"So, what brings you here?"

Oren muttered, rubbing his swollen face. Beside him, Lia stood stiffly, angrily smoothing her rumpled clothes before casting a look of utter disgust at Oren still sprawled on the ground.

"Nothing much. Just some business to settle."

As she spoke, Lia’s gaze lingered on Oren’s crumpled form. After a long pause, she let out a bitter laugh, muttering under her breath as if mocking herself:

"...Though I’d never wish for a brother like you."

"Yeah, and I never thought I’d have a sister like you," Oren shot back, his voice thick with resentment. He hadn’t meant for her to hear, but Lia’s eyes snapped to him in shock.

"You heard that?"

"What do you think?" Oren snapped back, then let out a heavy sigh. "Anyway, did you really come all this way just to—"

Before he could finish, several small green figures darted past the alley entrance. Oren froze.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

His words died as a dagger flashed from the darkness. A tiny green creature lunged, blade aimed straight at Oren’s eye.

*Thwack!*

Lia’s longsword whipped out, sending the creature flying. Green blood splattered the walls. Oren finally saw his attacker clearly.

*A goblin?*

Before he could process it, pairs of glowing green eyes blinked open in the shadows ahead. Behind them, a figure in a black robe and an old man’s mask stepped into the alley. He gave his longsword a casual flick.

A sneering voice cut through the night:

"Handle the real task. I’ll deal with this Dragon Slayer."

The green eyes blinked rapidly. A chorus of goblin shrieks echoed, then faded into the darkness. The masked figure raised his blade, advancing on Oren.

"Seriously? I’ve had enough tonight. Why’s another *Elvenfolk* after me?" Oren grumbled in High Elven, struggling to stand. His limbs refused to obey—the drug still held him down. The masked elf chuckled softly.

"I am Lacres Dayrest. By order of Crown Prince Elaer of the Crimson Dragon, I’ve come to claim your life."

"Oh, how *tiring* for you," Oren deadpanned, still unable to rise. But Lia had already stepped in front of him. Blue magical light flared from the Rodni family heirloom—*Long Edge*—illuminating the alley. She leveled the blade, voice icy.

"You mentioned the Crimson Dragon. Tell me where it is."

"Hmph. You’ll have to work harder than that. I wasn’t planning to tell you anyway." Lacres tilted his head. "Though... it’s curious. Do you have a grudge against that dragon?"

"No. My quarrel is with another dragon entirely. I believe the Crimson Dragon might know something. Don’t worry—I’ll leave you alive..."

Her words ended in action. Magic surged as she charged, longsword cleaving the air.

"...I’ll smash you down to nothing but a mouth!"

*CLANG!*

Steel met steel. A shockwave ripped outward, shattering the ground like glass. Dust billowed.

*CLANG!*

They disengaged, blades clashing again. The new impact whipped the settling dust back into a storm.

But in that instant of detonation—both vanished.

They leapt into the air.

*Thud-thud-thud!* Footsteps cracked like gunshots in the dark.

Blades sparked twice, thrice in midair. Lightning flared with each collision. Onlookers could only glimpse shockwaves tearing through the dust clouds, scattering them only to swirl back together.

They landed hard. Lacres slowly raised his sword again.

"Not bad... for a human."

His blade flickered in a feint.

"But this ends now."

His left hand slashed a rune. A blast of wind erupted, hurling Lia skyward. Before she could steady herself, Lacres appeared before her, sword driving toward her chest.

*CRACK!*

At the last second, Oren snatched the goblin’s discarded dagger. He deflected the killing blow with a desperate *clang*.

"Oren of Niweya..." Lacres murmured. Before the name fully registered, he lunged, blade aimed at Oren’s throat.

*SCREECH!*

Sparks flew as steel screamed against steel. Fresh from the drug’s haze, Oren charged inside Lacres’ guard. Their blades locked. Lacres swept his sword sideways—

Their strikes crossed. Oren’s blow landed a fraction faster. Lacres’ mask split open. Blood sprayed as he staggered, his sword veering wide. It slammed into the door behind Oren with a deafening *BOOM*.

The shockwave threw both fighters backward. They rolled, scrambled up, and charged again—closing the distance to zero.

"For the revival of non-humans! Die!" Lacres snarled.

"Sorry," Oren panted, blades grinding, "but honestly? Your ‘non-human cause’ has nothing to do with me—"

Lacres’ face twisted. Something black and viscous surged in his chest—not just hatred for Oren, but for the entire illogical, unjust world. It erupted in a roar:

"YOU KNOW NOTHING!"

His sword shrieked louder. Sparks flew like molten rain, searing the air. Something inside him cracked.

"Heroes?!" he screamed. "They’re just madness humans invent to comfort themselves! Because they’re *filth*! They slaughter us non-humans—young and old! Even unarmed civilians become trophies for human bragging rights! That butcher Emperor Iris! His ‘glorious victories’ boast *millions* of civilian deaths—*our* people! Defenseless kin! And humans *sing praises* to him! A *butcher* hailed as a hero!"

Flames erupted from his blade. Oren dodged sideways, countering with his dagger.

*CLANG!*

White fire exploded on impact. Oren’s follow-up slash sliced Lacres’ mask in half. A kick sent Oren skidding back.

"Tch." Oren spat blood, then froze.

Beneath the shattered mask, moonlight revealed a face melted by fire. Skin hung like rubber, veined with crimson. His right lip curled grotesquely upward, revealing broken teeth. Only his pointed ears confirmed he was Elvenfolk.

"Enjoying the view?" Lacres hissed, a mocking smile twisting his ruined face. "During the Ancient Epoch, humans pressed red-hot irons to my face. Just because my face wasn’t *theirs*. Because they envied Elven beauty..." His voice dropped to a raw whisper. "Why must *we* suffer like this? We did nothing wrong! After stealing our right to live, humans celebrate our defeat like a *festival*! They dance on our corpses! Sing! Feast! And the wine they drink?" He let out a choked laugh. "It’s soaked in non-human blood!"

He raised his sword, charging.

"Survival never changes with the times! SURVIVE! SURVIVE! SURVIVE! SURVIVE!"

Silence. Then, low and fierce:

"It’s time. Time for us to rise."

"We will glare into your glassy eyes and defy you without flinching. We will raise a mighty axe to split your worm-riddled skulls! Then, dipping our fingers in the blood of your so-called heroes—those feeble cowards—we shall carve upon their thorn-pierced brows: 'The True King of Evil, Master of Slaves!'"

As the words faded, as if answering Lacres’ call, the Longsword’s hum swelled to unprecedented intensity.

The air shattered. It fractured into over a hundred roaring shards, lashing out from all directions.

Explosions and shockwaves rippled outward. The entire space trembled with a deep, groaning vibration.

Just as Lacres’ blade reached its peak expansion, Oren swiftly retreated—but at that exact moment, Lia’s shout cut through the chaos.

"Oren!"

Her voice still hung in the air as she hurled House Rodni’s ancestral blade toward him.

Simultaneously, Lacres gripped his sword with both hands and swung downward with crushing force.

"Hail the inhuman!"

His roar echoed as Oren caught the flying Longsword. Steel clashed in the next instant—sparks erupting like a wildfire.

Like an Old West duel, victory was decided in a single heartbeat.

The outcome flashed clear.

*Thwip!*

Azure light erupted. The magic-wreathed blade traced an elegant arc through the air. A crisp *snap* followed—Lacres’ sword split cleanly in two. Before the broken halves could fall, the tendons in his wrist were severed. His grip failed. The blade clattered to the ground.

Watching that dazzling blue radiance, Lia whispered under her breath:

"He can wield the Long Edge… Could it be…"

She swallowed hard, her voice trembling.

"...Brother."

But facing Lacres, Oren hadn’t heard her. He stepped forward weakly.

"Sorry. I know you came to kill Lia. But that won’t happen today."

"Lia?"

A twisted grin spread across Lacres’ face. An icy, guttural laugh slithered from his throat.

"Your intel is flawed, Dragon Slayer. We have zero interest in the person you mentioned."

*Zero interest.*

Oren froze.

*That goblin said ‘kill the Alliance woman’…*

*When Lacres appeared, he ordered his goblins to ‘attend to real business’…*

Suddenly, realization struck like lightning.

"Irina! Irina Elvis! Isaerel’s daughter! *Ahhh!* Why didn’t I see it sooner?!"

Oren seized Lacres’ collar, yanking him close.

"You’re after Irina! To ignite war between the Alliance and the Duchy!"

*You hired those barbarians too!* Oren roared, shaking the man violently. Lacres gave no answer—but his manic grin confirmed everything. With a curse, Oren flung him down and raised the Longsword.

"Gotta move—!"

"*Ahhh!!*"

Before Oren could take a step, a child’s scream pierced the air from the far end of the street.