Chapter 07 ~ Saikono Village.

Chapter 07 ~ Saikono Village.

In the fallen kingdom of Tania, Fulan's homeland.

The sun was setting, but its light was a diffused memory behind a thick ceiling of clouds. A wintry chill, promising no rain, settled over the land. In the village, a strange new reality was taking hold. Under the watchful eyes of the occupying army, villagers worked to repair their damaged homes, their faces etched with confusion. Why these new orders? Why help us rebuild? The soldiers, in turn, moved among them, instructing them not to panic and to return to their normal lives. This sudden shift from oppression to reconstruction left a quiet, uneasy peace hanging in the air. Amidst the sounds of hammering and sawing, several prisoners, blinking in the fading light, were being released from their cells.

Among them was a girl with long black hair, her hands bound in chains. Her simple white dress was smudged with the grime of the dungeon. Her eyes, like her hair, were a pure, deep black. An armored soldier accompanied her. He knelt, inserted a key into the lock, and removed her shackles. She rubbed her wrists, her gaze sweeping over the strange scene of her people working under the army's direction.

"What's the reason for this sudden noble treatment?" she asked the soldier.

The metal of his armor seemed to creak with shame. "I don't know, but they are orders from the King," he said, his voice low. "You are that boy's sister, right?"

The girl's eyebrows shot up. "Did something happen to Fulan?! Where is he now?"

"I have no knowledge of that," the guard replied. "It is said he went on a mission, by order of the King, to protect the people of Tania. You will find this rumor has spread among your people."

Her hands clenched into fists, and she gritted her teeth, her eyes fixed on the ground. A single drop of sweat traced a path down her cheek. "That's not true," she whispered to herself, a desolate look in her eyes. "Fulan doesn't love the people of this kingdom. Not to the point of going on a mission for them. These people persecuted us, forbade us from living behind the kingdom's walls. Fulan would never sacrifice himself for them. That wretched bastard who seized the throne… he must have threatened Fulan by doing something to me…"

She started walking, agitated, her long hair swaying. The guard called after her. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she said without turning. "I'm going to see where Fulan went and follow him."

Another soldier appeared before her, his eyes cold, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Unfortunately, you specifically are forbidden from leaving the kingdom. In fact, you are forbidden from even walking around without an escort. You are the pact between the King and Fulan. The King has ordered all soldiers to protect you and prevent you from escaping or doing anything reckless."

"Really?" she retorted, her annoyed gaze falling to his hand on his sword. "Then why do you look like you're about to draw that sword on me?"

"A few light scars will make you think a thousand times before trying to leave," he replied coldly.

The first guard came over, placing a hand on his comrade's shoulder. "The King's order was not to touch a single hair on her head. If you are not going to follow orders precisely, then you are not fit for the task of guarding her."

The cold guard relaxed slightly. "Don't worry. She needs to know who her two guards are. You and I. Fire and water. If she ignores your calm orders and gentle approach, I will burn her a little with my harsh methods. The choice is hers."

Her black eyes lifted to the sky as she thought, Fulan… where are you now, and what are you doing…?

In the King's Palace.

High above, in a tower at the pinnacle of the royal palace, the wind howled softly. It stirred the long, dark green hair of the usurper king. He looked to be in his forties, his green eyes fixed on the small creature perched on his right wrist. It was a brown carrier bird. With nimble fingers, he tied a faint yellow scroll, rolled tightly and bound with a red thread, to the bird's leg.

"You know the destination," he said softly. "To your home."

The bird flapped its wings, at first gently. Then, its brown feathers began to pulse with a familiar honey-colored glow. It shot into the sky at incredible speed, leaving a trail of honey-gold light that quickly vanished into the clouds.

The King's eyes followed its path, a smile touching his lips. "Even great kingdoms like Saita," he whispered, "can crumble and fall into my grasp…"

A week's journey away, in the town of Saikono.

Fulan and Fayrouz arrived as the sun began to set. Gaps had appeared between the clouds, allowing the last breaths of sunlight to spill onto the world, painting the town in hues of orange and pink.

The streets of Saikono were teeming with life. Clean, paved stone roads gave the scene a sense of order and prosperity. Unlike Petita, the people here wore more modern, silk clothing. Shops with simple yet elegant designs lined the roads, adding to the town's beauty. Amidst the throng of people in the market, Fayrouz and Fulan walked side-by-side. Fayrouz's expression was calm as ever, while Fulan looked around in quiet awe.

"This place is so much more vibrant than the last village," he observed, his eyes scanning the bustling streets.

Fayrouz kept her gaze forward, her blue eyes scanning the crowds, her voice steady. "We need to find a merchant or someone with a cart willing to travel at night to the Kingdom of Saita. We must reach it tonight. Don't forget that."

Fulan glanced at her. "I already know that. But you seem so calm, as if you're used to classy places like this."

Fayrouz turned slightly, her tone unchanging. "Classy? You should see the Kingdom of Saita from the inside. This town is nothing compared to it."

Fulan fell silent for a moment before speaking again, the sound of their footsteps a steady rhythm on the stone. "So this isn't your first time going to Saita…"

Fayrouz didn't hesitate in her reply, her eyes still searching the road for potential transport. "So you're the type who likes to talk about the past? I don't mind telling you, but I doubt you would share your real story with me." On her last words, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, meeting his gaze.

Fulan's eyebrows moved slightly. He slowed his pace. "I don't recall doing anything to seem suspicious," he said, his tone light and calm.

Fayrouz didn't slow down, looking forward again. "Perhaps. But I'm curious about your Menma particles. I've never seen colorless Menma before."

A small smile touched Fulan's lips. "Pardon me, but I wish you would stop looking in such a perverted way."

This made Fayrouz stop in her tracks. She turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing," Fulan replied calmly, walking past her. "Just observing the particles and Menma cells flowing in my veins seems... a little perverted."

She fell into step beside him again. "That was a good attempt to change the subject," she said coolly.

Fulan smiled and was about to say something, but his voice was cut off by a much louder, gruffer one shouting from nearby.

"That's enough! I'm ending this tonight!"

Fulan and Fayrouz both turned their eyes towards the source of the sound, where a crowd had gathered, watching something intently. They began to weave their way through the throng. They couldn't get to the front, but through the gaps between people, they could see two men in a clearing.

One carried a greatsword on his back and wore a brown shirt with black trousers—the garb of an adventurer. He had short blond hair and blue eyes. The other was a bald, broad-shouldered man with a brown beard. A silver battle-axe was strapped to his back, and he wore a white shirt with dark green, military-style trousers.

The bearded man, clearly enraged, was in an aggressive stance. "I was a fool to let her follow someone like you!" he roared. "I should have forced her to go with me!"

The blond man with the greatsword remained calm, his voice serious. "I didn't ask her, or you, to come with me. You both knew what an adventurer's life entailed from the beginning. Death is common to all. The adventure I begin tomorrow will likely kill me as well. I respect her decision, so I will not cry or mourn her death."

The bald, bearded man's rage boiled over. He reached back for the handle of the giant axe on his back—its grip wrapped in white bandages—his voice trembling with fury. "Oh, really? If you love death so much, then I'll grant it to you today! That foolish girl was in love with you, you bastard! She didn't care about adventure or any of that! Don't you feel even the slightest regret for her death?!"

The swordsman's eyes were unreadable. He closed them calmly, then opened them again. "No," he replied. "I feel no regret…"

Those words pushed the bearded man over the edge. His brown eyes shook with disbelief and denial. He ripped the axe from its sheath, his knuckles white as he gripped it. The silver head of the axe began to glow a hot orange, as if it had just been pulled from a forge, steam rising from its surface. Then, just as quickly, it cooled back to silver. "Good," he growled with grim determination. "Then I can kill you with a clear conscience!"

He raised the massive silver axe high, preparing to strike.

But before the axe could fall, a faint white aura flared to life around Fulan's body. At the same time, Fayrouz's blue eyes began to glow, and the blue bracelet on her wrist pulsed with light.

[Sound Instinct Activated: White Tiger]

Fulan dashed through the crowd. In a breathtaking instant, he was standing between the two adventurers. Simultaneously, Fayrouz's blue bandages shot through the air, wrapping themselves around the silver battle-axe and stopping its downward swing before it could even begin.

The crowd gasped at the sudden intervention of the two strangers, their movements impossibly fast and decisive.

Fulan stood defensively in front of the blond swordsman, protecting him with his own body. Fayrouz's glowing bandages held the axe locked in place. In the sudden silence, the gazes of Fulan, Fayrouz, and the two adventurers met in a tense, frozen tableau.