“Why is it coming to this?!” Lance felt like a blade snapped mid-swing, helpless at the sight before him.

“I only wanted a quiet life—why does fate always turn crosswind?!” Compassion welled in him like a storm tide, as if even the heavens wept.

Half of Mubay City burned like a scarlet sea. The East District and the Bay blazed, while the Shadowspirit fleet loomed offshore, their arcane artillery still raining fire.

Flames had crawled from the waterfront like serpents of ember, hissing as they swallowed roofs and streets.

The other half—mostly the West District and the city center—sat in the river’s shadow, spared by water yet stalked by beasts.

Streets became hunting paths. Class C monsters skittered like wolves, Class B brutes lumbered like boulders rolling downhill.

A few Class A giants towered above buildings like walking fortresses. Even from high above, Lance could see their hulking silhouettes.

At a glance, Mubay City had fallen, like a banner ripped down in a gale.

The weight of it pressed on Lance’s chest, a frost that bit deeper than the smoke.

The Eternal War Armor mapped the chaos with cold light, marking enemies in crimson—and, faint as stars at dawn, a few friendlies.

Survivors. Distant, tiny, running down a street like scattered seeds, beasts pounding after them. Their path bent toward a church near the West District.

The sight struck a spark of relief, small and stubborn as a candle in wind.

“Go,” Lance ordered, voice steady as an iron bell.

The Eternal War Armor angled its wings and streaked toward them, a hawk cutting low over burning fields.

By the time he arrived, the refugees had rushed into the church, their hope a door slammed in terror’s face.

Beasts smashed against the barricade like a black tide, wood creaking as if bones were about to snap.

The makeshift blockade wouldn’t last long; each hit was a drumbeat counting down.

Lance brought the Eternal War Armor down. The ground shuddered like a struck shield.

The monsters barely noticed, their hunger a red fog. Lance barked, “Hey, mutts—eyes on me!”

Human words cut through the din like a thrown stone on still water.

They were all Class C beasts. One matched a trained soldier; two could drag down a careless Charge Knight like wolves taking a horse.

Numbers clean of strategy meant this pack fought like a lean human legion, hard and hungry.

But today Lance wore the Eternal War Armor, and the machine plus his Battle Aura moved like a storm given steel.

“Take this—Secret Sword—Blazing Fire!” His shout cracked like a spark into tinder.

Fire welled in the armor’s empty hands, metal roaring as a long sword was forged from heat and will.

He swept it forward. Flames unfurled like a tidal wave, and the pack vanished in that blazing maw.

People in the church saw the inferno paint the windows, their fear stilled as if a bell had rung in their bones.

The doors swung open. Priests of the Light Deity stepped out first, robes fluttering like pale flags. “See? With devout prayer, the Light Deity guides imperial knights to ride iron giants and save us!”

They froze when they saw Lance, a name they knew wearing iron and fire. A blink, then a pivot. “This too is the Light Deity’s guidance—pray, and salvation answers!”

They would preach for the Heavenly Spirit Empire with their last breath, like reeds that only bend one way in the wind.

Lance had no time for bald windbags. He shoved past, iron footfalls echoing like drums as he entered the nave.

Refugees filled the church like a field of tangled reeds. They recognized him—the scrappy kid grown into a storm—and stared as he strode closer.

He scanned them. Many were wounded, bandages blotched like wilted lilies. Faces were harried more than grief-struck; they had only just fled.

“Where are the others?” His question fell like a thrown spear.

A well-dressed man stepped forward, silk on ash, a noble by posture if not by courage.

Lance hadn’t run with nobles in Mubay; the face was a stranger, and time was a wick burning fast. “I asked you—where are the other citizens? The Lionheart Legion? The Duke?”

The man hesitated. The room quieted, like dust settling after a crash.

All eyes turned to Lance, the air taut as a drawn bow.

“Why didn’t you come earlier?!” the noble blurted, voice sharp as a snapped string.

“Yeah—yeah!!” Others piled on, anger flaring like sparks in dry grass.

“Houses are burning out there!”

“The monsters are inside the walls!”

The chorus of blame rolled over him like cold rain. Lance felt his heart chill, a brief winter in his ribs.

Then the cold cracked. He drew the Sirius Sword and leveled it at the noble, edge gleaming like a slice of moonlight. “Where did the others go?!”

Steel’s breath was cold; the heat rolling off him was not. The noble went white, fear rattling his words. “T-the others went with the Lionheart Legion, earlier today, to the outskirts!”

“Daytime?” The word fell heavy, like a gate dropping.

“Y-yes! The Shadowspirit fleet’s held the sea all day. Their people move in the forest. Our calls for aid couldn’t get out. The Iron Duke saw no way through and ordered an evacuation…”

So the Shadowspirit fleet had come yesterday, sunk the Duke’s ships, and squatted offshore till dusk like crows on a wall.

“Then why didn’t you go?”

“W-we… the priests said…” The truth stumbled out. Most here were followers of the Light Deity. The priests said not to fear the Shadowspirits, that prayer would spark a miracle and drive them back.

Pain knifed through Lance, clean and hot. “Only Celestial Spirits can trigger the Light Deity’s miracles. Do human prayers move the heavens?!”

“A pack of hopeless fools!” His rebuke cracked like thunder in a dry sky.

“Where is the Duke?” he pressed, voice low, edge bare.

Blank eyes from the noble, emptier than a picked bone. He didn’t know.

A wounded man raised his voice, thin as smoke. “The Iron Duke… is still in the castle…”

“I see.” Lance didn’t doubt it. The Iron Duke would fight the tide rather than kneel to it; that was the man’s iron.

If the Duke was there, then Alice and Layne likely stood in that storm too.

And where they stood, the enemy’s main force would gather like sharks to blood. If Lance went, a hard battle waited. He might have to reveal his true form.

That was exactly the knot that tightened in Fulin’s mind, a headache with a blade inside.

For calm waters now, Fulin could play it safe and let the drowning drown. But debt clenched her heart like a vow.

Alice had given her the courage to face any gale head-on. Layne had taught her the wisdom to walk the knife’s edge.

Without them, the Lance she played would never have won today’s renown, a banner raised for all to see.

And that renown was for one purpose—to buy Fulin a quiet life at the end of all storms.

So even for that quiet life, Fulin had to haul them from the fire.

Resolve lit like kindling caught. It burned into a warm, steady light in Lance’s eyes.

“Stay here. Don’t move.” He left the order like a placed stone, then turned and climbed into the Eternal War Armor.

The towering silhouette rose, a mountain given wings. It skimmed the low sky, cut across streets turned to fire-rivers, and arrowed toward the castle.