Rain began to fall harder as three horses rode swiftly along the mud-soaked road.

  Torches flickered in their hands, struggling against the wind.

  Oliver rode at the front.

  He wore full knight armor — polished steel darkened by rain — but the joints had been deliberately left lighter for mobility. A broad sword rested across his back, its hilt visible over his shoulder.

  Behind him, two soldiers followed, clad in leather combat jackets reinforced with metal plates.

  "Light the lanterns," Oliver commanded without turning.

  The soldiers quickly pulled lanterns from their saddle bags and ignited them. Warm yellow light cut through the rain.

  Thunder rolled overhead.

  "This better be a proper ambush if you needed me personally," Oliver said dryly. "I skipped dinner with my family."

  "Sir… isn't that normal for you?" one soldier muttered.

  Oliver ignored him.

  They approached the outer military camp.

  The sight before them made even the soldiers stiffen.

  Monkeys.

  Everywhere.

  Across the walls.

  On the watch posts.

  Swarming the grounds.

  Their screeches pierced through the rain.

  "It's worse than expected," one soldier whispered.

  Oliver's gaze sharpened.

  "This isn't random," he muttered. "The leader must be nearby. Watching."

  Without hesitation, Oliver activated resonance.

  A controlled coating spread across his legs and weapon — not wasteful, not excessive. Precise.

  Then—

  Swoosh.

  He vanished forward.

  Zigzagging across the battlefield, his sword cut clean arcs through the rain-soaked air.

  Steel met flesh.

  One monkey fell.

  Then another.

  Then five.

  His movements were efficient. No wasted motion. No hesitation.

  Within moments, a clear path toward the central tower emerged.

  "The way to the tower is clear," Oliver called casually. "Move."

  The two soldiers hurried inside.

  Oliver followed.

  Inside the tower's top chamber, lantern light flickered across stone walls.

  "What's the situation, Ian?" Oliver asked immediately.

  Ian — a young knight in his mid-twenties with blonde hair plastered slightly to his forehead from sweat — stepped forward. He wore knight armor without the helm, a sword hanging from his belt.

  "They surrounded the camp," Ian reported. "Ground forces are overwhelmed. The tower remains secure, but they're spread between the walls."

  He paused.

  "In the combat arena… there's a fat man in black robes. Large weapon. He hasn't engaged yet."

  Oliver's eyes narrowed.

  "He's waiting."

  Ian nodded.

  "He doesn't look concerned. As if he knows he can defeat whoever approaches."

  Rain battered against the tower windows.

  Oliver turned to the gathered soldiers.

  "I know this will be a rough night," he said calmly. "But remember — we are the last line of Embrek."

  His voice lowered.

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  "If we fall, the town falls."

  Silence filled the room.

  "So don't die."

  A faint smile touched his lips.

  "And kill every monkey you see."

  The gloom in the soldiers' eyes shifted.

  Determination replaced fear.

  "Ian," Oliver said, turning toward the stairs. "With me. We're going to the arena."

  They descended.

  Oliver did not draw his sword again.

  He trusted Ian.

  As they stepped into the rain-soaked arena grounds—

  Swoosh.

  A monkey launched through the air, resonance coating its body.

  Oliver reacted instantly.

  Clang.

  He blocked the strike and redirected the force, throwing the creature aside.

  "Looks like you've found your opponent," Oliver said without looking back.

  Ian nodded sharply.

  Resonance flared across his legs and arms.

  He lunged forward—

  Oliver ignored the chaos behind him.

  Ian's battle echoed through the rain-soaked arena, steel clashing against claw and bone.

  But Oliver walked forward.

  Calm.

  Measured.

  At the edge of the combat arena, beneath the pouring rain—

  The fat man sat casually on a stone slab, elbows resting on his knees.

  Waiting.

  Water rolled down his black robes.

  As Oliver approached, he drew his sword.

  Brick slowly stood.

  His massive broadsword was already in hand.

  "Good evening, Sir Oliver," Brick said with a wide smile. "Or should I not call you 'Sir'? I heard you dislike the title."

  Rain ran down Oliver's armor.

  He gave a faint smirk.

  "You may call me the reason for your death."

  Brick's smile faded.

  "These damned knights," he muttered. "Always believing you're special."

  The air shifted.

  Oliver activated resonance.

  A clean coating spread across his blade, arms, and legs — precise, efficient.

  Brick's sword was already coated.

  Swoosh.

  Oliver moved first.

  He closed the distance instantly and slashed downward.

  Clang.

  Steel met steel.

  The impact shook the ground beneath them.

  Brick slid back half a step — boots carving into the wet soil — but he did not fall.

  Oliver's eyes flicked to the blade.

  Heavy. Dense. Dark sheen beneath the rain.

  Recognition struck.

  "…Ethyrl metal."

  His gaze sharpened.

  "A broad execution blade."

  He looked up slowly.

  "Buzanto."

  Brick's grin returned.

  "So you've heard of me."

  Oliver's voice turned colder.

  "The Butcher of Windmere."

  Even through the rain, the name carried weight.

  Brick rolled his shoulders.

  "That was years ago," he said lazily. "Didn't expect to be remembered."

  Oliver didn't lower his guard.

  "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "You have no business in Embrek."

  Brick's expression changed.

  For the first time, there was no mockery.

  "What am I doing here?" he repeated.

  He looked almost… thoughtful.

  "Good question."

  He tightened his grip.

  "Even I don't fully know."

  Oliver sensed it.

  No deception.

  Just something else.

  Rain intensified.

  Without another word—

  Oliver surged forward again.

  This time faster.

  Brick responded instantly.

  Resonance flared across his arms and legs.

  Their swords collided again—

  BOOM.

  The impact cracked stone beneath them.

  But Brick adjusted perfectly.

  He didn't lose ground this time.

  Steel scraped against steel.

  Rain mixed with sparks.

  He has no training.

  His stance is wide.

  His swings are crude.

  There are gaps everywhere.

  Is this a trap…

  Or just a brute with a good sword?

  Oliver moved first.

  Right slash.

  Left slash.

  Pivot.

  Thrust.

  His blade flowed in disciplined combinations. Every transition smooth. Every adjustment precise.

  Brick tried to keep up.

  Steel clashed in the rain.

  Again.

  Again.

  Again.

  Oliver shifted his footing and drove another sequence—right, left, step-in stab.

  Blood sprayed across the mud.

  Brick staggered.

  Too slow.

  Too open.

  This is easier than I thought.

  Oliver pressed harder.

  Another clean slash from the left—

  Then a faster right—

  Slash.

  Brick's right arm separated cleanly at the shoulder.

  The massive Ethryl blade dropped into the mud with a heavy thud.

  Oliver didn't hesitate.

  He stepped in close.

  One thrust to the ribs.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  Then a clean cut—

  Brick's remaining arm fell.

  The large man collapsed backward.

  Rain washed over his bleeding body.

  Oliver stood above him, chest steady.

  "Was that all?" he said calmly.

  Brick lay motionless.

  Ian approached through the rain.

  "It's over, sir. The combat arena is clear."

  Oliver nodded slightly.

  "It's over here too. But something is wrong."

  He looked at the body.

  "How was he controlling the monkeys?"

  Before Ian could answer—

  Slash.

  Oliver's head separated from his body.

  For a single moment—

  There was no pain.

  Only silence.

  His body collapsed into the mud.

  Rain struck steel.

  Ian froze.

  Behind him—

  Brick stood.

  Whole.

  Both arms restored.

  No wounds.

  Only faint traces of drying blood across his robes.

  He rolled his shoulders slowly.

  "Ahh… that hurt like hell," he muttered. "Still stings."

  He stepped toward Oliver's corpse.

  "These damned knights…"

  He kicked the body once.

  Hard enough to roll it slightly in the mud.

  "All that pride."

  Ian staggered back in horror.

  "That's impossible—"

  He charged.

  His sword cut straight through Brick's torso.

  Flesh split.

  Blood spilled.

  Brick looked down at the wound.

  Then looked back up.

  The flesh sealed.

  The cut closed.

  "Is it that hard to understand?" Brick said quietly.

  "I don't die."

  Ian's breathing shattered.

  Fear clogged his mind.

  Resonance didn't activate in time.

  Brick's hand shot forward, coated in dense resonance—

  He grabbed Ian's skull.

  Crack.

  The sound was sharp. Final.

  Blood splattered across Brick's face.

  He wiped some from his lips absently.

  Then tossed Ian's body aside.

  Brick walked over to Oliver's severed head.

  He lifted it.

  Examined it in the rain.

  "…Another one for the collection."

  He searched both corpses casually.

  Nothing interesting.

  After a while, he returned to the edge of the arena.

  Rain continued to fall across the ruined arena.

  Brick sat quietly, Oliver's severed head resting before him in the mud.

  Rain continued to fall.

  Time passed.

  Then—

  Soft footsteps approached through the wet earth.

  A monkey emerged from the shadows, stopping a short distance away.

  It did not screech.

  It did not bare its teeth.

  It simply stood there.

  Waiting.

  Brick's eyes shifted toward it without turning his head.

  He rose slowly.

  "…Haah."

  A faint smirk formed at the corner of his mouth.

  "So the Captain's work is over."

  The monkey lowered its head slightly.

  Brick glanced toward the dark horizon beyond the forest.

  "About time."

  Thunder rolled across the sky.

  He bent down, gripped Oliver's severed head by the hair, and lifted it.

  With deliberate calm, he fastened it to the handle of his massive sword — binding it securely beneath the guard.

  Rain washed over the dead knight's face.

  Brick stretched his shoulders, rolling his neck once.

  "Can't wait to return to the fief."

  His voice carried no excitement.

  Only anticipation.

  The rain grew heavier.

  The arena slowly emptied of sound.