Shane rolled the parchment at the table, and pointed at a part of the map, "This is where they…"
The conversation stopped the moment the footsteps reached the hallway.
They were impossible to miss—heavy, uneven, and unapologetic, each step landing as if the floor ought to be grateful for the contact. Klaus didn't look up. He already knew who it was. Shane's posture tightened by a fraction, the kind of adjustment only someone used to managing disasters would notice.
The door flew open with a bang and was slammed shut even louder, rattling the hinges and sending a thin line of dust drifting down from the frame.
A man strode in, mid-thirties at a glance, tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a blue robe trimmed with gold thread that screamed official funding. His hair meticulously groomed, and his beard was shaved clean, his smile warm enough to belong to a saint's mural—right up until he threw his head back and laughed, loud and booming, the sound filling the room like a tavern brawl.
In his hand was a silver mace nearly a meter long. Its circular head bristled with five vertical blades, arranged so neatly that from above it resembled a star frozen mid-spin.
"Well, I'll be damned," the man said, grinning widely. "Look who crawled out of whatever hole he naps in. The most famous member of Shieldbreaker himself."
Klaus finally lifted his head, eyes half-lidded, expression lazy to the point of insult. "Famous in the wrong way," he said mildly. "And good afternoon to you, too, Ulon."
Ulon barked another laugh and dropped into a chair without asking, shoving it back with a screech. He promptly propped his boots on the table, scattering a few loose papers Shane had laid out. "I thought you were dead," he said cheerfully. "Vanished for a month. Skipped two missions—easy ones, by the way. I was halfway to sending holy candles to your house. Maybe offer myself to serve a memorial service."
"Thanks, but don't bother yourself. I was just busy," Klaus replied, smiling just enough to be irritating.
Ulon squinted. "Busy slacking, or busy playing house?"
Klaus opened his mouth to answer—
The window slid open without a sound.
A cool breeze swept into the room, lifting loose parchment and fluttering the curtain. Shane turned slowly, already pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Keil," he said flatly. "The door was open. Why did you use the window?"
A young man clung to the sill, late teens at most, grin sharp and proud. A bow and quiver were strapped across his back, and he wore a slightly loose black bodysuit reinforced with an onyx-plated chest piece. He looked pleased with himself—far too pleased.
Before he could answer, Klaus spoke, tone light. "He's afraid I planted a trap on the door."
Keil scoffed as he swung himself inside. "Looks like I outsmarted you this time, Mr. Klaus."
"Nope."
Sparks flared beneath Keil's palm.
They crawled up his arm in a split second, branching like silver veins, snapping across his torso and legs. His breath hitched. His muscles locked. He hit the wooden floor with a solid thud, eyes wide, teeth clenched in shock.
Klaus leaned back in his chair, unfazed. "You're overthinking," he said casually. "That's your weakness."
Keil managed to force out, "I'll… win… next time."
Across the room, Ulon snorted. He casually flicked his wrist and tossed the mace. It didn't strike Keil—just tapped him lightly on the shoulder before snapping back into Ulon's hand as if pulled by an invisible thread.
The paralysis broke instantly. Keil gasped and rolled onto his side, flexing his fingers.
Shane exhaled slowly. "You shouldn't bully Keil."
"I'm not bullying him," Klaus said. "I'm educating him."
Ulon nodded enthusiastically. "Agreed. Gentle lessons don't stick, boss."
Keil pushed himself up, cheeks flushed but eyes burning with determination. "I'm fine," he said quickly. "It's part of my training. One day, I'll outsmart Mr. Klaus."
Klaus glanced at him, smile sharp and knowing. "Keep daydreaming, kid."
Keil dropped into the chair beside Ulon's with a lazy sprawl, hooking his arms over the backrest and lacing his fingers behind his neck. The chair creaked in protest. He ignored it, rocking slightly as if daring it to collapse.
"So," he said, glancing around the room, "where are the others?"
Shane checked the pocket watch from his coat, snapping it shut with a soft click. "They'll be here in a couple of minutes."
As if on cue, footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Ulon grinned, already leaning back farther than the chair was designed for. "Speaking of the devil."
Klaus didn't react, but his attention sharpened. He heard it too—two distinct rhythms. The first was light, almost careless, each step unconcerned with noise or precision. The second was heavier, deliberate, measured as if the person behind was constantly correcting their own weight.
The door swung open with confidence.
A heartbeat later, it was guided shut—carefully, quietly—by the one who followed.
Maddy stepped in first.
She wore her usual traveling outfit: a fitted black cotton bodysuit under a worn leather jacket, sleeves pushed up just enough to show faint scars along her forearms. Low-heeled boots clicked against the floor as she stopped, hands already on her hips. Her sharp eyes swept the room, counted heads, and lingered on Klaus.
Behind her was Petra.
Fully armored. Black metal from head to toe, matte-coated and practical rather than ornate. The visor hid everything except her eyes, which flicked nervously from one person to the next. She held a black scythe upright, its pointed tip resting lightly on the floor, grip firm but cautious—as if afraid she might drop it or, worse, hit someone by accident.
Maddy snorted. "Well, look who's here." Her gaze locked onto Klaus. "The infamous slouch himself. I thought you'd be late."
Klaus lifted his head from the table, blinking once as if he'd just woken up—though the faint curl of his smile betrayed him. "Disappointed?"
"Yes," Maddy said immediately. "Concerned? Also yes. Annoyed? Deeply."
Petra took a careful step inside, closing the door fully behind her before turning. Her voice came out quiet but clear. "Good afternoon, everyone."
"Afternoon!" Ulon boomed, waving his mace like it was a greeting flag. Petra stiffened, eyes widening a fraction before she relaxed again.
Petra crossed the room with deliberate care, every step measured. She lowered her scythe into the corner as if it were something fragile rather than a weapon meant to reap lives, angling the blade away from the group before easing her hands off it. Only then did she sit—on the farthest chair along Klaus's side, posture straight, knees together, visor tilted just enough to watch without staring.
Maddy dropped into the seat between them with far less ceremony. The chair scraped loudly, legs protesting as she leaned forward, elbows on the table.
"So," she said, eyes fixed on Klaus, "have you really named your slaves?"
The room went still.
Ulon's boot froze mid-swing. Keil's grin faltered. Shane's brow furrowed.
Klaus didn't rush his answer. He leaned back, fingers lacing behind his head, expression maddeningly relaxed.
"Yes," he said at last. "They're not slaves anymore."
Maddy's brow knitted. "You're serious."
"Dead serious," Klaus replied, tapping one finger against the table, slow and rhythmic.
Petra's fingers twitched in her lap. She kept her head down, but the tension in her shoulders eased, just a fraction—as if she'd been holding her breath without realizing it.
Shane watched Klaus closely, sharp eyes weighing every word. "You know what that implies."
"I do." Klaus's smile stayed easy, but there was a careful edge beneath it, like a blade hidden in silk. "That's exactly why I did it."
Ulon let out a long whistle. "Huh. That's… unexpectedly noble." His lips split into a grin. "Or incredibly stupid. Hard to tell with you."
"It's for my convenience," Klaus said lightly.
Keil leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes bright with curiosity. "So… does that mean they can quit?"
"If they want," Klaus said, glancing sideways. "Though they're still bound by their oath to serve me."
Shane exhaled slowly. "Convenient, you say." He shook his head. "I see more loss than gain in what you've done."
"He's just stupid," Ulon declared cheerfully.
Maddy nodded. "For once, I agree with him."
Keil opened his mouth. "I think he just—"
Knock. Knock. Knock-knock.
The sound cut him off. Three sharp raps with knuckles, followed by a flat thud of a palm. Then again. Same pattern. Over and over.
Ulon glanced at the door. "Aren't we answering that? It's obviously Shalotte."
The knocking grew louder, impatient.
Maddy smirked. "Let him suffer. It's kind of fun."
Keil nodded eagerly. "Yeah."
Klaus sighed. "The knocks are quite irritating, honestly."
Petra looked to Shane, silent but expectant.
After another round of increasingly annoyed knocks, Shane finally spoke. "Just come in, Shalotte. It's open."
The door creaked inward. A young man in a brown, pointy hat peeked through first, eyes darting suspiciously. Seeing everyone inside, he stepped in fully, green robe swaying, wooden staff clutched tight in one hand.
"I thought we agreed on the coded knock," Shalotte said, frowning. "Why didn't anyone respond?"
Keil tilted his head. "How?"
Shalotte demonstrated immediately, rapping the still-open door—knuckle, palm.
Keil's eyes sparkled. "Cool."
"You decided that on your own," Maddy snapped. "We didn't agree to anything."
"What if someone's watching us?" Shalotte said, voice lowering.
"No one's watching," Klaus replied calmly.
"You can't be sure," Shalotte insisted. "What if someone already knows we're the Sha—"
Maddy moved in a blur. She was out of her chair, a hand clamped over Shalotte's mouth, before the last word could escape. Her eyes burned as she leaned close.
"You idiot," she hissed. "Say that again, and I'll cut your tongue myself."
Shalotte nodded frantically under her grip.
Satisfied, Maddy peeked into the hallway, then shut the door firmly.
"My bad," Shalotte mumbled once released, cheeks flushed. He shuffled to a chair opposite Petra and sat, staff, resting awkwardly against his knee.
Shane rubbed his temples. "Sometimes I wonder how we're still alive."
Klaus chuckled. "Our party's lively as always."
Shane took the head chair, folding his hands atop the table. "Indeed."