Meaty Banquet

The golden glow of morning streamed through the grand dining hall, illuminating the nobles as they indulged in their tea and delicacies. Their hushed discussions wove through the air, stealing gentle flickers to the grand figure at the centre.

Lord Mikah.

His golden hair spilt over the marble floor, catching the light as it cascaded past his pristine white robe, embroidered in gold, a single white rose pinned to his chest.

Before him, a towering castle of confections stood untouched—until he plucked a slice of cake from the summit. He took a slow bite, savouring the sweetness, yet his silver eyes flared not from the delight but something else. 

Five days had passed since the carnage at Pyrovile. The nation trembled in its wake, fear sinking its claws into the hearts of the people. Whispers of dread spread like wildfire—if Pyrovile could fall, who would be next? 

Some debated it being a new town with little or no security but others claimed it wasn't the first. Towns and cities had fallen to rogue lords and hunters. The situation at the Fourth explains that claim very easily.

The people's faith in the Grand Lords and Supreme Being wavered, doubt festering where reverence once stood.

Mikah exhaled, lifting his teacup. "The Swordsman…" he murmured, watching the ripples in the dark liquid. "They still haven't uncovered his identity. Good."

He set the cup down, his gaze shifting to the newspaper resting beside his plate. "Tony and Hack are confirmed dead. But Sparrow…"

His voice trailed off as his attention turned to the entrance.

Standing there, ever-vigilant, was Zyrion.

The general of Mikah's ranks bore a presence impossible to ignore. His fiery red eyes burned with an intensity that rivalled his hair, and his massive frame only further emphasised the sword resting at his side—the hilt accommodating swirling dragons.

Zyrion's voice was measured but firm. "He's known as the strongest noble for a reason—a cunning one at that." His gaze sharpened. "As for the Swordsman, we both know Bloodborne is risking more than just his reputation by shielding him. The Seventh's name is at stake."

Mikah rose from his seat, his robe whispering against the floor as he strode past Zyrion. He stopped just before him, hands clasped behind his back.

"As you're aware, times are shifting," he began. "Diplomats from across the ocean have made contact and began business with some of our nobles. The lingering battle with the hunters is a threat to that," he said, gritting his teeth. "Now, the lords have agreed to a peace treaty, to put on a front of unity when all that lies under such mirage are just the blood of our people and..."

His voice trailed off, yet there was an undeniable weight behind his next words.

"It wounds my soul to watch my own family be sacrificed to these men in the name of so-called peace. I refuse to let my loved ones suffer any longer." His silver eyes met Zyrion's. "If Bloodborne fails, then you must do what is necessary."

Silence stretched between them.

Zyrion remained still.

Mikah sighed, turning away.

"We may try to mend broken souls with the kindness in our hearts," he said softly, "but not all share that virtue." He paused, then smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. "If it must be done, then let it be done in a way that shields us from the backlash. It may sound pathetic, but we are human, after all. And humans…" His fingers tapped lightly against Zyrion's shoulder. "…we always put ourselves first. We know we can never be truly pure."

With that, he strode forward with a gentle smile. "Come. Lord Kabi would be displeased if we arrived late."

#

A gentle voice called out to him.

"Hades?"

Hazy light flickered behind his eyelids as he stirred, his tiny hands rubbing at his blurry vision. A girl stood before him, reaching out.

"What's wrong, Hady?" she whispered, her voice fading into nothingness.

—

"Mr. Swordsman, are you awake?"

The warmth of another voice stirred him awake. His eyes fluttered open to see Emilia hovering over him. His entire body ached, bandaged from head to toe.

"Are you thirsty or anything?" Emilia asked, adjusting his blanket. "You were mumbling something in your sleep. Was it a nightmare?"

Mr. Swordsman exhaled, touching his forehead. The room smelled… pleasant. His eyes flicked to the bedside table. Flowers. So many flowers. Letters, trinkets, and small wrapped gifts, cluttered in an overwhelming heap.

Emilia followed his gaze and chuckled."The townspeople brought them. You're kind of a big deal now, the man who saved Pyrovile."

Mr. Swordsman grunted and sank deeper into the bed.

Alarmed, Emilia rushed closer. "A-Are you okay?" She tried to support him, but he waved her off weakly.

"I'm fine, Emilia," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Just need some peace and quiet."

She hesitated, then pulled her hands back with a soft smile. "Alright, you should rest." She turned for the door—only to get smacked right in the face as it flung open.

"SEE, TORI? I TOLD YOU HE'S AWAKE!" Pasta's voice blasted through the room as he pointed at the swordsman.

"STOP YELLING, YOU IDIOT!" Tori shrieked.

Pasta ignored and shoved her aside as he leapt onto the bed, grinning down at Mr. Swordsman. "Glad to see you're alive! You really are something, Mr. Swordsman."

Tori cracked her knuckles, her eyes darkening. "Pasta." Her scythe materialised in her hands. "Did you just shove me?"

Pasta smirked, unsheathing his blade. "What if I did, Pink Hair?"

With a battle cry, she lunged.

Blades clashed in mid-air, the force knocking over a tray of fruit as the two began their impromptu duel on the very bed of the injured man.

Emilia's face turned an alarming shade of red, her voice shaking the room.

"WILL YOU TWO STOP ALREADY?!"

Silence.

Pasta and Tori froze, blinking at her. Then, with perfect synchronisation, they turned back to each other and resumed their struggle, pushing against each other with their weapons.

The world darkened for a split second.

A loud thwack! echoed through the room as Emilia smacked their heads together and dragged them both to the floor by their collars.

Pasta, rubbing his head, muttered. "I don't get why you're so mad, sis. Just look at Mr. Swordsman—his injuries aren't even that bad."

Tori frowned. "Yeah, girl, you've got some anger issues. Besides, he's been lying in bed for five days. Pretty soon, he's gonna get fat."

Pasta sighed, shaking his head. "Tori, Tori, Tori… that's not how it works. To get fat, you need to eat a lot. And here I thought you were a genius."

A vein twitched in Tori's forehead. "You really want to die, don't you?"

She turned back to Mr. Swordsman, arms crossed. "You know, if you keep this up, you'll need to stop exercising altogether. Start wearing tank tops and shorts. Really lean into the fat man aesthetic."

Pasta nodded sagely, crossing his arms as well. "Yeah, add some excessive body hair, a bald head, some odour and we've got ourselves a—"

They turned to each other, eyes gleaming.

"An obese, sweaty and hopeless swordsman!" they shouted in unison.

Emilia's smile was eerily sweet.

Then—WHACK.

Their heads collided again. They dared to glare up at her, but the devilish grin on her face sent an icy chill down their spines. They wisely chose silence.

A voice cut through the lingering silence.

"Thank you."

Emilia's eyes widened slightly. Mr. Swordsman's voice was softer than usual.

She shook her head, her fiery eyes softening, glistening with unshed tears. "I'm just glad you're okay," she sniffled, forcing a smile. "You hungry?"

He paused, staring at her before offering a tired smile of his own. "Yeah… a bit."

"I'll grab something." She released her hold on Tori and Pasta, who wordlessly shuffled toward the door, exchanging nervous glances. 

With a quick bow, Emilia followed—but before she could step out, his voice stopped her.

"Have I really been asleep for five days?"

She stopped, holding her fists before turning back to him.

"Grandpappy found you at the hills, bleeding out. You were paralyzed, your lifeforce fading by the second…" Her fingers clenched into her skirt as she bowed her head. "You almost died, you know."

"When the doctor said you'd make it, I—I was so happy." A tear slipped down her cheek. "It was my choice to go to Pyrovile, and you got hurt because of it."

"Emilia."

"I shouldn't have—"

"I'm fine."

"Liar!" she snapped, meeting his gaze. "You can't even walk."

"True."

"Then how is that fine?"

"I'm alive, aren't I?"

The words hung between them, heavier than either expected.

Emilia bit her lip, eyes shimmering. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and forced a small laugh.

"…You must be starving to say something like that, Mr. Swordsman."

She turned, stepping past the threshold. Her footsteps faded down the hall.

Left alone, Mr. Swordsman stared at the ceiling, arm draped over his face.

"…Do I even deserve to be alive?" he whispered.

His fingers trembled.

"No," he muttered, closing his eyes.

"I don't."

#

Three days had passed, and Mr. Swordsman was back on his feet—an impossible feat to all except the siblings and Hudson. The streets of Pyrovile were bright with colour as Tony's mansion hosted a grand celebration in honour of the town's heroes.

Prestigious guests, town leaders—anyone of note had arrived. Even the mischievous kids from the rural outskirts managed to sneak in, stuffing their faces with free food before they were inevitably caught and welcomed to the celebration.

The banquet hall gleamed with the opulence of gold, its crystalline chandeliers hovering above. The aroma of a lavish feast wove through the air, each scent an enticing lure capable of ensnaring the soul of anyone careless enough to inhale too deeply.

Renowned chefs worked as though their lives depended on it. Once the masters of their own kitchens, they now found themselves reduced to mere assistants under the command of a single, thunderous voice.

"MOVE FASTER, YOU SLOPPY EXCUSES FOR CHEFS! THIS ISN'T A FAMILY DINNER DAMMIT!"

Gordon's roar shook the kitchen, his eyes darting about until they locked onto one unfortunate soul stirring batter too leisurely for his liking.

In an instant, the head chef was upon him, barking in incomprehensible fury at the trembling man. Though his words were garbled in rage, the meaning was clear—the chef would either pick up the pace or face a fate worse than death.

Back in the banquet hall, Pasta let out a quiet sigh, tugging at the collar of the suit Emilia had forced him into. "Can't wait to pull this off," he whispered.

His gaze flickered toward the balcony, where a lone figure stood against the railings. Even in a room filled with nobles, Mr. Swordsman had refused to change, donning only his familiar, tattered cloak—yet no one sensed his presence.

Pasta hesitated before slipping away from the lively chatter to join him.

"Aren't you going inside?" he asked, leaning against the rail. "This party's for the heroes, you know."

"Same goes for you," Mr Swordsman said.

Pasta chuckled. "Nah, not me. I didn't do anything." He lifted his eyes to the starry sky. "You were incredible, Mr. Swordsman. Emilia too. As always she took control of the situation, never giving in."

Mr. Swordsman's gaze followed his, watching the stars as he spoke. "You sound conflicted, Pasta"

Pasta turned to him, startled.

"You want to become stronger. To be useful. But doubt lingers in your heart," Mr Swordsman said. "Everyone has their own path to strength—you just need to find yours. For some they need to go harder, others only need to relax and reflect on themselves. "

Pasta blinked, then smirked. "For a depressed, nameless guy, you sure give good advice."

Mr. Swordsman shot him a look. "At least you're smiling again." He exhaled, eyes softening. "Back in my room, I could hear it in your voice—like you were forcing yourself to be fine."

Pasta swatted the back of his head. "You know, for someone who gives great advice, you're way too perceptive. It's kinda creepy." Then, he grinned mischievously and stretched out a pinky. "Still, I promise you this—I'll get strong enough to fight alongside you. And together, we'll take on the strongest fighters in the world, man. It's going to be so fun."

Mr. Swordsman remained silent, staring at the boy's outstretched hand. A fleeting mirage of a dream, he thought. And yet… perhaps he deserved to chase it. Without a word, he linked their fingers, sealing the promise.

"There you are."

Hudson approached, dressed in a pristine white suit.

"Here's our scholar," Pasta teased, spreading his arms dramatically.

Hudson gave a small smile, hands in his pockets. "It's a bit early to call me that."

"Congratulations, Hudson," Mr. Swordsman murmured.

Hudson gave a respectful bow. "Thank you, sir."

Pasta threw an arm around his shoulder. "You're so lucky, man. Heading abroad for your studies, surrounded by workers catering to your every need." He slumped. "Maybe I should convince that bard to fund my scholarship too."

Hudson chuckled. "They're not workers—they're family. And he's not a bard, he's a noble."

Pasta lifted his head. "A noble, huh? You sure he's not a bard in disguise?"

Hudson ignored him and turned to Mr. Swordsman and bowed again with a subtle smile. "I want to express my gratitude once more. Without you, Pyrovile would have been lost. On behalf of the town, I offer our sincere thanks."

Mr. Swordsman's expression remained stoic. "I never meant to—"

"Oh, come on," Pasta interrupted, nudging him. "Can't you at least pretend to be proud?"

Hudson eyed him warily, but Pasta only grinned wider.

Mr. Swordsman exhaled in defeat. "You're welcome."

Pasta cheered, pumping a fist into the air. "Alright then! It's meat time! Woo-hoo!"

#

The lively hall burst into cheers as the voices of young women rang through the air.

"Grandpappy!"

Bottles of champagne popped, showering the room in golden fizz as Andy stood atop a banquet table, grinning from ear to ear with a bottle of his own raised high.

Tori sighed, seated at a nearby table, idly picking at her meal while sneaking glances at her overly energetic grandpappy.

Her deep violet gown shimmered under the chandeliers, drawing the eyes of several men. But none dared approach—not with the ominous weapon resting by her side. 

Tori's gaze flicked to the far end of the hall, where Emilia was being swarmed by town leaders, their eager chatter relentless.

She exhaled, pushing back from the table. "Can't have her worrying about me now, can I?"

With a smooth motion, her scythe shrank into a baton, which she hooked to her waist before stepping onto the grand floor. It didn't take long before a group of well-dressed men intercepted her.

"You must be Tori, the S-Class adventurer in the hero's party," one of them greeted, his companions quickly forming a circle around her.

"I heard you defeated Matthew, the mercenary commander's right-hand man. What an impressive feat," another added, nodding in approval.

Tori forced a polite smile as the questions and praises rolled in. She endured it—until a sudden voice tore through the ceremony.

"Meat!"

Pasta came barreling in, shoving past the crowd with no regard, making a beeline for the feast before them. Andy welcomed him with open arms, practically cackling in delight as the boy wasted no time piling his plate with an absurd mountain of food.

Tori's eyes shimmered as she watched, lips parting slightly as if to speak—no, as if to devour the sight as spittle seeped down her lips. But before she could take a step forward, whispers from the men beside her caught her attention.

"Who is that guy?" one of them scoffed. "Part of their party as well?"

"Some tag-along, apparently. Didn't contribute much to their victory."

"Heh. Then why's he even here?"

"Probably just mooching off the free food. Look at him, stuffing his face like a stray dog."

The moment those words left their lips, the air around Tori shifted. She slowly turned to them, her amethyst eyes gleaming with a chilling light.

"Did you just call him a dog?" she asked.

The men stiffened. A shudder ran through them as they took a step back before scurrying off, vanishing into the crowd.

Tori exhaled, shaking her head.

"That was rather kind of you."

She flinched, whipping around to find Emilia standing unnervingly close.

"Eek! How did you get here!?"

Emilia's smile widened. "Did you just stand up for Pasta?"

Tori turned away with a huff. "Where would you get that idea?"

The smile on Emilia's lips grew. "Thanks for defending him. If you hadn't, I might've had to… handle them myself." Her gaze flickered dangerously. "And I'd rather not ruin such a lovely dress tonight."

Tori took a quick glance at her. The emerald gown fit her like it was woven from the vines of an enchanted forest, its floral designs giving her an almost ethereal presence.

"Yeah, yeah, I was just saving them from you," Tori muttered.

Emilia smirked. "Oh? But a few days ago, you didn't seem to care about Pasta at all."

"Nothing's changed. He's still a freak."

"That's true," Emilia chuckled.

Tori met her eyes, a quiet smile forming. "So, this is the end, huh?"

Emilia tilted her head. "The end?" She asked, stepping closer. "Come on now, it's not like we'll never see each other again, right? This was my first quest as an adventurer, and every second of it was ama-"

"Amazing," Tori whispered, nodding. "Yeah… every second."

She paused, suppressing a giggle. "You know what's funny? Those men from earlier thought we were at the same party."

Emilia blinked. "Are they wrong?"

Tori froze, staring at her. Then, with a small sigh, she rushed in and hugged Emilia, her voice barely above a whisper.

"No… they're not."

Emilia returned the embrace, but over Tori's shoulder, she caught sight of Mr. Swordsman standing alone on the balcony. He hadn't even bothered to wear the suit I picked for him. How typical of him.

Before she could comment, Andy suddenly appeared behind Tori, grinning from ear to ear.

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you."

Tori pulled back and turned to her grandpappy then back to Emilia.

"You look beautiful," she said.

Emilia let out an awkward chuckle. "You look way better."

Tori groaned. "I hate this dress. Don't make me wear it again."

"Oh, we'll make an exception when you marry my brother."

"Yeah—"

Tori's eyes widened as the words registered.

"WAIT, WHAT!?"

Emilia only giggled, dashing off toward the balcony, waving over her shoulder. "Bye, Tori~"

Tori remained frozen in place, her face stiff as Andy reached for her. 

Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving her grandpappy behind.

From a distance, Cumbleton watched, raising an amused brow as he excused himself from the group of workers.

The night carried on.

#

Kot tapped his foot against the floor, arms crossed, head lowered with Bobby who leaned against the doorpost, lazily chewing on a skewer.

"Hey, man," Kot muttered, turning toward him. "What do you think of Emilia?"

Bobby barely spared him a glance. "Give it a rest, Kot. You don't stand a chance."

"No way, I'm not giving up yet." Kot grinned, revealing a bundle of flowers.

Bobby blinked. "And… what exactly do you plan to do with that?"

Kot's eyes shimmered with raw determination as he stepped forward.

"Where do you think you're going?" Bobby called after him. "We're supposed to guard the entrance. Dammit, get back here!"

Kot turned, placing a hand over his heart. "Nothing can stop love, Bobby. Not duty, not fate, not even you. Tonight, I confess my feelings to Emilia."

Bobby let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing his temples. "Are you sick or something? First, you refuse Master Hudson's invitation to join the party, and now you're going to storm in and propose to one of the heroes?"

Kot lifted his chin. "You wouldn't understand, Bobby. Love is incomprehensible and unpredictable. It is a divine emotion. Maybe more but definitely nothing less."

Bobby groaned and went back to enjoying his skewer. "Right. Divine. Just make sure to divine your way back before Hudson finds out you left your post."

Kot waved him off and strode toward the balcony, his heart burning with passion. Nothing could extinguish the fire within him. Emilia's dress had nearly driven him to madness, and her eyes—oh, those enchanting eyes—had carried him to realms far beyond mortal reach. Tonight, he would make her his, and she would be his forever.

Then, he saw it.

The flowers tumbled from his grasp as his world crumbled around him.

There stood Emilia, laughing—laughing—while talking to Mr. Swordsman, who remained as stoic as ever. 

He's not even in a suit, Kot thought as he tried to make sense of what he saw. A beautiful lady in the midst of a tattered cloaked and battered swordsman.

Kot's pupils shrank. "So that's how it is," he whispered. "She prefers stronger guys."

A strangled wail tore from his throat as he turned and sprinted away, tears streaming down his face. Guests shrieked and scrambled out of his way as he fled the scene.

Bobby watched, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Drama queen," he muttered, then turned and called for some guards to cover their post.

Knowing he wasn't equipped to handle matters of the heart, he muttered, "Guess I'll go get Hudson."

#

After being away for so long, Hudson barely had time to breathe before he was engulfed by a whirlwind of chatter. The workers surrounded him in their corner of the hall, practically vibrating with excitement, each one eager to unload what unfolded during his absence.

From Mary taking charge of the mansion to Gordon deliberately ruining meals with bizarre ingredient choices, to Pasta turning the mansion into a battlefield after a failed escape attempt—they had enough stories to fill a lifetime.

Some even swore they had seen a bird transform into a nightmarish creature.

Hudson chuckled awkwardly, torn between amusement and scepticism. "You're all just making things up now, aren't you?"

The workers gasped in feigned offence. "We'd never!"

Before Hudson could pry further, the musicians struck up a slow, melodious tune, coaxing guests toward the dance floor. Taking the opportunity to escape the overzealous storytellers, he scanned the room.

That's when he saw her.

Mary, sitting alone, bathed in the warm glow of the chandeliers. She wore a yellow gown, its soft fabric catching the light with each subtle movement. Her focus, however, was entirely on the plate of tangerines before her, savouring each bite with quiet delight. Her eyes sparkled like moonlight reflecting on water as she snuck glances of the musicians.

Hudson exhaled, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Excusing himself from the workers, he made his way over.

Mary looked up at him for a moment and extended the plate of tangerines toward him.

Hudson shook his head. Instead, he extended his hand.

Mary blinked, then pointed to herself.

He nodded.

A beat passed, then she placed her hand in his.

The two stepped onto the dance floor, moving to the rhythm of the music. Mary wasn't the most graceful dancer, but he led her on. And yet, their laughter and bright smiles said more than any perfect step ever could.

A few workers peeked from behind the pillars, their jaws dropping.

"What in the—Gordon needs to see this!" One of them took off sprinting toward the kitchen, dragging a few others with him.

They slammed the door open.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE NINE HELLS! KEEP IT DOWN, YOU FILTHY MONGRELS!"

Gordon was deep in the throes of culinary chaos, aggressively stirring a bubbling concoction of questionable origin while various ingredients sizzled and popped around him. He barely spared them a glance.

The worker wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "Gordon! The dance floor—Hudson and Mary—!"

Gordon's hand froze mid-stir. "What?"

In his shock, the spoon slipped, sending a thick glob of sauce flying.

Without another word, he flung his utensils aside, wiped his sauce-stained hands on his apron, and stormed out of the kitchen, still clutching his knife.

"Clean this mess up and start over, you useless amateurs!"

The remaining cooks exchanged exhausted glances but ultimately sighed in relief—at least they didn't have to deal with him for the next few minutes.

Gordon reached the hall, pushing past the crowd to see for himself. The moment he caught sight of Hudson and Mary dancing, his lips curled into a triumphant smirk. "Knew my master had it in him."

A small voice spoke beside him. "Kot's gonna be devastated."

Gordon turned, finding Little Bobby standing there, arms crossed. "What are you doing here? I thought you hated all this fancy nonsense."

"I do," Bobby admitted. "But Kot's been sulking ever since he got turned down."

Gordon scoffed. "Turned down? And he calls himself a man?" He gripped his knife, eyes gleaming with menace. "Take me to him. I'll show him how men of old handled rejection—" His voice lowered into a dangerous growl. "But who's the lady?"

Bobby sighed. "Lady Emilia."

Gordon exhaled sharply, loosening his grip. "Ah. That's a tough one." He crossed his arms, nodding sagely. "A real man learns to endure. He'll find someone one day."

Bobby smiled. "Yeah. He will."

On the dance floor, Hudson guided Mary with steady hands, offering unwavering support even as she stumbled and stepped on his feet more times than she cared to admit.

"Hudson, it's quite unlike you to request a dance," she mused, tilting her head.

"Is that so?"

She hesitated, then looked away. "I haven't properly thanked you yet… for handling L—Tony."

Hudson's expression remained relaxed. "I wouldn't have done much without them."

Mary met his gaze. That same calmness, that quiet uncertainty—he always carried it. Of everyone, he had been the closest to Lord Tony. Yet, he didn't carry the look of a man who had lost something. If anything, he looked like someone who had gained much more in return.

"You know I'm awful at this, right?" she giggled.

"Who cares?" Hudson shrugged. "And Mary, I'd prefer if you called me Hudson instead. 'Master' feels strange."

She nodded. "Oh yeah, that reminds me—Lady Emilia told me a lot about your trip—"

Hudson tensed, gripping her shoulders. "W-What exactly did she tell you?"

Mary's lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Well…"

His face turned crimson as he stiffened in horror. "Pasta was right. Emilia isn't some angelic figure," he whispered, then clutched his head in dread. "She's the demon queen!"

Before Mary could respond, one of the town's leaders stepped onto the stage.

"It looks like it's time," she said, nudging him forward. "Don't get cold feet now."

Hudson quickly pulled himself together and made his way toward the stage. Along the way, he picked up a glass from a passing tray.

He stepped up and tapped a spoon against the glass, the sharp clinking sound cutting through the lively chatter. The room fell into silence.

At that exact moment, Emilia shoved Mr Swordsman into the party.

Pasta, mid-bite, froze in place. Beside him, Tori lifted her head from the table.

Hudson took a deep breath, scanning the faces before him. He never in a million years could have thought he would take his former lord stage and even have a dance with Mary.

With a soft smile he began. "There's so much I want to say, yet I struggle to put it into words. A few days ago, I was in a dark place… and so was this town. We had no hope—until I was lucky enough to meet the adventurers before you." He paused, letting his words sink in. "I can't offer much as promised, Emilia, but I hope this celebration repays even a fraction of the enormous debt I owe you all. After all, Gordon's food is the best in the Nine Realms."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Emilia chuckled, while Gordon puffed out his chest in pride, crossing his arms.

"But more than anything," Hudson continued, raising his glass, "I want to thank each and every one of you—Pasta, Tori, Andy, Mr. Swordsman, Emilia, and all the workers who helped save this town." He lifted his drink high. "A toast—to the heroes of Pyrovile!"

The room echoed with the clinking of glasses, voices joining together in celebration.

Andy, however, didn't partake. His gaze remained locked on Tori.

#

Pasta continued his meal—until Andy plopped down beside him, head hanging low. Pasta's gaze flickered between Andy and Tori, then back again. Andy. Tori. Andy. Tori. Faster and faster. 

"I should take my leave," Pasta muttered, standing abruptly.

Tori huffed, shoving a spoon into her mouth and turning away from Andy.

Andy, unfazed, scooted closer. "I'm sorry, cupcake. What can grandpappy do to make you happy?" His voice dripped with the kind of doting sincerity that made ignoring him impossible.

Tori's eyes darkened ominously. "Those girls… let's beat them up."

Andy let out a soft giggle. "Sure thing, dear. Anything to make you happy."

Her eyes widened in disbelief before she whipped her head away with a flustered huff. "I don't like the way they call you grandpappy. You're my grandpappy. Not theirs."

Andy scratched his head. "But Emilia and the others call me that sometimes."

"They're an exception!" she snapped. "I just don't like it when those girls do it."

Andy gave a hearty chuckle and patted her head. "Okay, cupcake. Grandpappy has heard you."

At that moment, the doors swung open, and in strutted a group of women carrying trays of roasted meat and bottles of fine wine, their flashy attire emphasizing every possible curve.

"Grandpappy! We've got more booze! Let's party!" they sang in unison, swaying toward Andy.

Andy rose slowly, turning to face them with an eerily calm expression. His gaze darkened, sending shivers through the air—before he suddenly burst into a booming laugh. "You girls are no longer obligated to call me grandpappy!" He leapt onto the table with surprising agility and pointed at Tori. "My granddaughter is jealous of you all calling me grandpappy, so that's a no-go from now on, got it?"

The entire room fell into stunned silence.

Tori's mouth dropped open, her cheeks igniting like fireworks as every single person in the party turned to stare at her.

She stood frozen for exactly three seconds—then bolted.

But not before dashing back, yanking the tablecloth and scooping up every plate of food in her arms before storming out.

Andy blinked. "…Did I do something wrong?"

From the corner of the room, Cumbleton let out a deep sigh and slapped a hand over his face. "At least he did what she asked."

#

Andy burst through the halls atop a raging bull, the doors flying open as the beast galloped into the night in pursuit of Tori as the party carried on.

Meanwhile, Pasta groaned, stretching out lazily as he slumped onto Emilia's shoulder. "I'm stuffed…"

Emilia sighed, pushing his head away. "Hey, I'm not some kind of wall for you to lean on."

"I know, but that meat was so good!" He groaned even louder, rubbing his belly. "We're leaving soon, so I gotta take in as much as I can."

Emilia rolled her eyes, then stepped back just enough for Pasta to crumble onto the floor with a thud.

Mr. Swordsman sat quietly, his gaze sweeping over the assortment of food in front of him. He grabbed whatever was closest, stuffing his mouth.

Pasta suddenly shot to his feet and tapped Mr Swordsman on the shoulder. "Hey, this is random, but… is your name Hades by any chance?"

Emilia's eyes widened. She had been meaning to ask the same thing, but how did Pasta know of Mr Swordsman's name?

Mr. Swordsman's chewing slowed. "Yes." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Who told you?"

Pasta and Emilia exchanged nervous laughs.

Emilia hesitated. Telling him what she had seen in that strange place—the lost guardians of the realm who saw him as a threat—was risky. He was still recovering, and dropping that bombshell on him might do more harm than good. I need more details before I make any moves, she thought, her eyes lowered. And then there's Lucas, the noble that's supposed to be dead. Not only is he alive but he granted Hudson a scholarship with a huge sum of money and disappeared. There's something else at play here. 

Pasta, on the other hand, had his own reason for keeping quiet. He turned away, his expression stiff. If it had been any other creature, I'd say it. But a bird? No way. Me losing to those feathery creatures should be unheard of.

Mr. Swordsman exhaled, resuming his meal. "It doesn't matter. Knowing my name changes nothing. You can use it if you want."

Pasta grinned. "Nah, Mr. Swordsman sounds way cooler."

"Yep, way better," Emilia agreed without hesitation.

Mr. Swordsman glanced between them, then back to the table. "We leave tomorrow. You both should rest up before then."

"Okay," the siblings chimed in unison.

A rare smile tugged at Mr. Swordsman's lips. "For now, let's enjoy the party… and say our goodbyes to the town of flames."

#

The next morning, the entire town gathered to bid farewell to the adventurers. Tori clung to Emilia, tears streaming down her face.

"I'm so, so, sooo going to miss you, Emi!!" she wailed.

"I'll miss you too, Tori." Emilia patted her on the back, holding in her own tears. "Let's meet again, alright?"

"Of course!" Tori sniffled, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her dress before abruptly perking up. Without another word, she bolted for the carriage and dove inside—where a rather unfortunate bull was tied helplessly atop it, looking like it had long since given up on life.

With final waves and farewells, the carriage rolled away, carrying Tori, Andy, and their captured livestock into the distance.

Mr. Swordsman and the rest of the party also set out, the cheers of Pyrovile's people fading with each step. Hudson lingered for a moment, his fingers entwined with Mary's. His gaze flickered between her and the departing adventurers.

"Hope we meet again someday," he murmured, watching them disappear over the horizon.

"Another adventure, here we come!" Pasta declared, unsheathing his sword.

Emilia, meanwhile, had her nose buried in her guidebook, which was now on its final pages. "Off to the fourth realm. I just can't wait—"

Pasta blinked. "Anything wrong, sis?"

Emilia's hands trembled. "W-We can't leave the realm."

Pasta tilted his head. "And why's that?"

Emilia swallowed hard. "The flowers…"

"What flowers?"

Mr. Swordsman turned back to face her.

Emilia shivered. "The sun blossoms for our quest…"

Mr. Swordsman sighed, already anticipating where this was going. "There's no need to head all the way to Gildenspire," he said, confidently. "We'll return them to the capital. No need to fret."

Emilia chuckled nervously, scratching the back of her head. "Yeah, about that… I kinda… left them in the carriage."

Silence...

"WHAT?!" Mr. Swordsman and Pasta screamed in unison.