The Man With A Gift

"God?" Pasta repeated, curiosity lacing his voice. "Are you referring to one of the lords? Or perhaps some kind of divine being?"

Mr. Swordsman unsheathed his blade, the steel gleaming as it caught the morning light. His gaze shifted to its reflective surface, his expression unreadable. "There is no god in this world—or so they say. The notion of a single individual elevating themselves so far above the masses that they're considered divine is, frankly, absurd."

 Pasta furrowed his brow, clearly puzzled by the statement. Before he could respond, the swordsman continued, his tone lower but sharper. "But what if I told you there is such a being? Not necessarily a deity, but something that isn't human."

"What are you getting at?" Pasta asked, his curiosity now tinged with unease.

Mr. Swordsman removed his hat, letting his hair sway with the rhythm of the gentle breeze. His piercing eyes met Pasta's. "How do you feel," he asked, his voice calm yet weighted, "about the idea of attaining a gift?"

Pasta burst into laughter, doubling over before collapsing onto his back near the stream. He rolled onto his side, clutching his stomach, and finally stood, shaking his head. "You're a grown man, Mr Swordsman," he said between chuckles. "How can you seriously believe in those fairy tales?"

The swordsman's intense gaze silenced Pasta mid-sentence. The boy's amusement dissipated as he recognised the seriousness in those eyes.

"These beings," Mr. Swordsman began, his voice steady and deliberate, "rarely reveal themselves. They prefer to remain hidden since they are hardly discussed in the Nine Realms. Yet they exist. Those who master their lifeforce, endure battles, experience both loss and self-discovery and find true inner peace are deemed worthy of receiving a gift."

He placed his hat back atop his head and turned his eyes skyward, where storm clouds gathered on the horizon. "The legends say these gifts are as varied as the stars. Some hold the power to dismantle entire kingdoms, to level mountains, or to command the forces of nature. Others heal, protect, or create. Sometimes, the gift isn't tied to war or destruction at all but manifests in something as simple as the art of baking or possessing the wisdom of an elder far beyond one's years."

His gaze returned to Pasta, his expression a mix of solemnity and challenge. "Ultimately, the power of these gifts lies not in the gifts themselves, but in the hands of those who wield them."

Pasta had heard it all before. Tales of the gifted—humans blessed with extraordinary abilities—were nothing more than bedtime stories, told to lull children to sleep or scare them into obedience. The rarity of these individuals made their existence questionable at best. He chuckled softly, wringing water from his soaked trousers.

"My sister and I used to hear about them from our mother," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "She'd always make them sound like gods. I used to think she was exaggerating their strength, though."

Pasta let himself fall back into the stream, the cool water lapping at his body as he drifted into thought. Mr Swordsman was an enigma, a man whose demeanour made it hard to tell when he was being serious. But now, as Pasta studied him, he couldn't shake the feeling that the man truly believed in these so-called gifts.

Rising from the water, Pasta narrowed his eyes. "Do you... have a gift?"

Mr. Swordsman sheathed his blade with precision, the soft click of metal on metal breaking the silence. Adjusting his hat, he answered with a measured tone, "Why do you ask?"

Pasta shrugged. "Just curious. You seemed pretty strong when we first met at Bloodborne's office. It wouldn't surprise me if you did."

The swordsman's gaze sharpened before he turned away from the river. "Remember this, Pasta," he said. "A gift may make you stronger, but its source is still your soul. Someone who has endured a lot but doesn't have a gift can easily outperform someone who did little and received one. Keep in mind, it all depends on the person."

Pasta blinked, his mind turning over the words. "I see. So the goal isn't just to gain a gift but to develop one's lifeforce," he mused, stroking his chin. "A gift may grant unimaginable power, but it's useless without stamina and grit. If that's the case, improving lifeforce is the real challenge. Still..." He paused, his voice dropping. "I wonder how many actually have these gifts. The whole idea feels so distant"

Mr. Swordsman nodded. "In my years of travelling, I've yet to meet another gifted individual."

Pasta crossed his arms, his curiosity undeterred. "So, do you have one?"

"Yes, I do."

Pasta's face lit up, his excitement palpable. For a moment, Mr Swordsman thought he saw faint glimmers of light dancing around the boy.

"There's no time for this," he interrupted, his tone cutting through Pasta's enthusiasm. "I've already told you, a gift relies on lifeforce. Without a strong enough foundation, attaining one is impossible. No one knows the exact threshold, nor how to meet the other requirements."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Pasta said, grinning. "But come on, you've got to tell me what your gift is! Is it something destructive? Or maybe you create monsters or something?"

"That's a story for another day," Mr. Swordsman replied, exasperated. "And why do you assume I have a gift of that calibre?"

Pasta smirked. "It just suits you, that's all."

Mr. Swordsman sighed, turning his focus back to their training. He knew that improving Pasta's lifeforce would be no easy task. The best way to strengthen aura was through experience—combat either during war or other challenges one faced during their lifetime like emotional trauma or something far complicated. Battles shaped aura, whether chaotic and wild from war or calm yet commanding from a life dedicated to care and service.

As Mr. Swordsman observed Pasta, he doubted the boy was cut out for the path of tranquillity or an authoritative lifeforce. His path would need to start with rigorous training at the very least to control his absurd fighting style. But before they could dive into that, there was another step.

"Pasta," Mr Swordsman said, turning to the boy, "before we continue, you need to learn the basics of one of the three powers. The ability to command elements."

#

Sparrow reclined on the plush couch at the far end of the dining room, a delicate butterfly resting on his outstretched finger. Its pink and red wings shimmered in the soft morning light, a fleeting masterpiece of nature's artistry. Yet, despite the captivating display, his thoughts churned with unease.

"Tony," he said, his voice smooth but edged with impatience, "do you have a plan? Or will you rather stay seated in silence?"

Tony didn't respond. His arms crossed and gaze fixed on the ceiling lost in his own thoughts.

Hack, seated nearby, offered no input either. The weight of the situation rendered words meaningless, for the order they had received was unmistakable.

"This is quite the predicament," Tony said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "First, my runaway butler, and now this mess."

Sparrow watched the butterfly flutter off his finger, its graceful movements contrasting with the tension in the room. "Seems my predictions were wrong," he said with a wry smile. "Who would've thought Lady Luck would side with the rebels?"

Hack clenched his fists under the table, frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. He'd seen this disaster looming from the very beginning. The plan had been reckless, held together by threads of arrogance and desperation. They had originally intended to flee the town before their schemes unraveled, but now they were stuck—bound by orders from one of their generals from the Fourth Realm to see the operation through.

Pyrovile was no ordinary town. Situated at the heart of the Seventh Realm, it thrived on its abundant mineral wealth, generating immense revenue not only for the Seventh Realm's royal family but also for the Second and Eighth. Its importance couldn't be overstated. The royals had ambitious plans to modernise the town, yet the constant threat of war kept progress at bay. Tony and his group had taken advantage of this turmoil, thwarting mercenaries and spies to secure their grip on Pyrovile as nobles.

But now, their focus had shifted. A prominent duke was expected to visit the town—a man who carried dangerous knowledge, knowledge no one should possess. Killing him was their goal now.

The plan was simple, albeit monstrous: destroy the entire town and make it look like a tragic accident. What better weapon than the looming volcano and a special rock to trigger an eruption? A natural disaster would leave no survivors, no questions, and no witnesses. After Pyrovile is destroyed, it'll disrupt the balance between the realms, giving them the chance they need to strike.

"We have no choice but to stay," Tony announced, rising to his feet as maids entered the room to clear his silverware. His tone carried an edge of finality that silenced further discussion.

Sparrow stood, stretching lazily before heading for the door. "I'll take a walk," he said casually.

Hack stayed seated, his gaze fixed on the table. Inside, his frustration simmered. He wasn't ready to die—not for a doomed mission, not for a cause as futile as this. But the die had already been cast, and the countdown to Pyrovile's destruction had begun.

#

Mary carried the stack of dishes to the kitchen, passing them to the workers assigned to cleaning. The clatter of plates mixed with the murmurs of departing workers, their brief respite from chores now over.

Gordon slumped on a stool near the entrance, and snored softly, clutching a half-cut tomato in one hand. A knife lay discarded on the floor beside him.

Mary approached him, giving his shoulder a gentle pat.

"Huh? Oh, morning, Mary," Gordon mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he stirred from his nap.

"Good morning."

He yawned loudly, stretching his arms until his joints popped. "I've been looking for you all day. Where've you been?"

Mary tapped a finger to her chin, a playful glint in her eye. "Well, let's see… I overslept, slipped while bathing, spent ages deciding what the lord would have for breakfast, and then rushed to collect the dishes. Thankfully, Lord Tony was too distracted to notice my absence."

Gordon blinked, his expression flat. "Okay… that's too much information," he replied, handing her a list. "Here, grab these ingredients from the market. Little Bobby will go with you."

Mary glanced at the list and raised an eyebrow. "Any special occasion?"

"Sure is," Gordon replied with mock solemnity. "The grand occasion of us running out of food and starving to death. A feast of desperation, if you will."

A soft laugh escaped Mary as she pressed her fingers to her lips. "You've got a way with words, Gordon. I'll go find LB. He must be tired of waiting."

"Yeah, he should be. Now, shoo," Gordon said, waving her off.

The manor had changed since Hudson's departure. Once lively and orderly, it had fallen into disarray, the workers sombre and directionless. But Mary had stepped in, becoming the anchor they needed. Her kindness and tireless efforts to support each worker slowly restored a sense of unity. Like Hudson, she seemed to understand everyone's needs and also helped in any way she could.

Rumours of a romantic connection between her and Hudson often surfaced, whispered among the staff. Yet Hudson was quick to quash them before they reached Tony's ears, knowing such violated house rules.

Mary admired Hudson deeply, and she knew he trusted her just as much. His departure had been a test of that trust, confident that she would keep the manor in order until his return.

She reached the manor's grand entrance, where a towering figure in gleaming armour awaited her. A six-foot knight stood by the doorway, his massive blade resting against his side.

"Hey, Little Bobby," Mary greeted with a wave.

The knight turned, his face breaking into a kind smile. "Good morning, Mary. Ready to head out?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," she said cheerfully, stepping into the sunlight.

#

The journey to Pyrovile unfolded in serene quiet, the absence of birdsong doing little to diminish the morning's beauty. The tranquillity, however, was shattered when a sudden yell reverberated through the carriage, startling everyone within.

"You have a gift?!" Emilia shrieked, collapsing to her knees, her gaze fixed on the floor. "And an incredible lifeforce? Just how strong are you?"

Tori was seated with her arms crossed and eyes closed as she attempted to keep her composure in check. "You're full of surprises, Mr. Swordsman. I never imagined you had a gift," she said, sneaking a glance at him. "Care to share the details?"

The swordsman remained silent, his eyes fixed on the passing scenery beyond the carriage window.

Emilia rose unsteadily, placing a hand on his shoulder from behind. "Will you at least show us?" she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation.

He sighed and turned slightly. "Another time."

Emilia's face lit up with excitement, while Tori's cheeks puffed as she muttered about being ignored.

Meanwhile, Pasta was fast asleep in his seat, the corners of his mouth twitching. His dreams replayed the gruelling training Mr Swordsman had put him through—walking through flames and nearly drowning in a stream. He mumbled incoherently in his sleep as he faced similar nightmares in his sleep.

Across from them, Hudson sat deep in thought. Pyrovile was just over the horizon, and his stomach churned at the thought of confronting Lord Tony. This was the man who had shaped his life, yet here he was, preparing to stand against him.

Was he making the right choice? Should he have stayed, and tried reasoning with Tony instead of running? Perhaps he could have changed Tony's mind… or perhaps, Tony would have killed him outright.

A gentle poke to his cheek drew Hudson out of his spiral. Emilia had slipped into the seat beside him, her playful smile softening his frown.

"Nervous?" she asked, tilting her head.

"A little, yeah"

She gave his shoulder a light punch. "It'll be fine. We've got this."

Tori's gaze flickered between them, curiosity etched on her face. "By the way, I never asked—what are you all planning to do in Pyrovile?"

Emilia attempted to answer but froze under Mr Swordsman's piercing gaze.

Tori noticed the exchange and let out a soft sigh. "Fine, keep your secrets. I won't pry. It's none of my business anyway."

Hudson shifted uncomfortably, lowering his head before turning to Tori. "Actually, you see—"

"Hold it," Mr. Swordsman said, his voice like steel. "You just met her yesterday. Don't feel like you owe her anything just because her grandfather offered us a ride. For all we know, they could be working with that man."

"No!" Emilia exclaimed, her voice trembling. Her fists clenched as she met Mr Swordsman's unyielding stare. "Tori's not like that. She would never work with them—I'm sure of it. Maybe she can even help us!"

"Yes, she could be an ally," Hudson chimed in, his tone defensive. "We can trust her!"

Mr. Swordsman ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply. "I understand you're grateful for the ride and food, but don't let that cloud your judgment. We're not here to hand out secrets just because someone was kind to us. Let's not forget why we're even in this carriage." He turned toward Pasta, who was still snoring softly in the corner.

Hudson straightened in his seat, his jaw tight. "But still, she's proven herself. We should at least let her in on what's happening."

"Enough!" Mr. Swordsman barked, his eyes narrowing.

Tori held up a hand, cutting through the tension. "Would you all calm down already?" She turned to Emilia with a small smile. "He's right. We just met yesterday. Don't worry—I'm not offended. I get it."

Emilia and Hudson exchanged frustrated glances, their silence speaking volumes. Their irritation was palpable, and Mr. Swordsman bore the full weight of it. He leaned back in his seat, keeping his frown.

The plan wasn't complicated—it was deadly simple. Hudson's employers had devised a horrifying scheme to destroy Pyrovile by the end of the week, timed perfectly to coincide with the arrival of a noble from the first realm. The weapon? A rock capable of triggering the volcano's eruption, ensuring the town's complete annihilation. Their mission was to steal the rock and stop the disaster before it began. Sharing this with Tori was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

Tori suddenly stood, brushing the dust from her tunic. "You know what? I'm not going to sit here and watch you two mope while he is mad about some dumb question. Clearly, Mr. Swordsman doesn't trust me. So how about we hit the reset button?"

Mr. Swordsman raised an eyebrow, his gaze meeting hers. "Reset?"

"Yeah, let's start over. Fresh introductions, clean slate."

"What's the point?" he whispered, turning his attention back to the window.

Tori ignored him, clapping her hands together. "I'll go first! Hi, everyone! My name's Tori, and I'm an S-Class adventurer. It's a pleasure to meet you all—again."

Her cheerfulness was met with awkward silence as Mr Swordsman groaned inwardly, wishing the ride to Pyrovile would end already while Emilia and Hudson's eyes were practically glowing at Tori's statement.

"S-Class adventurer?!"

#

Thick, dark smoke choked the snowy woods, mingling with the fiery inferno that consumed the trees. Footsteps echoed against the backdrop of crackling flames.

"I have to run. What is the name of the realms is that thing?" a man gasped, his breath laboured. Dressed in simple gear, and a mask dangling loosely from his face as he sprinted through the chaos.

"Hey, hey. Slow down," came a guttural voice from behind, smooth yet mocking. "Wouldn't want you to trip, now, would we?"

A beast loomed in the distance, towering above the flames. Its fur shimmered like liquid shadow, and its glowing, ominous blue eyes pierced through the inferno.

"Stay away from me!" the man shouted, his voice quivering as he dodged burning branches and leaping embers.

Thorne, the beast, moved forward, each step scattering the flames around him like leaves blown by a storm. His aura commanded the very flames in his path to dissipate with ease. "When the clock strikes five, the world will end. Or perhaps… it'll finally know peace," he said, halting briefly to look at the chaos around him. "No, it'll be both."

"What are you even talking about, you monster?!" the man yelled, fear and desperation leaking into every word. His attacks, no matter how precise, had been meaningless against this creature's overwhelming lifeforce.

I was warned this group of hunters were terrifying, but this… this is beyond anything I imagined! he thought, his sweat dripping as he pushed his legs harder. I just need to get to the others. If we can regroup, we might stand a chance.

Thorne stepped aside to clear his path of a fallen, burning branch. His voice carried softly through the forest as he began counting under his breath. "One… two… three… four…"

The man glanced back and saw Thorne far behind, the gap between them vast. Relief surged through him like a flood. I'm faster. I'm going to make it! I can escape!

But as hope filled his chest, his legs froze mid-stride. Blood spilt from his mouth, splattering the frosty floor. Slowly, he looked down to see a furry, monstrous hand protruding from his abdomen.

"Rest now, child," Thorne growled, his voice a low and chilling. "Free yourself from this wretched world's chains." He pulled his hand back, lifting the lifeless body onto his shoulder.

The beast's glowing eyes turned to the fiery expanse before him. "The handiwork of this young man. What an annoying gift of generating flames," he whispered. With a wave of his clawed hand, he whispered, "Burst."

In an instant, the blazing inferno vanished, replaced by a howling hailstorm. The once-burning forest froze over as the storm unleashed its wrath. Thorne strode forward, unbothered by the biting cold, until he reached a clearing where his comrades awaited him.

Darius sat atop a mound of corpses, all clad in white robes, his bare skin glistening from the heat of the fading flames. Thorne tossed the body onto the pile without hesitation.

"Do you mind stepping away, brother?" Thorne asked flatly. "It's time to burn them."

Bastian chuckled, his laughter punctuated by the deep draw of his oversized cigarette. "Boss is thinking," he said, leaning against Ryder with a sly grin. "Let him be."

Ignoring him, Thorne struck a match and flicked it onto the pile. But before it could touch the bodies, he whispered once more, "Burst." The flames erupted with explosive intensity, consuming the corpses and bathing the clearing in a blazing light.

Darius remained seated atop the pyre, unfazed by the roaring flames engulfing him.

Zephyr approached, her hair dancing in the storm's icy wind. "There's been too much movement lately. Hunters and adventurers clashing left and right," she said, her tone sharp.

"Not surprising," Ryder replied, sprawled lazily on the snow. "The whispers of war are getting louder. And there's that swordsman…"

Thorne stepped closer to the burning mound, his gaze fixed on Darius. "He's been found," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "In Pyrovile."

Darius stood, steam rising from his body as he emerged from the inferno. "Good," he whispered.

Thorne locked eyes with him, his expression grim. "Preparations are complete. We must move swiftly."

Darius placed a steady hand on his younger brother's shoulder, his face lacking a hint of emotion while his beard caught the falling snow. "No need to rush," he said, his voice calm yet commanding. "There's no need to go meet the swordsman"

He sat back on the snow as the storm around them grew wilder, the blizzard's icy fury matching the chilling certainty in his voice. "He'll come to us himself"