Trouble…
Even as Yahn pressed down on Barak without pause, his senses stretched outward, tracking the changes in Flevance's situation. The more he perceived, the heavier his heart grew.
There were no signs that the invading soldiers from neighboring nations were being controlled. Robin and the members of the Revolutionary Army were merely guiding the citizens of Flevance toward the Forsena border.
But this was only a temporary reprieve—a slow death rather than salvation.
As the soldiers tightened their encirclement, shrinking the space in which Flevance's people could move, the inevitable outcome loomed closer: a massacre, vast and merciless.
Yahn could break away from Barak at any moment with his speed. But if he abandoned the fight, Barak would make Flevance's plight plain to the World Government. That, too, was a dead end.
Where is the way to break this stalemate…?
Anxiety crept into Yahn's expression, his attacks faltering for the first time. Barak seized those brief moments, gasping out precious breaths of relief under the relentless pressure.
As the gunfire and screams echoing through Flevance grew louder, Barak guessed the source of Yahn's unease.
"Despair, isn't it? Watching your homeland destroyed right before your eyes?" His tone carried a mocking edge.
"Stop struggling. There's no cure for Amber Lead Disease. Better to die early and spare yourself needless suffering."
"What a pitiful statement. Life doesn't exist to be given up."
Yahn's voice steadied, his words sharp as blades. "Tell me, Barak—seeing lives snuffed out one after another, does that stir not even a flicker of pity in you?"
"Lives are lost every day upon the sea. I've no space for such useless compassion."
The instant the words left him, Barak spotted a flaw in Yahn's movement and lunged, finger-gun blasting forth.
But the gap in speed was too great. Yahn blurred into a phantom, vanishing past the strike.
Damn it… Not just fast—his movements are unnaturally fluid, endlessly flexible. What kind of footwork is that? It's nothing like Navy Six Style: Shave…
The failure gnawed at Barak, but he masked his frustration with more ridicule.
"Still clinging on? Pathetic. This is the fate God decreed for Flevance: born with Amber Lead, perishing in crimson flames. No one can change that ending."
God?
He meant, of course, the Celestial Dragons who called themselves gods.
And yet, Yahn and the Revolutionaries truly were at an impasse. They could only watch as things spiraled further out of control. He had anticipated as much. The only reason he had tried at all was because Robin's determination had moved him.
"Caw—caw—caw!"
Suddenly, the harsh cries of crows split the sky. A great flock swirled into being around Yahn and Barak.
Out of their midst descended a towering bald man clad in a coat of black feathers, a bird-beak-shaped loudspeaker covering his mouth. Without hesitation, he hurled himself past Yahn and struck at Barak.
Finally. Dragon, you bastard—you actually sent someone with real strength.
Yahn cursed inwardly, but recognized the man at once.
Karasu, known as "Crow." Silent, soft-spoken, and captain of the North Blue forces of the Revolutionary Army.
His strength…?
Yahn cast a quick glance. Karasu was holding his own against Barak with ease. Relief loosened the knot in his chest.
Yahn gave Karasu a subtle nod, nothing more, then vanished in a flicker of speed toward Little Gold's position.
---
"What's going on, Robin?"
He wasted no time on pleasantries. Inside Little Gold's castle, his voice rang with urgency.
Seeing Yahn safe, Robin nearly broke into tears despite her usual strength. Her voice trembled with guilt.
"Brother Yahn… it's my fault. My Brujería can't reach the soldiers through their protective suits."
"What?!"
The answer stunned him. Yahn darted to the window, peering down.
Sure enough, every soldier wore airtight suits, sweeping through the streets with guns, killing citizens block by block.
"So… a single oversight ruins everything…"
His voice sank heavy with regret.
Even if the plan faltered, he had hoped to save at least half of Flevance's people. But the foundation had crumbled. The World Government's lies—that Amber Lead Disease was contagious—had forced every soldier into protective gear. And in doing so, they had cut off Robin's control entirely.
"What do we do, Brother Yahn?" Robin's voice was small, helpless.
Yahn could only fall silent.
Below, the situation worsened by the moment. The citizens' living space shrank, the slaughter closing in.
Even as the Revolutionaries guided the masses toward escape routes, despair loomed.
If Yahn still meant to save them, only one option remained: reveal himself, reveal the Revolutionary Army, and use brute force to shield as many citizens as possible—then flee with them into hiding.
But the cost was too high. He would be branded a traitor by the Navy. Worse, the still-fragile Revolutionary Army would be fully exposed to the World Government.
"Haah…"
He exhaled heavily, shaking his head at Robin.
The decision weighed like iron in his chest. He was ready to enact his final contingency: withdraw and hide the Revolutionaries, rescuing only the children of Flevance whose Amber Lead affliction was still light—those with even the slimmest chance of surviving until a cure appeared.
"Is there truly no way left?" Robin whispered, despair in her eyes.
"…Perhaps. One faint hope remains." Yahn's voice was low, steady. "If, by chance, I awaken a power that can substitute for your Brujería… then maybe."
"Is there any way to grasp such a power?" Robin asked, desperate for even a fragment of light.
Yahn's lips curved in a stiff smile.
"If there is… it's this: take my hand, Robin. Pour your will into me. Let it reach me, as clearly as you can."
---
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