Ricardo stood alone against the troll army.
The ground shook with every step they took—massive creatures armed with clubs large enough to crush buildings in a single swing. They roared as they advanced, convinced their numbers alone would decide the outcome.
But Ricardo didn't move back.
He moved forward.
The first club came crashing down.
It hit him directly.
A shockwave exploded outward—
and the club shattered instantly.
Not blocked.
Not deflected.
Just erased by the sudden overload of mana resistance around his body.
The troll staggered.
Confused.
Ricardo's expression didn't change.
Then he raised his hand.
Mana condensed into missiles—dozens at first, then hundreds, forming behind him like floating verdicts.
They launched.
The sky lit up.
Each explosion turned another troll into fragments of collapsing force.
Again.
And again.
And again.
---
Soon, there was nothing left standing.
Only Ricardo.
Breathing steadily.
Unbothered.
Satisfied.
---
In Mourning Town, they had started calling him something else.
Not by name anymore.
By fear.
Knightmare.
The protector who brainwashed invaders into regret.
The executioner of anything that entered without permission.
The one who "made criminals pay."
But beneath that title… something darker remained.
He didn't just kill threats.
He enjoyed it.
---
Night fell over the group.
For once, there was no immediate battle.
A rare silence settled over the survivors.
Jhonathan rested, eyes closed but body still alert even in sleep.
Ralph stood nearby, arms crossed, watching the horizon.
Riot sat apart from them, still bound by uneasy cooperation, his hook chains coiled loosely at his side.
Ralph eventually broke the silence.
"…Where is Ricardo?"
Riot didn't answer immediately.
He slowly raised a finger.
Pointed.
Toward the center of Mourning Town.
A massive castle stood there.
Dark.
Heavy.
Like it had been built to absorb light rather than reflect it.
---
Before anyone could react—
a sound cut through the night sky.
A whistle.
Then impact.
A giant arrow struck a nearby house.
Then another.
And another.
Explosions followed instantly, each arrow detonating on contact, turning entire structures into burning fragments of debris.
Panic spread through the town in seconds.
Then she appeared.
A woman standing on elevated ruins, holding a green bow.
Floating arrows circled her like living constructs.
She laughed.
Bright.
Unstable.
Almost joyful.
Then she fired again.
The arrows struck the battlefield without warning.
One slammed into Jhonathan's direction, exploding just short of him but still shaking the ground violently.
Another struck near Ralph, forcing him to brace himself.
Her laughter echoed through the burning town.
And the chaos deepened.
Because Mourning Town wasn't just ruled by fear.
It was surrounded by it.