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The journey to Pyrovile has been going peacefully so far. The crew had encountered no bandits or monsters, and, mercifully, no sign of Pasta's usual antics.

Perched atop the carriage, Mr Swordsman rested his hat on his knee, his gaze fixed on the endless expanse of blue sky. Andy and his granddaughter, Tori, had graciously offered them both a ride and meals, sparing the group the drudgery of trudging through the forest for days.

The landscape stretched far and wide—fields blanketed in lush greenery, with towering mountains looming in the distance. The unmistakable silhouette of a volcano on the horizon confirmed their proximity to Pyrovile.

Leaning forward, Mr Swordsman peeked into the carriage window to check on Pasta's condition. The boy had been out cold for hours, his muddy, naked body sprawled awkwardly in the cramped corner where the girls had unceremoniously shoved him. His injuries, nearly fatal since in his delirious state, he had no coating on. Luckily, old man Andy came to the rescue with his herbal remedies and ointments. The massages, though? Let's just say watching Andy work was an experience better left unspoken.

Tori, was an enigma of her own. She looked to be around Emilia's age, though her confident demeanour suggested she might be older. She didn't carry a weapon, which was a little concerning in a world crawling with monsters, Hunters and Mercenaries looking for easy money. She was also an outgoing and unexpectedly sharp-tongued kind of girl. At the moment, she and Emilia were huddled together inside the carriage, giggling like childhood friends over who knows what, while Hudson sat off to the side, still nursing his guilt over murdering future generations. Every now and then, he cast a wary glance at the still-unconscious Pasta and muttered, "I didn't mean it. Honest."

These kids are a pain, Mr Swordsman thought with a shake of his head. Even after hearing Hudson's story, they still act like we're heading there for a good time.

Meanwhile, Andy slowed the carriage, his eyes lighting up as he spotted a clearing bordered by a cluster of boulders.

"This looks like a good spot, eh?" the old man declared, halting the rickety carriage.

Mr Swordsman jumped down, landing lightly on his feet. "Agreed. I'll scout the area. Keep an eye on the others."

"You can count on me," Andy replied, his voice kind but firm. "Though I do feel bad for the lad on the floor. There's a stream nearby. I'll clean him up and lend him some spare clothes."

Mr Swordsman exhaled in relief. "Appreciate it. I've had enough of seeing him like that," he whispered, his tone harsh. "It's pathetic"

Andy scratched his head. "What about the quiet one, Hudson? He seems… off."

"That's just how he is," Mr. Swordsman said, dismissing the concern. "Don't dwell on it."

Without another word, he strode into the forest, his footsteps muffled by the soft earth. Monsters usually prowled after nightfall, but their recent absence had been noticeable. Something was shifting in the Nine Realms, though the cause remained elusive. His thoughts drifted to the deserted forest they'd passed earlier. Whatever had driven away the wildlife and creatures? Was it the work of some mad apex predator?

Halting in his tracks, he drew a deep breath, his eyes narrowing.

"Aura," he murmured, his voice low. "The lifeblood of all creatures. Bound by birth, severed by death."

If the predator he suspected did appear, it would be an interesting fight to feed his bloodlust. A faint grin tugged at his lips as he released a pulse of energy that spread across a quarter of the forest. The rhythmic beat of his energy felt almost sinister, tainted by darkness, carrying with it the promise of death to any monster throughout the forest.

"A girl, no tail, no more to play," he murmured, the verse slipping from his lips like a whispered mantra, followed by a soothing hum. The rhythm wove through his mind, steady and inexplicable, calming him in ways he couldn't quite grasp. It was as though his very being was a transparent sheet—fragile, unseen, and unreadable, even to himself. And truthfully, he cared little for the answers hidden in that opaque clarity.

#

Pasta woke with a sharp gasp, his breath coming in rapid, uneven bursts. "What happened? Am I dead?" He glanced down, noticing he was wrapped in an oversized jacket. Strangely enough, it suited him. Looking around, he spotted Emilia and a pink-haired girl sitting by the campfire. Nearby, an old man snored loudly, his back resting against a log. The night was unremarkable, with only a smattering of stars above and no moon in sight.

"Hey, you're awake," Emilia said, a brief smile crossing her lips before fading into a frown. "Took you long enough. Here, eat something." She rummaged through their supplies and pulled out a chunk of meat, tossing it in his direction.

Tori, the pink-haired girl, tightened her grip on Emilia's hand. Her violet eyes darted toward Pasta for a moment before she turned away. "Let's go somewhere else," she said, tugging Emilia along.

Pasta raised an eyebrow at the strange gesture but shrugged it off, focusing on the meal in his hands. "Oh, meat. Thanks for the food," he said with a grin. Clapping his hands together, he murmured a quick blessing before digging in.

As he chewed, fragments of memory stirred in his mind. What was that last thing…? Oh, yeah. That bug. Or whatever it was. The details were hazy, and the harder he tried to piece it together, the more elusive they became.

Finishing his meal, he pushed himself to his feet, only to collapse back down with a loud thud.

"What the—?!" he yelped, clutching his crotch which excited the pain. "What's wrong with me?"

Hudson rushed over, his movements careful and deliberate as he knelt beside him. "You shouldn't be moving yet," he said, his voice calm but firm. Gently, he eased Pasta back into his sleeping bag and pulled a blanket over him. "You just had… a massage. You need to rest."

Pasta groaned, stretching the word out as he shifted uncomfortably. "It hurts so bad," he whined, his tone exaggerated with a mix of frustration and misery. "How did I even get hurt, anyway?"

Hudson froze for a moment, blinking rapidly as a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. "Uh, well… You were, uh… hallucinating. Yeah! You hurt yourself while you were hallucinating. That's it!"

"Hallucinating? Me?" Pasta's voice brimmed with indignation. "I'm the great Pasta! I don't hallucinate. Whatever I see, whatever I do—" he pointed dramatically to the sky "—is reality itself, woven into the very fabric of time!"

Hudson let out a nervous chuckle, scratching his cheek. What is he even talking about? Is this a side effect of Andy's ointment?

As if appearing from thin air, Mr. Swordsman stepped into the clearing, his stoic demeanour unshaken. "I have an injured boy, a carefree old man, and two girls doing who knows what," he muttered to himself before turning to Pasta. "I see you're still alive. Good job. That makes it two injured boys now."

"I'm not injured," Pasta grumbled, his pride momentarily flaring. He tried to sit up, but the soft click of something colliding with another within him surged an extreme amount of pain. He flinched, his eyes twitching as he retreated back into the sleeping bag, wishing for death than to face this embarrassment.

Mr. Swordsman sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Hudson, keep an eye on him," he instructed. Without waiting for a response, he strode off into the darkness to find Emilia and Tori.

Behind a boulder, a short distance from the camp, Emilia and Tori sat with their voices carrying easily into the still night.

"So, what's the deal with the weird swordsman?" Tori asked, scooting closer to Emilia.

"Well, he's a bit odd sometimes," Emilia said, glancing away to avoid the intensity of Tori's eyes. "But he's… a nice guy."

Tori arched a brow. "You've known him for long, huh?"

"Not exactly." Emilia fidgeted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "We've only been travelling together for a day or so, and—"

Tori gripped Emilia's shoulders, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. "Girl don't tell me you are travelling with a total stranger?!"

Emilia giggled, soft and nervous. "He's not a stranger—well, maybe he is, but it's not like that." She paused, her tone growing more serious. "A family friend recommended him to escort us. Even if I haven't seen him fight for real or gotten to know him personally, I trust Bloodborne's judgment."

Tori sighed, releasing her grip. "Still, you should be careful. I've heard some nasty rumours about a swordsman lately."

"Rumours?"

Tori nodded, her expression darkening as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to an ominous whisper. "There's this malicious swordsman on the loose. They say he kills without mercy. I heard he wiped out an entire band of adventurers the other day." Her voice grew more chilling. "And if you stare at him too long, his aura doesn't just paralyse you—it kills. Your eyes burn out of their sockets, your skull engulfed in flames. Some say he drives people to madness, even suicide. They call him the Weeping Swordsman. Creepy, huh?"

Emilia's hands trembled uncontrollably. "W-What are you talking about—"

Before she could finish, Tori's unsettling gaze shifted to a bright, cheery smile. "Don't be scared now! You said Mr. Swordsman is strong, right? He'll put that Weeping Swordsman in his place." She pumped her fist into the air. "He's way cooler than your useless brother that's for sure."

Emilia's trembling stopped, replaced by a sharp glare. "He's not useless," she said coldly. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about my brother that way."

Tori blinked, taken aback. "Okay… I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

"Don't worry, it's all good," Emilia smiled.

Suddenly, a hand landed on both their shoulders.

Emilia screamed at the top of her lungs, jumping to her feet, while Tori simply turned to face the intruder with a bemused expression.

"You didn't notice? He's been here the whole time," Tori said, raising a brow.

"Huh?!" Emilia spun between Tori and Mr. Swordsman. "I-I didn't notice a thing! Why didn't you tell me?"

Tori shrugged, her tone nonchalant. "I figured you knew. Besides, I'm not one to interrupt. He's your friend, isn't he? Why can't he watch?"

Mr Swordsman sighed, rubbing his temple. "You're an observant one, aren't you?" His sharp eyes narrowed as they met Tori's. "You don't seem to be from around here. May I ask where you're from?"

Tori stood, brushing off her skirt. "Sorry, but that's a secret," she replied, turning to walk away. Halfway to the camp, she stopped and glanced back with a sly grin. "But I'll tell you this—I'm no ordinary girl. Then again, you probably figured that out already… Mr. S-w-o-r-d-s-m-a-n."

Mr Swordsman's eyes followed her retreating figure. I knew it. She's not ordinary. I need to keep a closer watch on her.

Turning back to Emilia, he frowned. "Not noticing the energy of those around you is a dangerous weakness. It's a handicap for everyone, not just you. Learn to do better, or you'll get yourself killed. Don't make my job harder than it already is."

Emilia lowered her gaze, nodding meekly. "Yes, sir…"

Before anything else could be said, a voice interrupted them.

"Hey, what are you guys talking about?" Pasta called out, dangling awkwardly in Hudson's arms as the latter struggled to carry him bridal style. Hudson's arms trembled visibly, as though on the verge of snapping in two.

Mr Swordsman turned without a word and disappeared into the night, leaving the siblings and Hudson behind. The day's trouble had taken its toll, and he decided to call it a night.

#

The morning sun crept over the horizon, its golden rays glinting off the dew-soaked grass and casting a soft glow over the camp. Mr. Swordsman sat motionless, his back resting against a log as his tired eyes scanned the treeline. He had kept watch all night. As expected, no monsters or bandits had dared to approach.

The camp remained silent, save for the steady breathing of its occupants—well, all except one.

For hours, he had been faintly aware of the muffled grunts and splashes coming from the stream nearby. Now that daylight had arrived, curiosity—or perhaps mild irritation—finally got the better of him. Rising to his feet, he grabbed his sword and made his way toward the source of the noise.

At the centre of the stream stood a shirtless young man, his blade glinting in the morning light. Toned muscles rippled with each practised movement, though they bore scars, and crisscrossed lashes that marred his back. Mr Swordsman stopped at the water's edge, silently observing before settling onto a nearby rock.

"Good morning, Mr Swordsman," Pasta greeted, his voice steady despite his exertion.

"Morning," Mr Swordsman replied curtly, lowering his sword to splash water on his face.

Pasta chuckled softly, though there was a faint edge to it. "I heard what happened last night."

Mr Swordsman nodded, his gaze sharpening as he looked the boy over. Pasta was taller than he had initially thought, and though his movements were a bit unrefined, there was potential hidden beneath the surface. "Don't dwell on it too much," he said, his tone low. "Emilia mentioned it happens to most novices. A creature like a fumigob baits its prey, drawing them in with false weakness, only to strike with poison and illusions. You're lucky to be immune… and luckier still that it was fleeing from something stronger."

Pasta turned his blade, the steel slicing through the water. His reflection rippled, distorted by the stream. "Pathetic," he muttered under his breath. "Defeated by a mere bug."

Mr Swordsman smirked, pulling his hat back into place. "What's this now? I thought nothing could rile you up."

Pasta stopped mid-swing, turning toward him. "Mr Swordsman," he began hesitantly, "would you train me?"

The swordsman's sharp gaze narrowed. He studied the boy closely. Pasta's body had gone through its own hardships. His lifeforce, though erratic, pulsed with raw potential. Still, experience had taught the swordsman that mere potential wasn't enough.

Yet, the memory of Emilia's blunder lingered. Having one weak link in the group was manageable. Two, however, was a liability he couldn't afford.

He stood, brushing the water from his face. "Are you even fit to train? Weren't you injured?"

Pasta's grin was wide, almost defiant. "A good night's sleep and I'm good as new."

Mr Swordsman tilted his hat forward, his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat. "Very well. But know this." His voice dropped, heavy with warning. "I am not lenient in my training."

"Good," Pasta said with a grin that didn't falter. "That's exactly what I was hoping for."

#

Emilia's eyes fluttered open to the soft glow of dawn, her gaze falling on Tori, who lay sound asleep beside her. Mr. Swordsman's words from the previous night still lingered in her mind, stirring a quiet storm of doubt. Why had she learned to fight in the first place?

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small locket. Inside was a photograph of her, Pasta, and their parents, all dressed in matching pyjamas. Her father held her in his arms, her mother clasped Pasta's hand, and while everyone else had serene expressions, Pasta's grin was wide and infectious. She couldn't help but chuckle, clutching the locket tightly against her chest.

"I won't let them down," she whispered to herself. "I promise."

"Let who down?" Hudson asked, peeking over her shoulder

Startled, she spun around, meeting Hudson's eyes. "Oh, it's nothing, Hudson. Good morning," she said, forcing a smile.

Hudson rubbed the dirt from his eyes, his gaze lingering on the locket before she snapped it shut. "Are you alright? I saw you were mumbling something," he said, eyeing her. "Are those your parents?"

Emilia hesitated, then nodded, her voice soft. "Yeah… they are."

"They look familiar, I don't mean to pry, but who are they?" He asked, making Emilia lower her gaze. "Oh, I see, I won't press any further"

"Thanks," Emilia said quietly, her fingers tracing the locket.

Hudson chuckled, leaning back on his hands. "Pasta looks like a little troublemaker in that photo. Are you two twins?" He asked, coming to a pause. "Oh, I'm sorry, no questions, right?"

Emilia shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "No, he's my older brother."

Hudson laughed. "Must be tough having an older brother like him."

She let out a soft laugh, tucking the locket back into her bag. "It has its moments. But he's Pasta, so what can I say?"

Hudson lay back on the grass, adjusting his arm in its cast. "You're lucky to have a family. I didn't really have one growing up. My parents sold me off when I was little, and that's how I met Lord Tony. He took me in, made me his butler, and gave me a new family. They're everything to me now, so I've worked hard to make life in the manor easier for everyone."

Emilia's expression softened, concern flickering in her eyes. "That must've been a lot of responsibility for you."

"It was," Hudson admitted, smiling faintly. "But it's worth it. I can't imagine life without them. Still, I wonder how Mary's managing everything in my absence. The chefs can be a handful sometimes."

A sly grin spread across Emilia's face. "Mary, huh? That's a girl's name." She covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

Hudson's face flushed crimson. "W-Wait, no! It's not like that! She's just my partner!"

Emilia let out a soft chuckle. "Relax, Hudson, I was only teasing."

He laughed nervously, scratching his head with his good arm as he turned his gaze to the clouds. "Do you think we'll succeed? Saving them, saving Pyrovile? You all seem so fearless, even after hearing about the situation. Meanwhile, I'm… well, I ran away when things got tough. I'm pathetic aren't I?"

Emilia lay back beside him, her eyes tracing the drifting clouds above. "You need to stop putting yourself down like that," she said, turning her head to look at him. "Didn't you say your colleagues admired you? They wouldn't if you were pathetic, would they?"

Hudson blinked, caught off guard. "You really think so?"

Before she could answer, Tori stirred beside them, letting out an exaggerated groan. "Yeah, yeah, will you two lovebirds keep it down? It's too early for all this."

Hudson shot up, flailing his hands defensively. "It's not like that! Not at all!"

Emilia smirked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Don't worry, Tori. He's already got someone he likes."

Hudson spun toward her, his face a mix of panic and embarrassment. "We're just friends! That's all!"

"Whatever you say, Hudson," Emilia and Tori said in unison, their laughter filling the crisp morning air as Hudson buried his face in his hands.

#

"Aura—the life force coursing through all living things—binds us at birth and departs with death," Mr. Swordsman began, unsheathing his gleaming sword. The blade caught the light, a reflection of his commanding presence. "It is a power granted to all, yet mastery demands discipline. It can serve many purposes, but let's start with the fundamentals: coating."

His eyes bore into Pasta as he continued. "The body has three layers of energy: the soul, coating, and aura. Coating is the layer above our skin, like an invisible sheath of flesh. When charged with energy drawn from the soul within and the aura surrounding us, it forms a protective layer. Think of it as the foundation of all energy techniques. I presume you understand the concept since you are a fighter after all. So now, focus and channel your energy to coat your body for defence."

"Got it," Pasta replied, a sly grin spreading across his face. He braced himself and let out a sharp exhale. At first glance, his body remained unchanged, but green, firefly-like particles began to swirl around him. Heat radiated from his skin as he concentrated, his breath growing and laboured from the sheer intensity of drawing in a lot of his energy.

Moments later, he stood straight, his body shrouded in an ethereal green glow. "Done," he declared confidently, his grin widening as he awaited the next challenge.

"Don't move," Mr. Swordsman ordered. He bent down, picked up a rock, and hurled it with precision toward Pasta.

Pasta's confidence flickered as the rock approached. He smirked at first, but the moment it collided with his aura coating, the coating shattered like fragile glass. The force knocked him back, and he crumpled to the ground with a groan, clutching his chest as though his very essence had been wounded.

Mr. Swordsman stepped forward, towering over him. "Overcharging your coating creates disruptions," he explained, his voice sharp. "Weak spots form in the layer, leaving you vulnerable. When a coated projectile strikes those weak spots, it disables your defence entirely. This is why relying too much on coating—even as a defensive measure—is a flawed strategy. Not every object can be coated since to do that requires the three layers of energy. I picked a rock since it's from the earth which is alive. Some warriors possess legendary weapons that also have a strong connection to the living."

He extended a hand, helping the boy to his feet. "Remember that, and you'll survive long enough to learn more advanced techniques. Now let's continue"

Pasta panted, his sweat-soaked face showing equal parts exhaustion and determination. "Bring… it on," he managed, straightening his back. "So, what's next?"

Mr. Swordsman's expression darkened, the air around him growing heavier. His eyes, once indifferent, now burned with intensity as he fixed Pasta with a piercing gaze.

"First," he said, his voice laced with foreboding, "Pasta, do you believe in God?"