The morning after their discovery of the hidden ledger, the streets of Eridian stirred with a nervous, almost frenetic excitement. Presidroids, moving with an unsettling, militaristic precision, raced through the town's main arteries, setting up long trestle tables that groaned under the weight of fresh, unfamiliar food. Under Serenity's unwavering remote supervision, they worked with an efficiency that was both awe-inspiring and slightly terrifying to the gawking villagers. Sacks of fine, white flour were piled high, crates of vibrant, exotic fruit were carefully arranged, and massive vats of warm, fragrant stew sent plumes of steam into the cool morning air. It was to be a simple feast, but for a people who had known only scarcity and the bitter taste of decay, it was a miracle.
Word spread through the crooked, dusty streets with the speed of a wildfire. The Thunder Rider was hosting a midday celebration. Some villagers, their faces alight with a cautious, fragile hope, believed it to be yet another stunning display of his inexplicable generosity, more free, life-sustaining supplies, courtesy of his seemingly endless, magical resources. Others, more cynical or perhaps just more beaten down by Eridian's relentless cycle of despair, felt a prickle of unease, sensing something more than simple kindness behind the hurried, almost frantic, preparations. Either way, by the time the sun reached its zenith, a sizable crowd had gathered in the main plaza, their collective murmur a low, expectant hum.
Val hovered at the edge of the bustling tables, occasionally helping a Presidroid direct the lines of hungry, hesitant villagers. He cast anxious glances toward Roy every so often, his expression deeply, painfully torn. Roy, standing near a makeshift dais constructed from stacked supply crates, maintained an outward composure that was a masterclass in deception. Earlier that morning, he'd cornered Val, his question point-blank and stripped of all pleasantries. "Is your father just an ordinary man?"
Val, honest to a fault and visibly distressed, had confirmed it without hesitation. "My father doesn't train or fight. His physical strength is… average at best," he'd said, his voice barely a whisper. Roy had just nodded, a flicker of a dark, dangerous plan beginning to form in his eyes.
Zehrina, having finished a quiet, reassuring conversation with a cluster of anxious-looking townsfolk, glided up to Roy's side. "Vol refused to attend at first," she murmured, her voice a low, confidential hum. "But I… needled him. I pointed out, with all due respect, of course, that it would look terribly cowardly if the esteemed Archduke were to hide in his estate while his people feasted at the sufferance of a benevolent stranger." She allowed herself a tiny, predatory smile. "He said he would come. He should be arriving any minute."
Roy let out a slow, measured breath, his heart a steady, heavy drum in his chest. "Good. Let's keep everyone happy and distracted until then." He glanced at a small, unassuming drone perched on a nearby rooftop, receiving a crisp thumbs-up from a Presidroid, a silent confirmation that the feast was fully prepared and their stage was set.
Moments later, a flurry of motion from above stole the crowd's attention. The Nightshatter's missile launchers, from their distant, unseen position on the river, fired three small, non-explosive rockets skyward. They streaked through the air, each bursting harmlessly into a brilliant, dazzling display of colored light high above the rooftops. The townspeople gasped or ducked instinctively, startled by the deafening, celebratory roar. A fine, glittering dust rained softly down, leaving the plaza hushed, tense, and electric with anticipation.
Roy climbed onto a sturdy crate, his posture transforming. He stood tall, shoulders back, chin high, a swaggering arrogance radiating from him that was utterly at odds with the anxious boy they thought they knew. The hush in the plaza turned sharp, expectant.
"You see?" Roy called out, his voice echoing with a newfound, theatrical confidence between the ramshackle market stalls and the ancient stone archways. "This city… it has potential. I find I rather like it here, in fact. So much so that, perhaps… I'll simply make it mine!" He grinned, a wide, predatory expression, exaggerating his bravado with practiced ease.
A rising, uncertain murmur rippled through the crowd. Some villagers looked genuinely alarmed, their eyes wide with fear. Others were merely puzzled, trying to reconcile this arrogant warlord with the kind, if somewhat strange, Captain who had brought them food. Teddy, ever the loyal hype-man, waved a battered "THUNder RIDEr!" banner with vigorous enthusiasm.
At that moment, as if summoned by Roy's audacious claim, Archduke Vol stepped into view from a side street, flanked by two of his imposing, but ultimately useless, estate guards. The Archduke's eyebrows lifted in mild, aristocratic surprise at the lavish array of food, and then at Roy's bold, public declaration. He strode forward without breaking his stride until he stood directly opposite Roy, near a prominent table laden with freshly baked bread and glistening cuts of smoked meat.
Roy spotted Eryndra stiffen from the corner of his eye. She and Warrex had carefully, strategically, arranged their positions so they stood just behind Roy, slightly off to the side, ready to intervene at a moment's notice. Lutrian, his face a mask of calm concentration, hovered near Val, poised to act as a shield or a distraction if needed. The crowd watched, hushed again, their earlier excitement curdling into a palpable, collective uncertainty, unsure whether they should cheer or flee.
Roy puffed out his chest, his voice dripping with a mocking, almost insulting royal arrogance. "I have come to a profound realization, Archduke Vol. Eridian requires… true leadership. Decisive leadership. Perhaps… mine." He gave a short, showy laugh, deliberately letting the unbearable tension in the plaza climb another notch.
Vol's gaze narrowed, though his expression remained impeccably, almost unnervingly, courteous. "You have done well to bring provisions to my people, Captain Gunn. For that, you have my gratitude. But to claim rulership? That is… quite a leap of ambition, even for one such as yourself. I didn't know you were such a joker."
Zehrina glided around the edge of the table, a dangerous, beautiful smile playing on her lips. "Is it such a leap, Archduke? A claim to leadership is only as strong as the power that backs it. And from where I stand," she paused, her gaze sweeping over him with a cool, dismissive disdain, "your power seems... untested. Perhaps we should test it for you."
The Archduke tilted his head, his expression unchanging. "Test it?" he echoed calmly, his voice smooth as polished stone. "What, precisely, are you proposing?"
Roy spread his arms wide, palms out, a gesture of mock generosity. "Perhaps we should demonstrate just how easily we could dethrone you, if we were so inclined. You do know of my 'reputation,' yes?" His grin hardened, becoming something sharp and unpleasant. "Warrex. Give Eryndra your axe."
Warrex, though visibly surprised by the sudden, direct order, complied without hesitation, holding out his heavy, double-bladed weapon. Eryndra seized it, her muscles tensing, a predatory light entering her eyes as she locked her gaze on Vol. The crowd sensed the shift. A wave of raw, primal fear rippled through the assembled villagers. Some began to step back from the tables, their earlier hunger forgotten in the face of this sudden, terrifying escalation.
Val, his face a mask of confusion and dawning horror, glanced from Roy to his father. "What are you… what is happening?"
Eryndra broke into a sudden, explosive sprint, an impossible, terrifying blur of silver and black. She raised the axe high, its wicked edge glinting in the sun, and surged straight at the Archduke. Townsfolk screamed, a chaotic wave of panic as they stumbled away from her path. Val cried out, a strangled, desperate, "Wait—!" but Eryndra ignored him completely, her focus absolute as she cut through the air in a lethal, shimmering arc aimed directly at Vol's chest.
The Archduke's eyes widened, just enough to reveal a flicker of genuine, human shock. Yet, he reacted with a speed that was anything but. At the last possible second, his arm jerked upward in a desperate, instinctual block. In that same instant, Eryndra flicked into Apparition Mode. Her body went translucent, letting her devastating strike pass through him harmlessly. There was no physical impact, but the reflex, the incredible speed of it, was unmistakable. Vol had moved to defend himself with a speed no normal man could possibly possess.
Eryndra leaped back, the axe still held loosely in her hand, leaving Vol completely unscathed, yet utterly, damningly exposed. A collective gasp rippled through the stunned square. Val looked thunderstruck, his mouth hanging open. Warrex inhaled sharply, his fists tightening into stone. Roy, with a grim sense of triumph, hopped down from his crate, pointing an accusing finger at Vol.
"Val claimed you were just an average man. Yet you reacted to that blow, a blow that no normal human could have even perceived, let alone blocked." Roy's voice carried an edge of cold victory. "You're a faker, Archduke."
Vol stood perfectly still, his hand still half-raised, his carefully constructed composure finally cracking at the edges as he struggled to maintain his calm. "That was… pure luck," he managed, his voice strained. "A fortunate reflex."
Roy snorted, the sound dripping with unmasked disdain. "I was hoping you'd claim that. Because, you see, I have one final test."
Eryndra stepped aside, positioning herself protectively near Roy, the heavy axe now lowered. Roy took a deep, steadying breath, letting the vast, churning ocean of his mana begin to rise to the surface. He'd never unleashed it to this extent without a damn good reason, but this… this was it. The moment to force Vol's reaction, to expose his true nature, in front of the entire town. The very air in the plaza grew charged, thick and heavy, as if a massive, unseen thunderstorm were about to break directly over their heads.
Roy took another controlled breath, quietly calling on the immense, near-bottomless reservoir of his mana. Nobody among the ordinary crowd, the farmers, the weavers, the children, seemed to sense a thing. An old woman clutching a loaf of bread blinked, wondering why the strange Captain was staring so intensely. She felt nothing but a cool breeze. Takara, standing with the onlookers, also tilted her head in mild confusion. She was used to Roy's dramatic, theatrical stunts, but she felt no discernible shift in the air, no surge of power.
In stark contrast, the "sensitives" in the plaza, Lutrian, Warrex, Val, and the Archduke himself, froze in place as if struck by lightning.
Warrex gritted his teeth, his eyes flicking nervously towards Roy, a single bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple. He had experienced Roy's unleashed mana before, but never this raw, this unrestrained. Lutrian's fingers twitched at his side as he absorbed the oppressive, almost physical pressure, his breath catching in his throat. Eryndra and Zehrina, however, merely fixed their gaze on Roy with a look of calm, unwavering acceptance.
The most telling reaction, however, came from Val and his father. Val staggered as though an unseen, crushing weight had just been dropped upon his chest. He struggled to maintain his composure, to remain standing, but eventually took a stumbling step back, his eyes blinking rapidly in disorientation as he fought for breath.
Vol, seated near the front of the makeshift dais, tensed, his body going rigid. He raised his chin, his cold eyes attempting to stare down Roy, to meet his challenge head-on. For a moment, he looked resolute, unyielding, a picture of aristocratic defiance. Until Roy, with a silent, internal command, pushed his aura even higher, stoking it into a silent, invisible, and utterly overwhelming roar.
Vol's shoulders began to tremble, his grip on the ornate armrest of his chair tightening until his knuckles were white. Slowly, reluctantly, his eyes flicked aside, his will finally breaking under the sheer, unimaginable weight of Roy's power. The strain etched deep lines of tension across his handsome face, and for a brief, terrifying instant, a flash of something raw, feral, and deeply inhuman flickered in his eyes, a glimpse of the true monster lurking beneath his carefully constructed aristocratic mask.
Roy seized the moment, his voice resonating oddly in the charged air, audible only to those who could perceive the raw mana he was unleashing. "An average man, Archduke? No. If that's true… how did you manage to react to Eryndra's attack? And why are you one of the only people here, besides my own crew, who can even tell what I'm doing right now?"
The ordinary villagers exchanged more puzzled, confused glances. They saw no blinding light, no crippling, invisible pressure. They merely perceived Roy, standing there, his posture radiating an unnerving intensity, as he stared down their Archduke. Some of them might have noticed Val falter, or Warrex's grimace, but the true, terrifying spectacle of Roy's power was utterly lost on them.
Val caught his breath, pressing a hand to his chest. He could feel Roy's aura like an immense, irresistible gravitational pull, threatening to tear him apart. "F-Father?" he managed, his voice a strained whisper as he glanced desperately at Vol for some kind of reassurance, some explanation.
Vol tried to force a dismissive shrug, but his jaw was clenched so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek. "I don't know what you mean," he said tersely, his voice taut with a strain he could no longer conceal. "You're… you're simply frightening me with your… your theatrics. That is all."
"Is that so?" Roy exhaled, reining in just enough of his mana to allow Warrex and Lutrian to straighten up, their own breathing heavy. "I might accept that, if I hadn't seen your reflexes with my own eyes. A normal man would be completely oblivious to this demonstration."
Eryndra lowered the borrowed axe, stepping forward, her gaze locked on Vol with a predatory intensity. "Are you still claiming it was just luck? That you simply flinched and flung your arm up at the perfect moment?"
Vol looked away, his calm, aristocratic veneer finally, irrevocably cracking at the edges. He could feel Roy's mana like a rising, suffocating tide, threatening to drag him down into the depths. Nearby, Lutrian grimaced in sympathy for Val, who stood pale-faced and trembling, torn between a lifetime of ingrained loyalty and the cold, undeniable evidence of his father's deception.
Roy let the corners of his mouth curl into a grim, humorless smile. "Archduke Vol Teyzar Eridian…you are a guilty bastard."
A wave of pure, unadulterated panic crossed Val's face, as though he, too, was finally, painfully, realizing the full, terrifying implications of what was unfolding. Warrex and Eryndra exchanged a silent, almost imperceptible nod, each of them poised, ready to act if Vol were to lash out. For a long, stretched heartbeat, nobody moved. The only sound was the wind, whispering through the silent, terrified plaza.
Then Vol, his face twisting in a snarl of barely contained, cornered fury, stood. "I refuse your baseless accusations. This is my domain. You can fling your… your illusions and your childish power displays all you like, but Eridian stands under my protection, under my rule."
Roy dialed his aura down. The crowd, still clueless about the invisible battle of wills they had just witnessed, only saw Roy confronting their Archduke with an unwavering, almost reckless resolve. And they saw Vol, their noble, aloof leader, trembling with an anger that should be impossible for any mild-mannered nobleman to possess.
Roy steadied himself, his voice dropping to a steely, unforgiving tone. "Then prove your innocence. Submit to a full, impartial inquiry. Or… fight us. Right here, right now. I will not let Eridian, or its people, suffer under the thumb of some hidden, manipulative power if you are indeed the one behind its cyclical, soul-crushing misery."
Val, his face a mask of desperation, stepped between them, his eyes wide with a pleading terror. "Captain Gunn, wait, there must be a simpler, less… destructive way to resolve this—"
"Silence," Vol snapped, throwing his son a look of pure, venomous contempt. "We will not be bullied by these… outsiders."
Warrex flexed his fists, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Eryndra steadied the heavy axe in her hands. Lutrian, his face grim, reached for the hilt of his own light-blade. Tension, thick and palpable as blood, swirled in the air between Roy and Vol, a storm about to break.
The plaza held its breath, the very air seeming to still, uncertain if a battle was mere seconds away, or if the suddenly cornered Archduke would finally, irrevocably, yield. And Roy, his heart pounding a frantic, desperate rhythm against his ribs, prepared to call upon every last, hidden reserve of his power if Vol indeed proved to be the monstrous, manipulative presence he so deeply feared.
Vol's lips, once so perfectly composed, curled into something nearing a feral snarl. "You come here, brandish your pathetic gifts, boast of your unstoppable battleship, then you dare to accuse me of wrongdoing? You couldn't be more idiotic."
Roy could feel the shift in the crowd, a wave of palpable tension. Some of the villagers now glared at him, their earlier gratitude replaced by a protective anger at seeing their leader so publicly humiliated. Others, however, reeled at the sight of Vol's barely contained, almost inhuman power. He steadied himself, pushing aside any lingering second thoughts, any whispers of doubt.
"I came here to help," Roy said, his voice calmer now, steady and unwavering, "but the truth, whatever it may be, cannot be ignored. If you have harmed these people, if you have attacked my friends, you will answer for it."
Vol's own latent anger swelled visibly in response, his eyes glinting with a dangerous, otherworldly light, something no mere human should possess. Across the plaza, the townsfolk parted in alarm, a wave of raw fear finally washing over them. Some fled, scrambling for cover behind the abandoned food stalls. Others, paralyzed by a mixture of terror and disbelief, simply froze in place, their faces pale masks of horror. Eryndra tightened her grip on the axe, her knuckles white. Warrex, despite his injuries, bent his knees, coiling his powerful body, prepared for a fight. Zehrina, her movements fluid and silent as a shadow, slid closer to Roy, ready to deflect any sudden, violent lunge from the enraged Archduke.
Vol's piercing gaze met Roy's across the suddenly empty space between them. Two seemingly unstoppable forces, poised to clash in front of the entire, terrified town. In the heavy, suffocating hush of that suspended, terrifying moment, neither man moved. They were like a coiled spring, wound to the breaking point, ready to unleash a torrent of chaos and destruction. And the crowd, trapped in the crossfire of their immense, warring wills, finally, belatedly, realized with a collective, sickening wave of horror that a true, cataclysmic confrontation was not just seconds away. It had already begun.