Lucas entered with unwavering confidence, his heavy steps striking the ground with firm resolve each time his foot touched the floor. He stopped before them.
"So," he said calmly, "what do you want from me?"
Three members were seated around a round table.
On the lower right sat an elderly man—his back straight and strong despite his age, his hair thick with gray. His gaze was sharp and resentful, and thin glasses rested on his face.
On the lower left sat a woman in her thirties. Her presence was heavy, commanding, and though she was somewhat beautiful, there was nothing soft about her.
At the center, directly across from the table, was an empty chair—vacant, untouched.
"What do we want from you?" the old man snarled through clenched teeth.
"What do we want from you? Perhaps the killer who walked over the corpses of our children, who never blinked during the massacres at the Green Sea, is still alive—standing right in front of me—trying to live among us."
"Calm down, Mr. Raymond. There's no need for exaggeration," the woman said firmly.
Raymond slammed both hands on the table.
"Exaggeration?! Do you truly believe sitting and talking with a criminal will achieve anything? A man who has known no taste in his life but the taste of blood?"
Lucas looked at him. With every word Raymond spoke, Lucas clenched his fists tighter.
"Forgive Mr. Raymond," the woman said calmly. "He is sensitive—he lost his son in the wars of the past.
I am Petra, a member of the Council. I represent wisdom."
She gestured toward Raymond.
"Mr. Raymond is also a council member—he represents strength."
Then she glanced at the empty chair.
"As for Mr. Garior, he did not attend. He represents authority."
A strange silence filled the room. They waited for Lucas to introduce himself.
"I am Lucas," he said. "And you already know who I am. That will suffice."
Raymond rose from his seat, fury blazing in his eyes. He stepped toward Lucas, fists clenched. He was slightly shorter than Lucas, yet he stared directly into his eyes.
His intent to kill was unmistakable—the ancient scent of blood clinging to his wrinkled hands was enough to make any warrior tremble.
He wants to kill me, Lucas realized.
Perhaps this is a test. And even if it isn't, I will endure whatever comes. I did not come here to fight.
He steadied himself, tightening his hands—but never once breaking eye contact.
Raymond, who rarely moved without his cane, halted. He studied Lucas's eyes as if reading his soul. Lucas did not look away.
"Let me ask again," Raymond said coldly.
"Why is a beast like you—born on battlefields—here?"
"You are a monster. What brought you here?"
Lucas's heartbeat suddenly surged. He opened his mouth to speak—then closed it again.
Raymond continued to stare, unblinking, and repeated the question once more.
"Why are you here, weapon of war?"
Lucas's hands trembled. He clenched them and took a deep breath.
"I want to live as a human," he said quietly,
"not as a machine."
Raymond lifted his cane, tucked it under his arm, and began clapping mockingly.
"Did you hear that, Petra?" he sneered.
"The monster wants to be human. And what makes you human? What gives you the right to live at the expense of those you slaughtered?"
"Answer me!"
Lucas dropped to his knees, bowing his head before Raymond.
Every muscle in his body rejected the act—standing was heavy, but kneeling was heavier.
"If an apology can ease the pain of losing your son," Lucas said,
"then you have it."
"I am sorry for your loss. And I am sorry if I killed him—whether intentionally or not."
Lucas rose to his feet, staring at Raymond as his pulse thundered.
"But I still want to be human."
"He's yours now, Petra," Raymond said coldly.
"I'm done with him."
Raymond left the room. Outside, Rion was waiting by the door.
"Shall we go?" Raymond said.
He entered the carriage Rion had prepared, with Rion following to ensure the council's safety.
"Tell me, Guard Rion," Raymond asked, "if you were to describe that criminal in one word, what would it be?"
Sitting upright, his usual smile on his face, Rion replied,
"You mean the Inked One? On the battlefield, sir, the only word that came to mind was death."
Raymond pointed his cane at him.
"We are not speaking of the past. Do not anger me."
Rion answered calmly,
"If you mean now… the word that came to me is despair."
Raymond nodded.
"Yes. Despair. He is desperate for life."
He paused, then added quietly,
"But do you know the word that came to my mind?"
"What is it, sir?"
"Strength."
"Yes," Rion agreed. "He is undoubtedly strong. I tested that myself."
Raymond exhaled beneath his thick, gray mustache, gripping his cane tighter.
"Strength… to carry all of this."
In his mind, Lucas appeared bound by the very people he had killed—forced to live among them.
One of those faces was Raymond's son.
After Raymond left, Petra stood, placing her hands gently over her stomach.
Lucas stood off to the side, watching her.
She gestured toward Raymond's chair.
"Please, sit."
Lucas hesitated, pulling the chair back slightly as it trembled beneath his shaking hands. He sat.
"Don't hesitate," Petra said calmly. "Raymond won't return."
She lowered her hands.
"So… how are you?"
Lucas blinked, his heartbeat slowing.
"I don't know if I'm well," he admitted. "But thank you for asking."
She smiled softly.
"Raymond can be frightening. Even at his age, that old man managed to intimidate you."
Lucas inhaled deeply.
"He is frightening, yes. But I was holding myself back. He was testing me."
"My hands were shaking. Every muscle in my body screamed that I would die if I didn't move."
Petra's blue eyes shimmered with curiosity.
"Then tell me—could you defeat Raymond?"
Lucas steadied himself. The tension eased.
"I… don't know."
"Let's forget Raymond," Petra said.
"You want to know why you're here. A war criminal, wanted dead or alive, comes to the enemy to live his life."
Lucas swallowed hard. His neck prickled as if the blade was already there.
"I assure you," Petra continued,
"you are the foolishest clever man I have ever met—and the bravest. Few enemies seek to live instead of fight."
Lucas's thoughts spiraled.
So this is how I die.
"Will you serve as my personal guard?" Petra asked.
Lucas lowered his head, eyes closed.
"I will accept any punishment… but please, let Emi live."
She tilted her head.
"What?"
He looked up quickly.
"Yes. Of course."
"Then we will meet tomorrow to complete the arrangements.
As for the girl—she will stay at my residence and enroll in the academy to begin her education."
She paused.
"But before that… you must meet Garior."
Lucas had never bowed to anyone in his life.
But now, it felt like a duty.
He straightened his back, placed one hand behind him, one before his chest, and bowed deeply before Petra.
"Tomorrow, then," she said.
"Rest here tonight."