After school, Melanthius sat alone on a desk in an empty classroom, letting out a heavy sigh. “Great. Forgot I had detention for mouthing off to the headmasters,” he muttered, leaning back with a weary expression.

Pulling out a crumpled map, he spread it across the desk, followed by a marker. Biting the cap off with a bit more aggression than necessary, he began scrawling across the map, holding the marker between his teeth. “Alright… so in Aurora, Dorian has, what—ten kingdoms under his thumb? Aurora’s got about a hundred kingdoms crammed into it, so that’s not much. Most of what he’s holding are smaller territories. Now, if he controlled Drachenwald, Camelot, or the Auroria Dominion, then we’d have a real problem.” He paused, narrowing his eyes as he mapped out his thoughts.

“And then there’s Slesan…” he muttered, dragging the marker across a particular spot. “Bimoth is a whole mess of confusion. He doesn’t want to join Bloodthorn, yet he wants to fight me. Honestly, if he does align with them, it’ll probably just be to get to me. I’ll have to keep an eye on that.”

Melanthius chewed absentmindedly on the marker’s tip, deep in thought, before snapping back to the task at hand. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a Silken Enforcer—a grotesque humanoid shape crafted entirely of glistening webbing. It stood at attention, featureless but obedient, holding a pen in one spindly hand. “Here. Write this down,” Mel instructed, handing over his notebook.

“What I know so far about the Seven Deadly Kingdoms,” he began, pacing as he spoke. “The Lust Kingdom makes its money through human trafficking and forbidden pleasures. Greed runs the black market. Wrath profits off war, selling weapons to keep the blood flowing. Pride feeds on vanity and social status—anything to keep people worshiping their own reflections. Sloth gets its wealth through slave labor, the dirtiest trade of them all. Gluttony thrives on overconsumption, bleeding people dry through indulgence. And Envy… Envy’s entire economy runs on sabotage and jealousy, setting others up just to tear them down.”

Melanthius stopped and turned to the webbed figure, his voice dropping to a murmur. “But why Gluttony?” His brow furrowed as he considered it. “Why does Donatello want me to take down Gluttony of all places?”

The Silken Enforcer remained silent, its body swaying slightly like an eerie puppet, listening but unable to answer. Mel’s eyes lingered on it for a moment before he shook his head, returning to his thoughts.

“Lucky me, I’m in tier three now,” Melanthius muttered with a small chuckle, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked. The Silken Enforcer trailed silently behind him like a looming shadow. “I’ll miss Jake, though. He’ll be fine—he’s strong enough to handle himself.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the Enforcer as if expecting a response before shaking his head. “Man, I need to get out of this class. Haven’t spoken to Rue in a while, but she’s probably busy with her red card studies. Figures. Guess I’ll swing by Anita’s place after detention.”

As he fished through his bag, his hand brushed against something small and metallic. “Oh, right.” He pulled out the button-sized car Lance had given him, holding it up between his fingers with a smirk. “Lance actually bought me a car. Can you believe that? Not that it does me much good when the streets are so narrow here. Nobody even uses cars in kingdoms.”

With a sigh, he tucked the button back into his bag and kept walking, the Enforcer’s quiet footsteps echoing behind him.

Mel spent an hour sprawled across a desk, staring at the ceiling. “I am so bored…” he groaned, nearly dozing off until the door creaked open and Headmaster Draven walked in. Mel jolted awake, flailing and promptly falling off the desk with a thud. “Ow…” he winced, rubbing his back.

“Melanthius? What are you still doing here?” Draven asked, brow raised. “Detention?” Mel mumbled, scratching his head. “It ended an hour ago.” Draven responded, grabbing his bag. Mel glanced at the clock, froze, and facepalmed. “Seriously?” he groaned.

Draven chuckled before folding his arms. “Well, since you’re here anyway, how about signing up for our Big Brother Program?” Mel blinked, tilting his head. “Big Brother Program? What’s that?” Draven gestured for him to follow. “Come on, I’ll show you. It’s for freshmen new to the kingdom—helps them get their footing. You’re good with people, so I thought you might want to take part.”

Mel sniffled unexpectedly as they walked, drawing a glance from Draven. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Mel said, shaking his head with a small smile. “It’s just... I’ve never had a little brother before.” Draven chuckled and led him into the gym, which buzzed with energy. Freshmen were pairing up with their “big brothers” or sisters, chatting and connecting. In the center of the gym stood Clyde Sunnyday—Clay Sunnyday’s younger brother. He looked small and out of place, nervously tugging at his tie, his hair neatly combed, and his uniform pristine. He was a far cry from the rougher version Mel had seen back in Ironclad.

“Oh, Clyde? What’s up?” Mel called, walking toward him. Clyde’s face lit up with relief. “Melanthius! I wanted to thank you for recommending me to King Aldara.” He rubbed his arm awkwardly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “You two know each other?” Draven asked, sounding pleasantly surprised. “That’s good. To be honest, no one wanted to be Clyde’s big brother. You know... because he’s Clay Sunnyday’s little brother. One of the four wardens who attacked Auroria Dominion and... well, put Princess Rue in the wheelchair.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Mel’s smile didn’t falter as he looked around the gym. “Yeah, I know all about it,” he said softly. “But Clyde’s a good kid. Remember, nobody wanted to be friends with me because of my lineage? People were scared. Now look at me—I’m friends with almost everybody.” Mel walked up to Clyde, grinning as he gently loosened the boy’s too-tight tie and ruffled his neatly combed hair. “Trying to look perfect for everyone, huh? Don’t worry about all that. You’re my little brother now.”

Clyde looked up, his wide eyes brimming with tears. He quickly wiped them with his sleeve, smiling shyly. “Thank you, Mel… really.” Mel clapped a hand on his shoulder. “No problem, Clyde. Stick with me, and you’ll be just fine.”

The next day, on Saturday, Mel, Lance, and Clyde gathered in Lance’s room. Lance paced back and forth, arms crossed, his expression serious—like an investigator conducting an interrogation.

“Sensei, do you trust him?” Lance asked, narrowing his eyes at Mel.

Mel gave a firm nod. “Yes.”

Lance paused, considering this, before continuing. “Is he like his brother?”

“No,” Mel replied without hesitation.

“I’m... right here, by the way,” Clyde mumbled nervously, glancing between the two.

Lance ignored him, keeping his focus on Mel. “Can he fight?”

Mel nodded again. “Yes.”

Lance finally broke into a grin and stepped forward, extending his hand to Clyde. “Well, any little brother of Mel’s is a brother of mine.”

Clyde blinked in surprise before shaking Lance’s hand, his nerves easing. “Uh... thank you?”

Lance smirked. “You’ll get used to us.”

Mel threw his arms around both of their shoulders, pulling them into a dramatic embrace. “Two younger brothers who actually get along? This is the best day of my life,” he sniffled, pretending to wipe away a tear.

Clyde furrowed his brows, clearly bewildered. “Is he... always this emotional?” Lance shrugged nonchalantly. “I just give him s’mores ice cream. Works every time.” Lance strolled over to his mini-fridge, pulled out three small tubs of s’mores ice cream, and handed them each a spoon. Clyde hesitated for a moment before taking his, staring down at the container in his hands.

“How... how are you two doing this?” Clyde muttered, his voice trembling. He looked up at Mel and Lance, his eyes glistening. “Acting like I’m not the brother of someone who caused you so many problems? Are you telling me you don’t feel any hatred toward me?” His lip quivered as he scooped a spoonful of ice cream and took a bite, the cold sweetness doing little to hide the uncertainty on his face.

“Clyde, we even talked to Princess Rue,” Lance said with a chuckle, ruffling Clyde’s hair. “She doesn’t hate you—because you didn’t do anything, you fool!”

Clyde blinked in surprise as Lance grinned. “Sure, seeing you might make people a little uneasy at first, but they know we wouldn’t hang around someone who’s out to hurt others,” Lance added confidently. “I can read people.”

Mel nodded, smiling as he took another bite of ice cream. “Lance is right. You’re not your brother, and anyone who can’t see that will come around eventually. Besides, you’re stuck with us now, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Clyde paused, staring down at his tub of ice cream before a small smile crept onto his face. “It’s just… yesterday, nobody wanted to pick me as their little brother. I stood there for an hour, trying to look as perfect as I could. I combed my hair, tightened my tie—tried to look like someone people would want.” His voice trembled, but he forced himself to keep talking. “But nobody picked me. Nobody even looked at me. I would’ve been alone again... like always. But then you showed up, Mel.”

Mel reached over and gave Clyde’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Well, you’re not alone anymore. You’ve got me, and you’ve got Lance. You’re stuck with two big brothers now—whether you like it or not.”

Clyde’s smile grew a little wider, and he quietly ate his ice cream. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel so alone.

After finishing their ice cream, Mel leaned back, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Hey, Clyde, wanna be my student?”

Clyde blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I’m what some people call a genius,” Mel continued, his tone teasing but confident. “A master—sensei, if you will. Lance here calls me that, though ‘grandmaster’ works too.” He chuckled, giving Lance a playful nudge. “I only train those without magic. I know you’re already good at fighting, but with my training, you’d be even better. What do you say?”

Clyde hesitated, rubbing his arm nervously. “I mean… why not? But, uh, what style of martial arts do you train in? I forgot the name of it.”

Before Mel could answer, Lance jumped in, clearly proud of his mentor. “Mel’s on a whole other level. He created his own martial arts—two styles, actually. Plus, he’s an expert in weaponry. It’s not like anything you’ve seen before.”

Mel smirked and rubbed his nose with mock humility. “Jeez, Lance, keep this up, and I’ll start thinking you’re my biggest fan.”

Clyde tossed his empty tub of ice cream into the trash, straightening up. “Well, for the record, I’m already pretty well-versed with the scythe. My brother taught me.”

“The scythe, huh?” Mel raised an eyebrow and rubbed his ear nonchalantly. “Can’t say I’ve ever used one before.”

Clyde’s jaw dropped. “What?! Then how would you even teach me?!” He quickly pulled out a sleek metal bar, pressed a button, and in an instant, it transformed into a wickedly sharp scythe. He handed it over to Mel with a mix of frustration and curiosity.

“I don’t know…” Mel murmured, examining the weapon as if it were an old friend. Then, without another word, he gripped the scythe and began to spin it. The blade danced through the air in perfect arcs, each movement precise and fluid, as though he’d been wielding the weapon for a thousand lifetimes. His motions were effortless—graceful yet devastating.

Clyde watched in disbelief, his eyes wide. “You—! But you said—!”

Mel stopped mid-spin, resting the scythe on his shoulder with a self-satisfied grin. “Never used one before doesn’t mean I can’t figure it out.”