One Hour Ago

A grand hallway stretched before Boko Salerno, lined with dim, flickering chandeliers casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. The walls were covered with old tapestries depicting battles and the twisted faces of nobles locked in eternal stares, while heavy, gilded frames held portraits of grim-faced ancestors, their eyes seeming to follow him. A long, red carpet stretched down the middle, its gold-edged borders fraying in spots. Boko's footsteps made no sound on it, but the force of his stride was clear—he wasn't in a good mood.

Boko Salerno was an imposing figure. His massive, muscular frame seemed almost too large for his tailored suit—a maroon vest lined with black, straining over his broad chest. His crisp white shirt was rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms thick with muscle, crisscrossed by scars that hinted at a life lived on the edge of violence. A maroon tie hung loosely, as if it couldn't dare restrict his neck, which was as thick as a tree trunk. His bald head gleamed under the chandelier light, the harsh glare highlighting a series of jagged scars and stitches, each one marking some brutal chapter in his past. But the most unnerving part was his eyes; they seemed to stare in two different directions due to a strange eye disease, making his intense gaze look even wilder. Long earlobes dangled down, swaying slightly with each step.

Beside him walked a figure dressed in a dark, full-body suit, slim and silent as a shadow. Covered head to toe in a suit dotted with sharp, metallic spikes and points, like he'd dressed in thorns, catching the light and giving him a sinister, jagged outline. The figure's name was Spike—a man as elusive as he was obedient, though his thin frame looked deceptively fragile next to the bulk of Boko.

Boko's lips twisted into a snarl as he muttered under his breath, his voice low but laced with barely restrained anger. "That damned Duke Gilles... always with the demands. Every day, something new. Can't a man breathe without being summoned?"

Spike cast a cautious glance at his towering companion, the spikes on his suit glinting as he turned. "The Duke does hold you in high regard, Sir. But... he's restless. He wants to ensure everything is under control. It's his nature."

Boko clenched his fists, his thick fingers curling until his knuckles turned white. "Under control? I run this place. Me. Not Gilles, not his little pets." He stopped abruptly, his wild gaze darting around the empty hallway. ""Where the hell are Scuttle and Fallow? I told them to keep watch."

Spike hesitated, his voice steady but tense. "Scuttle was on lookout, but... no one's seen him for a while. As for Fallow, he went to track down a bounty hunter. Word came in that someone was after the bounty on your head."

Boko's eyes flared. "After my head?" His voice was a guttural growl, the words scraping out like metal on stone. "Who? Was it Balthazar? Gathaspa? Melchior?" His tone was mocking, though each name carried a weight of recognition—and annoyance.

Spike shook his head. "No, none of them. It's someone new, we don't—"

Before he could finish, Boko's fist shot out with a brutal speed that belied his size. The blow landed squarely on Spike's chest, sending him flying backward with bone-jarring force. He slammed into the wall with such impact that his outline pressed into the wood paneling, his spikes leaving dents around him.

Boko's booming voice filled the hall. "And you think I'm worried about some nobody? Some two-bit hunter? Do you really think any Tom, Dick, or Harry can take me down? Is that what you think?" He stepped forward, his voice turning into a low, dangerous growl. "I am not some easy target."

Spike staggered to his feet slowly, breathing hard, his spikes now bent and dented from the impact, he didn't dare to speak.

Without another word, Boko turned sharply and continued down the hallway, his pace quickening as he approached a set of heavy, ornate double doors. He pushed them open with a rough shove, entering his private room—a vast space with a grand desk at its center. Behind the desk, an entire wall was replaced with an enormous glass window, offering a view of the estate grounds and the corn fields beyond. Sunlight spilled into the room, casting harsh shadows across piles of wealth strewn carelessly on the floor: stacks of gold and silver, strings of glinting jewels, valuable antiques gathering dust among sheaves of documents and half-unrolled maps.

Boko moved behind his desk, his large hands pressing down on its surface as he leaned forward, taking a moment to stare out of the window, breathing heavily, his anger barely cooling.

"Spike!" he barked, not even turning around.

The battered figure approached the doorway cautiously, his posture tense. "Yes, sir?"

Boko didn't glance back as he spoke, his voice a harsh whisper. "Find Fallow. And if Scuttle doesn't show up soon, consider him found too. I don't need ghosts who vanish when there's work to be done. Understood?"

Spike nodded, though he quickly realized Boko wasn't looking, then stammered out a reply. "Understood, sir. I'll try to contact them."

Boko's lips curled into a grin, though it held no warmth. "Good. And make sure no more of these 'nobodies' are after my head. Gilles might be impatient, but I'm not about to hand him my life on a silver platter."

Spike gave a low nod before turning away, eager to leave the room and escape the volatile presence of his employer.

As the doors swung shut, Boko settled into his chair, glancing down at the scattered wealth around him with a smirk. "Nobody's taking me down," he muttered to himself, half amused, half furious.

He was still surveying his scattered piles of treasure when Fallow entered the room, his lean form appearing in the doorway with quiet confidence. Despite his cool demeanor, there was an edge to his steps, a readiness that came from years of hard living. Boko's gaze softened slightly, though his fists were still clenched.

"Fallow," he grunted, though there was an unmistakable hint of respect in his tone. They'd been through hell and back together, allies through the thickest of fights. Few people could handle his temper, but Fallow was one of them.

"Boko," Fallow greeted with a nod, his own voice calm. "Looks like Duke Gilles is pushing you harder than usual."

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Boko sneered, the mention of Gilles reigniting his irritation. "That fat pervert doesn't know when to quit. Always wants more, like he's entitled to it. If he wasn't so well-connected, I'd have taken him out by now."

Fallow shrugged, leaning against the wall casually. "Doesn't help that the villagers are barely scraping by. Nobody's picking up their requests for help. Gilles is bleeding them dry."

"Of course they're not." Boko scoffed, running a hand over his bald scalp in frustration. "Why would any decent guild take a quest from people who can't pay? I'd handle Gilles myself if I didn't need his damned connections." He clenched his jaw, a dangerous glint in his eye. "But it's only a matter of time. Once I've put down some of the big guilds—Raven's Curse, maybe even the Honor of Gods—the GHOULS will have to take me seriously. And when they do, I'll finally have the leverage to take out that fat pig."

Fallow crossed his arms, smirking slightly. "In the meantime, you keep squeezing these villagers for every last coin?"

"Only way I'll get enough to keep Gilles happy," Boko muttered, his expression hardening.

Fallow sighed. "Well, I've got something that might interest you. Just came across it today." He reached into his bag, pulling out an orb and a crumpled map he'd stolen from Asper, eyes glinting with excitement.

But before he could place them on the desk, there was a sudden, loud crack—something hard and fast struck the window behind Boko, narrowly missing his head and whizzing past Fallow. Instinctively, Fallow's hand flashed to his sword, slicing through the rock mid-air as he sidestepped.

"Didn't know rocks were falling from the sky now," Boko growled, whipping around to face the window.

Fallow glanced out, eyes narrowing as he spotted something more alarming—a wave of rocks, dozens upon dozens, hovering in the air just outside, aimed directly at the window.

"Boko, get down!" he shouted, diving behind a nearby chair just as Boko ducked down behind his desk.

A barrage of rocks crashed through the massive glass window, shards and debris spraying across the room. Glass splintered, furniture splintered, and Boko's prized possessions tumbled from shelves. The once-luxurious room was left in chaos, the floor littered with broken valuables, crushed papers, and jagged glass.

As the rain of stones finally ceased, Boko rose from his cover, breathing heavily, fury radiating from his entire body. His veins bulged against his neck and arms as he clenched his fists, his face twisted in rage.

He stalked toward the shattered window, looking down through the broken frame. Standingbelow on the estate grounds was a young boy with silver-gray hair, his expression fierce and unwavering. Boko's gaze fell on a distinctive tattoo snaking across the boy's chest—a serpent winding around his torso, its bodycoiling up from under his shirt and its head resting just at his neck, as if poised to strike.

Boko scowled. "Kid, you've just made the biggest mistake of your life," he shouted, voice filled with menace. "Do you even know who you're messing with? I'm Boko 'The Scarhead' Salerno!"

The boy's gaze didn't waver. He stood there, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And I'm Ivo 'The Magnificent' Gadall," he called back, his voice strong and clear. "This ends now, Boko. I'm done letting you terrorize people!"

Boko's eyes narrowed, his fury replaced by a cold smile. "Big words for a kid who's just throwing rocks. I'm going to enjoy teaching you a lesson."

Ivo's voice rose, unwavering. "I won't let you take advantage of innocent people anymore! I'm here to make sure you never hurt anyone else again."

Boko let out a dark laugh, glancing at Fallow. "Look at this kid—thinks he's some hero." His voice lowered, almost to a growl. "Well, let's teach him what happens to 'heroes' who step into the wrong territory."

With a powerful leap, Boko jumped from the shattered floor above, slamming down onto the ground with such force that the earth itself seemed to quake. Cracks spiderwebbed out from where he landed, the impact leaving a small crater beneath his feet as dust and fragments of rock flew into the air. He straightened, his eyes locked onto Ivo, who readied himself, taking a steady stance as he prepared to face the notorious Boko Salerno.

Boko sneered, rolling his broad shoulders. "Kid, get ready for a real beating." Each step he took toward Ivo left a dent in the ground, his weight and force pressing deep into the earth with every stride.

Ivo narrowed his eyes, determination steeling his features as he rose slightly off the ground, two medium-sized rocks hovering just beneath his feet like a makeshift jetpack. With a burst of energy, he shot upwards, deftly avoiding Boko's incoming punch, his small frame darting around the larger man like an annoying insect.

Boko's fists flew, each punch cracking through the air with lethal force, but Ivo was too quick, weaving and dodging in mid-air. He turned upside down, flipped over Boko's head, and landed on his broad back, slapping him playfully on the bald crown before bounding back in front of him.

"Come on, 'Scarhead'! Thought you were supposed to be tough!" Ivo taunted, his voice mocking but with a gleeful spark in his eye.

Boko's face twisted in fury, veins bulging across his forehead and neck. "You think you're funny, huh?" He slammed his fists down with both arms, creating a shockwave that rattled the earth. The impact sent rocks of all sizes flying up around them, and Boko's hulking form moved with surprising speed, striking each piece in rapid succession, sending a barrage of stones at Ivo.

Ivo tried to dodge, blocking the rocks using his power as best he could, but the sheer number of rocks overwhelmed him. Several rocks smacked against him, knocking him off balance. He lost control and fell to the ground, barely rolling to break his fall.

Boko wasted no time, lunging forward and grabbing Ivo by the collar. Without hesitation, he unleashed a brutal flurry of punches, each one hammering down with ruthless force, pounding Ivo into the dirt. The ground buckled and cracked under the assault, with blood splattering from Ivo's face as each blow landed, his body crumpling under Boko's unrestrained fury.

From above, Fallow watched, a flicker of pity crossing his face as Boko's relentless strikes echoed through the clearing. It was a savage, unforgiving display of power.

But just as Boko prepared to land another crushing blow, something shimmered in the air. A glimmer of gold flashed, and from seemingly nowhere, a long, slim dragon—translucent and ethereal, like a ghostly serpent with scales shimmering like liquid sunlight—appeared, wrapping itself around Boko's neck. Its sinuous body coiled tightly, squeezing hard enough to make the giant thug's face turn a furious shade of red.

Boko roared, clutching at the spectral dragon with both hands as he struggled to pull it off, but his thick fingers only seemed to pass through its illusory form. His breaths came in choked gasps, his anger mounting as his attempts to wrench free grew more desperate.

From above, Fallow's eyes widened at the sight. Without a moment's hesitation, he jumped down, landing with precision beside them. In one swift motion, he drew his sword, slicing through the ghostly dragon, which dissolved into golden dust that drifted away in the wind.

In the brief respite that followed, a figure with a ponytail, the ends of his hair brushing his shoulders, dashed forward. His single visible eye burned with fierce intensity, while a lock of hair covered the other eye, hiding it from view.

"Hang on, Ivo!" the boy called out, grabbing Ivo under the arm and helping him to his feet. His voice was calm, even amused, despite the chaos around them.

Ivo grinned, blood streaked down the side of his mouth. "Better now, Fuma. Appreciate the save." He gave a thumbs-up with his uninjured hand, winking, though his swollen eye was barely able to open.

"Anytime, Magnificent Captain," Fuma replied, smirking as he gave a mock salute.