The late morning sun hung low as tension simmered in the air at the Boar's Mug Tavern. Laughter and the clatter of dishes gave way to sudden silence when the tavern door creaked open and slammed against the wall. Armored boots thudded into the room. Patrons stiffened.
Captain Conrad had arrived.
Conrad was a towering brute of a man, his silver-trimmed black cloak dragging behind him like a shadow hungry for blood. His armor, blackened with years of battle, clinked with every thunderous step he took across the tavern floor. A cruel scar ran from his temple down to his chin, twisting his features into a permanent sneer. His eyes—cold, calculating, merciless—swept the tavern like a predator scanning a herd for its weakest prey.
He did not need to speak to command silence. The air thickened with dread. Conversations died mid-sentence, laughter froze, and even the clinking of tankards seemed to hush itself. Every patron, from grizzled mercenaries to traveling minstrels, instinctively backed away as he passed, his mere presence enough to suffocate the atmosphere.
Everyone knew his name. And everyone feared it.
Some whispered that he once cleaved through an entire Ashkin battalion alone, not for victory—but for sport. Others claimed that his hammer was forged from the remnants of shattered bones, cursed by the spirits of those he had slain. Whatever the truth, Captain Conrad was a walking nightmare, a monster wearing a man's skin.
"Which one of you is Peter Duma?" he barked.
The tavern grew still. Peter wiped his hands on his apron and stepped forward calmly. "I am, sir. What seems to be the matter?"
Conrad didn't answer. Instead, he gestured with a gauntleted hand. His soldiers swarmed Peter, grabbing both arms.
"You are under arrest," Conrad sneered. "We've received information that you were once an Ashkin. That makes you an enemy of the Nasyonalistas."
Gasps rippled across the room.
Brea stormed from the table where his father was eating the dish she served. "Let go of my father! He's a good man! He hasn't broken any laws! If anyone here deserves to be arrested, it's you—you Nasyonalista dogs!"
The tavern went deathly silent. A few patrons quietly slid toward the exit.
Conrad's face twisted into a scowl. "You have no idea what you're talking about, brat. So shut your mouth before I shut it for you."
Brea, trembling with rage, snatched up a stool and lunged—but Reu intercepted her, gripping her wrists.
"Don't make this worse," he whispered.
"Let go of me!" she snapped, trying to wrench free. But Reu held firm.
Peter's eyes met Toby's. "Please... protect my daughter."
The Paladins began dragging Peter away. Before stepping out, Conrad turned to the room.
"Next time I hear so much as a whisper against the Nasyonalistas in this rat hole, I'll burn it to the ground."
He kicked the door open with a booted foot, and they disappeared into the blinding light of the street.
Brea collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. "My father... he didn't do anything wrong!"
Reu looked to Toby, waiting. But Toby's face had changed. His smile was gone. His eyes burned with fury.
"Take Brea," he said, his voice low and steady. "Wait for me outside the village."
Reu's expression darkened. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to punch that bastard so hard he'll forget what side he's on."
Reu nodded and helped Brea to her feet. "Come on. Pack your things. You're coming with us now."
Still crying, Brea hesitated. "But... what about my father?"
"Toby will bring him back," Reu said with quiet certainty. "Trust him."
Brea sprinted to the back of the tavern to gather a few belongings.
Outside, the Paladins hadn't made it far. Toby caught up, standing defiantly in the center of the road.
"CONRAD!"
The captain stopped and turned slowly. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the boy.
"Let old man Peter go," Toby demanded.
Conrad chuckled and turned away.
Toby stepped forward, voice louder. "CONRAD! YOU'RE A BIG, DUMB, DUMB DOG OF THE NASYONALISTAS!"
The townspeople watching from windows and alleyways gasped. Some covered their mouths. Even the Paladins stiffened.
Conrad's expression twisted into one of pure rage. He drew his massive warhammer from his back and leapt with terrifying speed, bringing it down toward Toby.
The ground shook with the impact. The cobblestones cracked and crumbled under the force, sending a tremor through the nearby buildings. Tavern windows rattled violently, a few mugs fell from tables and shattered, and a group of townsfolk screamed as they ran for cover.
A massive crater gaped where Toby had been standing just moments ago. Smoke and dust surged upward, blanketing the square in an oppressive haze.
"You got what you deserved, you insolent brat," Conrad snarled, yanking his hammer from the fractured earth with a grunt. Pebbles scattered and the cobblestones hissed from the impact's lingering heat.
But as the dust began to drift and clear—Conrad's eyes widened.
There was no body. No blood. No broken bones.
Toby was gone.
Conrad turned to his men.
Peter was gone.
A soldier stammered, "S-Sir... they—"
"SILENCE!" Conrad roared, his voice reverberating like thunder against the walls of nearby buildings.
He spun, his armor clanking in fury, scanning alleyways, rooftops, even the sky. His breath came in short bursts as rage twisted his features.
"WHAT?!" he bellowed, his voice splitting the uneasy quiet.
The townspeople remained hidden in their homes, holding their breath.
Conrad turned to his stunned troops. "They couldn't have gotten far! FIND THEM! NOW! Bring me the boy's head and the old man in chains!"
Paladins scrambled, spreading out in a frenzy, boots pounding on stone as they vanished into the labyrinth of the village.
But Conrad stood still in the center of the destruction, his grip tightening on his hammer's hilt.
"You think you can humiliate me?" he growled to no one. "I will burn this town to the ground if I have to."
Moments earlier, Toby had flickered from the impact zone, grabbed Peter, and vanished behind the nearby buildings.
"Are you okay, old man?" Toby asked, catching his breath.
Peter blinked. "How did you...?"
"No time. You've got to leave. Go to Drury. Find Berta. Stay hidden, you will be safe with her."
Peter's face fell. "But... Brea?"
Toby grinned. "She's coming with us. She's got fire in her. I'll keep her safe."
Peter smiled. "Thank you, Toby. Thank you."
They spotted a stable nearby. Peter tossed a small bag of coins to the owner.
"We need horses. Now."
The stable master handed them over without a word.
"Ride with me," Peter said as he mounted. "Grab the reins of the second one."
Toby stared awkwardly. "I... I don't know how to ride."
Peter gaped. "WHAT?!"
"Sorry! Never learned!"
"Get up here before I leave you behind!"
They galloped off, leading the second horse behind them.
Shouts rose in the distance, echoing off the narrow stone alleyways like hunting hounds closing in.
"They found us! Can't you ride faster, old man?!" Toby shouted, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the rapidly approaching Paladins, their armor glinting in the midday sun.
Peter growled, urging the horse onward with a firm kick. The beast whinnied and galloped harder, hooves thundering against the earth. "Maybe if you weren't riding with me like a sack of potatoes—"
"Told you I don't know how to ride, remember?!" Toby clung tighter to the saddle, bouncing awkwardly with every jolt. His hair whipped around his face as he gritted his teeth. "You're doing great though, for an old guy!"
"Flattery won't save us if they catch us!" Peter barked, weaving the horse through a narrow orchard trail lined with low-hanging trees and uneven ground.
Behind them, the shouting grew louder. Arrows zipped past, one grazing Toby's cloak.
"WHOA! That was close!" Toby shouted. "Next time remind me to learn horseback riding before taunting war captains!"
"If there's a next time, I'm throwing you off this horse myself!" Peter shot back, though a hint of a grin cracked through his tension.
The wind whipped their faces, the chase intensifying, as the village perimeter came into view over a low ridge.
"There! The road! I see them—Reu and Brea!" Toby pointed ahead. "Hold on, old man. Almost there!"
They burst through the village streets, galloping over carts. There, they spotted Brea and Reu waiting at the entrance.
Toby waved. "I got him!"
Reu frowned. "You also brought the Paladins."
"Oops."
"Leave them to me," Reu muttered, drawing his blade.
The six Paladins in pursuit skidded to a stop before Reu. They drew their weapons.
Reu cracked his neck. "Come on then."
Reu uses a mix of agility, technique, and raw power to take down each of the six Paladins. Dodging, parrying, flipping through the air. He outsmarts one, disables another, uses skills and strategy—eventually leaving all six unconscious on the ground.
Peter dismounted and rushed to embrace Brea.
"My girl. Go with them. Follow your heart. Be brave. Like your papa."
"Papa... where will you go?"
"Drury. I'll find Berta, Toby told me I'll be fine with her. Just promise me—you'll live your own story."
Tears streamed down Brea's cheeks. She hugged him fiercely.
Reu walked back, wiping blood from his lip.
"We need to move. They'll wake up soon."
Toby gave a low whistle. "You took them all out?"
"Didn't kill them. But they'll be sore tomorrow. My blade's dull."
Suddenly, the earth quaked beneath them.
BANG!
Conrad landed in a swirl of force, cracks spreading under his boots. Rage radiated from him.
"You're not going anywhere, criminals."
Toby stepped forward, heart thudding. He clenched his fists.
"Leave this one to me," he said. "Time to get serious."
Reu smirked. "About time."
The clash between the chief and the captain will begin.