Ronan snatched the drink straight from the bartender's hand and downed it before it even touched the counter. He turned toward the trio gathered behind him—Nicolas, Alex, and Emily—and smirked.
"So, you're the replacements for the Zronan Killer?"
The three glanced at one another, hesitant. Then their eyes shifted toward Sir Alric Valthorne and Annie the Esper.
Sir Alric folded his arms, expression unreadable. The loss of the Zronan Killer had left a gaping hole in the party. Taking on new, inexperienced members was risky—but these three… there was something in their eyes. Hunger. Restlessness. Qualities adventurers these days seemed to have forgotten.
People preferred comfort now. They stayed in towns, eating well, laughing in warm taverns. Why fight beasts in the snow when the farms were thriving?
The sudden warmth blooming across Harden was to blame—glaciers in Cheyra were melting, turning cold lands fertile. For now, the harvests overflowed. Many adventurers had traded blades for plows.
But spring never lasts forever.
Cheyra's ice was creeping back, and with it, the quiet warning: Harden's golden days were numbered. They would need warriors again soon.
Sir Alric glanced at Annie. She remained silent, but her eyes—sharp and distant—spoke of quiet agreement. The party needed fresh blood.
Alric finally nodded to Ronan. "Yes. They're the new members. Green, but we'll train them."
Ronan chuckled under his breath, the sound rumbling like distant thunder. Nicolas, Alex, and Emily allowed themselves to smile—just a little.
Ronan took another sip. "I take it you saw the arena match. Zronan Killer versus Peter the Ice Prince?"
He leaned in.
"Peter shouldn't have that kind of power. Not naturally. Not within the laws of the world."
Nicolas spoke up, tone too smug for his own good. "Didn't Peter lose to a glacier bear not long ago?"
Emily elbowed him. "You didn't even watch the final match. He faked being weak. That's how he got to the finals—by fooling everyone."
Nicolas folded his arms, sulking.
Ronan continued, undeterred. "I watched it too. Ted Hudson didn't cheat. He turned Peter Harvey's own power back on him. Took the raw force he unleashed… and redirected it."
Sir Alric narrowed his eyes. "You talk a lot about Peter."
Ronan grinned. "And you're sharp, Valthorne. Yes, Peter may be connected to the mission. But details stay off the table. Bars have ears." He looked at Annie. "You know."
Annie gave the faintest nod.
Ronan pulled his cloak around his shoulders. "Meet me at the Black Road. Outside Yheka's walls. Tomorrow. After sundown."
He tossed back the last of his drink, turned, and made his way out—pausing only once to glance at the shadowy corner table.
And then, he was gone.
Silence lingered.
Sir Alric turned to the trio. "You wanted this life. Now you have it. But there's no turning back. The Dark Council has eyes everywhere. Once they assign you a task, they see it through—whether you do or not."
Nicolas woke to a pounding headache and a vague memory: Black Road. Sundown.
He groaned and sat up, reaching for his sword leaning against the wall. He gave it a few test swings—nothing impressive. He felt like a swordsman, but something just wouldn't click.
He sighed.
Unbeknownst to him, King Ireat stood outside the door, watching.
"Nicolas," the king finally said. "Let me show you."
Before Nicolas could answer, his father stepped in and took the blade. He gave it one clean swing—into thin air.
BOOM.
The sheer force cracked the air, blasting the corner of the room as though something had exploded there. And yet, the sword hadn't touched a thing.
King Ireat laughed, shaking his head. "A little raw, but did you catch it?"
"Uh… very instructive, Dad." Nicolas blinked. He knew his father had done it just to impress him. Not that it helped.
The king stretched and handed the sword back. "Practice. Eat. You'll need the energy."
With a casual wave, he left the room.
Downstairs, the dining hall buzzed with clinking plates. Harry, Alex, and Emily were already eating when Nicolas joined them.
He pulled out a chair and sat beside them. "So… what's the plan?"
Alex chewed in silence.
Harry answered, "Just training. You good? You look like you got hit in the head."
Nicolas raised a brow, glancing at Emily. She arched her eyebrow back in a "don't say anything" kind of way.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "So… what did you do after I left yesterday?"
Emily answered smoothly, "Went to the bar. Chatted. Nothing major."
"That's it? Nothing weird happened?"
Alex, who rarely spoke, muttered, "Dude, it's the bar. That's what we always do."
Harry raised his hands. "Alright, alright, chill. I didn't mean anything."
The table fell into a comfortable silence again, the only sounds the scrape of forks and the distant hum of morning.