Fomalhaut and Leonhard strolled through the quiet, deserted streets of one of the Capital's districts at night. The dimly lit streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, and a cool breeze carrying the scent of recent rain filled the air. In the distance, the noise of the city could be heard, but here, in this quiet neighborhood, an almost eerie silence reigned.
"Mita was so hot," Fomalhaut said with a satisfied smile, his violet eyes glinting under the streetlight. "I wish all women were like her."
(Mita is a reference to the recently popular Russian game—MiSide.)
Leonhard, the old swordsman, walked beside him, his gray hair slightly tousled by the wind. He gave Fomalhaut an appraising look, raising an eyebrow slightly.
"I see you had quite a good time with that girl," he remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of mockery but also a touch of respect.
Fomalhaut nodded faintly, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his face.
"She was amazing. After the act, when she passed out, I even gave her some money," he said casually, as if discussing something mundane.
"I see," Leonhard replied dryly, his face remaining impassive, though his eyes betrayed a slight weariness from Fomalhaut's endless escapades.
Suddenly, Fomalhaut's expression turned serious. His violet eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He stopped and slowly turned, his gaze sweeping over the dark alleys and rooftops.
"Those guys who've been following us for 40 minutes... don't you think it's enough?" he asked calmly, though a subtle threat laced his tone. "You're really getting on my nerves, I swear."
A deep exhale was heard, and three silhouettes appeared on the roof of one of the buildings. One of them, the most agile, leaped down from the roof almost immediately, landing on the ground with the grace of a cat.
Fomalhaut and Leonhard saw a girl with light ash-blonde hair. She wore a rain jacket, black jeans, and matching sneakers. Her cold, piercing green eyes looked at them with a faint smirk.
Behind her stood two men dressed in the armor of imperial guards... though their eyes were dead, as if they were unaware of their surroundings.
"I see you've figured me out, Fo," she said, her voice calm but with a hint of mockery.
Fomalhaut frowned, his violet eyes flashing with irritation.
"So, who are you?" he asked sharply, though curiosity tinged his voice.
The girl didn't answer immediately. Instead, she pulled back the hood of her jacket, and her ash-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. Fomalhaut saw her green eyes... and was slightly surprised by their gaze. More precisely, by the look in them. He recognized that look.
"What a nasty piece of work you are," he smirked, his lips curling into a sarcastic smile.
"Is that all?" the girl sneered, her voice cold but with a hint of disappointment. "That's all you have to say after more than forty years apart?"
Suddenly, the girl's shadow elongated, as if alive, and enveloped the two imperial guards behind her... then they sank into her shadow, as if swallowed by the ground. A second later, the shadow returned to normal.
"You know, I'm not even surprised you found me so quickly, with your haorite," Fomalhaut said, his voice calm but with a hint of tension.
The girl took a few steps forward, her light footsteps barely audible on the wet pavement. Her cold, piercing green eyes never left Fomalhaut, as if trying to read his thoughts.
"Honestly, I thought you'd show up the moment General Esdes' power became known," she said, her voice calm but with a hint of reproach.
Fomalhaut smirked, his violet eyes gleaming with excitement.
"I thought about it. But I decided to wait a bit," he replied, his voice relaxed, as if discussing something trivial. "And the recent incident only piqued my interest. Oh, right."
He glanced at Leonhard, who stood beside him, his gray hair slightly tousled by the wind. Fomalhaut gestured toward the girl, as if introducing her to his companion.
"You can meet him," Fomalhaut said, his voice slightly mocking. "His name is..."
"Remus," the girl interrupted, her voice emotionless.
Fomalhaut nodded, his lips curling into a grin.
Leonhard, the old swordsman, frowned slightly, his eyes darting between Fomalhaut and the girl.
"Why is she referring to herself in the masculine? And why are you calling her 'him'?" he asked, his voice slightly confused.
But a moment later, his face lit up with understanding.
"Ah. I see," he said, nodding. His gaze became more attentive, as if trying to see something hidden in the girl.
Remus smirked, her green eyes glinting coldly.
"Well, old man, is everything clear now?" she asked, her voice slightly mocking but with a hint of respect.
Leonhard merely nodded, his face remaining impassive, though his eyes showed understanding. He glanced at Fomalhaut, raising an eyebrow slightly.
"Old man? Look who's talking, sir," he said dryly, with a hint of sarcasm.
"Perhaps you're right," Fomalhaut smirked, his lips curling into a grin.
Remus narrowed her eyes, her green eyes glinting coldly.
"I see you haven't wasted your time," she said, her voice slightly mocking but with a hint of respect. "Alright. I've also gained considerable combat power in that time."
Fomalhaut laughed, his laughter light and carefree, then crossed his arms over his chest.
"Alright. Let's take a break, shall we? My brain's fried," he said, looking at Remus. His voice was calm but with a hint of provocation.
"How about a game of chess?" suggested the old swordsman, his voice slightly tired but with a hint of interest.
"Not a bad idea. I agree," the ash-blonde girl said, her lips curling into a faint smile.
"One..." said Nembus, his voice clear and measured, echoing through the training hall.
The Hyades were currently in the training hall. The walls of the room were made of wood, as was the floor, creating an atmosphere of warmth and coziness despite the dim lighting provided by numerous candles, their flames flickering and casting long shadows on the walls.
"Two..." continued Nembus, his eyes carefully watching every movement of the participants.
Difda stood opposite Mirzam, her fingers playing with her pink hair. She tightly gripped her wooden scythe, specially crafted for such training battles.
Her eyes were focused, and her body was tense, ready for an instant attack. They stood ten meters apart, and the tension between them was almost palpable.
"Three!" Nembus's loud voice rang out, and at that moment, Mirzam's hand reached for her bag to draw her weapon. But she was too late: Difda took a step, and before her foot touched the ground...
"Gone!" Mirzam thought, her eyes widening in surprise.
In the next moment, Mirzam felt a sharp pain in her side, then in her shoulder and chest. Her body shuddered from the blows, and she fell to the wooden floor with a crash, her breath caught, and her vision darkened.
"You're too slow," Difda remarked, her voice calm but with a hint of mockery. She stood behind Mirzam, her wooden scythe lowered, her pink hair slightly disheveled from the quick movement.
"You're just... too... fast," Mirzam gasped, her voice breaking but with a stubborn tone. She slowly got to her feet, her face a mix of pain and determination. Her hands trembled slightly, but she clenched her fists, as if trying to gather all her willpower.
"Winner: Difda," Nembus announced, his voice clear and loud, echoing through the training hall.
"So, humiliated?" asked Regulus, looking directly at Mirzam, who sat against the wall, her back pressed to the wooden surface, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her dark hair was slightly disheveled, and her face showed a mix of irritation and frustration.
"No! I just... just... didn't have time to draw my knives!" Mirzam immediately began to defend herself, her voice slightly trembling but with a stubborn tone. She gestured quickly, as if trying to prove her point.
Chelsea, leaning against the wall and licking her lollipop, suddenly smirked mischievously. Her pink eyes glinted with mockery as she looked at Mirzam.
"I doubt the knives would have helped," she said playfully, with a hint of sarcasm. "You couldn't even see Difda's movements."
"Like you could!" Mirzam snapped, her voice rising, her eyes flashing with irritation.
"True, I couldn't... for me, she just teleported, just like for you," Chelsea replied calmly, with a hint of mockery. "But that doesn't change the fact that your excuse doesn't work."
Mirzam jumped to her feet, her face red with anger. She pointed at Chelsea with her index finger, her hand trembling slightly.
"Hey!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the hall. "You... you refused to participate in the training battles! What are you even talking about?"
Chelsea just smirked, her pink eyes glinting mischievously. She slowly licked her lollipop, as if savoring the moment.
"I'm not a fighter meant for direct confrontations. It's just not my style," Chelsea said lazily, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice was calm but with noticeable mockery, as if she were casually flicking her opponent on the nose. "I'm just a stealthy assassin and scout. A shadow, you know? Useful. Unlike some knife-wielding runt."
Mirzam froze for a moment, processing what she had heard. Her pink eyes flared with rage, and her lips twisted into a grimace of indignation.
"You little..." she began, but her words were drowned in bubbling anger.
"What?" Chelsea smirked, squinting her pink eyes slyly. "Please, tell me how fearsome you are. This must be very interesting."
That was enough for the dark-haired girl to lose control.
"Come here!" Mirzam roared, lunging forward with the clear intent to grab her mocking opponent.
But Chelsea didn't even think about staying put. With the grace of a cat, she slipped out of reach, giggling as she ran.
"Agility is my strong suit, you know," she tossed over her shoulder, easily dodging Mirzam's attempts to grab her.
"Stay still, coward!" Mirzam yelled, desperately trying to catch her.
Chelsea just laughed in response, the sound of her laughter echoing off the walls of the training hall. A moment later, she slipped into the corridor, her light footsteps quickly fading into the distance.
"I'll catch you anyway!" Mirzam barked, refusing to give up and rushing after her.
It was Regulus's turn. Nembus gestured for him to step onto the platform, facing Difda.
They stood seven meters apart.
The atmosphere in the hall grew tense—the air was thick with anticipation, as if foretelling an inevitable clash.
Regulus lazily stretched, his gaze calm, but a spark of interest flickered within him.
Opposite him, Difda held her wooden scythe with confident grace, her pink hair slightly tousled, emphasizing her focus.
"One..." Nembus's voice echoed through the hall.
Regulus narrowed his eyes slightly, pretending to be tense, though his thoughts were elsewhere.
"Maybe I'll just pretend to be in pain when she attacks. That way, no one will suspect anything," he thought, his lips twitching into a faint smirk.
"Two... three!"
As soon as Nembus's last word left his lips, a barely perceptible gust of wind swept through the hall—Difda had launched herself forward.
She disappeared almost instantly, her movements so fast that Regulus lost sight of her.
A millisecond later, he felt something.
Or rather, he felt nothing at all.
The Lion's Heart negated not only damage but also any sensation of touch.
Difda was behind him, but Regulus didn't know if she had struck, or where. It was all just a guess.
"Let's say it was the stomach," he thought, instantly forming a pained expression on his face.
Clutching his stomach, he collapsed to the floor with a heavy sigh, as if he had just suffered a crushing blow. His face twisted in feigned agony, his fingers gripping the "injured" spot tightly.
Difda, standing behind him, frowned slightly but said nothing. Her pink eyes narrowed slightly as she tilted her head, observing his "suffering."
Nembus watched the scene intently, his cold eyes glinting in the candlelight.
"Winner: Difda," he announced, showing no emotion.
Regulus, lying on the floor, watched their reactions out of the corner of his eye. He was satisfied that no one suspected anything and smirked inwardly. Everything had gone according to plan.
It was time for the duel between Difda and Nembus. Regulus, this time, acted as the referee, though his role was largely symbolic. He knew full well that he could hardly keep up with their movements or follow the course of the battle. His only task was to declare the winner after one of the fighters was defeated.
"One..." began the Archbishop of Greed, his voice slow, as if deliberately drawing out the moment.
Difda tightened her grip on the handle of her scythe, which was now made of sturdy, gleaming metal instead of wood. The blade emitted a faint pink glow. Her face was set in a focused expression, her eyes burning with determination.
Nembus stood opposite her, his tall figure appearing monumental. In his hands, he held a massive chain, its links clanking dully against each other, creating a oppressive rhythm. His calm face showed no emotion, but every movement exuded complete confidence in his own strength.
"Two... three!"
As soon as the last word left Regulus's lips, a shockwave erupted from the collision of their powers. The air shattered with a deafening roar, the walls of the training hall trembled, and the wooden floor on both sides cracked and splintered. Regulus instinctively covered his face with his hands to avoid being slammed into the wall.
Difda was the first to attack. Her scythe, gleaming in the candlelight, sliced through the air, aiming straight for Nembus's neck. However, he didn't even flinch: his chain, as if alive, swung around and easily deflected the blow. Metal screeched, and sparks flew in all directions.
"Not as easy as it seems," flashed through Difda's mind, but she didn't stop.
After landing from the strike, she immediately pushed off the floor, her figure seemingly dissolving into the air. A moment later, she was behind Nembus, aiming her scythe at his back. But once again, her blade met an insurmountable barrier. His chain was in the right place again, emitting a sharp metallic clang.
"Fast but clumsy," Nembus said coldly, not even turning around.
Difda gritted her teeth. She landed but only for a moment. Another leap took her out of the direct reach of his chains.
"He's too good... I need a different tactic," she thought, trying to analyze his movements.
But Nembus seemed to read her thoughts. His massive chain soared upward and crashed down onto the floor with a thunderous roar. The planks splintered into dangerous shards. Pieces of wood and metal debris flew toward Difda, forcing her to defend herself.
Her scythe moved so fast that the blade was almost invisible. She sliced through the flying debris with precision, but each strike slowed her down. At that moment, Nembus appeared behind her.
"It's over," he said coldly, and his chain suddenly shot forward.
Before Difda could react, the chain links wrapped around her body, immobilizing her. Her arms were pinned to her sides, and her legs were completely paralyzed. Nembus yanked the chain sharply, and Difda fell to the floor with a dull thud.
Silence enveloped the hall. Only the clanking of the chains, loosened after the throw, broke the quiet.
Regulus, tilting his head, lazily got up and spread his hands.
"Winner: Nembus," he announced with a faint smirk, as if mocking the obvious outcome.
Difda, lying on the floor, breathed heavily, but her eyes burned with fury.
"You could have at least gone easy on me," she hissed through clenched teeth.
"And deprive you of the chance to grow stronger?" Nembus retorted, his voice calm but with a stern edge. "No, Difda. You either grow or stay where you are. Choose."
Difda just turned her head away, feeling her anger give way to bitter realization.
Night enveloped the Hyades' hideout in a soft blanket of silence. Only the occasional sounds of birds and animals outside disturbed it. However, within one of the dark figures sneaking through the corridor, there was not so much caution as there was excitement.
Regulus moved silently, stepping with the grace of a predator. His goal was simple: Mirzam's room. He had long noticed her habit of reading manga, and her reaction to Chelsea's threat to reveal this secret had been interesting. And now, while she slept, his curiosity about her comic collection got the better of him.
"I wonder what she reads? Maybe something romantic? Or about heroes with superpowers?" he thought as he reached her door.
He carefully opened the door, barely breathing. The soft moonlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the desk with scattered papers, the chair, and the bookshelf. But Regulus's gaze immediately fell on a small stack of books neatly arranged by the bed.
Mirzam, wrapped in a blanket, slept peacefully, her breathing even and calm.
"Perfect," he thought. "She won't even wake up."
He began moving toward the stack of manga, trying not to make a sound. However, one misstep—and his boot slightly grazed the leg of the chair. A faint creak echoed in the silence, and Regulus's heart skipped a beat.
Mirzam stirred, turning her head slightly, but didn't open her eyes. Regulus froze, like a statue, his hand hovering in the air.
"Sleep, sleep... don't even think about waking up," he mentally pleaded.
When he was sure she hadn't woken up, he quickly grabbed the top book from the stack. The cover depicted a brightly colored hero with a massive sword.
"Hmm, action. Expected," Regulus thought, narrowing his eyes.
But his excitement only grew. He decided to take another book, slightly lower in the stack. This time, the cover showed two characters standing under a cherry blossom tree.
"Romance? Interesting, since when did she get into that kind of thing?"
Suppressing a snort, he carefully tucked his loot under his arm and began moving towards the door. Already at the threshold, he stopped, turning back to cast one last glance at Mirzam. Her calm face looked peaceful, and the shadows of her eyelashes fell on her cheeks, giving her a fragile appearance that she never showed in battle.
"Ah, she'll never know," he thought, disappearing behind the door.
Once in the hallway, Regulus strode towards his room, anticipating how he'd start reading her manga.
"If she finds out, there'll be an explosion. Well, that's a problem for tomorrow," he chuckled to himself.