that?"
Rick didn't slow down.
"It means you're not following me," he replied. "I have something else for you to do."
Lucifer frowned. "And what would that be?"
Rick's voice remained calm, almost indifferent—but every word carried purpose.
"Most of the time, I'll be at the academy. There's no point in you staying by my side doing nothing."
He glanced over his shoulder.
"So instead… I want you to gather people."
Lucifer stopped for half a second, surprised.
"Gather people?"
"A unit," Rick clarified. "Under my name."
He faced forward again, his tone sharpening just slightly.
"I want you to find people who can give their lives for something greater. People who aren't just strong—but willing."
Lucifer let out an annoyed breath, catching up to him again.
"And you think people like that just grow on trees or something?"
Rick stopped.
The sudden halt forced Lucifer to do the same.
Rick turned, his eyes steady, unyielding.
"Well," he said simply, "that's your job."
A pause.
"So tell me—will you do it or not?"
The question hung between them, heavier than any command.
Lucifer looked at him, irritation flickering for a moment… before fading into something else.
Resolve.
He exhaled slowly.
"…For better or worse," Lucifer said, straightening slightly, "I've already decided to become your knight."
A faint, almost invisible smile touched Rick's lips.
"Good."
He turned again and resumed walking.
"Then report to me once a month. I want updates—your location, your progress, everything."
Lucifer nodded.
"I understand."
And just like that, their paths began to diverge—one walking forward into his own battles, the other turning toward a task that would shape something far greater than either of them could yet see.
Rick exhaled quietly, as if steadying himself against something unseen.
"Let me say goodbye to Ema," he said. "After that… we'll walk to the city gate together."
Lucifer gave a small nod.
Rick turned and made his way toward the guild hall, pushing open the door with a calm he didn't quite feel.
Inside—
Silence.
The usual noise, the chatter, the presence of life… gone.
Only Ema remained, standing among the stillness, along with a few scattered signs of last night's chaos.
Rick frowned slightly.
"Where is everyone?"
Ema glanced at him, then shrugged lightly.
"Apparently, they're all home… sleeping. Looks like they went all out last night."
Rick let out a quiet breath, half disbelief, half amusement.
"Of course they did…" he muttered.
Then his expression softened.
"I came to say goodbye," he said simply.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Rick stepped forward and pulled Ema into a brief, firm embrace.
"Stay safe," she said softly, her voice carrying more emotion than she let show.
Rick smiled faintly.
"Yeah… you too."
He pulled back, but before leaving, he added—almost as an afterthought, yet somehow more important than anything else—
"And when the guildmaster comes back from the capital… tell him to stay healthy."
Ema blinked, then gave a small nod.
"I will."
There was nothing more to say.
Goodbyes were never meant to be long.
Not long after, Rick stood at the east gate of the town. The open road stretched endlessly ahead, quiet and uncertain.
Lucifer stood beside him.
"So… we part ways here?" Lucifer asked, turning slightly toward him.
Rick let out a faint scoff.
"Yeah," he said. "We'll meet again the day I graduate."
Lucifer's lips curved faintly.
"If you survive until then."
Rick smirked.
"Don't worry about me."
For a brief moment, they stood there—two paths, two purposes, one shared beginning.
Then—
Without another word, they turned.
And walked in opposite directions.
Thus, their journey truly began.
Far away, in the capital city of House Vleck—
Deep within a dimly lit storage room, two figures stood surrounded by shadows and dust-covered crates.
One of them sighed, his voice edged with frustration.
"It's no use. It's already been two weeks since we last heard anything. This is just another failure."
The other leaned against a crate, arms crossed.
"Maybe," he said. "But if that bastard had succeeded back then, we wouldn't have wasted this much money."
A pause.
Then the first man chuckled dryly.
"Well… don't worry too much."
He straightened slightly, a faint, knowing smile forming on his lips.
"I heard something interesting."
The second man looked up.
"From the spy," he continued. "That kid… left the city."
A beat of silence.
"And he's heading here."
The smile lingered.
"Good… good," one of the men murmured, a cruel satisfaction lacing his voice. "It'll be easier to kill him here. Let's just wait."
The other gave a faint nod, a shadow of agreement passing between them.
It had been two days since Rick left Emu town.
Two long days riding beneath an open sky, the rhythm of hooves steady against the earth. The road stretched endlessly, but Rick never slowed. His destination was clear—the capital city of House Vleck.
Along the way, memories rose uninvited.
The places he passed… they weren't just roads or forests. They were fragments of his past.
Here—
the place where he had killed a monster for the first time.
Here—
where he had, for the first time,killed a human.
And somewhere along that journey…
Ragnarok.
A name that lingered like an echo in his mind.
Five years.
Five years since he had last walked these lands.
And now—
Rick had returned.
Meanwhile, far from those quiet roads, within the grandeur of the Royal Capital of the Asther Kingdom—
King Grey sat in his office, surrounded by neatly stacked files and scattered papers. His attention was buried deep within his work, his expression unreadable.
A knock broke the silence.
"Come in," Grey said without looking up.
The door opened, and a man stepped inside.
"Greetings, Your Majesty," John said, bowing slightly.
Grey glanced up briefly. "What is it, John?"
John straightened.
"I have news for you, Your Majesty."
Grey leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Go on."
John's voice remained steady.
"The former duke of the Vleck family… and the father of the current head—Killian Van Vleck—has died."
Silence.
The words settled heavily in the room.
Grey's hand stopped mid-motion.
For a moment, nothing moved.
Then slowly, he leaned back fully into his chair, exhaling as if releasing a long-held weight.
"So… finally, he is dead," Grey muttered.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Did you inform him?"
John nodded.
"I've already sent the message through mana communication."
Grey closed his eyes briefly, taking in the moment.
Then—
"Viran."
His voice echoed through the room.
Almost instantly, the door opened again, and the head butler of the royal palace stepped in.
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
Grey's lips curved into a faint smile—one that carried something deeper than simple satisfaction.
"Call the Royal Chefs," he said. "Prepare something grand."
Viran blinked, surprised. "Today, Your Majesty?"
Grey's smile widened, calm yet unsettling.
"Yes," he said.
"I feel like celebrating."
"Yes, Your Majesty… but what exactly are we celebrating?"
Viran's question lingered in the air, careful yet curious.
King Grey did not answer immediately.
He remained still for a moment, his gaze distant, as though weighing something far beyond the walls of his office. Then, slowly, a faint smile formed on his lips.
"The freedom," he said at last, his voice calm yet layered with meaning, "of a beast that has been chained for far too long."
Viran lowered his head slightly, though the answer only deepened the mystery.
And just like that—
Within the Royal Capital, a quiet decision was made… one that would soon ripple far beyond the palace walls.
At the House of Vleck—
Inside a dim, silent office, Duke Van Vleck rested against his sofa, eyes closed, as though trying to escape the weight of his own thoughts.
Then—
The door creaked open.
His eyes snapped open instantly.
"What is it, Leon?" the Duke asked, his voice low, edged with impatience.
Leon stepped in, closing the door behind him. His expression was unusually serious.
"My lord… I apologize for disturbing you, but there is news from the capital."
The Duke straightened slightly.
"From the Royal Capital? Then speak."
Leon hesitated.
Just for a moment.
Then—
"Your father… Killian Van Vleck… has passed away this morning."
Silence.
A suffocating, absolute silence filled the room.
The air itself seemed to grow heavy, trembling under the weight of those words.
The Duke's expression froze.
Then slowly—
Something dark flickered in his eyes.
"Is it true?" he asked, his voice quieter now… but far more dangerous.
"Yes, my lord," Leon replied calmly.
For a moment, the Duke said nothing.
He raised a hand to his head, pressing his fingers against his temple, as if forcing himself to remain composed.
But the pressure in the room didn't ease.
If anything—it grew.
Then—
A knock.
"My lord, there is a problem."
The voice of the head butler broke through the tension.
The Duke exhaled slowly, forcing his aura to settle.
"What is it?" he asked.
The door opened, and the butler stepped in, bowing slightly.
"My lord… the young master—Rick… has returned."
Leon's eyes widened slightly.
"So what's the problem?" he asked, confused.
The butler hesitated.
Then spoke.
"Apparently… he killed two of the guards at the city gate."
The words landed like a strike.
For a moment, neither the Duke nor Leon moved.
Shock.
Pure, undeniable shock.
Not because Rick had returned—
But because of what he had done.
That wasn't recklessness.
That was a declaration.
The Duke slowly rose to his feet.
His expression was no longer surprised.
It was… interested.
"Bring him here," he said, his voice steady, controlled.
A faint, dangerous curiosity flickered in his eyes.
"I will speak to him… myself."
Because the boy who had left five years ago—
Had not returned the same.
The Duke's office was thick with tension, the kind that pressed against the chest and made even breathing feel deliberate.
Duke Van Vleck sat in his chair, unmoving, his presence alone enough to weigh down the room. Beside him stood Leon, the knight captain—silent, observant.
The door opened.
Butler Biller stepped in first… followed by Rick.
For a brief moment, time seemed to hesitate.
Then Rick moved forward, stopping a few steps away. His posture was relaxed—too relaxed for someone standing before the head of the house.
"It's been a while, Father," Rick said, his tone light, almost casual. "Have you been well?"
No response.
The Duke simply stared at him.
Unblinking.
Unreadable.
Rick didn't seem bothered. If anything, a faint smile lingered on his lips.
His gaze shifted slightly.
"Sir Leon," he added. "Long time no see."
Leon let out a quiet breath, the tension easing just a fraction.
"Indeed," he replied, offering a small, respectful smile. "You've grown a lot, young lord."
Rick chuckled softly.
"Guess time does that."
Then, as if remembering something trivial—
"By the way, how are Mother and my brother? I should probably visit them later."
The Duke finally spoke.
"What do you want, Rick?"
His voice was sharp. Direct.
Rick tilted his head slightly, as if surprised by the question.
"What do you mean?" he replied. "Can't I come to see my own family?"
The Duke's gaze hardened.
"You can," he said coldly. "But I don't think someone visiting his family would start by killing the guards at the gate."
Silence fell again.
But this time—
It was different.
Rick's smile didn't disappear.
It changed.
"That's because…" he said slowly, "…they deserved it."
The words landed without hesitation.
"They were trying to lay their hands on an innocent girl," Rick continued, his voice steady. "And as a noble… isn't it our duty to protect the common people?"
His eyes met the Duke's.
"Don't you think so, Father?"
The air tightened.
Leon remained still, but his expression sharpened. Even he could feel it—the clash between them wasn't just words. It was something deeper.
Heavier.
Neither of them spoke.
Seconds passed.
Then Rick broke the silence.
"Well," he said, as if concluding a minor discussion, "anyway—"
He took a small step forward.
"I want a duel."
Leon's eyes widened slightly.
Rick's gaze didn't waver.
"A duel to the death," he continued calmly. "With some certain bastards."
A pause.
"And I need your permission."
The room froze.
Not from shock—
But from the weight of what had just been said.
Rick stood there, unwavering.
The Duke watched him, silently measuring… judging.
Because this was no longer about a son returning home.
This—
was a turning point.
And whatever answer came next…
would decide the future of House Vleck.