"Creak…"

The rusty iron door quietly opened. Ken carefully peeked his head in. Caution was best—he wasn’t here to clear the whole exchange.

"Excuse me, is there…?"

Out of habit, Ken called out politely. Then he remembered he was sneaking in and stopped. Too late.

This secret room had guards. Three soldiers by a round wooden table were startled.

"Who’s there?!" the armored leader barked first.

"Charles, check it out…" he ordered.

"Alright…"

Charles slowly drew his rapier and crept toward the door.

He wound past large cages along the narrow path. Each step closer made him tenser. Heavy security downstairs blocked ordinary intruders. His bosses said only the three guards and him could enter.

"Huh?!"

No one?!

Impossible!

"Show yourself!" Charles yelled, trying to scare the intruder out. But expecting Ken to emerge from shadows was pure fantasy.

Cages loomed like giant birdcages, turning the room into a maze.

Maybe a downstairs guard wandered in. I’m overthinking it, Charles thought.

He sheathed his sword and turned back.

"Thud!"

Before Charles reacted, someone pinned him to the floor.

"You called me out. Not my fault~"

A sharp pain exploded in Charles’s head. Wincing, he shouted up at the boy, "Ah! You *&%$!! I *&%$!!"

"Huh?! Still awake?" Ken muttered. This guard’s toughness was impressive.

"Ah!"

Charles’s head was grabbed and slammed down. Twice more—blood gushed from his nose. He went limp, then darkness swallowed him.

As a warehouse guard, Charles was a Junior Swordsman. His Frenzy-enhanced body endured four hits without either using Frenzy.

Ken hid again after knocking him out.

Hours later, Charles woke. Soldiers in combat armor carried unconscious teens from cages. He lay on a corridor mat, dazed. Who am I? Where am I? Why here??

......................................................

"Charles hasn’t returned?!" the armored captain asked.

"Something happened?!" another guard replied hastily.

A loud "thud" silenced everything. Only distant noise remained.

"Level one alert!" the captain said calmly, drawing his sword.

He knew this shady job. Sudden silence meant trouble. Charles was likely dead or broken.

He sighed at crimson-silk-covered cages. Walking by the river wets your shoes. As a mercenary, money came first—he couldn’t refuse the commission.

"My heart hates this, but greed drives me." His usual comfort.

"Lorin! Stop panicking! Draw your sword!!"

Lorin fumbled, panicked.

"Clatter!"

His sword clattered to the floor.

"Idiot…" the captain muttered.

Despite annoyance, he assumed a fighting stance—instinct for an Intermediate Swordsman.

"Intruder! Come out! I know you’re there! Show knightly courage—no cowardice!"

Crouched low, he poised for a lethal strike.

"Cowardly? You look the part," Ken said.

He stepped calmly from the shadows.

The vague figure made the captain grip his sword tighter. Taking out Charles—a Junior Swordsman—in one hit meant this youth was at least a Junior Sword Master.

This guy’s got skills, he thought.

The shadow revealed itself.

"W-what?"

"Just a kid?"

The boy radiated confidence. Unarmed, yet unafraid under drawn blades.

"Lorin, give him your sword…"

"Wait?! Boss—"

"Give it!"

The captain’s tone turned serious. A rare trace of righteousness flickered in his cloudy eyes.

"I never draw on the unarmed."

"Captain, I’ll ring the alarm!"

A pang of conscience hit him seeing the cages.

"Hold! No alarm."

"Boy, a chance: beat me, free the slaves. Lose, and I hand you to my employer."

Silent, the boy stepped forward. He pulled the sword from the ground and pointed it.

"Then begin!"

"I am Icar. Beware!"

Icar shed his iron armor. The boy’s orange-yellow Frenzy flared—he was an Intermediate Swordsman too. Armor would only slow him.

This old man… has skills… Ken thought.

Ken charged, swinging his sword. Icar blocked overhead, redirecting the force. Ken stumbled back two steps. Icar pivoted, kicking sideways—a yellow Frenzy glow trailing the blow. Ken barely blocked it. Even with Frenzy defense, he flew backward.

"Hiss…"

Ken hit the wall, slightly dizzy. Icar seemed to think him weak.

"Not my fault. The reward’s too tempting…"

"I’m old. I need money for my family’s last years… My conscience aches, but greed wins. You shouldn’t have come. You chose this."

Same rank, but Icar’s experience made him deadly. Ken had planned to test him—no mercy came instead. Time for full force.

Ken flipped up, adjusted his stance, and sought an opening.

He swung. Icar blocked smoothly, then thrust at Ken’s head. Ken dodged—the blade left a scratch on his cheek. Icar kicked at his leg. Ken jumped back, startled, rethinking his strategy.

Icar’s defense was flawless. Ken couldn’t match it. But youth gave him strength over the aging man. Dragging this out was suicide. All or nothing.

Ken gripped his sword and charged again.

"Boy, brute force doesn’t solve everything…"

Icar smiled faintly.

Lorin watched helplessly from the side.

Icar blocked Ken’s strike, ready to counter. Unexpectedly, Ken retracted his sword, swept low at Icar’s legs. Off-balance, Icar crashed down.

Ken sprang up, locked Icar’s throat, and pressed the sword to his neck.

"I lose…" Icar said calmly.

"Respect."

"I keep my word."

Icar sheathed his sword slowly. "But…"

He paused. Ken tensed.

"We can’t just leave it like this…"

"What’s your plan?!" Ken’s voice tightened.

Icar glanced at Lorin. "Sorry…"

He punched Lorin’s head—Lorin dropped, unconscious.

"Mr. Allen, knock me out too."

Ken stared, shocked. Never seen this before.

"Then… sorry…"

Ken punched hard. Icar collapsed.

Honestly… fifteen years old, and Ken had never met someone begging to be punched. Imperial Capital folks are weird. He’d been here three years. How was that hastily chosen master doing? Remembering his silly past words, Ken covered his face, deeply embarrassed.

He lifted the silk drapes from each cage, imprinting them with a scroll. At Ross’s cage, Ross slept in a sky-blue dress—sedated. Ken left, relieved. Knowing Ross was a boy, but… so cute. Ken covered his face again. "What am I thinking?!"