Darryl tightened his grip on his short sword, shifting lightly to the side. This was his first time sparring with the captain since awakening to Ki, and considering he had only fully grasped it that very morning, the nervous flutter in his chest felt justified.
Across from him, Asta drew his katana. The blackened edge caught the light in a way that sent a sharp warning through Darryl's instincts. His Ki sense surged to maximum, overlapping with his earth sense.
He could feel every vibration Asta produced through the ground, each subtle shift of weight. But beyond that? Nothing. A strange void swallowed any deeper readings.
So he focused. Ki sharpened around his captain's presence, the flex of muscle beneath cloth, the micro-adjustments in his stance, even the faint disturbance in the air around him.
"So…" Asta's voice came from behind.
Immediately, Darryl spun instinctively, sword rising to block.
Clang!
Asta's katana crashed down on his short sword, the force driving him toward the floor. "I saw you speaking with Garen after the attack on the MageSeeker headquarters."
Darryl grunted and kicked off the ground, leaping back in an attempt to widen the distance.
A futile attempt.
Asta vanished again, but this time, Darryl was ready. The moment he sensed the shift behind him, he softened the earth there, turning solid ground into a loose, liquid-like trap.
Even then, the captain's strike tore through his guard.
His senses flared in warning a split second too late.
"Gah!"
The impact blasted him off his feet. Darryl sailed backward and slammed into a training dummy, shattering it into splinters as he hit the ground with a rough gasp.
"Did you know that if you run fast enough, you can run across water?" Asta said casually, resting his katana on his shoulder as though they weren't in the middle of a spar. "Anyway… what did Garen tell you?"
Darryl's gaze dropped for a brief moment, just long enough to hide the twist of unease in his expression, before he forced himself back onto his feet. He knew exactly what Asta meant. And even now, he wasn't sure how to feel.
When he'd slammed the assassin into the ground with enough force to crack stone, it hadn't occurred to him that the man wouldn't survive it.
The assassin had been strong, strong enough that Darryl assumed he could withstand the blow. But he was wrong. The impact had split the man's skull, and then Darryl had sealed him into the earth to restrain him.
By the time they unsealed the ground, the assassin had already bled out.
Darryl had taken a life. He had killed someone.
He knew he'd needed to seal the man or risk another attack. Anyone would have. But because of that choice, none of them realized how badly the assassin was bleeding.
He remembered the moment they pulled the body out, the pale skin, the lifeless stare. His stomach had churned violently, and he'd barely managed to turn away before vomiting.
Afterward, Garen had pulled him aside to congratulate him. To praise him. He told Darryl he'd done the right thing. That he'd acted exactly as a true Demacian should, as a protector of the realm.
Darryl had confessed, voice shaking, that he felt like he had murdered someone in cold blood.
Garen had only laughed, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. He said that as long as it was in defense of the people of Demacia, it was justice. That Darryl was a hero.
But Darryl didn't feel like a hero.
This time, Asta charged forward, and Darryl could see him coming. His captain was holding back, moving just a little slower than usual. Giving him a chance.
Darryl didn't waste it. He surged forward as well.
Steel met steel as he parried the tip of Asta's katana, then immediately tried to slip in a cut across his captain's chest. But Asta shifted his grip in one smooth motion, reversing the katana mid-swing and using the same blade tip to deflect the strike.
Darryl blinked in surprise at the sudden change of technique, but his instincts carried him through. He felt the incoming kick a heartbeat before it came and stepped back to avoid it, then retreated even farther as Asta followed up with a sweeping leg strike meant to take him off his feet.
"He called me a hero," Darryl answered at last, breath steadying as he reset his stance. "Said I did the right thing."
He never got to see Asta move.
He only felt the sudden spike in pressure, the shadow dropping over him, and then he had to raise his sword as quickly as possible.
Boom!
The impact shook the yard, dust and loose dirt lifting off the ground as Darryl barely managed to intercept the overhead strike. Mana surged through his veins, reinforcing muscles and bones as he pushed up against his captain's strength. The earth groaned beneath them, cracking and turning uneven from the sheer force.
"I did the right thing… didn't I?" Darryl asked, voice trembling despite the effort he put into holding his ground.
He sensed rather than saw Asta's left hand draw back, reaching toward him. Darryl's mind raced. If he dodged the hand, Asta's blade would follow through and send him flying. But if he stayed… he could maybe endure the grab.
The blade was more dangerous than Asta's hand, right?
He was wrong.
"That depends," Asta said calmly.
His hand clamped onto Darryl's shirt. In one fluid motion, Asta twisted, pivoted, and launched him, hurling Darryl hundreds of feet into the sky like a stone from a catapult.
Air rushed past his ears. Vertigo hit him a second later.
Forcing himself to focus, Darryl reached behind him and grabbed the three short poles strapped together at the ends. With a firm pull on the first and last segments, mana surged through the joints. The poles snapped outward, extending into a single long staff.
His flying staff.
Straddling it midair, Darryl steadied his breathing, the staff humming beneath him as it caught the wind. He leveled himself out, rising to a hover, and immediately fixed his eyes back on Asta below.
The spar wasn't over. Not even close.
Asta looked up at him with an easy smile, hands loose at his sides. "Alright, then," he called up. "Why did you do it?"
"I fought him because he was going to kill everyone," Darryl answered, trying to keep his voice steady as the wind tugged at him. "I trapped him because I didn't want him to hurt anyone again."
Asta nodded once. "But then he went and died."
He bent his knees, and Darryl immediately knew that he would he reach him in an instant.
Darryl shot upward just in time, rocketing higher into the sky.
"I never meant to kill him!" he called down. "I didn't know..."
He didn't get to finish.
Asta blurred upward in a flash, appearing above him like a dark streak against the sun, and kicked him down with a thunderclap.
Boom!
Darryl plummeted like a stone, smashing into the dirt and then through it, his body carving a rough crater as he bounced, skidding and crashing through a second patch of ground before slamming into the stone perimeter wall. The shock rattled his bones.
A normal human would've been paste.
But Darryl wasn't normal anymore. Mana reinforcement meant that he was far tougher than normal. He was a Black Bull now.
Asta landed in a crouch right in front of him, dust billowing around his feet.
"But he died anyway," Asta said, voice gentler but still firm. "And you wanted to save him. Even after he tried to kill you. Even after he went after Emilia and the prisoners. Even after he took your eyes."
Darryl's face folded into shame and he dropped his gazebut Asta didn't let him.
A rough, calloused hand nudged his chin back up. "Hey. No. That's not something to be ashamed of."
"It… isn't?" Darryl blinked at him, confused. "But I'm a magic knight now. Knights fight monsters and villains. All the great heroes have killed tons of monsters and bad guys."
Asta raised one eyebrow, almost amused.
"Then by that logic," he asked, "how many monsters and bad guys do you think I've killed?"
Darryl opened his mouth, unsure what answer Asta was even looking for. Hundreds? Thousands? Asta was so strong, and had to have gotten that strong from constant battles.
But something in Asta's tone made it clear that any number he picked would be wrong.
"A thousand?" Still Darryl tried to answer.
Asta shook his head slowly, as though genuinely baffled. "What do you take me for, kid? I'd be worried if I'd killed that many people. I'm barely even in the double digits." He pointed his katana at Darryl, not threateningly, more like he was using it as a stick to emphasize his point. "What exactly counts as a hero around here? What are they teaching you guys?"
Darryl stared at him, confusion plain on his face. "But… how? You've been through so many battles. You've said so yourself."
"Oh, I have," Asta admitted, returning his katana with an easy motion. "Plenty of battles. Plenty of idiots trying to take my head off. But if it's at all possible not to kill someone… then I won't." He shrugged, almost sheepishly. "Honestly, a lot of my friends used to be people who tried to kill me first."
Darryl blinked. "Really?"
Asta grinned. "Yup. Happens more often than you'd think." Then his voice softened, losing none of its firmness. "Listen. There's nothing wrong with feeling how you feel. Guilt… regret… wanting to save someone even when they've hurt you. That's not weakness."
He crouched down so they were on eye level, something Darryl noticed he always did when he wanted to be understood clearly. Dust floated around them, settling slowly in the crater Darryl's fall had created.
"But here's the truth," Asta continued. "Right now, you're not strong enough to save both your allies and your enemies. I wish the world worked that way. I really do." His smile faded into something quieter, gentler. "But it doesn't. Not for us."
He tapped two fingers against Darryl's chest, right over his heart. "You're headed that way, though. And that's not something to be ashamed of."
Darryl nodded, placing his hand over his chest, over where Asta had touched. Then he smiled. "Then I'll just become strong enough."
"That's what I'm talking about kid." Asta slapped him on the shoulder. "Surpass your limits."
---
Darryl stared ahead with wide eyes as the great city of Demacia burned in the distance, smoke curling into the sky in thick, dark columns. Even from where they stood, the heat of the flames licked at the air.
"What in the actual heck?" Asta muttered beside him, sounding just as bewildered as Darryl felt.
"They're bolder than I expected," Emilia said, her tone carrying a hint of amused disbelief. "To attack the city two days in a row… even after running into you yesterday. I never imagined Sylas would be this foolish."
"Does he think he can beat the captain?" Darryl asked, brow furrowing.
Asta snorted, while Emilia tapped a finger thoughtfully against her chin. "Perhaps he believes he has some method of accomplishing that. Who knows how lesser-minded men justify their decisions?"
"Well, whatever's going through his head, we can't let this go on any longer." Asta stepped forward, drawing the Demon-Slayer sword with a metallic whisper. "Emilia, you and Darryl will pair up. Mira..."
He turned to the fifteen-year-old girl standing a few steps behind them, her hands twisting nervously in her sleeves.
"You'll stay here for now."
Emilia arched a brow. "Are you sure that's wise?"
Asta glanced her way. "What do you mean?"
"Mages are attacking the city," Emilia explained evenly. "And in chaos like this, distinguishing friend from foe becomes difficult. Especially with Demacian guards who already hold a prejudice against us." Her eyes drifted to Mira. "Some of them may get… overly enthusiastic in their attempt to 'defend' the city. Even if the person they're swinging at is a young girl who can't fight back. Mages are the enemy after all."
Mira's eyes widened as the weight of Emilia's words settled in. Darryl looked just as shaken, his brows knitting together in quiet worry.
Asta's expression darkened. "This really has to stop already," he muttered, exhaling through his nose. "Alright. New plan."
He turned to the girl. "Mira, you're coming with me. We'll work on your magic as we move."
Then he looked to his other two teammates. "Emilia, you and Darryl are still paired up. Focus on the outer edges of the city. There'll be civilians out there who need help."
Darryl nodded immediately, already pulling out the folded segments of his flying staff. "Got it, captain." He snapped it open with a practiced twist. "Come on, Emilia."
Emilia didn't waste time, slipping onto the staff behind him. A moment later, they blasted into the air, their departure stirring up a gust of wind and loose dust.
Once they were gone, Asta turned back to Mira, lowering his Demon-Slayer sword until it hovered horizontally over the ground like a floating platform.
"So," he asked, motioning for her to climb on, "what kind of magic do you use?"
Mira hesitated, her fingers fidgeting before she reached out and took his hand, stepping onto the hovering blade with timid care.
"Well…" she mumbled, cheeks warming, "I… can make pumpkins."
She looked almost apologetic as she said it.
Asta blinked. "Pumpkins?"
Mira nodded, shrinking a bit. "Big ones… small ones… sometimes weird ones. That's… mostly it."
Asta stared for a beat longer, then grinned.