Three Hours Earlier
It was 5:00 p.m.
The massive stone gates of Runeshade Fort loomed under the fading daylight, their ancient runes faintly glowing along the carved surface.
Just outside the gates stood Mizoro—
and behind him, his Z-Rank squad.
The moment the guards recognized who it was, their bodies betrayed them.
Legs trembled.
Breaths caught.
There were seven guards stationed at the entrance. Four of them immediately turned pale, spun around, and rushed inside the fort, panic driving their footsteps as they went to alert everyone within.
The remaining three did not move.
They hurried forward instead—and dropped to their knees before Mizoro and his squad.
"W...Welcome, Lord Mizoro," one of them stammered, his voice shaking uncontrollably.
Mizoro responded without a word.
He lifted his foot and kicked one of the kneeling guards aside with casual force. The man collapsed onto the stone ground, gasping.
Mizoro slid one hand into his pocket and looked down at the guard with cold, unreadable eyes—his stare heavy, unsettling, wrong.
"Is my army ready?" he asked.
The words were calm.
Too calm.
The guard struggled to breathe, trembling as pain and fear twisted together inside him.
"A–Almost, my lord…" he managed to say.
Before the words could settle—
Footsteps rushed forward.
The King of Runeshade, Alen, arrived at the gate with three guards at his side. His pace was hurried, his posture stiff, yet he forced a smile onto his face as he approached.
"Welcome, Mizoro," Alen said, trying to sound composed.
Mizoro turned his gaze toward him.
The smile vanished instantly.
"Only Mizoro," he said coldly.
He began to walk forward.
Each step felt heavy, oppressive.
"Who do you think you are?" Mizoro demanded.
Alen's forced confidence crumbled. His smile faded, and his body began to shake.
"I… I…" His voice cracked. "Lord—"
Mizoro's eyes changed.
Their color deepened into a dark orange, glowing faintly. At the same time, the veins across his body hardened and stood out sharply, as if power itself were pressing against his skin.
Alen stiffened.
Without a single touch—
Blood began to trickle from his ear… then his nose… then the corner of his mouth.
He staggered, eyes wide with terror.
The guards beside him froze, unable to move, unable to breathe—unable to even scream.
Mizoro stopped in front of the king.
The guards staggered backward in fear, instinctively putting distance between themselves and what stood before them.
Alen's knees gave out.
He collapsed onto the stone ground.
Mizoro stepped forward.
In a single motion, he grabbed Alen by the neck and lifted him up, forcing their eyes to meet.
"Now then…" Mizoro said calmly, staring straight into him.
"What's my name?"
Behind him, members of the Z-Rank squad watched in silence—some of them smiling, amused, as if this were nothing more than a familiar scene.
Alen struggled to breathe, his voice barely forming words.
"I… I… I'm sorry… Lo—"
Mizoro's grip tightened.
"I asked something."
Alen's body shook violently.
"Lo… lord… Mizoro."
Satisfied, Mizoro released him and threw him back onto the ground. The glow in his eyes faded, returning to normal as if nothing had happened.
Alen coughed, clutching his throat as he forced himself to speak.
"Please… enter, lord," he said weakly.
"The S-Rank hunters are ready, as you ordered…"
Mizoro nodded once.
Without another glance at the fallen king, he turned and began to walk toward the gates.
His squad followed immediately.
The massive doors of Runeshade Fort stood open—
The scene shifted to the meeting hall.
At its center, upon the elevated throne, sat Mizoro—his posture relaxed, legs crossed, arms folded as if the entire hall belonged to him by default.
Below him, on the lesser seats, sat Alen, pale and rigid, alongside the members of Mizoro's Z-Rank squad. None of them spoke unless spoken to. None dared to move unnecessarily.
Mizoro tilted his head slightly.
"So…" he said calmly,
"you're telling me both of them reached the area… and found the warriors' location."
Alen swallowed.
"We're not one hundred percent sure," he replied carefully.
"But when they were almost there, they encountered a massive invisible barrier."
Mizoro's eyes shifted toward him.
"So?" His voice hardened.
"Don't tell me they weren't even able to break a barrier."
Alen stiffened.
"One of them attacked it using Water Atomic Bullet," he said quickly.
"And even after that—there wasn't even a scratch on it."
Silence fell over the hall.
Mizoro leaned back slightly, his gaze narrowing—not in surprise, but in interest.
One of Mizoro's squad members let out a quiet smirk.
Mizoro's gaze shifted instantly.
"What is it?" he asked coldly.
"You know something about this?"
The man nodded.
"You remember Zigoro Hara."
Mizoro's expression hardened at once.
"How could I forget that bastard?"
The squad member's smirk faded as he spoke.
"He's the only one capable of creating barriers that strong."
Mizoro's eyes widened slightly.
"You're saying…"
"…he's still alive?"
The man nodded again.
"Probably."
For a brief moment, the hall was silent.
Then—
Mizoro stood up.
The throne creaked behind him as his presence filled the room, heavy and decisive.
"I see," he said calmly.
"Then we're heading there."
His eyes burned with interest—not anger, not fear.
—Present—
8:00 p.m.
The forest around Kazim Fort lay unnaturally still.
Warriors were hidden among the trees, bodies pressed close to bark and shadow, breathing carefully. Armor had been dulled, weapons wrapped, movements restrained to whispers and signals alone.
All eyes were fixed on the fort.
Waiting.
At the edge of the clearing, Toji crouched low, his presence steady and unmoving—like a blade already drawn but not yet swung.
Beside him, Soichiro knelt, his gaze narrowed as he observed the scene ahead.
From within Kazim Fort, music echoed faintly—soft drums and distant laughter carried by the night air.
Soichiro spoke in a low voice, barely louder than breath.
"…They're celebrating."
Toji did not respond.
His eyes didn't blink.
At the main entrance, the massive stone gates stood wide open, unguarded in arrogance rather than mercy. Pillars lining the path were wrapped in white and crimson cloth, swaying gently.
Rows of golden lanterns hung high along the entrance, their warm light bathing the stone path below. Flower petals were scattered carelessly across the ground, crushed beneath passing footsteps—offerings meant for celebration, not war.
Then—
A portal opened at the main entrance.
Space twisted upon itself like rippling water, bending and folding as if reality were being peeled apart. The air distorted, humming softly as the opening stabilized.
From within the trees—
Toji's voice cut through the silence.
"Here they come."
Soichiro's eyes sharpened.
He spoke quickly, firmly, every word measured.
"Squad One will take position at the eastern route," he said.
"Your leader is Kael Noctis."
Five warriors broke from the shadows at once, moving low and fast as they slipped left, disappearing into the darkness without a sound.
Toji continued without hesitation.
"Squad Two will take position at the western route. Your leader is Argen Kain."
Another five warriors split from the group, racing to the right, their forms melting into the forest as if they had never been there.
At Kazim's entrance, the guards noticed it first.
The air twisted.
Space rippled.
Instinctively, they stepped back as the portal fully formed before the gates.
A collective gasp rose from the gathered crowd.
From within the distortion, a man stepped forward.
Tall.
Calm.
Noble.
He was dressed in a royal blue, kimono-style robe, its fabric flowing gracefully with each step. Silver patterns were embroidered along the sleeves, catching the lantern light like quiet starlight.
—Prince Luke of the Kingdom of Justice.
Behind him, the royal family emerged one by one.
Elders with dignified expressions.
Nobles adorned in fine traditional attire.
Children laughing softly, eyes filled with wonder.
Every one of them wore ceremonial garments, colors rich and festive.
They were happy.
Unaware.
The guards recovered from their shock and immediately dropped to their knees, heads bowed low in reverence.
Lanterns swayed gently above.
"Welcome to Kazim Fort!"
The guards' voices rang out in unison.
At once, flower petals were tossed high into the air. They scattered and drifted down like a gentle rain, catching the golden lantern light as they fell.
Drums began to beat—slow at first, then fuller—echoing through the open gates and along the stone walls.
A long, lantern-lit path stretched forward into the heart of the fort.
On both sides stood rows of soldiers, maids, and servants, perfectly aligned. As the royal procession advanced, every one of them bowed deeply, heads lowered in reverence.
The celebration guided them onward—
Toward the Royal Garden.
At its far end stood the King of Kazim, dressed in formal attire, his posture proud yet welcoming. Beside him stood the Queen, elegant and composed, her gaze warm with expectation.
The King stepped forward and embraced the prince without hesitation.
"Prince Luke… welcome!"
Luke stepped back respectfully and bowed.
"The honor is mine," he replied.
Applause rose. Smiles spread.
They exchanged ceremonial greetings, formal words layered with tradition and respect.
As the last bow was completed, the music shifted.
The deep drums faded, replaced by the gentle sound of soft flutes, their melody flowing like a quiet promise through the halls of Kazim.
Royal Chambers
Warm lantern light filled the room.
Before a tall mirror stood Princess Zafira.
Her cheeks were faintly flushed, and happiness shone openly on her face—unhidden, unguarded. Every breath she took felt lighter than the last.
Six maids surrounded her, moving with careful precision.
She wore a traditional bridal kimono.
A pure white base, symbolizing blessing and beginning.
Golden phoenix patterns spread elegantly across the fabric, gleaming softly with each movement.
A long crimson sash flowed down her back, rich in color and meaning.
Her hair was tied in a traditional style, smooth and refined, held in place by golden pins shaped like delicate flowers.
One of the maids stepped closer, gently adjusting her collar.
"Perfect," the maid whispered.
One of the maids smiled brightly.
"Princess Zafira… Prince Luke will die when he sees you like this."
Zafira's face instantly turned red.
"Shut up!!" she protested, turning away.
The room filled with soft laughter as the other maids giggled, their voices light and playful.
Suddenly—
The curtains parted as another maid rushed in, her steps hurried.
"Princess," she said, slightly breathless,
"the procession has arrived."
Zafira froze.
Her eyes widened, as if her heart had skipped a beat.
Color rushed to her cheeks, deeper than before. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, pressing her lips together as she took a slow, steady breath.
When she spoke, her voice was calm—but carried weight.
"I'm ready."
She opened her eyes again.
They were composed now. Serene.
Yet beneath that calm rested something heavy—anticipation, responsibility, and a future about to begin.
Royal Marriage Hall
The massive doors of the hall slowly opened.
Light poured in.
Prince Luke stepped forward.
The marriage hall was vast beyond measure—its ceiling rising high above, open to the night sky. Fireworks bloomed overhead, their colors reflecting softly off the polished stone below.
The walls were covered in red and white flowers, woven carefully into elegant patterns that symbolized unity and blessing. Lanterns floated mid-air, suspended by magic, their warm glow bathing the hall in gold.
At the far end stood a wide throne, elevated and dignified.
Prince Luke walked forward with calm, measured steps.
As he passed, nobles and members of the royal family took their seats along the walls, the soft rustle of fabric echoing through the chamber. Every gaze followed him—respectful, expectant.
He stopped before the throne.
The King rose slightly and gestured with an open palm.
"Please."
Prince Luke inclined his head and took his seat.
The hall erupted in applause, a wave of sound filling every corner.
Then—suddenly—four W-Rank hunters stepped forward.
In perfect unison, they snapped their fingers.
The hall went pitch dark. A heavy, suffocating silence replaced the celebration.
Whispers rippled among the nobles.
"What's happening?"
The hunters began forming hand signs, intricate and synchronized. From their palms, thousands of fireflies emerged, hovering in the air. Their dim, warm light cut through the darkness, painting the hall in a gentle glow.
Prince Luke blinked, momentarily stunned.
"Beautiful…" he murmured.
The King smiled and clapped three times. The hunters responded immediately, forming another series of hand signs.
Then, along the path, hundreds of colorful butterflies appeared, each one glowing softly, illuminating the way through the darkened hall. They fluttered gracefully, weaving patterns of light that danced across walls and ceilings.
From the back, Princess Zafira stepped forward, passing through the river of fireflies and glowing butterflies.
Her kimono shimmered under the magical illumination, the golden phoenix patterns flickering with every step. Her presence was serene, radiant, and commanding—capturing every eye in the hall.
Everyone in the hall remained frozen, mesmerized by the display—and by the beauty of Princess Zafira.
Then, with a synchronized snap of the hunters' fingers, the fireflies and butterflies vanished.
The hall brightened instantly, restored to its warm, golden glow.
A roar of applause and shouts filled the space.
"Hooray!"
"Long live the Princess!"
Prince Luke rose from the throne, his expression a mixture of awe and anticipation.
The throne sat high, elevated atop polished stairs.
Zafira began to move forward, her eyes locked on Luke's. The world around her seemed to fade, leaving only the path before her.
Luke descended the stairs, each step careful and deliberate.
Zafira followed, walking slowly and gracefully. Every movement radiated elegance and poise.
Flower petals scattered beneath her feet with each step, crushed softly, leaving a trail of delicate color.
The music softened, the melody gentle yet carrying the weight of expectation.
Outside, fireworks erupted in the night sky, colors bursting and reflecting through the open ceiling, illuminating the hall with fleeting brilliance.
All eyes remained on her, captivated.
Zafira stopped before Luke.
For a moment, the world seemed to vanish around them. Only their eyes met—lost in each other, calm and unwavering.
Luke reached out and took her hand gently. He knelt down, pressing a soft kiss to her palm.
"Princess Zafira," he said, his voice low and full of reverence.
Zafira's lips curved in a quiet, serene smile.
"It's been a long time… Prince Luke."
Without hesitation, Luke lifted her effortlessly into his arms.
Zafira gasped in surprise, her hands clutching gently at his shoulders.
The hall remained peaceful, every gaze turned toward them, filled with admiration rather than jealousy or envy.
Luke carried her toward the throne, his steps measured and careful. He helped her sit, and then lowered himself beside her.
A wave of cheers erupted from the nobles and guests.
Drums pounded in rhythm with the excitement, echoing through the hall.
Outside, the fireworks continued to light the night sky, brilliant bursts of color reflecting against the walls and ceiling, their glow dancing across Zafira and Luke.
Beyond the fort, the night stretched silently.
A reflection of fireworks danced across Toji's eyes, bright bursts of color mirrored in their depths.
He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.
"…All gathered," he whispered, voice low, steady.
Soichiro's lips curved into a faint, approving smile.
"Perfect timing," he said.
Toji rose first, his movements smooth and deliberate.
Immediately, all warriors tensed, every muscle coiled, every hand gripping a weapon.
The torches flickered, as if acknowledging the weight of the moment.
The wind shifted, rustling leaves, carrying the faint scent of smoke and distant blossoms.
For an instant, the night held its breath.
Everything was poised—ready for the storm that was about to descend.
—CHAPTER ENDS—
To Be Continued...