The grey clouds overhead brought a subtle tension to the camp. But even if the weather had been clear, Noritoshi knew it would feel the same. There was no hiding from what they were about to do.
He sat on a wooden crate inside the command tent, his hands clasped between his knees, his fingers clenching and unclenching in a rhythm he couldn't seem to stop. Today was the day. Right now, they were situated just a few kilometers from the massive walls that surrounded Rabiel's territory, hidden in the folds of the mountains that had apparently once protected Melromarc from the worst of the border raids. The irony was not lost on him.
Outside, the camp was subdued. Warriors from both the Reichnott and Aberdeen families moved between tents with efficiency, each preparing for the battle that might've come. Weapons were checked. Supplies were counted. Prayers were whispered to gods Noritoshi didn't know.
Inside, Van Reichnott sat across from him, his ever-present smile softening the hard edges of the conversation they were having.
"Are you really sure it's okay for you to be here?" Noritoshi's voice was low, meant for the two of them alone. "If this whole operation fails, you'd be able to escape any consequences if you weren't present."
Van's smile didn't waver. He adjusted the small, round, armless glasses perched on his nose—yellow frames that caught the lamplight and made him look more like a scholar than a noble who had gambled everything on a group of foreign Heroes.
"Please, Noritoshi." His voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was steel beneath it. "I have placed my faith in the Legendary Heroes. You will undoubtedly succeed."
Noritoshi studied him. Van Reichnott was not what he had expected when Welst first described the family's head. Tall and slim, with bluish raven hair cut in a style that crossed Ren's practical bowl cut with something more traditional—streamlined bangs at the front, clean lines at the back. His features were delicate, almost fragile, and his slight build suggested a man who had spent more time in libraries than training yards. His dark blue overcoat and brown pants were practical enough, but the long white cape draped over his shoulders was purely for theatrical purpose, the kind of thing a noble wore when he wanted everyone to know exactly who he was.
And yet, for all his softness, there was nothing weak about Van Reichnott.
He had earned the loyalty of demi-humans across the territory. Not through fear, not through obligation, but through decades of quiet, persistent work. He had opened his lands to refugees when other nobles closed their gates. He had fought—with words, with influence, with his own hands when necessary—to free slaves that no one else would claim. He had been beaten for it, threatened for it, nearly ruined for it. And he had never stopped.
Noritoshi respected that more than he could say.
"I'm not worried about the operation failing," Noritoshi said finally. "I'm worried about what happens after."
Van's smile softened. "You mean the retaliation."
"Yeah, there will undoubtedly be some… no, a lot of people who will look at what we've done and see a threat. Almost everyone in this country benefited from slavery." He met Van's eyes. "When we leave here, when the children are safe and Rabiel is exposed, there will be people who want to punish someone for what we've done. And you will be standing in front of them."
Van was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned forward, his hands clasped on his knees, his expression more serious than Noritoshi had ever seen it.
"I have spent my entire life standing in front of people who want to punish me for what I believe." His voice was soft, but there was no hesitation in it. "I have been called traitor. Weak. Fool. I have been threatened, dismissed, stripped of allies who were too afraid to stand with me." He smiled, and for a moment, Noritoshi saw the steel beneath the softness. "And I am still here. My people are still here. The demi-humans who have bled and died for the right to be seen as people—they are still here."
"Despite the king's attempt at hindering my authority and shunned me for my efforts," Reichnott lips tugged, like a cunning fox. "I'm still here. Now in an even better position as the four heroes are now considered me to be their benefactor. I'm much more resilient than you think, Noritoshi."
He straightened, his hands falling to his sides.
"I did not support this operation because I thought it would be easy. I supported it because it was right. And because I believed—" He met Noritoshi's eyes. "—that you would succeed."
Noritoshi held his gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"You have more faith in us than we have in ourselves sometimes."
Van's smile returned, warm and genuine. "That is what allies are for, is it not?"
He couldn't help a little scoff at hearing that.
"You're right. I'm glad I have reliable people as my ally."
"Thank you for the compliment~"
Noritoshi rose. "I'm going to prepare now. Ren and Motoyasu will be moving into position soon."
Van stood with him, his movements unhurried, his expression serene. "I will be here then, waiting for your safe return." He paused. "I believe the children will be safe in your hands."
"Thank you for your faith. We'll bring them back," he said. "All of them."
Van's smile widened, just slightly. "I know."
Noritoshi turned and walked out of the tent, into the grey light of the afternoon.
Ren and Motoyasu stood apart from the main camp, their parties clustered around them. Bara and Rhea had joined as well, the massive beastman a steady presence at Motoyasu's side while the twin bladed woman was twirling her blade deep in practice.
Motoyasu was pacing. "I'm finished," he moaned. "I'm going to ruin everything." He ran a hand through his hair, his voice rising to something near panic. "I barely can recall a single line. What if I say the wrong thing? What if I call him by the wrong name? What if I accidentally say something about the children and he just—"
"And everyone keeps telling you not to put so much thought into the script." Ren's voice was flat, but there was a thread of patience beneath it. "Shove the thought away from that thick head of yours and just focus on improvising. You're much better at going with the flow than being constrained by those scripts."
"But Ren—" Motoyasu's voice cracked. "What if I ruin things because I—"
"Shhhh." Ren held up a hand. "Enough. I don't want to hear it." He looked past Motoyasu, toward the command tent. "Let's just get into position. You have Rhea on your party already?"
Motoyasu blinked, thrown off his spiral. "Yeah. Since yesterday."
"Good." Ren nodded. "Let's meet with Norito—" He noticed Noritoshi's approach. "Ah. There he is."
Motoyasu turned, his face pale beneath his usual enthusiasm. "Where's Naofumi?"
"Getting ready with Welst and Kairn." Noritoshi stopped beside them, his eyes moving between the two Heroes, taking in their current states. Motoyasu's nervous energy. Ren was noticeably tense, but it's controlled. "By the sounds of it, all of you are ready?"
Motoyasu let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Yeah. Ready as I can be."
"I'm ready." Ren's voice was steady, but his fingers kept tapping against his sword hilt. "Just a little nervous."
From behind Ren, Tersia appeared, his arms crossed, his grin firmly in place. "Who's not nervous for this?" He clapped a hand on Ren's shoulder, nearly making him stumble. "It's normal. Healthy, even. The day a person stops being nervous before something like this is the day they stop being smart."
Farrie was pacing at the edge of the group, her hands twisting together, her eyes fixed on the walls in the distance. She had been like that all morning—moving, always moving, like she couldn't trust her body to stay still.
"Farrie." Elena's voice was sharp. She appeared behind the younger woman, her hands coming down on Farrie's shoulders, stopping her mid-step. "Calm down."
Farrie jumped, then sagged. "I'm trying. I just—" She let out a shaky breath. "What if something goes wrong? What if they—"
"Then we deal with it." Elena's grip tightened, grounding her. "That's what we're here for. That's what they're here for." She nodded toward the Heroes. "We've planned for this. Trained for days for this one moment. Worrying won't make the walls any lower or the guards any fewer."
Farrie closed her eyes, breathed in, breathed out. When she opened them again, some of the wild energy had faded. "Okay. Okay. I'm good. I'm fine."
Elena studied her for a moment, then released her shoulders. "Good. Stay that way."
Tersia snorted. "Look at you, being all competent and reassuring. It's almost like you've done this before."
Elena's expression didn't change. "I've been in battles. I participated in some sieges along with my father. I did a lot of things that made the thought, ahh I will die appear in my head. This is no different."
"Hardcore military woman," Ren muttered quietly, perhaps with no intention of letting the person in question know about his thoughts.
Evidently not by the sharp glare she sent his way and Ren wilted just a tiny bit. Noritoshi almost let out a chuckle.
Meanwhile, Motoyasu's face had gone from pale to something approaching green. "That's... not as reassuring as you think it is."
"It's not supposed to be reassuring." Elena's voice was certain. "It's supposed to be true. You've trained and you've planned for days on end. Moreover, you have people watching your backs. A luxury not everyone gets to have. Isn't that all anyone can ask for?"
Motoyasu let out a breath, and some of the tension bled from his shoulders. "A team. Right." He looked at Ren, then at Noritoshi. "Okay. Okay. I can do this. We can do this."
"Good." Noritoshi said out loud.
Looking up at the sky, it was just as gray as before. But at the very least, everyone feels a lot lighter now.
"Then let's move."
.
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.
.
.
.
.
Noritoshi crouched behind a hedge on the eastern perimeter, the Map Bow's overlay pulsing softly in the corner of his vision. The minimap showed the layout of the estate in crisp detail, thanks to Beloukas and Reichnott information gathering. The main house, the stables, the guard towers, the walls. And moving toward the front gate, two icons he knew as well as his own.
Motoyasu was waving his spear wildly, the icon jerking back and forth with the enthusiasm of a man trying very hard to be noticed. Ren stood beside him, still as stone, his own icon barely moving.
At the gate, guards scrambled. Noritoshi could imagine the scene from here—the shouting, the confusion, the sudden, frantic realization that two Cardinal Heroes had appeared on their doorstep without warning. The icons on the minimap shifted as guards rushed to receive them, their patrol patterns abandoned, their attention fixed entirely on the spectacle at the front entrance.
Noritoshi couldn't hold back the smirk.
Beside him, Naofumi's voice was barely a whisper. "Is he... is he actually good at this?"
Kairn shifted on his other side, her spear resting across her knees, her eyes fixed on the minimap's glow. "I didn't think he had it in him. The waving and the shouting is almost too convincing."
Welst, crouched behind a fallen log with his healing kit already open, let out a quiet laugh. "He's a natural. I almost believe he's actually that much of a fool."
Noritoshi shook his head, still watching the icons. "Once he gets into the flow, it's hard to interrupt him. He stops thinking and just... becomes whatever the moment needs him to be. It's not acting." He paused. "Motoyasu is just like that."
Naofumi snorted. "That's almost a compliment."
"It is what it is."
The icons at the gate shifted again. Noritoshi could see them moving now—Rabiel's personal guard, the ones who never left his side, sweeping Motoyasu and Ren toward the main house. The minimap showed the path they were taking. They waited. Numerous icons that he could safely assume as commoners were moving out of the way, sometimes even pushed when they didn't get out fast enough.
They waited. Finally, they arrived at the main house. Corridors and hallways, even rooms that they passed by were shown. But that's not the main point. The spaces they would leave behind were now shown.
Guards were pulling back from the eastern wall. The patrols that had been circling the perimeter were consolidating near the main house, drawn by the sudden, impossible appearance of Heroes at their master's mansion.
What was once a cluttered mess of hostile entities is now clear. The path was open.
"Time to move." Noritoshi rose from the hedge, his bow in his hand, his eyes fixed on the wall ahead. "Naofumi, you're with me. Kairn, take point. Welst, stay close. We find the dungeon, we find the children, and leave the rest to the demolition team. There will be no heroics or delays. We move fast, we move quietly, and we don't stop until everyone is out."
With Kairn leading, they arrived at the giant wall and found a spot that had been weakened by Beloukas spy in order for them to get an easy entry. It was a section where the mortar had crumbled, where the stones could be moved with enough force and would still be silent.
She worked quickly, her spear set aside, her hands finding the gaps in the stone. One by one, she pulled them free, passing them back to Welst, who stacked them in a neat pile.
The wall opened. A gap, just wide enough to slip through.
"Let's get in."
They slipped through the gap in the wall one by one—Kairn first, her spear low, her body already moving toward the shadows of the nearest building. Naofumi followed, his shield raised, his footsteps silent on the packed earth. Welst came next, his healing kit strapped tight, his breathing steady despite the tension in his shoulders.
Noritoshi was last. He paused at the breach, looked back once at the minimap.
Ren and Motoyasu's icons were moving through the mansion, following Rabiel's path. Deeper now. Drawing him away from the wings where the dungeons were supposed to be.
With Kairn leads, she skillfully maneuvered in the shadows between the building and remaining unseen all the time, they were quick to arrive behind the main house.
The grounds behind the main house were nothing like the front. Where the entrance was all manicured hedges and imported flowers, the rear was functional, utilitarian, built for purpose rather than display. Storage sheds. Supply buildings. A long, low structure of grey stone that might have been a stable once, before it was converted to something else.
They stopped at the corner of a supply shed, the main house visible now through a gap in the buildings. The windows were lit. Shadows moved behind them—servants, maybe, or guards called in from the walls to prepare for the sudden, unexpected arrival of Heroes.
Noritoshi checked the minimap. The guard icons that had been scattered across the grounds were gone now, pulled toward the main house. The patrol routes that should have circled the eastern wing were now empty. The paths that should have been watched were now open.
"Motoyasu's distraction is working," he murmured. "The guards are all being redirected to prepare for the Heroes' visit."
Naofumi peered around the corner, his shield raised. "How long do we have?"
"As long as Motoyasu and Ren can keep him talking. Once Rabiel decides to show them his territory, we'll have all the time we need." He checked the minimap again. Ren and Motoyasu's icons were still moving, still following Rabiel through the mansion. "He's giving them a tour. The study, the reception hall, the trophy room. Standard hospitality for important guests."
Kairn snorted quietly.
They moved again, circling around the supply buildings toward the eastern wing. The minimap showed the layout clearly now—the main house, the gardens, the stables. And beneath the main house, a network of rooms that Beloukas's intelligence had described as the dungeons, the place which Idol did not want outsiders to know about.
Noritoshi had studied the layout for hours. The main house had two entrances to the lower levels—one from the kitchen, used by servants to access the wine cellars and storage rooms. The other was hidden behind a false wall in Rabiel's private study, accessible only to him and his most trusted guards.
The kitchen entrance was the obvious choice. It was larger, easier to find, and theoretically less guarded. But it was also the first place anyone would look. If Rabiel had left any guards behind—if even one servant had been told to stay and watch—the operation would be compromised before it began.
So they were taking the other route.
Kairn paused at the corner of the eastern wing, her hand raised, her body pressed flat against the stone wall. Noritoshi stopped beside her, the minimap pulsing in his vision. Above them, on the second floor, Ren and Motoyasu's icons were moving with Rabiel's through what the map labeled as the trophy room. Below them, the foundations of the house stretched into darkness.
"There's a service entrance on the east side," Kairn murmured. "Used for deliveries. Supplies, food, things Rabiel didn't want coming through the main gates." She glanced at Noritoshi. "Beloukas's people marked it. Said it was the closest access point to the study above."
Noritoshi nodded. The map showed it too—a narrow door at the base of the eastern wall, half-hidden by the angle of the building. From there, a stairway led up into the house and down into the cellars. Down to where the children were.
"And the guards?"
Kairn's lips curved. "None. They've all been pulled to the front. Motoyasu's performance is even better than we hoped."
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"Let's move."
The service entrance was exactly where Beloukas's spy had said it would be—a low, iron-bound door half-hidden behind a stack of empty crates. The lock was old, rusted, barely functional. Kairn knelt beside it, her knife finding the mechanism, and a moment later the door swung open on hinges that hadn't been oiled in years.
The corridor beyond was narrow, the walls rough stone, the floor slick with damp. The air was cold and still, carrying the faint, sour smell of old wine and older secrets.
Noritoshi stepped through first, the Map Bow's overlay adjusting to the new space. The minimap flickered, recalibrated, and then resolved into a new layout—the service corridors that ran beneath the main house, the stairways that led up to the kitchens and down to the cellars, and at the very edge of the map's range, a cluster of rooms that pulsed with the faint signatures of living bodies.
Children. He was sure of it.
"The study is directly above us," he murmured, pointing at the ceiling. "Rabiel's private rooms are on the other side of the wall. If we get noisy, we risk being heard."
Naofumi moved to his side, his shield raised, his eyes fixed on the stairs that led down into darkness. "We just need to be quiet. Let's go down, now."
The air grew thicker with each step. Colder. Heavier. The smell that had been faint at the top of the stairs became something else entirely as they descended—an acrid, suffocating mixture of sweat and fear and something fouler that Noritoshi didn't want to name. His boots crunched on something he didn't look down to see.
Kairn's hand found his arm. She had gone very still, her spear lowered, her face pale in the dim light of Welst's spell.
"Noritoshi." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Look."
He looked.
The corridor opened into a wide chamber, its walls rough stone, its ceiling low and black with damp. Torches guttered in iron sconces, casting long, wavering shadows across the scene below. There were no beds. No blankets. No furniture of any kind, save for a single bucket of water in the corner that might have been there for days. The floor was slick with things he forced himself not to identify.
And in the corners, pressed against the walls, huddled together in the dark—
Children.
Dozens of them. Their clothes were rags. Their faces were smeared with dirt and dried blood. Some were so thin he could see the outline of their bones beneath their skin. They stared at the intruders with wide, empty eyes, and Noritoshi felt something crack open in his chest.
One of the younger ones—a girl with rabbit ears, no older than six—let out a whimper and pressed herself deeper into the corner. Another, a boy with the scaled skin of a lizard-kin, began to shake so violently that his teeth chattered. A third—a wolf-eared boy who might have been eight or nine—opened his mouth and let out a sound that was not quite a scream and not quite a sob, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as his body folded in on itself.
Naofumi took a step forward, his hand outstretched, his voice soft. "It's okay. We're here to—"
The children recoiled. A wave of them pressed back against the walls, their faces crumpling, their hands raised as if to ward off a blow. One of them—a girl with feathers in her hair—began to cry, great heaving sobs that shook her whole body. Another boy, older than the rest, curled into a ball and pressed his hands over his ears, his lips moving soundlessly.
Noritoshi stopped breathing.
He could see them. Not the children in the cell—not anymore. He could see Harutoshi. His brother, who had hugged him before he left, who had waved from the window, who had looked at him with eyes that trusted him to come back. He saw Harutoshi's face on every one of these children. His age. His fear. His small body pressed against a wall, waiting for someone to hurt him.
His hands were shaking. When had his hands started shaking? His vision tunneled, the edges going grey, and the only thing he could hear was the thunder of his own heartbeat, louder and louder, drowning out everything else.
Breathe. The thought came from somewhere far away. Breathe. You can't help them if you can't breathe.
He forced air into his lungs. Once. Twice. The edges of his vision cleared, and the sound of his heartbeat faded enough for him to hear—
"Don't worry. Shh, shh. They're not Master. They're probably here to clean up or give us some food."
The voice was young. So young. It came from a girl pressed against the far wall, her arms wrapped around a smaller child who was still shaking. Her hair was matted, her face bruised, her clothes torn in a way that made Noritoshi's stomach lurch. But her voice was steady. Steady, and calm, and so terribly, terribly practiced.
"They'll leave soon. They always leave. Just be quiet and they'll leave."
She was trying to look at them. He could see her trying. But every time her eyes almost met his, they skittered away, fixing on the wall, the floor, the other children—anywhere but the adults standing at the entrance. Her hands were trembling. Her voice, now that he was listening, was trembling too. The words came out too fast, too bright, like glass that would shatter if she spoke them any louder.
"It's okay. It's okay. We just have to be good. We just have to be quiet. If we're quiet, they won't—"
"YOU!"
A boy launched himself from the far corner, his face twisted, his hands balled into fists. He was not much older than the others—maybe eight, maybe ten—with the ears of a dog kin. He stopped at the edge of the light, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing.
The boy's voice cut through the chamber, raw and cracking. "You think we don't know what you are?! You think we don't know your faces?! You come down here with your fancy clothes and your magic light and you think we'll just—" He spat on the floor. "Cleaners! That's what he calls you! Cleaners and suppliers and all the other pretty words he uses so he doesn't have to say what you really are!"
The girl with the matted hair was trying to pull him back. "Don't—please, just be quiet, just—"
"No!" He shook her off, advancing another step. His voice rose, thin and fierce. "Hypocrite is what they are! They look at us with pity and yet they never did anything! You want to clean? Clean this!" He grabbed the front of his shirt—what was left of it—and held it out. "Clean the burns! Clean the cuts! Clean the—the—"
His voice cracked. For a moment, Noritoshi saw the child beneath the rage. Then the anger came back, harder, brighter.
"You're all the same! He sends you down here with your buckets and your lies, and you look at us like we're—like we're animals waiting to be fed! Like we're—" His fists shook at his sides. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? You come down here with your fancy bow and your shiny shield, and you can't even say anything?!"
He took another step, then another, until he was at the edge of the light. His face was flushed, his eyes red-rimmed, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.
"You want to help?" His voice dropped, suddenly quiet, suddenly terrible. "Then go tell that fat bastard upstairs that I hope his guts rot out. Tell him I hope he chokes on his wine. Tell him—tell him—"
His voice broke again. The anger drained out of him like water from a cracked vessel, leaving something hollow and trembling behind. His hands dropped to his sides. His shoulders sagged.
"Tell him I want to go home," he whispered.
The girl finally reached him, her thin arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him back. "It's okay. It's okay. They're leaving. They always leave. Just wait. Just be quiet. They'll leave."
But she too soon went silent, as now she was crying too, tears tracking down her cheeks. The smaller children had pressed themselves against the walls, their eyes fixed on the boy who had done the thing they were all too afraid to do.
Noritoshi's hand had stopped shaking. He didn't know when. Noritoshi knelt down. Slow. Deliberate. He let his bow rest against his knee and made his hands visible, palms up, empty.
The children watched him, as if preparing for a blow that will never come.
"My name is Noritoshi." His voice was rough, but he forced it steady. "I'm not a cleaner. I'm not a supplier. I'm not one of his." He met the boy's eyes, held them. "The man upstairs? The one who put you here? He doesn't know we're here. He's being distracted right now by two very loud, very annoying Heroes who are very good at talking about nothing. And while he's looking at them, we're going to get you out and we also prepared somewhere safe for you."
The boy stared at him. His lip trembled, just once. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
"You're lying." But his voice was smaller now. Hopeful, despite himself. "Everyone lies. The cleaners lie. The guards lie. He lies. He says we're being punished. He says we deserve it. He says—" His voice cracked again. "He says no one's coming."
Something cold settled in his chest. He remembered this feeling when he wished death on the Kamo clan. A curse. But he kept his voice steady. "He was wrong."