They walked through the streets of the slum, though calling them streets was generous.

  They were crooked veins carved between collapsing shacks and rust-rotted stone. The sky barely reached this part of the city. What light there was filtered in as a pale haze, soaked in smoke.

  The buildings leaned like dying things. Some had no roofs. Others were patched with tarp, animal hide, even flattened tin scraps. Doors didn’t close, if they existed at all. Rope and cracked boards kept everything from falling apart entirely.

  The ground squelched. Cracked stone met patches of mud and long streams of black, thick water. It ran from somewhere deeper, pooling in corners like something festering. The smell came with it—rot, piss, smoke, blood, and worse things people stopped trying to name.

  Garbage overflowed. Bones. Fruit rinds. Metal scraps. Flies crawled over everything. Things moved where they shouldn’t.

  Barefoot children darted through the filth like it was just another game, their laughter too sharp and loud.

  Luna pulled her hood lower. Her steps quieter. She was trying to make sure no one would recognize her. And to stay far from the attention Ryan was drawing..

  Ryan didn’t actually care that much. He walked tall, eyes wide, like this was a tourist spot.

  Ryan: “So... this is your neighborhood.”

  Luna: “Beautiful, right.”

  Ryan: “Actually, yeah. I just have one question. Why’s that river all green and lumpy? Is that normal?”

  Luna didn’t even glance.

  Luna: “That’s not a river.”

  Ryan blinked. "Come on, it’s clearly a river, maybe a small one, but still a river. If it’s not, then what else would you call it?"

  Luna: “The smell isn’t a clue? Try swimming in it. You’ll figure it out real quick.”

  Ryan raised both hands. “I’ll pass. I didn’t bring spare clothes.”

  She gave him a side glance, Then asked.

  Luna: “What’s your deal? You don’t look like one of us. Those clothes aren’t cheap for sure. So what are you? Kidnapped noble brat? Or did your family dump you after figuring out you’re completely unhinged?”

  Ryan: “Kidnapped fits better. Not that it matters. I’ll get back home whenever I feel like it. But right now, I’ve got other work.”

  Luna: “Like ruining people’s lives?”

  She looked ahead, voice flat.

  Luna: “Where’d you live before this?”

  Ryan: “Can’t say. I have to keep some secrets. Safety protocol and all that. What about you? What’s your story?”

  Luna smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes.

  Luna: “I’ve been like this since I was born.”

  Ryan tilted his head. “That’s a lie. But it’s fine. I won’t ask if you don’t want to talk. Just don’t let it be something tied to that organization.”

  Luna: “You crazy bastard.”

  They passed a shop, half-fallen, walls held up by willpower and mold. Inside, men sat slumped in a cloud of burnt herbs and muttered nonsense. One held a doll in his lap. It was covered in blood and feathers.

  No one cared.

  Around the next corner, crates boxed in a narrow alley. Behind them, three men leaned in close. Coins changed hands. A blade shimmered. One of them turned, locked eyes with Ryan for too long, then looked away.

  Ryan grinned. He kept walking.

  Then he stopped.

  Ahead, a crumbling chapel had robed figures handing out bowls of thin broth and rock-hard bread. A line stretched out into the street. Some knelt before receiving their share. Others snatched it and left in silence.

  Ryan: “Hey, look. Free food. Do you think it's edible?”

  Luna glanced at the line wrapped around the chapel courtyard, expression flat.

  Luna: “It's Church food. What do you think? You expect it to taste like roasted duck and buttered bread?”

  Ryan: “It wouldn’t, obviously. But that line’s too long for something awful.”

  Luna let out a groan and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  Luna: “It’s because they’re needy, desperate, or stupid. That food’s not a blessing. It tastes horrible. But to even get that, you have to either believe, kneel, or whatever they make you do.”

  Ryan whistled low.

  Ryan: “Huh. I see. I see. Alright then. Get me some. I’ll wait here.”

  Luna: “No. I’m not standing in line with those people. Go get it yourself if you're that hungry.”

  Ryan: “Come on—”

  A cracked voice cut through his words.

  “Luna? Is that you?”

  They both turned.

  An old man stood nearby, hunched, leaning on a cane, draped in heavy black priest robes that looked older than he did. His beard was a nest of white and gray, and his eyes carried the kind of exhaustion that didn't come from age alone.

  Luna muttered under her breath.

  Luna: “Ugh, it’s that old man. Let’s go. Right now.”

  She spun to leave, but Ryan caught her wrist.

  Ryan, lowering his voice: “You know him? Who is he? Is he part of something shady? Is he your handler? Is this your church front?”

  Luna yanked her arm.

  Luna: “He’s the head priest here, you lunatic.”

  Ryan: “Aha. A secret identity.”

  The old priest hobbled closer, smiling.

  Old Priest: “Luna... you are still running from me, I see. Where have you been? And who is this strange boy?”

  Luna: “Not your business.”

  Old Priest: “Luna, child, look at yourself. You're thinner than I remember. I told you, you didn’t have to live like this. You could have come here.”

  Luna: “I don’t need you. I’m doing fine.”

  Old Priest: “Stealing isn’t survival. It's a slow collapse. One day, you’ll fall, and no one will catch you.”

  Ryan muttered under his breath.

  Ryan: “So this is what being ignored feels like. Now I feel sad for Max.”

  Old Priest: “Luna. Let’s go inside. At least let me feed you something, dear child. Others would also be happy to see you.”

  Luna: “No.”

  Ryan: “Why not? We are invited anyway. Let's go.”

  He looked at Luna with a mischievous smile.

  Luna reluctantly: “Fine.”

  The old priest smiled: “Come, both of you.” As he led, they entered through the back door.

  They stepped inside a small and worn-down space. They sat on nearby chairs. A few kids came running—those who were either too young to work or currently on a break. Some greeted Luna, clearly excited to see her. Others stared at Ryan with wide, curious eyes.

  Girls hugged Luna tightly. Some tugged at her sleeves, asking if she had come back for good. The younger ones wanted to play. Luna looked flustered, trying to act distant but unable to hide the soft smile breaking through her usual mask.

  Old Priest: “Wait here. I will bring something.”

  Ryan, while seated, noticed a newspaper on the corner table. He grabbed it without thinking. It was four months old, but he still started flipping through it. On the second page was an article.

  He muttered: “Arnemist Festival is announced by the Emperor to celebrate the Foundation Day. All twelve officially stationed heroes, the Chosen Hero, and Saints will take part in it along with many other big names. It will happen in the Capital.”

  Ryan: “I don’t get why twelve heroes and a Chosen Hero. What does that even mean?”

  A young girl, sitting just across from him and eating her share, replied: “What? You don’t even know this, weirdo?”

  Ryan: “You do?”

  The girl puffed her chest with pride: “Yes.”

  Ryan: “Then try telling me, if you really know it.”

  Girl with a smug grin: “Twelve heroes are selected by the sixteen Great Families. The Chosen Hero is chosen by the Emperor.”

  Ryan: “So thirteen heroes, huh? What kind of rubbish is this? A hero is supposed to be only one. Undisputed. How come there are so many?”

  The girl frowned: “You don’t know anything. This is how it is. They’re all heroes. You must be one of those who believes in the fairy tale of the ‘True Hero.’ ”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Ryan: “What fairy tale?”

  The girl looked disgusted: “You don’t even know that? Who are you? You’re suspicious. I’m telling the head priest.”

  Ryan: “Do it after telling me about it.”

  The girl glared: “True Hero is just a myth. When the world or gods feel that evil has increased and god’s children can’t fight it anymore, the god summon a True Hero with power like none other. It’s just a fairy tale for children, that’s all.”

  She licked her bowl clean, then stood and walked away.

  Ryan: “Huh. Nothing interesting.”

  He glanced around the room, spotting a silver mask hanging near the altar. It was simple. Plain. Nothing special.

  Ryan’s mind racing

  From what I’ve studied back home, the most prominent religion in the Empire is the faith of Zaherayal, the God of Creation, Purity, and Judgment. Since they follow the same code, this should also be one of Zaherayal’s churches.

  The saints mentioned in the paper must be tied to this faith. A power struggle between the Great Families, the Emperor, and the Church is what I can guess from that article, though it only mentioned it as a celebratory event.

  I doubt it’s that simple. The Capital, huh... Luna’s organization is also connected to the Capital. Does that mean I should go there next?

  The old priest returned with food. He handed over the bowls, and Ryan began eating like a man who hadn’t seen food in days.

  Ryan: “It tastes way better than what you said.”

  Luna, eating slowly: “That’s because he’s feeding you his food. Not the one you saw outside.”

  Ryan: “How kind of you.”

  The old priest simply smiled as he left the room.

  For a few moments, there was only the quiet clinking of spoons and the low murmur of distant city life beyond the chapel walls.

  Suddenly, Ryan felt, no smelled, something strange. Something that didn’t belong here. A scent sharp and unnatural, It stirred a memory deep inside him.

  One he couldn’t place. He set his bowl down.

  Ryan: “Luna, does this place have monster issues by any chance?”

  Luna, still chewing, barely looked up.

  Luna: “No. The only monsters here would be thugs and creepy old men. Why, though?”

  Ryan’s expression changed. Something tightened in him. His stance shifted, calm but alert. His eyes scanned every inch of the chapel.

  Ryan: “Don’t get afraid. And don’t leave this place.”

  His voice was low. Steady. Too steady.

  A deep, guttural sound echoed from somewhere beyond the chapel, like rusted metal groaning under pressure. Followed by screams of civilians. Loud, panicked, raw.

  Luna froze mid-bite.

  Screams ripped through the street.

  Ryan moved first. He stepped back from the table, eyes narrowing. His body tensed.

  A second later, the chapel wall caved in.

  One of the Scythe Birds tore through it—claws out, slicing stone and wood like paper. All the children screamed. Tables flew.

  Ryan shouted, “Down!” and grabbed Luna, pulling her flat. The children hit the floor. The old priest didn’t. He tried to stand between the bird and kids.

  The creature didn’t even slow. It flung him aside. His body hit the altar, snapped in half, and dropped like a broken stick.

  Luna crawled to the children. Ryan pulled her back as a piece of ceiling collapsed.

  One of the younger girls—the one who had argued with Ryan—froze. She was standing. Wrong place. Wrong time. The first bird turned, blood dripping from its beak, and lunged.

  Ryan stepped in.

  He caught the girl mid-run and pushed her into Luna’s arms. “Take her. Move.”

  Luna didn’t argue. She grabbed the girl and bolted toward the back.

  The bird’s claw came down. Ryan blocked it with his arm, bone jarring from impact. Blood splattered across his face.

  His other arm changed. Claws extended, sharp and clean.

  He didn’t flinch. He slashed.

  The bird staggered as its front leg snapped off at the joint. Ryan didn’t wait. He grabbed its neck, spun, and slammed it into the ruined wall. The rest of the chapel collapsed from the impact.

  He moved toward the priest, picked him up, then reached Luna.

  Ryan: “The old man’s still alive, somehow.”

  Luna stared in shock, tears in her eyes.

  Luna: “What was that thing? How did that even happen?”

  Ryan: “Scythe bird. A type of monster that usually lives in high-altitude areas. I don’t know how it ended up here, but it’s not alone. This one’s just a juvenile, and it’s already bigger than the ones I’ve seen before. It also looks very different.”

  Luna held the frightened children close. They were shaking.

  Luna: “What do we do now? These things will destroy everything. Can we even escape? Where would we go?”

  Ryan: “No one’s going anywhere, and no one’s dying. You and I still need to get to the capital—once I clean this up.”

  Luna: “Are you serious? You just said there are more of them out there! We need to get these kids somewhere safe.”

  The old priest, still weak, spoke in a broken voice.

  Old Priest: “Back way… Run away… It’s dangerous…”

  Ryan: “Don’t worry. Stay here. I’ll make sure nothing gets through. Call it a thank-you—for the food, and the nice talk earlier.”

  Ryan: “Oh, and make sure you don’t mention my heroic act to anyone.”

  He paused, a small smile creeping onto his face.

  So this is it… First real battle outside. I didn’t expect it like this, but I’ll take it. Finally. It’s hero time.

  He couldn’t hide the grin as he walked forward—but then he stopped.

  Wait. I can’t just go out like this. People might recognize me in future because of it, that would be troublesome for my future adventures. I need to cover my face first.

  He glanced around and spotted something near the altar—a plain silver mask.

  He picked it up and put it on. Then he grabbed a white cloth nearby and wrapped it around his body.

  Ready, he stepped into the ruined doorway.

  People ran. Some tripped. Some never got back up.

  Twelve Scythe Birds dropped from the clouds like weapons let loose. Each one bigger than last one. Wings sharp. Claws longer than a sword. Beaks thick enough to crush stone. Their screeches cracked the air. Their eyes darted in every direction. They were in frenzy. Hungry.

  Ryan stood barefoot in the center of the chaos. A white cloak hung from his shoulders, scorched and torn. His face was hidden behind a silver mask.

  His hand dripped blood. Not his.

  He watched the monsters land.

  “Come on.”

  One fired a beam of energy. Ryan dodged. The blast carved a crater in the street. Stone and bodies flew.

  Another swept down. Its claw grazed his ribs. He gritted his teeth and struck its throat with a fist. It staggered.

  Two more came in. He rolled and slid through the dust.

  His side burned. Blood soaked his robe. But his eyes stayed locked on them.

  He reached down, grabbed iron debris from a fallen forge, and threw it. It hit the nearest bird in the eye. The beast howled and crashed into a wall.

  Ryan darted under another. One claw skimmed his hair. He caught its leg, twisted, and pulled with all his weight.

  The joint cracked.

  He tore the claw free and jammed it into the monster’s chest. It dropped. He hit it again. Blood sprayed.

  A third bird lunged. Ryan pulled another claw. Now he had two.

  They came fast.

  Beams cut the street. One missed his shoulder by inches. Another struck beside him and blew the cobblestones apart. air slashes sliced through homes. A man lost both legs. A girl was ripped from a hiding spot. Gone.

  Ryan moved forward.

  He cut one bird’s leg. Climbed its back. Stabbed it in the spine. It thrashed and died.

  He fell off, bleeding from the head. Gash over his eye. Side torn.

  He stood again.

  Another charged. He swung up. Split its jaw.

  He pulled two more claws. Now four.

  He moved faster. Slash. Jab. Roll. Tear.

  The street filled with feathers, bodies, blood.

  One claw hit his chest. Sent him into a wall. He stood up coughing.

  Three birds dove at once. He cut through one. Jumped. Landed claws deep in the second. The third slammed him through a vendor stall.

  He rose again. Limbs shaking.

  He threw one claw like a spear. It hit the mark. Through the eye. Down.

  Ryan jumped onto the falling body. Pulled out another claw midair. Landed on the last one. Six claws drove through its skull.

  Silence.

  Smoke rose. Homes burned. Blood filled the road.

  Twelve monsters. Dead.

  Ryan stood in the center of it all. Mask still on, shirt torn, chest cut, claws in hand.

  He looked toward the alley. A child peeked from behind a barrel.

  Ryan lifted one claw in a slow wave. Then turned and walked off. The claws dragged behind him.

  [ 2 days later, Somewhere in the Duchy of Foekest ]

  The entrance was hidden behind a butcher’s stall, masked by a ring of dried blood crusted around a rusted handle. There was no sign, no name. Just the stench of old meat and iron.

  Behind it, a staircase spiraled downward like a throat swallowing its prey.

  The basilica was old. It reeked of damp stone and burnt offerings. Columns leaned inward.

  At the far end, under a cracked dome, someone was already waiting.

  He wore stitched leather, clean but worn. Gold teeth. Calm hands.

  The inquisitor didn’t speak at first. He stepped forward slowly, scanning the space for exits, weapons, tricks.

  Both of them held a small black orb. They didn’t shake hands. Just nodded once and activated them with a word.

  Voice: "You sent your hound instead of coming yourself, huh? Is this how grunts like you do business?"

  Voice: "I could say the same. The Bishop of the Eastern Region. Douglas Kleen."

  Douglas laughed. "So you've already found me out. I expected as much from a name like yours."

  Voice: "I'll take that as a compliment. Now then—what can I do for a man of your stature?"

  Douglas: "Don’t pretend you don’t know. I paid a huge sum for your monsters, and what did I get? Nothing other than failure."

  Voice: "How does that have anything to do with us? We followed your plan. Provided top-notch controllable monsters. Spread them across different areas to cause complete havoc so your Paladin and Saint could come save the day and steal all the glory. If anything, the failure is on your side."

  Douglas: "That Cedric has stolen all the credit of on my expense. How did he know the monsters were going to be released in that area? I refuse to believe it was a coincidence that he was already there with his party."

  Voice: "Are you implying I leaked your plan to Cedric or the imperial family? I remind you, I am a man of my word. I don’t take part in such things."

  Douglas: "Aside from whole Cedric thing Which I am not going to let it go there is also Alteria Slums. You know the area? There were twelve of your high-quality products. None of them accomplished anything. From what I heard, they were trampled by someone wearing a Zaherayal silver mask. Do you know what it means to wear the Lord’s mask? It's ultimate heresy. And while wearing it, he defeated all twelve and disappeared. How could your so-called high product be defeated by a nobody heretic from freaking slums? You know how many bad rumors this thing here will spread about the church. Wearing that mask means you're mocking the Church's highest authority"

  Voice: "Again, we delivered what we promised. They were capable of wide destruction. How was I supposed to know someone capable of defeating them would show up? Still, if you want, I do have other monsters. I can offer them to you."

  Douglas laughed softly.

  Douglas: "No. I do not want those anymore. I’ve seen how weak they are."

  Voice: "They are not weak. A single Scythe Bird can wipe out an army and has defeated B-rank wizards. It’s just the level of Saints and Heroes is too much. If you want something that can handle truly powerful people, you’ll have to pay the price."

  Douglas: "I know. I know pretty well. That’s why I asked you to let those monsters loose in areas where no such individuals exist. Yet here we are. But let that go. I no longer want just monsters. What I desire now is..."

  Douglas stepped slightly closer to the orb.

  Douglas: "Sell me Autumn."

  A beat. The voice lost rhythm.

  Voice: "How do you know about Autumn?"

  Douglas: "You’re not the only one with informants."

  Voice: "That thing is too unstable. Even I wouldn’t use it."

  Douglas: "Just name your price. I don’t need to own it. One use. Maybe two."

  Voice: "No. It’s not a question of money. That thing is not controllable. This won’t be your public stunt. You won’t take it down. Not even with your Saints."

  Douglas: "You created a control key for the others. You must have one for Autumn."

  The voice went quiet for a moment.

  Voice: "If your sources are as good as you claim, then they must have told you—my Stellar Mountain facility was destroyed a few days ago. Everyone inside... gone. Monsters. Weapons. All the people. I sent more in. They never came back. The team working on Autumn’s failsafe was stationed there. They’re gone too. During the breach, I gave the order to destroy everything. All records. Every file."

  Douglas: "Tragic. But I still want Autumn. If not now, then later. I’ll fund the project and help rebuild the control key. In return, you let me use Autumn."

  Another silence.

  Voice: "Very well. Let me think it over. I’ll speak with my partners."

  The light inside the orbs faded. Neither man said another word.

  The orbs cracked, crushed silently between their fingers. Both men turned away and disappeared into separate tunnels of stone.