The Beloved Butler

The halls of Tony's mansion exuded grandeur, with rich carpets running down the centre and portraits of dignified figures adorning the walls. The air buzzed with life as workers bustled through, all heading toward the kitchen. Each one greeted Hudson warmly as they passed, their faces alight with excitement.

Hudson strode gracefully through the corridor, a silver tray balanced effortlessly in his hand. Mary walked beside him, her maid's hat crumpled in her grasp, revealing her short blonde hair. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her gaze lingering for a moment.

Though older than the butler, she held deep respect for his skill and composure. Despite his youthful appearance and unassuming frame, Hudson carried a charisma that captivated everyone, Mary included. From her very first day, she'd been struck by his leadership, his natural grace—a figure she admired, perhaps more than anyone else in the manor. Caught in the moment, she halted mid-step, unable to stop herself from staring.

Hudson noticed and paused, turning back to her with a quizzical expression. "Something on your mind, Mary?" he asked, his voice rich and steady.

She shook herself free of the daze. "No... well, actually, yes."

"What is it?"

"It's just… did you really spend that long picking wine? That's not like you."

Hudson chuckled, a playful gleam in his eyes. "Let's just say I stretched the truth a bit." He brought a finger to his lips, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I may have overslept. Keep it between us, alright?"

Mary couldn't help but smile back. "Understood," she said, and they resumed their walk.

Hudson always seemed different away from their Lord's watchful eyes. Among the staff, he revealed a side of himself that was lighthearted and youthful, an easy camaraderie that endeared him even more.

When they reached the kitchen doors—tall and imposing as though guarding either the inferno of hell or the splendour of heaven, depending on one's perspective—Hudson pushed them open to reveal utter chaos.

The chefs shouted over each other as they juggled ingredients and clattered pans. At the centre was Gordon, the head chef, his muscular frame towering over the others. With a frying pan in one hand and a knife in the other, he sliced apples while searing meat, his movements practised but hurried.

Spotting Hudson, Gordon immediately handed off his tools to a subordinate—who nearly dropped the pan—and approached. Dusting his flour-streaked apron, he greeted with a booming voice, "Boss Hudson, welcome!"

Hudson let out a weary sigh, extending a hand for a firm shake. "Gordon, how many times must I tell you not to call me that?"

"Quiet and let me show my devotion. You're our master, after all," Gordon said with a sly grin before turning to Mary. "Good to see you, Mary."

"Thank you," she said softly.

Hudson walked through the bustling kitchen, checking on the progress of the dishes. The chefs paused their squabbles to greet him, some eagerly offering bites of their creations for his feedback. Hudson, knowing Lord Tony's discerning palate better than anyone, sampled each dish with care, providing thoughtful critiques.

Meanwhile, the kitchen became a haven for the staff. Maids, butlers, and even a few guards filtered in, taking advantage of their Lord's morning meeting to relax. It was their favourite morning ritual after all. They lounged at the large table in the corner, sharing laughs and card games.

Gordon muttered under his breath as he reclaimed his knife. "Lazy stomachs, lazy hands, lazy everything. The lot of you are like ants that forgot how to work," he grumbled, though a hint of a smile betrayed his affection for the lively crowd. "What will I do with you lot, maybe chop you into bits!"

The workers laughed it off as they continued their relaxation.

One of the guards waved at Hudson. "Master Hudson, join us for a round of cards!"

Before Hudson could reply, a chef stepped forward, smirking. "We need that legendary tongue of yours for a few more dishes first."

Gordon gave Hudson a thumbs-up, signalling that the appetisers were ready. Mary hurried to prepare a tray of skewers—each piece of tender meat glistening with honey glaze—but Hudson intercepted her.

"I've got it," he said, taking the tray from her hands. "You've been on your feet all morning. Go take a break."

Mary hesitated but eventually relented. "If you insist. I'll join the others at the table," she whispered, retreating with a tired smile.

Another guard called out. "Out already? Just one game, Hudson! Let the maids handle the food."

Hudson glanced over his shoulder with a warm grin. "Go ahead and deal me in. I'll be back after this delivery."

#

Hudson walked toward the meeting room with a lightness in his step, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. There was something about the calmness of the town, the peaceful rhythm of daily life, that filled him with contentment. Serving Lord Tony was a privilege, but it was the bonds he had formed with his coworkers—his friends—that truly made his heart swell. They were family to him.

He had started working for Lord Tony when he was only eight years old after his parents sold him off. For the past ten years, he had been trained in the ways of a butler, learning the finer details of etiquette, decorum, and service. But more than anything, he had come to see Lord Tony as a father figure, a man who had shaped his world.

Gordon, the head chef, was more like the gruff but caring uncle who had taught him about food and even battle practice with Little Bobby the head guard. Though his fighting skills never improved, the time was still well spent. Despite being young, Hudson had become well-liked among the other workers, admired for his gentle and mature demeanour. Because of this he was granted the position of head butler by their Lord. Hudson was always ready to lend a hand, and always present when someone needed help. It wasn't a role he begrudged; in fact, it made him proud. He had a sense of responsibility, a feeling that no one in the manor was ever truly alone because Hudson was there. He was Tony's favourite, after all, so it came naturally that he was given more leeway than others. But he never let that go to his head, instead, he used this to take on the blame of his family members.

Hudson felt like a protector, even if it was a bit childish. He liked being the one people could rely on. It made him happy.

As he reached the door to the meeting room, a voice from inside caught his attention. He paused mid-step, his hand hovering just above the handle.

"Destruction of Pyrovile?"

The words hit him like a sharp blow. He felt a chill run through him as he instinctively placed the tray on a nearby flower table, his ears straining to hear more. Each word that came from within the room sent a ripple of fear through him. His heart raced, and his pulse quickened.

Hudson couldn't stop himself. Fear gripped him, pulling him toward the door. Without thinking, he opened it—and the door swung open to reveal the room of angry faces staring back at him. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and Hudson's heart sank as he realised the truth of what he had overheard.

He didn't want to believe it, couldn't bring himself to accept it. But deep down, he knew. If it was true, his fate was sealed.

Wasting no time, he sprang to his feet, his movements sharp as he headed straight for the exit. The mercenaries' voices followed him, their angry shouts echoing in his ears.

The guards, seeing his distress, quickly opened the gates for him. Without a second glance, Hudson darted into the streets, blending into the crowd. The bustling town, once so familiar and comforting, now felt like his only shield as he disappeared into the sea of people.

#

Hudson sat slumped against the base of a towering tree, its rough bark pressing into his back as he tried to steady his breathing. The soft chirping of birds echoed through the forest, a fragile lullaby that did little to calm the storm brewing inside him. What was he supposed to do now?

For the past day and night, he had been running, fleeing until his legs could carry him no further. Exhaustion had finally overtaken him, and when he woke, the forest surrounded him like a cocoon. But it wasn't safety—just a temporary reprieve.

Lord Tony was overseeing Pyrovile's reconstruction efforts, a man whose reach extended far beyond the town's borders. If Hudson had stayed, it would have been only a matter of time before Tony's men found him.

His fists clenched against his knees as a wave of frustration coursed through him. The desire to warn the others of the impending disaster clawed at his chest, but terror kept him rooted. Sweat trickled down his face, his breath escaping in ragged gasps.

Am I truly a protector? he thought bitterly, lowering his head in his own weakness. "I can't do anything to help them," he whispered. "Even if I warn them, who would believe me? It's Lord Tony... Even I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't heard it myself."

His trembling hand reached for a stick lying nearby, his fingers tightening around its rough surface. He lifted it, his sharp gaze locking onto it as if willing himself to draw strength from the simple object.

"I may be scared," he whispered, his voice breaking, "but I can't just do nothing." He forced himself to his feet, though his legs trembled beneath him.

"The guild master is nearby," he said, his voice growing steadier. "If I can warn him, then maybe—just maybe—he can convince the people and stop Lord Tony."

Hudson clutched his aching stomach, the growl from within almost as loud as the soft rush of water that reached his ears. He stumbled forward, each step dragging him closer to the river. When he arrived, the sight of the clear stream and a bush of ripe berries brought a fleeting sense of relief.

"I'll grab a quick snack and a drink, then hurry to Gildenspire," he whispered, kneeling by the water. "I won't make it there alive if I'm starving."

His hands trembled as he scooped the cool water into his mouth. He had a handful of berries, eating them quickly.

He received a tap on his shoulder from behind, tall shadows looming over him. Fear gripped him again as he turned slowly. Lester stood with his imposing form with his men behind him cackling and Matthew leaned against the tree, crossing his arms.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Lester said, his smirk spreading as he stepped closer. "You made us worried. We thought you'd actually managed to escape."

Hudson's body shuddered as he lunged forward with a shaky fist.

Lester sidestepped with ease, his smirk widening. "Pathetic," he muttered, slamming a fist into Hudson's gut. The force sent the butler sprawling onto the ground, gasping for air.

The other mercenaries laughed as Hudson writhed in pain. Is this it? He wondered, tears stinging his eyes. I'm going to die here, aren't I?

Lester's boot struck Hudson's gut, forcing a guttural scream from his throat. He yanked Hudson up by the collar, a twisted grin on his face as he grabbed the butler's arm with bone-snapping force.

A sickening crack echoed as Hudson crumpled to the ground, clutching his broken arm, pain searing through his body. Blood stained his tattered suit as he gasped for breath.

"You're taking all this without even trying to defend yourself?" Lester said, holding Hudson up with one hand. "No coating, and a weak lifeforce. Are you really this pathetic?" He leaned closer, his breath hot against Hudson's ear. "I get it—you want to protect your friends. But a man's gotta get paid," he whispered. "But guess what? After you're gone, they'll join you soon enough. Just be patient."

Hudson's bloodshot eyes locked onto Lester's. "Touch my family," he growled, his teary eyes burned with unrelenting rage "and I swear I'll kill you myself."

Lester's face bore no emotion as he drew a blade from behind his back. The weapon radiated malice, dark energy swirling around it.

"My men are like family too, brat," he said, his voice low. "The difference is, I protect mine. You? You're pathetic—an eyesore. You can't protect anyone because you're weak. That's the difference between us"

He leaned in, his gaze piercing. "Kill me? You can't even hurt a bird. Now die."

Before Lester could strike, Matthew approached from behind, his footsteps deliberate. "Hey, boss," he called, leaning in to whisper something into Lester's ear.

Lester growled in frustration but lowered the blade. "And here I was, all excited." He turned back to Hudson, his face stoic. "You're lucky, boy. For now."

Despite his words, Lester didn't let Hudson off easily. He plunged the blade into Hudson's arms and legs, the dark energy seeping into his body. Hudson's screams echoed through the forest as his nerves ignited with agony. His limbs went numb, and his strength completely drained as Lester tossed him into a nearby bush.

Matthew eyed the blade warily. "That thing... I don't like the vibe it gives off."

Lester swung it lightly, his grin returning. "It's a special blade. One of its qualities is paralysis—the dark energy seeps into the lifeforce, rendering its victim useless but it makes no difference in the life of this spineless butler."

Matthew gave a weak laugh. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

Lester waved dismissively and led the mercenaries away, leaving Hudson behind.

Hudson coughed weakly, blood choking him before he managed to spit it out. Paralysis gripped his body, leaving him blind and immobile. Tears streamed from his eyes, darkness creeping into his vision.

Gordon, Mary, Emma, John, Kot, Unma, Little Bobby… I'm sorry. I failed you all. If only I could warn you at least. Please survive

The weight of his regret crushed him as his mind drifted, his last conscious thought a desperate wish to speak to Mary one final time.

#

Hudson's eyes fluttered open, his vision blurry and his body weighed down by a dull ache. The pain, though still present, wasn't as unbearable as before. Faint voices reached his ears as the haze gradually lifted. He found himself still in the forest, the tall trees dimly filtering the light.

Next to him sat a bare-chested man with long, dark, unkempt hair and piercing blue eyes. His muscular frame was marked with scars, likely earned in countless battles. The man's expression was inscrutable, his gaze cold and unreadable—not hostile, yet devoid of empathy.

Before Hudson could gather his thoughts, a sudden wave of heat surged through his body. It felt eerily similar to the dark energy Lester had stabbed into him but far more chaotic, like a tempest raging within. Too weak to scream, he endured the searing sensation, gritting his teeth as the pain peaked and then subsided.

"You done?" Pasta asked, stepping into view, his arms crossed casually.

The man beside Hudson—Mr Swordsman spoke without looking up. "Whoever did this to you must be an extraordinary fighter," he said, his voice calm but firm. "The dark energy is gone now. You can move."

Hudson pushed himself upright, noticing the bandages tightly wrapped around his torso and the cast supporting his arm.

Mr. Swordsman's sharp eyes glanced at the cast. "I removed the dark energy inside you, but I don't fix broken bones. That's not my expertise."

Hudson remained quiet, taking in the others in the room. A girl with long, chestnut hair adorned with a small tulip and a sword at her side caught his attention. Beside her stood a boy, slightly taller, with short hair of the same colour and a sword strapped to his waist.

Realisation dawned, and Hudson bowed his head low, hitting the ground in gratitude. "I thank you all for saving me. I apologise for my earlier silence—it was most impolite."

Mr Swordsman sighed, slipping his cloak over his shoulders. "For a moment, I thought you were mute."

Pasta's eyes gleamed with excitement as he turned to the swordsman. "How'd you do that? The way you used your energy was amazing! You've got to teach me, Mr Swordsman!"

"Not the time," Emilia said, swatting Pasta on the back of the head. She knelt beside Hudson, her expression soft. "Are you alright? I'm Emilia. What's your name?"

Hudson gave another bow, his voice steady despite his exhaustion. "I'm Hudson, head butler of Lord Tony's residence," he said, hesitating. "Or at least... I was."

Emilia offered a kind smile. "I see. For now, just take it easy—"

Pasta shoved her aside, stepping closer to Hudson with a grin. "I'm Pasta, by the way. And that gloomy guy over there? That's Mr Swordsman."

Hudson blinked, his brow furrowed. "Mr. Swordsman?"

"Yeah," Pasta replied with a shrug. "His mother didn't bother naming him, so that's what he goes by."

Mr. Swordsman remained stoic, his footsteps firm as he walked away. "Time to leave, Pasta, Emilia."

Emilia shot to her feet, her face a mix of confusion and concern. "Go? We can't just leave him here."

"Yeah, we can't," Pasta said his tone light but serious. "Come on, have a heart. Let's take him with us."

"We need to deliver those sun blossoms to the guild. There's no time to waste," Mr. Swordsman said without pause. "Travelling with an injured person only gives us more trouble."

Emilia's shoulders slumped as she stood, her voice a whisper. "S-still, we can't leave him." She gripped the edges of her dress, eyes downcast. "You said he was attacked by someone powerful right? Aren't we adventurers? Shouldn't we try to help him?"

Mr Swordsman sighed. "My mission is to escort you both, not act as a guardian to every injured soul we find. I've healed him as you requested, and that's enough. If he dies now, then so be it."

Emilia's eyes widened in shock as the room fell silent. Before she could voice her protest, Hudson pushed himself upright, his voice barely a whisper.

"He's right, you know," he said, his gaze distant as he touched the cast around his arm. "It doesn't matter if I die. There's nothing I can do anyway."

Emilia's heart ached at his words. Her fists clenched, her tears welling up as she stomped her feet to the floor. "No! You're wrong," she yelled, her voice trembling. "Life isn't something you can just throw away like that. How about your family? Your friends? They'll be devastated if you die. You may think it removes a burden off your shoulders, but it only puts it on theirs. You speak about death like it's nothing, but it's not right. It's not an answer."

Pasta's eyes were downcast, feeling the weight of her words. He tried to approach Emilia but stopped as she turned to face Mr Swordsman."I don't care about the flowers anymore," she said, her voice sharp and filled with unwavering determination. "I came out here to become an adventurer, to help people, and that's exactly what I'm going to do—whether you help me or not."

She stepped closer to Hudson, her hand gently resting on his. "And you're going to tell me everything that happened. You may have given up on yourself, but your friends haven't. You must live—for them, for everyone who cares about you."

Hudson's eyes welled with tears, his voice breaking as he looked at her. "I must live?" he asked, his doubt hanging heavy in the air. "But what can I do? My friends are in danger. The mercenaries… they're just too strong. I'm… I'm pathetic."

Emilia knelt down to meet his gaze, her voice soft and warm. "You're not pathetic, Hudson. You're human. And you're not alone in this. I promise you, as an adventurer and as your friend," she said, gripping his hand, "I'll help you save your friends. You don't have to carry the weight of this alone."

Pasta, his face softening with a smile, walked over to Mr. Swordsman. "That's just how Emilia is," he said, glancing back at her. "Guess we've got a new quest now. Let's go save Hudson's friends."

Mr Swordsman said nothing as he adjusted his hat. "Let's make it quick then"

The crew wasted no time as they headed for Pyrovile- the town of flames.