PREVIOUSLY-
"Sloth?" Leon murmured.
"Sloth, in simple words, you are gonna fall asleep."
Leon staggered to a bark as drowsiness took over him.
"Ah shit!"
Leon stumbled to the floor.
THUMP!
A pair of familiar arms caught him. The figure's black hair waved with the wind as the shaft of his spear shimmered in moonlight.
"Rest well, Leon." The figure whispered, "Let me handle that lump of meat."
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
No sooner had he said it than a chilling presence darted behind him — swift, silent.
A whisper of movement.
The Alp struck, invisible.
Raphael's body tensed. He spun, drawing a dagger in one hand, spear in the other.
The air shimmered where the Alp had been, as if reality itself bent around him. The creature's hat, the Tarnkappe, was a flickering veil of shadows.
With a flick of his dagger, Raphael slashed through the air — and through the Tarnkappe's edge.
A sharp, tearing sound ripped through the night.
The Alp snarled, visible now, shifting — first a wolf with burning eyes, muscles rippling, then dissolving into shadow mist that crawled along the ground like smoke.
Raphael's muscles surged red-hot beneath his skin; his crimson energy enveloped him.
He charged, spear thrusting with explosive force, light crackling from his fingertips like embers.
The shadow mist lunged, wrapping around his legs, but Raphael twisted, dagger slicing through tendrils of smoke.
The Alp's form reformed into a jagged humanoid figure, grinning with jagged teeth, claws flashing.
Raphael parried with his spear, spinning, the red glow pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat — every strike, every dodge, perfect and deadly.
The creature feinted left, then morphed into a blur of flickering shapes — a snake, then a raven, then back to the human form with the sinister third eye glinting.
Raphael lunged, dagger flashing to the Alp's throat, then a swift jab with the spear to the ribs.
The third eye blinked — a dark orb swirling with cursed power.
Without hesitation, Raphael's fingers pressed firmly against it.
A pulse of shattered darkness echoed as the eye cracked, leaking shadowy light.
The Tarnkappe slipped from the Alp's head, torn wide open.
The invisibility faltered.
The shapeshifting stuttered.
Power drained like blood from a wound.
The creature's snarls turned into gasps.
Its limbs trembled.
Finally, the Alp collapsed, limp, powerless — unconscious beneath the cold moonlight.
Raphael stood over the fallen foe, breathing steady, muscles still humming with the aftershock of battle.
"Sleep well," he said quietly, turning back toward Leon.
A FEW MOMENTS EARLIER
Raphael leapt from the Basque Cave, clearing the cliff where he'd once hung in wait.
THUD!
He landed lightly on tall grass, the green runes beneath his boots flickering softly.
"Mr. Drelgor, any idea where he might be?" Raphael asked without looking back.
Drelgor paused, helm tilting as he considered.
"How about you trace him with his mana?"
Raphael snorted. "If I had any trace of his mana, I'd have found him by now."
Without another word, he strode toward the dark forest ahead.
Suddenly, an eerie voice echoed through the trees — a strange string of guttural noises.
"@#@*!"
"@#!*^#!"
Another voice answered. Then more voices, rising in a discordant chorus.
RUSTLE!
Raphael crept forward, peeking through a bush.
He spotted a small goblin village. A cluster of goblins huddled around one who didn't stand out—except he held a bow, fingers trembling as he frantically pointed north.
Should I kill them? a thought flickered in Raphael's mind.
"No," Drelgor replied as if reading his thoughts.
Raphael glanced at him; eyebrow raised.
"These goblins," Drelgor said, pointing towards the scout, "might be more useful than you think."
Leaning back against a tree, Raphael asked, "How?"
Drelgor nodded to the archer goblin. "He's a scout. Something dangerous must be moving north."
Raphael's gaze swept the settlement. "Alright. Let's go."
They moved north, and soon came upon a massive footprint carved into the soft earth.
"That's a Bigfoot's," Drelgor said, tilting his helm thoughtfully.
What could've happened here?
"Raphael, try tracing it with mana."
Crouching near the print, Raphael extended his fingers. Colourless wisps of mana seeped from his skin, swirling before fading into the mark.
"It's old. Not fresh."
Standing, Raphael scanned the treetops.
FWISH!
He scaled a tall pine and surveyed the forest floor below.
Piece by piece, they followed the trail of prints — until they reached the yawning mouth of the Bigfoot's cave.
PRESENT-
"Aargh!"
Leon lurched upright, clutching his temples as a fresh wave of pain cracked through his skull like a splitting bell. His breath came ragged. The ground beneath him blurred and twisted.
Threxil knelt beside him, his many-eyed helm tilting as he watched the boy writhe.
Their gazes locked.
"F*ck," Leon croaked, heart drumming in his throat as memories reassembled themselves with cruel clarity.
Threxil exhaled sharply, "We lost the Alp."
A voice—low and calm, yet somehow sharper than any blade—slipped into the clearing like a draft of moonlight.
"He's here."
Leon's gaze flicked sideways.
Raphael stood quietly under the shadow of a tree, fingers stained in hues not quite red. His black hair fluttered with the breeze, and the shaft of his spear glinted in the moonlight like a silver promise.
Leon rose on unsteady feet, a fragile laugh escaping his lips.
"Oh, Ralph! How did yo—"
The words died mid-throat.
His eyes had locked on something—a grotesque silhouette pinned to the bark behind Raphael.
A stifled gasp rattled from his chest.
"Ralph… what is that?" he whispered.
Raphael turned lazily, wiping bluish ichor off his fingers with the same detachment one might wipe grease from a blade.
"It's him," he said. "The Alp."
Leon approached with hesitant steps. The figure nailed to the tree barely resembled a living being.
A bloated, pallid corpse sagged under its own weight, its flesh smeared in sickly hues of violet and rusted blue. The body's arms were stretched upward, pinned by daggers plunged deep into sinew and bark. One eye was pulverized into a wet pulp; the others swollen shut with ruptured blood vessels webbing the lids. A sliver of pine bark protruded from the Alp's tongue, pinning it against the roof of its mouth like a grotesque stitch.
Strips of skin hung in ribbons from its abdomen, and a bouquet of intestines dangled from the sundered belly like obscene garlands.
Leon gagged, staggering back. Bile surged in his throat.
He spun on Raphael, his voice cracking with fury and nausea.
"Ralph! WHAT IS THIS?!"
Raphael tilted his head, as if confused by the outrage.
"That thing tried to kill you," he replied evenly. "So I killed it."
Leon's nostrils flared. His eyes burned.
"RAPAHELDOR!" he shouted. "Who the hell gave you the right to interfere in my fights?!"
The name struck the air like a slap.
Raphael's expression shifted. The playful aloofness drained from his face, replaced by a rare silence.
"Leon," he said softly, "that thing nearly ended you."
WHAM!
Leon slammed his fist into the nearest tree, cracking bark and sending a tremor up its trunk.
"And who told you to butcher it like this?" he growled. "Why do you always think the world revolves around saving me?!"
Raphael looked down. His shoulders hunched—not in shame, but in quiet resignation.
"I can endure anything the world throws at me," he murmured, gripping a bloodied cloth in his hand. "Scorn. pain. Death. I don't care if the sky falls or kingdoms burn."
He raised his eyes. They glistened, not with tears, but with something more ancient.
"But when even a single strand of your hair is harmed… something inside me snaps. I only want you safe. I only want you… alive."
Leon's hands balled into fists at his sides. His throat tightened. His mind shouted contradictions, but his heart knew the truth. And that truth hurt more than anything the Alp had inflicted.
"Who do you think you are?" Leon choked out. "My mother? My keeper? Did I ask you to protect me?"
Raphael's lips parted, but no protest came. Just a simple reply:
"I'm sorry."
SNAP!
Leon struck him. The punch landed square on Raphael's jaw, jerking his head to the side.
Silence.
Raphael turned his head back, expression unchanged. No anger. No sadness. No scorn.
Nothing but quiet acceptance.
Leon's voice wavered.
"Why…?" he rasped. "Why aren't you angry? Why aren't you hitting me back?"
He shoved Raphael's chest.
"Why do you keep taking every hit like it's your duty to suffer for me? Just tell me why!"
Raphael stepped forward.
And then he did something Leon didn't expect.
He embraced him.
"Because I want to," Raphael said, voice barely above the wind. "I feel joy when you're safe. That's enough for me."
Leon gave a short, bitter laugh.
"What are you, my lover?"
Raphael smiled.
"Something stronger," he said, pulling back slightly. "I'm your brother. Younger, by forty seconds."
Leon let out a shaky breath, then pulled him into a rough hug.
"I acted like a bastard," he whispered. "You saved my life… and I still punched you. I'm sorry."
"You're my brother," Raphael said simply. "I cherish you. That's enough."
Leon slugged his shoulder.
"You sociopath."
THUD.
Leon dropped to his knees, the weight of it all finally cracking the dam inside.
"Raphael…" his voice quivered. "Forgive me. Please forgive your ungrateful brother."
Without hesitation, Raphael crouched beside him and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"I already have."
CLAP. CLAP.
"Oh my, just kiss already," a voice drawled.
The two brothers looked up, blinking back their moment.
Sigmund leaned against a tree with a crooked grin. Beside him stood Theo, wide-eyed and smiling like sunlight personified.
Leon quickly wiped his face.
"You bastards… how long were you watching?!"
Sig's grin widened.
"Long enough to see your best performance yet. Crybaby prince."
Theo nodded, his hands clasped in front of him, radiating pure cinnamon-roll energy.
"You two are so cool!"
Laughter rippled through the group, cathartic and messy.
Leon pointed, "Wait… what the hell are those?"
Behind Sig and Theo stood two beasts.
Sig gestured with pride. "This is Nyx, my partner."
A sleek creature padded forward, its eyes glowing like polished jade. Though it bore the fur and elegance of a clouded leopard, its frame had coiled into something more feline and compact—catlike, but alien in movement.
"Grrhh," it growled softly, tail swishing.
Theo scratched his scalp, sheepish. "And this is Rook. A high vulture. He's… my partner."
The bird perched atop a branch, fluffed and regal, its feathers ashen with streaks of bright orange. Though currently pigeon-sized, something in its eyes hinted at death and bones.
"Krrr."
Raphael chuckled, observing both creatures.
"They'll make excellent additions when Basil and Skyvolt return."
As the boys launched into stories of their trials in the forest, their laughter stitched itself across the clearing like a balm over wounds.
A few paces away, the mentors observed from the shadows.
"Drelgor, your boy is… terrifying," Threxil muttered, visor narrowing.
Drelgor buzzed his wings lazily, a low clicking rasp echoing from behind the iron bars that caged his mandibles.
"Terrifyingly loyal. And apparently, emotionally entangled."
"He has a Lover?!" Gorvax spat.
Skaleg exhaled, "That was… fast."
Gorvax crossed his arms.
"You know my Theo might look scrawny, but that boy's got teeth."
Threxil nodded slowly. "High praise."
"Still," Threxil smirked beneath his helm, "mine is better."
"Who told you that?!" Gorvax howled, shaking his fist.
"Enough," Skaleg grunted. "My lad—Sigmund—is a natural-born predator. Calm. Patient. Deadly."
The banter echoed into the woods as stars blinked overhead.
The night grew deeper, but for once, it wasn't heavy. It was peaceful.
For now.
LOCATION- AT THE BORDER BETWEEN CALVARTH KINGDOM AND THE DEMONIC LANDS
In a ruined city. The fog parted like a curtain, slow and deliberate, as if afraid to touch the figure stepping through it.
Boots—polished but weatherworn—tapped against the cobbled path with a silence that defied their weight. He wore a purple coat which streamed behind him like the tail of a comet, carving his presence into the air. He walked without a hurry, yet every step landed with precision, as though he moved on a thread no one else could see. A long overcoat clung to his slender frame, white as bone, trailing faintly behind like smoke refusing to scatter.
His hair was the colour of winter—silver-white, not aged but unnatural. It fell in clean strands, brushed to one side with a carelessness too artful to be accidental. Beneath it, one eye gleamed like a shard of amethyst—violet, unnerving, and almost luminous in the dusklight.
The other eye was hidden beneath a strip of obsidian cloth.
He stopped just before the firelit ring where the others had gathered, tilting his head slightly—more a predator's motion than a man's. Silence seemed to thicken around him.
"Who… is that?" one of the younger mercenaries whispered.
A wind stirred. He didn't answer the question, but his presence did.
His voice, when it came, was soft—unassuming, even polite. But it carried a weight, like velvet wrapped around steel.
He walked up to a man with copper hair tied in a ponytail.
"Your problem," he said, "has become… interesting."
No one had heard him arrive. No one had summoned him. And yet there he stood
"Mercenary King, who is this man?" A mercenary asked the copper haired man.
"Just know that his mercenary code was- Mercenary Machiavelli."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Gazes of awe and admiration flocked to the figure.
Mercenary Machiavelli.
A name spoken more in riddles and legends than in records. A man who moved nobles like chess pieces and buried armies for coin.
Mercenary? Perhaps once.
But now?
He was a myth wearing a smile.
A note from Coffeepen3
1. How was the brotherly banter?
2. Do you feel bad for the Alp?
3. How are Rook and Nyx?
4. Which mentor do you support?
5. Who is Mercenary Machiavelli
"Mercenary Machiavelli" refers to Niccolò Machiavelli, a Renaissance political theorist who criticized the use of mercenaries in The Prince, calling them untrustworthy and self-serving.