The road to Ivyred territory was rough. But maybe that was because of his rough handling of the bird.
In Emerald Online, you had to be firm with your mount when you wanted to reach top speed. A sharp tug here, a hard kick there—the bird responded to confidence, to dominance. That was how you got the best times, how you cleared the racing quests, how you impressed your guildmates.
Motoyasu had been the best rider in his guild. The best.
But he'd honestly forgotten that stability was a thing. And a wagon carrying both people and supplies was the least likely to be stable when the thing pulling it was going at quite an insane speed.
The cart bounced. Hard. Every rut in the road sent them lurching. Every second he'll hear the sound of supplies clattering in the back. Most worryingly, he'll sometimes hear the wheels groan in protest. Motoyasu's teeth clacked together. His grip on the reins was white-knuckled, his arms straining against the bird's eager momentum.
But Elena had praised him for his riding skill just earlier. "You handle the bird well, Lord Motoyasu," she'd said, and her voice had been genuine, admiring even. Rino had nodded along, her eyes bright. Even Lesti had looked at him with something that might have been respect.
He couldn't back down now. Or else Elena, Rino, and even Lesti might see him as a scaredy cat.
Not that there was anything wrong with being scared, of course. Fear was natural. Fear was human. Everyone got scared sometimes, and anyone who said otherwise was either lying or a fool.
But if you were a man... well. You couldn't be a scared little kitty if you were a man. You had to be brave. You had to be strong. You had to take the reins—literally—and hold on and pretend your arms weren't screaming and your back wasn't aching and your stomach wasn't doing flip-flops every time the cart hit another bump.
You just had to.
So Motoyasu held on. He kept the bird at speed. He smiled when Elena complimented him again, and he waved off Rino's worried look, and he absolutely did not think about how much his hands were shaking.
He was the Spear Hero. The tip of the charge. The one who moved forward.
He didn't slow down.
Time passed. How long? He didn't know. But he realized it when he heard Rino's voice.
"M-Motoyasu..."
Rino's voice drifted from the back of the cart, small and strained.
He glanced over his shoulder. The green-haired mage was hunched over, one hand pressed to her stomach, her face pale. "I think... I think I'm going to be sick..."
Elena was already moving, one hand on Rino's shoulder, her expression tight, brows furrowed and all. "Lord Motoyasu, perhaps we should—"
Lesti said nothing, but her knuckles were white where she gripped the side of the cart. Her jaw was clenched. Her face had taken on a distinctly greenish tint that matched Rino's robes.
Motoyasu's heart leaped.
"Oh! Oh, no! That's no good!" He pulled back on the reins, maybe a little too hard—the bird squawked in protest, slowing to a trot, then a walk, then a stop. "We can't have anyone getting sick! That's terrible for morale! Terrible for everything, really, sickness is the worst, we should definitely stop, right now, for a bit. Just a short break. To let everyone recover. Very important. Health first. Always health first."
He was babbling. He knew he was babbling. But the relief flooding through him was so overwhelming that he couldn't quite stop.
Rino let out a shaky breath, leaning against Elena. "Thank you..."
"Of course! Of course!" Motoyasu jumped down from the cart, already reaching up to help Rino down. "Fresh air, that's what you need. And water. Do we have water? We have water. I definitely packed water. I think. There was a whole thing about water. Elena, where did we put the water?"
Elena gave him a long look. Something flickered in her eyes—amusement, maybe, or understanding. Despite his numerous experience with women, he still couldn't decipher most things about them.
"I'll get it, Lord Motoyasu."
She climbed down, her movements surprisingly steady despite the rough ride, and went to check the supplies.
Motoyasu stood beside the cart, his hand still on Rino's arm, and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Slow. They could go slow now. Reasonable. Safe.
He was a genius. A tactical genius. The best rider in his guild and also the smartest, clearly, because he'd found the perfect way to slow down without anyone thinking he was—
"You looked relieved," Lesti said.
She was standing beside the cart, her color already returning, and her beautiful eyes were fixed on his face.
Motoyasu blinked. "What? No. I'm not relieved. Definitely not. I'm concerned. About Rino. Very concerned. That's why we stopped."
Lesti's lips pressed together. For a moment, he thought she was going to call him out, expose him for the fraud he was, tell Elena and Rino that the great Spear Hero had been about to fall off his own cart if they hadn't given him an excuse to stop.
But she just shook her head, very slightly.
"Of course," she said. "Very concerned."
She walked away to help Elena with the water.
Motoyasu stood there for a moment, feeling strangely exposed. Then Rino made a small sound of relief as she settled onto a rock by the roadside, and he forgot about everything else.
"Here." He crouched beside her, pressing a water flask into her hands. "Small sips. That's what my mom always said. Small sips, fresh air, you'll be fine in no time."
Rino managed a weak smile. "Your mom sounds nice."
"She was." Motoyasu's voice came out softer than he intended. He cleared his throat, stood up, brushed off his knees. "She was the best. Knew everything about everything. Especially about when to slow down."
He turned to look at the road ahead—still rough, still long, but no longer rushing beneath the bird's feet.
"Which is probably why we should take it easy for the rest of the way. You know. Safety first."
Elena returned with the water, her expression carefully neutral. "Of course, Lord Motoyasu. Safety first."
Behind her, Lesti made a sound that might have been a cough...or a laugh. No, it's definitely a cough. There's nothing to laugh at here. There's no way she knew about what he's doing...right?
After that, they trotted along at a steady pace.
The bird seemed grateful for the reprieve—its earlier frantic energy settling into something more relaxed, its head bobbing in rhythm with each step. Motoyasu found himself reaching forward, scratching behind its feathered crest. The creature let out a soft, contented sound and leaned into his touch.
"You like that, huh?" He dug into his pocket, producing a small handful of grain he'd packed for exactly this purpose. "Here. Snacks. For being such a good bird and not throwing us into a ditch."
Elena, walking beside the cart now, raised an eyebrow. "You brought treats for the bird but forgot where you put the water?"
"I didn't forget the water. The water was... strategically placed. For later."
"Uh-huh. Strategically placed. Of course."
The way she repeated his phrase was piercing, but he didn't let it show.
"Of course! This is a thing of another world. You wouldn't be able to understand it in an instant."
Rino laughed from the back of the cart, her color fully returned now. "Is that what we're calling it?"
Motoyasu grinned and fired back a retort, "Hahaha, of course. And if you're asking for an explanation it's becau—
Lesti appeared at his side.
She didn't climb onto the bench so much as arrive there, her movements so smooth and natural that Motoyasu didn't realize she'd taken the seat beside him until she was already there. Her hands settled in her lap. With her posture perfect, she gazed at the bird with an intensity that seemed out of place.
"Do you remember this bird in front of you is called a Filolial?" she asked.
Motoyasu blinked. "A what?"
"The bird." Lesti's voice was carefully neutral, but there was something underneath it—a warmth that didn't quite match her usual composure. "That's what they're called here. Filolials. I've read about them, but I've never been this close to one before."
He grinned, scratching the bird's crest again. "Yeah! In my world, we called them Hochiku. But apparently here they're—what did you say? Filolials?"
"Filolials," Lesti repeated. She reached out, hesitating just before her fingers touched the bird's feathers. "May I?"
"Go for it. She's friendly. Mostly. I think. She hasn't bitten me yet, so that gotta count for something, right?"
Lesti's hand made contact. The bird leaned into her touch, its eyes half-closing in contentment. And Motoyasu watched, fascinated, as the carefully constructed mask of the noblewoman cracked.
"It's so soft," she breathed. "I didn't think it would be this soft."
"Right? You'd expect feathers to be scratchy, but they're not. It's like—like touching a cloud. A very large, very fast cloud."
Lesti made a sound that might have been a laugh. No, it's definitely a laugh. It was small, almost swallowed, but it was real. Her fingers traced the curve of the Filolial's neck, gentle and wondering.
Motoyasu found himself staring.
She was really pretty when she smiled like that. Not that she wasn't always pretty, obviously, but there was something different about this—something real. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, her usual sharp edges softened into something almost...
"I didn't know you liked animals," he said.
Lesti's hand paused. For a moment, something flickered across her face—embarrassment, maybe, or the awareness that she'd let her guard down.
"I don't," she said, and it was clearly a lie. "I simply find the Filolial's physiology... interesting."
"Uh-huh."
"I read a monograph on their breeding habits once. Very educational."
"Sure."
Her eyes narrowed, but there was no heat in it. "Are you mocking me, Lord Motoyasu?"
"Me? Mocking? Never. I'm just impressed. A monograph. That's—that's very dedicated of you."
She held his gaze for a moment. Then her lips twitched, and she looked away, back at the bird. "It was a good monograph."
Motoyasu grinned. "I bet it was."
They rode on like that—Lesti beside him, her hand occasionally reaching out to touch the Filolial's feathers, her voice low and surprisingly warm as she talked about things he didn't quite understand. Breeding habits and migration patterns and something about the way their feathers refracted light that she'd apparently learned from some book or another.
He didn't understand half of it. But he liked listening. Liked the way her voice softened when she talked about things she cared about. Liked the way she forgot to be perfect, just for a moment.
Man. She was really smart. And beautiful. And kind. And she liked cute things too. She was really amazing.
From the back of the cart, Elena cleared her throat. "Lord Motoyasu, perhaps I could take the reins for a while. Give you a chance to rest."
Motoyasu opened his mouth to respond, but Lesti spoke first.
"Lord Motoyasu has been handling the bird admirably," she said, her voice smooth as silk, her eyes never leaving the Filolial. "It would be a shame to disrupt the rhythm he's established."
Elena blinked. "I wasn't suggesting—"
"The Filolial has grown accustomed to his hands," Lesti continued, still in that same calm, reasonable tone. "Changing drivers now might unsettle it. We wouldn't want to risk an accident so close to our destination."
Motoyasu nodded along. "She's got a point. The bird and I, we've got a flow. Some might even say a rhythm. If we're ambitious, we can even be a rap duo!"
Elena's expression flickered—something between confusion and... something else. "I see."
Rino, who had been leaning forward to join the conversation, suddenly found something very interesting to look at in the passing landscape. Her mouth closed. She settled back against the supplies.
Lesti's hand found the Filolial's crest again. Her fingers traced slow, absent patterns through the feathers.
"You were saying, Lord Motoyasu? About the racing quests in your world?"
Motoyasu blinked, trying to remember where he'd left off. "Oh! Right, right. So there was this one time—okay, so the course went through this canyon, right? And everyone said you couldn't take the inner path because it was too narrow, too dangerous, but I figured—"
He talked. Lesti listened. Behind them, Elena and Rino were quiet.
It was nice, Motoyasu thought. Having someone who really listened. Who asked questions about his world, experience, and life. Like it truly mattered.
"Man," Motoyasu said eventually, grinning at the woman beside him. "You're really something, Lesti. Smart and you like birds. That's a pretty amazing combination."
Her lips curved. "I'm full of surprises, Lord Motoyasu."
"I bet you are."
She didn't look away. He didn't either.
From his peripheral vision, he could see Rino whispering something to Elena. Elena's response was too quiet to hear.
They kept going like that for hours, the Filolial's steady pace eating up the miles. The road was quiet, only occasionally interrupted by small monsters that scattered at the sight of them. A goblin here, a wolf there—nothing that required more than a lazy wave of Motoyasu's spear to send them to the other side.
It was almost peaceful.
When the sun finally passed its zenith and began its slow descent toward the horizon, they crested a low hill and saw it.
Ivyred territory.
Motoyasu pulled the cart to a stop.
The word "city" had been used by Welst and the others in the briefing. This was not a city. An open wound festered with maggots would be a more accurate description for the state this place is currently in. Buildings that should have been homes were little more than shells, their walls cracked and roofs caved in. The streets that ran between them were empty of people but full of debris—broken carts, scattered goods. The clear remnants of daily lives interrupted. The smell reached them even from this distance. Of smoke and dust and something sour underneath, something that Motoyasu recognized from the charity drives his mother used to drag him to, back in his world. The smell of poverty. The smell of people who had lost everything and hadn't figured out how to stop losing.
It reminded him of the footage he'd seen on the news. Third-world countries wrecked by war and natural disasters, year after year, the cameras showing the same hollow-eyed faces. Buildings crumbled and the silence was the worst because it felt… desperate.
He'd always felt bad watching those reports. Changed the channel after a minute, maybe, because it was too much, because what could he do? He was just a college student. He couldn't fix the world.
But now he was here. Now he was the Spear Hero. And these people—these hollow-eyed, desperate, forgotten people—were his to save.
His hands tightened on the reins. His jaw clenched. Anger rose in his chest, hot and bright—not at anyone, not really, just at the world that let this happen, at the bandits who made it worse, at the people who could have helped and didn't.
He would make it right. He would charge through this problem like he charged through everything else. He would break it open, scatter the bandits, bring help and hope and something better. For the people here. For his fellow heroes. For all the friends who trusted him.
He would—
"Motoyasu."
Lesti's hand was on his shoulder, shaking him gently. Her voice was soft, but there was something underneath it—concern, maybe. Or recognition.
"You were staring," she said. "For a while."
"....Huh? You're right. Sorry, must be real unusual for me to be this quiet."
Right. He'd been staring. Not like him. He was the Spear Hero. The one who charged ahead, who didn't think too much, who kept moving forward because stopping meant looking at the things he'd rather not see.
"Sorry." He said again while shaking himself, forcing a grin that felt only slightly fake. "I'm just maybe a little nervous. About doing my first real heroic activities, you know? Big responsibility. Lots of people counting on me. It's a lot."
Lesti studied him for a moment, her sharp eyes missing nothing. Then she smiled—a smile that shaped her beautiful face into something...he couldn't describe it. She looks genuine and beautiful.
"Well, no need to feel that." She tilted her head toward the city below. "They're just bandits. When they hear you're coming, they'll probably scurry off like the rats they are. The Spear Hero, descending upon them? They'll be halfway to the border before you even draw your weapon."
"You think so?"
"I know so." Her voice was confident, but her eyes had gone a little distant, looking past the ruined city to something only she could see. "My grandfather used to tell stories about the Heroes. About the Spear, especially. The one who charges ahead, who makes the path so that everyone else can follow." She glanced at him. "That's you, isn't it?"
Motoyasu blinked. "I... yeah. That's what I'm supposed to be, anyway."
"Then be it." She let her hand fall from his shoulder. "Stop thinking about whether you're good enough. Stop wondering if you'll fail. Just..." She gestured vaguely. "Charge."
He stared at her for a moment. Then he laughed—a real laugh, surprised out of him. "That's... that's actually really good advice. Like, surprisingly good."
"For a noble anyway," he muttered quietly.
Her eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Not quiet enough.
"Nothing! Nothing. Just that you're really smart. And beautiful. And you give good advice. Which is also smart. So. Smart and beautiful. That's what I'm saying."
Lesti's lips pressed together, fighting a smile. "Truly, you're the idiot of all the four heroes."
"An idiot who's about to go save a city from bandits," Motoyasu said, taking up the reins again. "So. You know. A heroic idiot."
"That's not better."
"It is a little better!"
He urged the Filolial forward, and the cart began its slow descent into the valley.
The city—he was going to call it a city, because anything else felt too cruel—was worse up close.
The tall walls surrounding this place, one that should have protected them were crumbling, their stonework cracked and patched with whatever materials could be scavenged. The gate hung crooked on its hinges, barely wide enough for the cart to pass. Through it, Motoyasu could see more of the same. The view of the empty streets, shuttered windows. The deafening silence.
But there were people. Watching from doorways. Peering from windows. Faces hollow with hunger and fear, eyes tracking the cart with something that might have been hope or might have been dread. A small boy, with rag for a clothing stared at him as they passed by.
Motoyasu raised a hand in greeting. The boy didn't move. He didn't even blink the whole time they were passing by.
At the end of the main street, barely visible through the haze of dust and smoke, stood the Ivyred manor, though it looked more like a decorated farmhouse. It was a decrepit thing, its walls stained, its windows dark, its once-grand facade crumbling. But it was still standing.
Motoyasu guided the cart through the open gates, the Filolial's claws clicking against cracked stone. The courtyard beyond was overgrown, weeds forcing their way through cobblestones that had once been pristine. A fountain stood dry and empty in the center, its carved figures worn smooth by weather and neglect.
He pulled the cart to a stop and stood.
"Excuse me!" His voice carried across the courtyard, echoing off the manor's walls. "We heard you guys have a problem with bandits! We came here to help!"
For a moment, nothing. Then a door opened somewhere inside. Voices murmured. Footsteps hurried through corridors.
The Ivyred family emerged slowly at first—a trickle, then a flood. An older man with grey hair and a military bearing, his clothes faded but clean, his eyes sharp despite the lines of exhaustion carved into his face. Behind him, a woman of similar age, her hands clasped in front of her, her expression caught between hope and disbelief. Children peeked from behind their skirts, their faces thin, their eyes too large for their frames. Servants and retainers followed, their numbers far too few for a house of this size.
The older man stepped forward. He studied Motoyasu—the spear at his back, the party flanking him, the Hero's confidence he wore like armor. Then his gaze moved to Lesti, to Rino, to Elena. To the cart of supplies behind them.
"You're the Hero," he said. It wasn't a question.
Motoyasu grinned. "The Spear Hero. Motoyasu Kitamura. And these are my companions—Elena, Rino, and Lesti. We got word you needed help with some bandit problem?"
The man's composure cracked. Just for a moment—a tremor in his jaw, a brightness in his eyes that he blinked away quickly. He straightened, drawing himself up with the dignity of someone who had been waiting for help far longer than he should have.
"I am Alistair Ivyred," he said, and his voice was steady despite everything. "Head of this house. I sent word to the Heroes' coalition through a young man named Welst, hoping—" He paused, swallowed. "Hoping someone would hear us."
"Well, we heard you." Motoyasu jumped down from the cart, landing with a thud that made the Filolial cluck in protest. "And we're here. So tell me everything. Where are the bandits? How many? When do they hit? Do they have a camp somewhere, or are they just roaming around being terrible?"
Alistair blinked. A sound escaped him—half laugh, half something else. "You're... direct."
"Spear Hero. We don't do subtle. That's the Bow Hero's thing. Noritoshi. He's very good at subtle. Me, I'm good at charging at things until they stop being problems."
Behind him, Elena made a sound that might have been a sigh. Or a prayer.
Alistair's lips twitched. "I see. Then I will be direct in return. The bandits are based in the eastern hills, perhaps a half-day's ride from here. They strike at random, taking what they want, destroying what they cannot carry. We have driven them off before, but never permanently. We simply..." He looked at his house, his family, his crumbling legacy. "We simply do not have the strength."
"Well, you've got us now."
Alistair met his eyes. For a long moment, neither spoke. Then the older man bowed—a formal bow, deep and sincere, the kind of bow one gave to a savior.
"Ivyred House has always honored its debts," he said. "You bring us hope when we had none. Supplies when we were starving. Strength when we were weak. Whatever endeavor you and your fellow Heroes find yourselves in, whatever battle you must fight, whatever cause you champion—Ivyred House will be at your side. This I swear."
Motoyasu's throat tightened.
He'd expected negotiations. Quid pro quo. The careful dance of favors and obligations that Noritoshi was so good at. He'd been ready to promise things. He practiced bargaining and was prepared to prove that helping them was worth their support later.
But this man wasn't bargaining. He was grateful. Desperately, completely, overwhelmingly grateful. There was no calculation in his eyes, no weighing of options. Just relief, so pure and so raw that Motoyasu could feel it like a physical thing.
He didn't know what to say to that. All the smooth words he'd practiced, the promises he'd prepared, the careful diplomacy he'd tried to learn from watching Noritoshi—none of them fit here.
So he just said the only thing that felt right.
"Thank you."
It came out rough. But it was sincere. He meant it from the bottom of his heart.
Alistair straightened, and for a moment they looked at each other in silence. A hero and a lord in desperate need for something to pierce through the thick cloud of despair that overwhelmed this place.
Then a voice, soft and hesitant, broke the silence.
"Father...?"
A young girl stepped out from behind Alistair. She was small—petite, even for her age—with long green hair tied into two braids with faded ribbons. Her dress was beige, simple, the kind of thing a noble's daughter wore when there was no money for anything finer. Her eyes were green, wide and curious and just slightly nervous as she looked at the strangers in her courtyard.
She clutched a book to her chest, the pages worn, the cover cracked from use. A mage's textbook, by the look of it.
Motoyasu's chest seized.
That hair style. The doe eyed look on her face. A shy smile, hesitant, like she wasn't sure she was allowed to be there.
Momiji.
The name hit him like a physical blow to the head. He hadn't thought about her in days—hadn't let himself think about her, about any of it, about the knives and the blood and the last thing he saw before everything went dark. He'd been so busy, so focused, so careful not to look back.
But she was right here. Braided hair and a shy smile and that same hesitant way of stepping into a conversation, like she was asking permission just to exist.
Motoyasu's smile froze. His hands, still raised from the cart, dropped to his sides. His voice caught in his throat.
He didn't move. He couldn't move nor could he speak. Just stared, his heart hammering against his ribs, his skin prickling with cold despite the warmth of the afternoon sun.
"Rishia," Alistair said, drawing the girl forward with a hand on her shoulder. "This is the Spear Hero. He's come to help us."
Rishia Ivyred dipped into a bow, her cheeks flushing pink. "It's... it's an honor to meet you, Lord Hero. I've heard so much about the Cardinal Heroes. I..." She peeked up at him through her lashes. "I always wanted to meet one. I never thought..."
She was shy. Genuinely, painfully shy. Her voice was soft, her hands trembling slightly where they gripped her book. She looked at him like he was something out of a story, something too wonderful to be real.
Motoyasu's throat was too tight to speak.
Lesti stepped forward smoothly, her voice light, conversational. "Rishia Ivyred. I thought I recognized the name." She inclined her head, a gesture of respect between equals—or near-equals. "You were my senior at the academy, weren't you? The genius who could use any type of magic. They said you mastered all beginners' magic from all affinities before your second year even began."
Rishia's blush deepened. "I... I just studied a lot. It wasn't—I'm not—" She ducked her head. "It's not as impressive as it sounds. It's all only beginner level magic and isn't really all that useful."
"That's not what the professors said." Lesti's voice was warm, almost gentle—a side of her Motoyasu had rarely seen. "They called you the most gifted mage of your generation."
Rishia made a small, distressed sound. Her fingers tightened on her book. "They were being kind. I just... I liked learning. I liked all of it. I couldn't choose just one, so I tried to learn everything, but that's not—that's not being gifted, that's just..." She trailed off, her face bright red.
Alistair's hand tightened on her shoulder. There was pride in his eyes, and something else—grief, maybe. Or guilt. "Rishia's talents have been... underutilized, since the troubles began. There's little call for advanced magic when you're simply trying to survive."
Rishia shook her head quickly. "It's fine. I'm fine. I just... I want to help. I want to do something. Anything." She looked at Motoyasu, and her eyes were so earnest, so desperate to be useful, that it made his chest ache.
Please, she said, without saying it. Let me be useful.
Motoyasu stared at her.
That same desperate need to be enough, to be worth something, to make up for the space she took up in the world by being good, being helpful, being better.
Momiji had looked at him like that. Once. Before everything went wrong.
He couldn't breathe.
"Motoyasu?" Lesti's voice cut through the haze. "Are you alright?"
He blinked. Forced a smile. It felt like breaking glass. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just... thinking. About the bandits. Strategy. Very important Hero strategy stuff."
Lesti's eyes narrowed. She clearly didn't believe him. But she didn't push.
Motoyasu turned away from Rishia. He couldn't look at her anymore.
"Right," he said, and his voice was too bright, too loud. "Bandits. Let's talk about bandits. Where's their camp? How many? What's the terrain like? We should move fast, catch them off guard, show them what happens when they mess with Ivyred territory."
He was talking too much. He knew he was talking too much. But if he stopped, if he let the silence settle, he'd have to think about green hair and green eyes and the way the light had gone out of Momiji's face when she realized what she'd done.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The bandits' camp was exactly where Alistair said it would be—nestled in a hollow of the eastern hills, a sprawl of crude tents and lean-tos built around a central fire pit. Motoyasu had scouted it himself earlier that evening, creeping through the underbrush with a silence he didn't know he possessed. A dozen men, maybe more. Armed. Organized. Not the rabble he'd expected.
They moved like soldiers. Ate in shifts. Posted sentries with overlapping fields of view. The fire was low, controlled, barely visible from a distance. These weren't starving farmers turned thief. These were professionals.
Motoyasu crouched behind a fallen log, watching, waiting for the moon to slip behind the clouds.
The first sentry died without a sound. Motoyasu's hand clamped over his mouth, his spear finding the gap between neck and shoulder, punching through with a wet, sucking sound that he tried very hard not to hear. The man's body went limp. Motoyasu lowered him to the ground, careful, quiet, his heart pounding so loud he was sure the whole camp could hear it.
One down.
He moved to the next sentry, a man leaning against a tree, his head nodding toward sleep. Easier. A spear through the chest, straight through, pulled out before the body could fall. The man's eyes opened wide, his mouth opened wider, but no sound came out.
Two.
A third sentry was walking the perimeter, his footsteps crunching on dead leaves. Motoyasu waited behind a bush, counting the steps, timing his approach. When the man passed, he lunged—spear across the throat, yanking back, the edge of the blade cutting deep. The man clawed at his neck, at the air, at nothing. His body made sounds Motoyasu tried not to hear.
Three.
He was in the camp now. The fire had burned down to embers, casting just enough light to see the shapes of sleeping men in their tents. He should kill them while they slept. That was the smart thing. The efficient thing. That was what Noritoshi would do.
But his hands were shaking. His spear felt heavy. He couldn't believe he had done all of that.
"This is a game, this is a game, this is a game," He muttered fervently.
A man stumbled out of one of the tents, rubbing his eyes, yawning. He saw Motoyasu. His mouth opened.
Motoyasu's spear lashed out, the butt slamming into the man's temple. He crumpled without a sound.
The tent flap rustled. Another man, drawn by the noise. Motoyasu smacked the tip of his sword aside with the spear's shaft, reversed his grip, and drove the butt into the man's throat. Cartilage crunched. The man went down, gagging, choking.
Someone shouted. The camp erupted.
"Intruder! Wake up! Wake up!"
Motoyasu cursed and drove his spear through the chest of a man rising from his bedroll. He ripped it free, spun to meet a sword aimed at his head, deflected it with the shaft, and kicked the attacker in the knee. The man buckled. Motoyasu's spear came down on his skull with a sound like splitting wood.
"Rino!" he shouted. "Now!"
Fire bloomed behind him—a sheet of flame that turned the night to day, that sent bandits scrambling, that lit up the whole hollow in orange and white. Rino's voice was high and fierce, chanting something he couldn't understand, and the fire obeyed her, flowing in arcs that cut off escape routes, herding the bandits toward the center of the camp.
A man with an axe charged Motoyasu from the side. He dropped low, the blade whistling over his head, and drove his spear upward into the man's ribs. The man screamed, swung again, wild. Motoyasu yanked his spear free and sidestepped the axe, letting it bury itself in the ground. His spear took the man in the throat.
He was moving now. Not thinking. Just reacting. A sword came at his left—he smacked it aside with the spear's shaft, stepped into the man's guard, and drove the butt into his face. The man fell backward, nose streaming blood. Motoyasu finished him with a thrust through the chest.
Another man. Younger. Scared. His sword was shaking in his hands. Motoyasu could have killed him easily—a quick thrust, a twist, done. But he hesitated.
The man lunged. Desperate. Wild.
Motoyasu sidestepped, brought his spear around, and caught the man across the back of the head. He fell like a stone.
"Lord Motoyasu!" Elena's voice, sharp and urgent. She was engaged with two men, her sword flashing in the firelight, keeping them at bay but not advancing. "These aren't ordinary bandits! They're trained!"
She was right. The men who hadn't fled were forming up, shields raised, moving together like soldiers who'd done this before. Motoyasu saw Lesti among them, her movements cold and precise, her blade finding gaps in their formation that shouldn't have been there. Rino's fire had scattered them, but they were regrouping, rallying.
Elena was holding her own, but she wasn't pushing forward. She couldn't. The two men she faced were good—better than her, maybe, if they'd been fresh, but they were tired, scared, and she was Elena. She gave ground slowly, deliberately, drawing them in.
Motoyasu moved.
He came at the first man from the side, spear low, sweeping his legs out from under him. The man fell. Elena's sword found his throat before he could rise. The second man turned, sword raised, and Motoyasu smacked it aside with the shaft, drove the butt into his stomach, and as he doubled over, Elena's pommel came down on the back of his head.
They worked like that, the two of them, back to back, moving through the camp. Elena's sword was precise, economical, each strike calculated. Motoyasu's spear was a blur, thrust and parry and sweep, keeping the bandits at distance so Elena could close. When one of them fell, the other was there to finish it.
But they kept coming. More bandits than the scouts had reported. More than the camp could hold. Where were they coming from?
A roar behind him. Motoyasu spun, spear raised, and saw a massive man—easily seven feet, built like a bull—charging at him with a two-handed axe. He got his spear up just in time, the blade catching the axe shaft, the impact jarring his arms, his shoulders, his whole body. He gave ground, step by step, the big man pressing his advantage, raining blows that shook Motoyasu's bones.
"Rino!" he shouted. "A little help!"
Lightning answered. A bolt of blue-white electricity slammed into the big man's chest, lifting him off his feet, throwing him backward into a tent. The canvas collapsed around him, smoking, burning.
Motoyasu turned to see Rino standing at the edge of the camp, her hands raised, her face alight with something that might have been joy. "Did you see that? Did you see that! I told you I could do so much—" She was laughing, almost dancing, her green hair wild around her face. "More! I can do more! Elena, get down!"
Elena dropped. A cone of ice erupted from Rino's hands, freezing two bandits where they stood, trapping a third up to his waist. Elena rose, cut through the frozen ones, and finished the third with a thrust through the chest.
"Lesti!" Motoyasu called. "Where are you?"
"Here!" She was at the edge of the firelight, her sword slick with blood, her face calm, almost serene. Three bandits lay at her feet, each one dispatched with a precision that made Motoyasu's stomach turn. "The camp is clear. The rest have fled into the hills."
He looked around. The fire had spread to three of the tents, sending sparks spiraling into the night sky. Bodies lay everywhere—some still, some twitching, some making sounds he didn't want to identify. The ground was wet with blood. His hands were wet with blood. His spear was wet with blood.
Fourteen men, Alistair had said. There were more than fourteen bodies here.
He stood in the middle of it all, chest heaving, arms trembling, and tried to remember when he'd stopped counting.
The first sentry. Then the second. The third. The man who saw him—he didn't count that one, maybe, because he'd just hit him, not killed him. But then the tent, and the man whose throat he'd crushed with the butt of his spear, and the one who'd been rising from his bedroll, and the one whose skull split under his spear, and the axe-man, and the sword-man, and the young one he'd knocked down but Elena had—
He lost count somewhere around the big one. The one Rino had hit with lightning. He didn't know if that one was dead. He didn't want to know.
"Motoyasu?" Lesti's voice was soft. "Are you hurt?"
He looked down at himself. Blood on his arms, his chest, his face. None of it his. "I don't think so."
She stepped closer, her sword still raised, her eyes scanning the treeline for threats. "You did well. We did well. This was..." She paused, looking at the bodies, the burning tents, the blood-soaked ground. "This was necessary."
He nodded. He didn't trust his voice. But he forced it to speak anyway.
"I... I didn't think it would be like this."
"Like what?" Elena's voice was flat. She was cleaning her sword methodically, not looking at any of them.
"I don't know. Different." He hugged his spear and used it as a crutch. "In the stories, the bandits run away when the Heroes come. Or they surrender. I didn't think we'd have to..."
"Kill them?" Elena's sword clicked back into its sheath. "They didn't give us a choice."
Motoyasu didn't answer.
Standing in the center of the camp with his spear hanging at his side, he tried to feel something. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a hollow ache behind his ribs. He'd done what he came to do. The bandits were dead or scattered. The Ivyred lands would be safe. That was good. That was what Heroes did.
But there were bodies at his feet.
He looked at his hands. They were shaking.
The fire was spreading now, catching on a pile of supplies, sending black smoke into the night sky. Rino muttered something and gestured, and water poured from the air, quenching the flames. The camp went dark.
In the darkness, Motoyasu could hear his own breathing. Ragged. Too fast.
"Motoyasu." Lesti's voice again. Closer this time. "You're bleeding."
He blinked. "I'm not."
"Your hands."
He looked down. She was right—his palms were cut, shallow grooves where his grip had slipped, where the shaft of his spear had carved into his skin. He hadn't felt it. He didn't feel it now.
"It's nothing," he said. His voice sounded strange. Far away.
Lesti reached for his hands. He let her take them, let her turn them over, let her examine the wounds with a clinical detachment that should have been cold but wasn't.
"Rino," she called. "Healing."
Rino appeared at his side, her hands already glowing with soft light. The cuts sealed as she touched them, the pain that he hadn't felt fading to nothing. "There. All better."
"Thank you." He looked at her, at Elena, at Lesti. At the bodies. At the blood-soaked ground. At the camp that was supposed to be his first real victory as a Hero. "We should... we should check the perimeter. Make sure none of them are coming back."
Elena nodded. "I'll take the east ridge."
"I'll circle south." Rino was already moving, her staff raised, her eyes scanning the darkness.
"I'll stay here." Lesti didn't move from his side. "In case any of them double back."
The others left. Motoyasu stood in the ruined camp, his spear in his hands, and tried to remember how to breathe.
He'd done it. He'd won.
So why did he feel like he'd lost something he couldn't name?
Around him, the bodies lay still. The blood pooled in the hollows of the ground, catching the moonlight, turning the earth to something dark and slick and terrible.
Motoyasu closed his eyes.
When he opened them, the bodies were still there. The blood was still there. The weight in his chest was still there.
He was the Spear Hero. The one who charged ahead. The one who made the path so everyone else could follow.
He looked at his hands. Clean now. Rino had healed them.
They still felt stained.
Once all was done, they left the camp behind. The bodies they burned—a practical necessity, Elena explained, to make sure no monster horde was drawn so close to human territory. Motoyasu watched the pyre catch, watched the flames climb higher, watched the smoke spiral up into the pale light of dawn. He didn't know what he felt. He didn't try to figure it out.
The walk back to Ivyred territory was quiet. Rino had stopped chattering. Elena's face was unreadable. Lesti walked beside him, her presence steady, her silence watchful.
Motoyasu kept his eyes forward and his spear in his hands.
The farmhouse looked worse in the daylight.
When they'd arrived the day before, Motoyasu had assumed the Ivyred family's home was supposed to look like a farmhouse. Modest. Humble. The kind of place where a minor noble might live if they'd fallen on hard times but were too proud to admit it.
Now, with the morning sun exposing every crack and scar, he realized it wasn't supposed to look like this at all.
The walls were bare where paintings had been torn down. Empty frames leaned against the floorboards, their contents smashed or stolen. Furniture was overturned, cushions slashed, stuffing spilling out like wounds. What had once been a modest sitting room was now a ruin—not from age or neglect, but from violence.
Alistair Ivyred stood in the center of it, his hands clasped behind his back, his face grey with exhaustion. He didn't look at them when they entered. He stared at the empty walls, at the shattered frames, at the life that had been torn apart and scattered.
"You're back," he said. His voice was flat.
Motoyasu lowered his spear. "The bandits are gone. The camp is destroyed. They won't bother you anymore."
Alistair's shoulders sagged. Not with relief—with something heavier. Something that looked like grief.
"That's good," he said. "That's... good."
Elena stepped forward. "Lord Ivyred. What happened here?"
The old man closed his eyes. When he opened them, there were tears tracking down his cheeks, but his voice was steady.
"Sit down," he said. "All of you. There's something you need to understand. About us. About this place. About what you really came here to fight."
They sat. Lesti found a stool near the window, her posture perfect despite the chaos around her. Elena leaned against a wall, arms crossed, watching. Rino perched on the edge of a broken chair, her hands folded in her lap, her face pale.
Motoyasu sat on the floor. He didn't know why. It just felt right. Like standing would be too much.
Alistair began to speak.
"My family has governed this territory for three generations. We were never wealthy—not by noble standards. Our lands are too rocky, our soil too thin. But we were content. We grew enough to feed ourselves. We traded enough to buy what we couldn't grow. Our people... our people were happy."
He paused, looking at the empty walls. "Then the Crown issued new decrees. Demands for higher taxes, greater contributions to the royal coffers. We disagreed with them. Not publicly—we were not foolish enough to defy the Crown openly. But we delayed. We found loopholes. We protected our people as best we could."
His voice hardened. "The Crown noticed. They stripped our authority. Reassigned our tax collection to a neighboring lord. A man named Valerius."
The name landed like a stone in still water.
Motoyasu saw Lesti's fingers tighten on her knee. Saw Elena's jaw clench. Saw Rino's eyes go wide with recognition.
"You know him," Motoyasu said.
"We know of him." Lesti's voice was cold. "Everyone knows of him. He's... notorious. For his methods. For his cruelty. For the way he acquires things that don't belong to him."
Alistair nodded slowly. "Valerius controls the Northern Territory. He's been in power there for fifteen years. In that time, he has amassed a fortune that would rival the Crown's. How he acquired it..." He spread his hands. "There are rumors. None of them proven. None of them investigated."
He began to pace, his steps measured, his voice growing stronger as he spoke.
"When Valerius assumed control of our tax obligations, we expected pressure. What we didn't expect was sabotage. Fields burned. Crops poisoned. Buildings set alight in the night. At first, we thought it was bandits. Then the thefts began—livestock, supplies, tools. Always at night. Always when our guards were elsewhere."
"Valerius," Motoyasu said.
"We suspected. But we couldn't prove it. And without proof, we couldn't act. So we did the only thing we could. We raised our defenses. We hired extra guards. We built walls around the town, around the farms, around everything we had left."
He stopped. Turned to face them.
"It drained us. Everything we'd saved, everything we'd built—it all went to protection. And still, the attacks continued. Merchants stopped coming. Tradesmen stopped visiting. Our people grew hungry. Desperate. Angry."
He looked at Motoyasu, and there was something terrible in his eyes. Something that looked like shame.
"Then Valerius made his offer. He would restore our fortunes. Send supplies, guards, money. He would end the attacks, bring the merchants back, make us whole again. All he asked in return was..." His voice cracked. "All he asked was Rishia."
The room went very still.
Motoyasu felt something cold settle in his chest. "He wanted your daughter."
"To serve in his household, he said. As a companion to his niece. An education, he called it. A chance for her to see the world beyond our walls." Alistair's hands were shaking. "We refused."
"Good," Motoyasu said.
Alistair looked at him, and for a moment, there was something like gratitude in his eyes. Then it was gone.
"The attacks got worse after that. Theft became vandalism. Vandalism became violence. Our people began to leave. Those who stayed—" He shook his head. "They were afraid. We all were."
He moved to the window, staring out at the ruined fields beyond. "And then the adventurers came. A group of mercenaries, well-armed, well-trained. They drove off the bandits in a single night. We were so grateful. So relieved. We didn't question why they'd come. Didn't question who had sent them."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Then the bill came."
Elena straightened. "The guild sent you a bill for services you never requested."
"They sent it to Valerius's office," Alistair said. "And Valerius sent it to us. With interest. With fees. With penalties for late payment. The sum was..." He closed his eyes. "It was more than we had. More than we could ever have."
Motoyasu understood. "The bandits were his. The adventurers were his. He made you pay twice."
"Three times." Alistair's voice was hollow. "When we couldn't pay, he offered another arrangement. Half the debt forgiven, he said, if we accepted his bodyguards. Protection, he called it. To ensure our safety. To prevent further... incidents."
"The bodyguards were the same men who robbed you in the first place," Lesti said. It wasn't a question.
Alistair nodded. "They stayed in our home. Ate our food. Watched our daughter. And when they finally left just after you went to that bodyguard's base—they took Rishia with them."
The words hung in the air.
Motoyasu's hands tightened on his spear. "They took her."
"Valerius took her. In exchange for the rest of the debt, he said. A holding arrangement, he called it. Until we could pay. Until we could..." Alistair's voice broke.
He turned to face them, and Motoyasu saw now that the old man's face wasn't grey with exhaustion. It was grey with grief.
"Those bandits you killed tonight," Alistair said. "The ones who've been terrorizing our lands for months. The ones who burned our fields and stole our food and drove away our people."
He met Motoyasu's eyes.
"They were Valerius's men. All of them. His soldiers, his thugs, his enforcers. And they've been here, on our land, for six months. Waiting. Watching. Making sure we couldn't fight back."
Motoyasu couldn't breathe.
The bodies. The blood. The men he'd killed tonight, the ones he'd run through with his spear, the ones whose throats he'd cut, whose skulls he'd split, whose lives he'd ended in the dark.
Valerius's men. Valerius's soldiers.
Motoyasu rose. His legs were steady. His hands were steady. His spear felt light in his grip.
"How do we get her back?"
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BIG ANNOUNCEMENT GUYSSS!!!
Volume 1 finale is coming soon! And to celebrate, I've done something a little crazy—I commissioned some artists for some artworks!
Ohh, you are NOT ready for this.
Noritoshi looks absolutely DEVIOUS in one of them. Like, I was staring at the sketch and genuinely felt the need to apologize to the other Heroes. The look on his face is criminal. I'll share everything once the finale is up. For now, just know that Volume 1 is wrapping up, and I'm putting everything into this last stretch.
Thank you all for sticking with this story. You guys are the reason I'm out here commissioning art of my own fic like a madman. Truly.
Let's finish this strong 🔥