A week had passed since the fierce battle, and its scars lingered both in flesh and spirit. The boss's hideout, once a bastion of defiance, now carried a weight of grief. Few men had died, many were injured, and some suffered injuries so brutal they would never be the same. The cost of survival had been high.

In a small dim room, Angelo lay unconscious, his body wrapped in bandages from head to toe. His breaths were shallow, and the soft rise and fall of his chest were the only signs of life left in him. Those who had stayed behind, not present for the battle, felt the weight of their comrades’ loss. Whispers spread through the camp—some doubted the boss's ability to protect them. Many had already left, abandoning their leader for the promise of safer pastures.

But despite their desertion, the boss remained strong-willed. Each night, he stood as watch, ensuring the safety of those who stayed behind.

The afternoon sun bathed the Balmount Kingdom in a warm golden hue. The streets were alive with the sounds of merchants and commoners, bustling with activity. The scent of fresh bread mixed with the clattering of horse hooves on the cobblestone roads. Life in the kingdom continued, oblivious to the growing tensions beneath the surface.

In the Countess’ councilor office, the mood was different—a stark contrast to the lively streets outside. Seated behind an ornate mahogany desk, Lady Seraphina sorted through stacks of documents, her vibrant cherry-pink hair cascading over her shoulders. Her striking amber-gold eyes scanned each page with methodical precision. Dressed in formal noble office attire, her black velvet jacket was embroidered with silver threads, its sharp collar framing her poised figure. The soft folds of her silk skirt brushed the floor as she moved, the dark colors mirroring her current contemplative mood.

Beside her, stood Mr. Kaito, her loyal butler. His jet-black hair was slicked back, and his piercing blue eyes glinted under the sunlight streaming through the windows. His outfit was impeccable, a tailored black waistcoat over a crisp white shirt, with silver cufflinks that shimmered as he moved.

“My lady,” Kaito spoke softly, breaking the silence as Lady Seraphina continued sorting the documents. “What will we do about the men who failed to bring back the weapon?”

Without looking up, she replied, her voice calm but firm. “The matter has already been dismissed, Kaito. We’ve paid the boss and his men the amount they requested. Many of them lost their lives… That alone is payment enough.”

Her eyes shifted toward him, narrowing slightly. “And I’d advise you not to speak of this incident to anyone.”

Kaito bowed slightly. “Understood, my lady. However…if I may ask,” he hesitated, “why was this weapon worth stealing? What made it so valuable?”

Seraphina sighed, setting down her pen. She reached into a drawer, pulling out a worn file. Placing it on the desk, she opened it to reveal a sketch of the scythe—its blade wrapped in cloth. The file contained little information beyond the drawing, but as she flipped the pages, a line stood out.

“The only detail we have,” she began, her eyes narrowing at the text, “is that it is said to be the personal weapon of Death himself.”

Kaito’s eyes widened. “Death? The harvester of souls? The bringer of darkness?”

Seraphina dropped the file onto the desk with a thud. “Myths, Kaito. Nothing more. And I don’t trust fairy tales. The only things I believe in are those I can see with my own eyes.”

She paused, glancing out the window. “As for the captain of the knights, I’ll let the people backing him deal with his failure accordingly. I already have enough evidence to ruin him.”

She smiled, a dangerous glint in her eyes, before returning to her work.

At the boss's hideout, a cold wind swept through the camp as the moon hung high in the sky. After the night’s watch, the boss entered his small cottage, exhaustion weighing on his mind. The wooden door creaked as it swung open, and the faint scent of pine filled the air. The room was humble—a small bed, a table with a few chairs, and a dim lantern casting a weak light.

But something felt off.

His instincts kicked in, and his hand automatically reached for a nearby sword. Moving silently, he headed toward his bedroom, his senses on high alert. As he swung the door open, he was greeted by nothing more than the night air flowing through an open window. A lone crow sat perched on a branch outside, its cawing echoing through the trees.

He let out a sigh. “It must’ve been the crow…”

As he lowered his sword, a cold sensation ran up his spine. A finger touched the back of his neck, and a voice whispered in his ear. “Don’t move, or your head will explode.”

The boss froze. The voice was familiar, dripping with menace. “Who is it?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Not hard to guess,” the figure in the mage’s robe replied.

The boss clenched his jaw. “Zephyr… How did you find this place?”

The figure chuckled darkly. “This place reeks of death itself. It wasn’t hard.”

Turning slowly, the boss faced Zephyr. His heart raced, but he forced a smile through his frustration. “I thought I wouldn’t see you again.”

Zephyr’s golden eyes gleamed with annoyance. Without warning, he raised his hand and, with a flash of magic, severed the boss’s arm. Blood sprayed across the wooden floor, and the boss collapsed to his knees, screaming in agony.

“Go ahead. Scream all you want,” Zephyr muttered as he watched the blood pool around the boss. “No one can hear you.”

The boss, trembling in pain, looked up at Zephyr. “What… do you want?”

Zephyr knelt beside him, his tone cold. “You’re going to work for me now. Since i have no alternatives, as your actions and those of your associates have resulted in significant difficulties with my leadership.”

The boss gritted his teeth, struggling to stand. “I’d rather die than serve you.”

Zephyr smirked. “Even if it means your men die? Even if… your daughter dies?”

The boss’s eyes widened in shock. “How… how do you know about her?”

Zephyr’s smile widened, his voice laced with malice. “I know everything about your pathetic life. And how you lied to her… She doesn’t even know she’s your daughter.”

The boss lunged for the sword with his remaining hand, shouting in rage. But before he could strike, Zephyr raised his hand again, slamming the boss to the ground with a wave of crushing magical pressure.

“You will work for me,” Zephyr whispered, his voice dripping with venom. “Or she dies.”

The boss gasped, struggling to rise. His severed hand lay beside him, his body torn and bloodied, but Zephyr merely smirked. He raised his hand, and with a casual flick of his fingers, the boss's wounds began to mend. Flesh knitted together, blood dried up, and bones realigned as if the horrific injuries had never existed. The searing pain vanished, leaving the boss kneeling on the floor, whole again but utterly defeated.

Zephyr's golden eyes gleamed, amused by the sight. "There," he said smoothly, "as if nothing ever happened. Remember, your suffering will always be in my control."

The boss panted heavily, now physically healed but emotionally shattered.

Zephyr turned his back, vanishing into the night, his final words lingering ominously in the air.

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The boss knelt in silence, tears mixing with blood that no longer belonged to open wounds. His body, now whole, was a mockery of the torment he felt inside.

"What have I done…?" he whispered to the empty room, his voice breaking under the weight of his guilt.

The next morning, the sun filtered through the trees as Elara hung a white bedsheet on the clothesline. Her long auburn hair caught the light, and her ample figure moved gracefully as she hummed softly. She wore a simple but elegant gown, its soft beige fabric flowing gently in the breeze. Nearby, a basket full of clothes rested on the ground.

She paused when she heard footsteps approaching from behind. Turning around, she saw the boss, his skin tanned from years of labor and battles. His face looked tired, as though he hadn’t slept a single hour last night. He wore a faded grey shirt, brown trousers, and scuffed boots.

"Boss?" Elara said, surprise evident in her voice.

Without saying a word, he walked up to her and embraced her tightly. She stood still, confused by his sudden gesture. "What’s wrong?" she asked softly, her hands hovering near his back, unsure of what to do.

"Just… wait. Let me hold you for a bit," he whispered.

Elara’s heart clenched, and after a moment, she relaxed into his embrace. When he finally pulled back, he looked at her, his voice almost a whisper. "You look just like… mother," he murmured, so quietly she could barely hear him.

"What was that?" she asked, concerned. She reached up, trying to feel his forehead. "Are you feeling alright? You don’t look like you’ve slept."

He brushed her hand away gently. "I’m fine. It’s nothing." His eyes scanned the area. "Where’s Raphael?"

Elara’s smile faded, and she looked down, her voice heavy with sadness. "Raphael hasn’t spoken to me since the day he woke up. He doesn’t eat… He leaves early in the morning and comes back late, and even then, he barely says a word."

The boss clenched his fists but forced his voice to stay calm. "Don’t worry about it, Elara."

"How can I not worry?" Elara interrupted, her voice rising. "He’s just a child! How can you expect me to sit by and do nothing?"

The boss sighed, knowing her concerns ran deep. "It’s complicated…"

"No!" she said, tears forming in her eyes. "It’s not just about Raphael. What about the others? I’ve been trying to hold this family together, but it's falling apart. I feel like a burden to all of you, but what else can I do? I’m worried, boss, I’m scared!"

Her tears began to fall as she continued. "Stubby doesn’t even talk to me anymore, Angelo is still bedridden, Gregory is dead, Toru and many of our people have left. The ones who remain are injured, and I’m the only one who can take care of them. I just feel so… helpless."

The boss pulled her into another embrace, whispering, "I’m sorry, Elara. I never wanted any of this to happen."

He held her tightly, his voice breaking slightly. "I thought I was strong enough to protect everyone… but I failed."

She sobbed quietly against him as he gently stroked her back.

"There’s a peaceful country not too far from here," he said after a moment, stepping back to look her in the eyes. "You, Stubby, and Raphael should go there. It’s safer. You’ll have a better life."

Elara shook her head in disbelief. "What about you? What about the others?"

"We’ll follow once everything’s settled here," the boss said with a soft smile. "Stubby knows the way. You and he can make a new life… a safer one."

She hesitated, tears still in her eyes. "You promise… you’ll come back?"

He smiled and nodded. "I promise. Cross my heart."

She wiped her tears and took a deep breath. "When do you want us to leave?"

"Today," he replied softly. "Stubby already knows where to go."

Elara gave a faint smile and sighed. "Did you and Stubby plan this?"

The boss scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Maybe."

"Fine…" she muttered, her voice full of emotion.

As they continued speaking, behind one of the nearby cottages, Raphael and Stubby stood silently, listening in. Stubby sighed and whispered, "Hey, kid, maybe we shouldn’t be listening in on this."

Raphael gave him a confused look but nodded. Even though neither of them said anything, they both felt the weight of what had happened and the pain that lingered between their family members.

In the afternoon, Elara stood with Stubby, both carrying bags packed for their journey. Elara wore a flowing dress of soft pastel colors, the fabric gently swaying with the breeze, her long auburn hair cascading down her back. Stubby, dressed in a rugged brown tunic and sturdy trousers, stood beside her, his expression a mix of determination and concern.

As they waited for Raphael, the boss joined them, his average height and tanned skin contrasting with the vibrant scenery. He wore a faded gray shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and brown trousers that hinted at wear from countless battles. His boots were scuffed but sturdy, ready for the journey ahead.

“Once we reach Dreadholm Dominion—” the boss began, but Elara interrupted him, her brows furrowed in puzzlement.

“Dreadholm Dominion? Isn’t that the place the Reaper destroyed?” she asked, worry etching her features.

Stubby, sensing her anxiety, wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said, surprising her. She blushed at the unexpected gesture, then quickly pushed him away.

“Can’t you not hold me without warning?” she exclaimed, a mix of embarrassment and annoyance.

The boss smiled at their banter, then continued, “Stubby is right. I have intel that the nation isn’t as bad as it seems. People live there, and there are beastkin as well.” He spotted Raphael approaching and nodded.

Elara’s smile faded as she noticed Raphael wasn’t carrying a bag and his expression was far from cheerful. “Raphael, why the long face?” Stubby asked as he stepped forward.

“I’m sorry, Stubby,” Raphael replied, looking at Elara with remorse. “But I can’t follow you.”

Elara dropped her bag, concern flooding her voice. “Why don’t you want to come?” She reached out, gently touching the white blindfold he always wore, searching his face for answers.

The boss stepped in with a stern expression. “Why don’t you want to go, Raphael?”

Raphael clenched his fists, bowing his head. “Life here won’t be better for me. I have unfinished business.” He forced a smile, but the pain in his eyes was evident.

Elara’s shock turned to desperation. “What are you going to do? You almost lost your life!” She was about to protest further, but Stubby placed a calming hand on her arm.

“Elara, it’s okay,” he assured her.

She hesitated, then looked at Raphael, her voice softening. “Whatever you do here, please don’t hurt yourself.”

Raphael smiled and nodded. “Okay, Elara.”

As she hugged him tightly, she added, “Keep the blindfold clean. It won’t be good if it gets dirty.”

Stubby chuckled at the scene, and the boss leaned close to him. “You must protect Elara for me, Stubby. Please give her this.” He handed Stubby a small letter.

Stubby took it, slipping it into his pocket. “Don’t worry, boss, I got it.”

Elara finished hugging Raphael and turned to Stubby. “Are you ready?” she asked, determination returning to her gaze.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking back at Raphael. “Take care, kid.”

“Okay, you too,” Raphael responded as Elara and Stubby held hands and began to walk away.

As they moved deeper into the forest, Stubby glanced back. “I thought you’d make a fuss about him staying,” he said, a teasing tone in his voice.

Elara smiled softly, looking up at a bird soaring above. “Raphael needs to know what he wants. Besides, the boss is with him.”

Stubby chuckled. “Okay, if you say so. You know we can finally have our alone time.”

Elara smiled, though in her heart, she whispered a prayer: Please, Raphael, don’t get hurt.

Meanwhile, as the boss and Raphael watched Elara and Stubby disappear into the trees, the boss turned to Raphael. “Are you sure about staying here?”

“Yes,” Raphael replied firmly.

The boss chuckled, “You good, kid?”

Night in the Boss’s Bedroom

Later that night, the boss knelt in his dimly lit bedroom, the weight of the day pressing down on him. Zephyr, clad in elegant mage robes that flowed like shadows, sat comfortably in a chair, his golden eyes glinting with mischief.

“You made the right choice by letting your daughter go,” Zephyr said, a smile playing on his lips.

“Yes,” the boss agreed, his voice steady. “She will listen to me.”

Zephyr chuckled softly. “I know you won’t disappoint me. But if you ever do…,” his smile faded, replaced with a cold intensity, “I will make you suffer.”

He stood, pacing as he spoke. “From here on out, you and your men will work under me. Only listen to me.” He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Oh, before I forget, you and your men will need to leave this dumpster of a place for something bigger.”

The boss furrowed his brows. “What kind of job will we be doing?”

“Don’t worry,” Zephyr replied, his grin returning. “As long as you’re getting paid, you shouldn’t think too much about it.”

Just as he was about to leave, the door swung open. Raphael stormed in, his determination radiating from him.

Before he could react, Zephyr unleashed a magic pressure that slammed Raphael to the ground. Raphael gritted his teeth, struggling to rise.

“Impressive,” Zephyr noted, looking at the boy with interest. “You’ve got yourself a stubborn one, boss.”

As the pressure intensified, the ground beneath Raphael cracked. The boss’s heart raced. “Please, stop! He’s one of my men!”

Zephyr’s gaze fell on Raphael, noting the fox-like features and the blindfold. This boy has guts, he thought, considering the situation.

Just as he was about to crush Raphael, he felt a disturbance—a dark figure flickered in his mind, dark blue eyes piercing through him. “Kill my prey, or I will kill you,” it warned, and suddenly, time resumed.

Zephyr coughed up blood, the pressure dissipating. He looked at Raphael, who was now unconscious, then back to the boss, a mix of surprise and curiosity on his face.

“No… what can that be?” Zephyr muttered, his voice filled with disbelief as he observed Raphael’s defiance. He paused, his lips curling into a twisted smile. “Oh, I see… This child must be protected by the embodiment of death himself.” He let out a low, sinister laugh, the sound echoing eerily in the room.

The boss's heart skipped a beat. Embodiment of death? He looked at Raphael, bewildered, but he couldn’t understand what Zephyr was implying. Before he could speak, Zephyr wiped the blood from his lips, his laughter growing louder, more unnerving.

“You’ve got yourself a fine lad,” Zephyr declared, his voice filled with a mixture of amusement and awe. “This one… oh, this one is special.” His eyes lingered on Raphael, but there was a new wariness in them.

Without another word, Zephyr vanished into the shadows, his voice drifting back as if carried on the wind. “By tomorrow, your men and you will be leaving to start your real work.”

The room fell silent, save for Raphael’s labored breathing. The boss rushed to his side, cradling the boy in his arms, his thoughts spinning. “You got yourself lucky, Raphael...” he whispered, wondering just how much luck—or fate—had really played a part in this strange encounter.