A four-seat armored truck rumbled across the rough terrain, its reinforced frame groaning with each impact. Mounted on top, a battle gun swiveled on its spine-mount, manned by a soldier whose eyes never stopped scanning the horizon.

  In the front seat, Sergeant Wolf gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, his jaw tight with tension. Beside him sat Sergeant Leon—Commander Konrad's right hand—his rifle resting across his lap, eyes alert.

  In the back, two men sat in silence. Commander Konrad, his posture rigid despite the jarring ride, stared out the window with cold calculation. Next to him, Ebisawa Kenzo—the Elder—sat with his blind eyes forward, head tilted as if listening to something only he could hear. His weathered hands traced invisible patterns in the air as he gave quiet directions.

  Behind the truck, a strange procession followed. One of the Elder's men rode horseback, a bow slung across his back and a katana at his hip—ancient weapons in a modern war. Two of Konrad's soldiers flanked them on motorcycles, their engines a constant growl, rifles strapped to their backs. Each group watched the other with barely concealed suspicion.

  The silence stretched until Konrad finally spoke, his voice cutting through the engine noise like a blade.

  "Elder, we've been traveling for quite a while on these... rough paths." His tone carried a dangerous edge. "It begs the question—are you leading us into an elaborate trap?"

  Elder Kenzo's expression didn't change. "Mr. Konrad, you suspect too much. Right after we made a temporary pact? You hold all the cards. I can do nothing. Just be patient. We're near."

  "How are you sure?" Konrad's eyes narrowed. "You're blind."

  "Yes." A faint smile crossed the Elder's weathered face. "But I have lived long enough to know things. That includes how my land works."

  "Whatever." Konrad's hand drifted to the pistol at his hip. "It better be good. For your people's sake."

  The Elder said nothing. The truck continued forward.

  After another hour of bone-jarring travel, the convoy emerged into a desolate expanse. The wasteland stretched before them—cracked earth, twisted rock formations, and not a single sign of life. Even the wind seemed hesitant to cross this place.

  "We have to walk from here," Elder Kenzo announced.

  Konrad's jaw clenched. "Tch. Are you fucking serious?"

  "Please, Mr. Konrad. Language." The Elder's tone remained infuriatingly calm. "These lands are weak and dangerous enough to sink the vehicle. The ground—"

  "Oh really?"

  Konrad leaned out the window and made a sharp forward gesture.

  One of the soldiers following on motorcycle revved his engine and shot forward, speeding past the truck into the wasteland. He'd gone maybe thirty meters when—

  CRACK.

  The earth beneath him gave way like paper.

  "AHHHHHHHHH!"

  The motorcycle and rider plunged through the collapsing ground, disappearing into a crater that opened like a hungry mouth. The scream cut off with a sickening crunch ten meters below.

  Konrad turned back to the Elder with a cold smile. "Ah. The land is dangerous, it seems." He raised his voice. "Everyone out. We're walking."

  The group moved forward in formation, footsteps careful and measured. Sergeant Wolf and Leon took point, rifles raised and ready. Commander Konrad and Elder Kenzo walked in the middle, the space between them thick with unspoken tension. The remaining soldier and the Elder's man brought up the rear, weapons drawn, eyes darting to the unstable ground beneath their feet.

  From the hole behind them, a desperate voice called out:

  "Help! Hello! Commander Konrad, please! Help me!"

  The fallen soldier, his leg bent at an unnatural angle, clawed at the edge of the crater with bloodied fingers. His face was pale with pain and fear.

  Commander Konrad didn't even glance back.

  Neither did anyone else.

  Elder Kenzo's blind eyes turned toward the sound, his expression troubled. "He's your comrade. Why are you not helping him?"

  "Comrade?" Konrad's laugh was sharp and humorless. "That's just a useless pawn now. And useless pawns should be left to rot. Don't you think?"

  "No." The Elder's voice carried quiet steel. "I don't think like that. Treating your enemies one way is understandable. But treating your own like that..." He shook his head. "It's not right."

  "We have different values and operate differently, Elder." Konrad's tone was dismissive. "You can show rainbows and butterflies to your men. Don't expect that from me."

  "Right." Elder Kenzo's expression was unreadable. "I forgot who I was talking to. For a moment."

  Konrad laughed—loud, genuine, and utterly without warmth.

  Behind them, the soldier's pleas grew fainter.

  Then stopped entirely.

  Konrad watched the Elder navigate the unstable ground with impossible confidence. The old man's feet found solid earth every time, never hesitating despite his blindness.

  "How many times have you walked this path?" Konrad asked.

  The Elder's weathered face creased into a faint smile. "More than I can count, Mr. Konrad. More than I can count."

  Something about the way he said it made Konrad's jaw tighten. But he dismissed the feeling.

  The wasteland ended at a massive hole—a perfectly circular opening in the earth that descended into darkness. Stone steps, ancient and worn smooth by countless feet, spiraled down into the depths.

  Elder Ebisawa Kenzo moved to the front of the group, his blind eyes somehow unerring as he found the first step.

  "Welcome," he said softly, "to our god's home. The beginning of us. The Amatsukurai—our tribe."

  He began his descent. After a moment's hesitation, Konrad gestured for his men to follow.

  One soldier and the Elder's horseman remained topside, weapons ready, guarding the perimeter.

  The cave was massive.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Torches lined the walls at regular intervals, their flames casting dancing shadows across stone that looked older than memory. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of mineral water and something else—something indefinable, like the weight of forgotten centuries.

  Stone benches sat in concentric rows, all facing the center of the chamber.

  There, rising from a pool of crystalline water, stood a monolith.

  It was enormous—a single column of black stone that stretched up and up, disappearing into shadows far above. The surface was covered in writing, characters that seemed to shift and flow in the flickering torchlight. Between the text, carved in relief, were images: a winged humanoid figure, strange symbols, depictions of light and darkness intertwined.

  Rivers branched from the central pool, thin streams of water that traced precise geometric patterns across the chamber floor before vanishing into cracks in the stone.

  The walls are carved with statues and drawings depicting a group of people offering things to a winged human whose features are not clear.

  The temple was chaotically silent.

  Commander Konrad approached slowly, his professional detachment cracking for the first time. His eyes moved across the monolith's surface, cataloging, analyzing.

  "The drawing," he began, pointing to one of the winged figures. "The winged one—"

  Elder Kenzo interrupted, his voice carrying a reverence Konrad had never heard before.

  "That is our god. The one who bestowed our destiny—the Ebonwing—to us." He moved forward until he stood at the edge of the pool, then dropped to his knees. "We call him Magatsuro."

  The Elder's hands moved as he prayed—the same gestures he'd made in the truck, tracing invisible patterns in the air. The movements matched the geometric channels carved into the floor, the branching rivers that flowed from the central pool.

  His blind eyes turned upward toward the monolith, and his voice shifted to a language older than stone—ancient, flowing, beautiful in its strangeness.

  As the words echoed through the chamber, the torches flickered.

  The pool's surface rippled, though no wind touched it.

  The Elder whispered the name again: "Magatsuro." Then, barely audible, almost lost beneath the echo: "Again."

  "Magatsuro," Konrad repeated, testing the word. "An angel?" His mind was already working, fitting pieces together. "Hm. Interesting."

  He turned to his men. "Wolf."

  "Sir."

  "Leon."

  "Sir."

  "Search everything. Leave no stone unturned. I need answers—find them." He gestured to the Elder, still deep in prayer. "And you, Elder. Read what it says. Kenzo?"

  The Elder didn't respond. His prayers continued, uninterrupted, the words flowing like water.

  "Kenzo."

  Nothing.

  Konrad's jaw tightened. He moved to one of the stone benches and sat, forcing himself to wait. His fingers drummed against his thigh. One minute. Two. Five.

  The Elder kept praying, his hollow eyes filled with something that might have been light—or madness.

  Ten minutes.

  Konrad's patience, already thin, shattered completely.

  He stood, crossed the distance in three sharp strides, and drove his boot into the Elder's face.

  The old man groaned, the prayer cut off mid-word as he fell backward, hitting the stone floor hard. Blood began to pool beneath his head.

  "I asked," Konrad said, his voice cold as winter steel, "what does the writing say?"

  Elder Kenzo reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the stone pool.

  He smiled faintly.

  “It’s warm,” he murmured. “It always is. Even after all these years.”

  He turned his blind face toward Konrad.

  “My people used to bring their children here. So they would know they weren’t alone.”

  The writings, you blind fool, what do they say?

  The Elder coughed, blood on his lips. "I... don't... know. It was wri—"

  BANG.

  Elder Ebisawa Kenzo's body jerked once, then went still.

  Blood spread across the ancient stone—dark, but not quite the right color. Too deep. Almost black in the torchlight, with a faint shimmer to it, like oil on water.

  The blood flowed toward the central pool, following the geometric channels carved into the floor. Where it touched the crystalline water, something seemed to pulse—too quick to be certain, easily dismissed as firelight on ripples.

  Konrad didn't notice. He lowered his pistol, a thin trail of smoke rising from the barrel. "Then you're no longer needed."

  His voice carried no emotion at all.

  Outside, one more gunshots cracked through the air.

  The elder's man who stayed out fell, a bullet through his heart.

  The soldier shot him dead.

  From the wasteland's edge, more military vehicles appeared—a full convoy, engines rumbling like approaching thunder. Soldiers poured out, establishing a perimeter with professional efficiency.

  From one of the vehicles stepped a clean-shaven young man in a white coat. He adjusted his glasses with precise movements, then began walking toward the cave entrance. His team followed—researchers, soldiers, equipment carriers.

  He entered the temple, viewed Kenzo's body, and ordered his men to take him to the lab. He then walked towards Commander Konrad.

  Konrad greeted the approaching scholar with a stiff, "Professor." The man simply smiled and nodded. "Brother."

  *********************************************

  "Oi. Partner. You alive? Oi, Kuro, you hear me?"

  Fenric's voice was worried, bordering on panic. He leaned over Kuro's unconscious form and gave his face a light slap.

  Nothing.

  Fenric took a deep breath.

  "KUROOOOO!"

  Kuro's eyes snapped open, his body jerking upright. "Wh-what!?"

  "Kuro!" Fenric's face split into a massive grin. He grabbed Kuro in a crushing hug. "My man is alive! You fought the freaking Crown Horn and you're still in one piece! Thank the gods!" His tail swayed non-stop.

  "Man," Kuro groaned, trying to extract himself, "were you expecting me to lose an arm or what?"

  "And he talks!" Fenric's voice cracked with relief. "Oh heaven, thank you. Oh gods, thank you."

  Kuro's expression shifted from confusion to irritation. "Beast..."

  "So did your body heal like last time, or what?"

  Kuro pushed himself to his feet, flexing his arms and legs experimentally. "It seems so."

  But the toll was evident. His movements were shaky, unsteady. He took two steps and nearly collapsed.

  Fenric caught him, slinging Kuro's arm over his shoulder. Together they limped toward Beretta, which sat at an angle near a pile of rubble—damaged from the battle but miraculously still functional.

  "Beast, you watched the whole fight, right?"

  "Yes. What about it?" Fenric's face showed genuine puzzlement.

  "Nothing."

  "What? Come on, man, you can't keep doing this, partner."

  ......................

  Ella had woken earlier. She'd been inspecting the fallen Horned Orcs, moving among the bodies with professional detachment, when she noticed movement. She changed course, walking to intercept Fenric and Kuro.

  "Fenric," she called.

  "Ella!" Fenric's face brightened. "Good to see you're alright. And your... new friend. Is he alright?"

  "Yes, as you can see." Fenric tried to sound casual. "He's a tough nut. It's nothing to him."

  "Nothing, huh?" Ella's eyes moved to Kuro. "You. Name?"

  Kuro looked at her for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable.

  Then he spoke: "Idiot."

  There was a heartbeat of silence.

  "Dude, what are you doing?" Fenric hissed, panic creeping into his voice. "I thought you wanted to stay anonymous!" He looked between Kuro and Ella, following Kuro's gaze—

  Oh.

  Realization crashed over him.

  Ella's face began turning crimson. A vein pulsed in her temple. She was fuming. "You... you bastard. Just because you defeated the King, you think you can—"

  "Uh, yeah, you did good." Kuro nodded as if that settled everything. "Don't tell anyone about this. It's a deal then."

  "Dude," Fenric whispered urgently, "you should use more flattery before you bring up your real intention."

  "Let's duel." Ella's voice was low, dangerous. Her hand moved to her sword hilt. "Right now."

  "Come on, Ella." Fenric stepped between them, hands raised placatingly. "He was just being... you know, that's how he compliments people. Don't take it to heart. And you and him—both of you aren't in any shape for a duel right now."

  "Oh, I'm alright." Ella's grip tightened on her sword. "I can still fight dozens of those orcs."

  Fenric moved closer to her, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Of course you can. But you see, Kuro here isn't strong like you. And it's worse now with the fight. It would be like fighting a kid. Are you sure you want—"

  "Beast, I can hear you," Kuro said flatly.

  "Of course you can." Fenric didn't miss a beat. "So, Ella, look at him. He'll collapse any minute now. He needs treatment, so—"

  I thought you said it's nothing to him, you're not convincing Ella's voice was steel. "He insulted me. Ella Silverwing of the Dragonbloods." She caught herself, turning away. "I mean, just Ella. Tch. Whatever. If I let go of the guy who—"

  She turned back.

  They were gone.

  "Wait, where—"

  VROOOOOM.

  The sound of an engine starting.

  Ella spun toward the noise. Fenric was already on Beretta, Kuro slumped in the sidecar.

  "Bastards! Wait!" She shouted, her voice sounding dry.

  "See you then, Ella!" Fenric called over the engine noise. "Great to see you again!" His voice turned serious for just a moment. "If you're coming to the town, don't say anything about our involvement. I trust you—on our friendship!"

  He waved.

  Kuro was already asleep in the sidecar.

  The motorcycle roared away, disappearing down the road in a cloud of dust.

  "Dammit." Ella stood alone among the corpse-strewn battlefield. "I forgot to ask about the mosrel horn." Her eyes narrowed. "Kuro. I'm not done with you."

  She turned and walked back toward the fallen Crown Horn King, her mind already working through what she'd witnessed.

  The sun began its final descent toward the horizon, painting the devastated village in shades of blood and gold.

  A figure appeared at the middle of the battlefield.

  Ella noticed the presence immediately. Her hand went to her sword as she turned, eyes narrowing.

  The newcomer walked, silhouetted against the dying light, features obscured by shadow.

  Watching.

  Approaching.