Entering the alley turned out to be a mistake, as it led to a dead end—or at least, it would have been a mistake if it were any regular human instead of Pion. He simply smiled, touching the tall building's dirty, old brick wall, casting a shadow onto the alley, turning day into night. It wasn't any different on their sides, with barely space for the two of them to walk side by side. Luckily, Polo was still slim and short, allowing him to stand beside him and watch the three men approach them from behind.

Observing their dark coats and the worn leather armor under them, then their rugged faces as they pulled the cloak back, Polo couldn't help but sneer, his pupils shrinking to half their size. They reminded him how the bandits looked in Greyback, the same kind of bastards who killed his parents. Destroying them... Yes. That would be precisely what he wanted to do now, and his nervousness was quickly replaced by hatred and anger.

"Relax. In battle, rash decisions will kill you and your team." Pion whispered, noticing the change in his stance. He put his hand on his shoulders and squeezed it, bringing his mind back to clarity.

"S-sorry."

"It's fine. You are young."

"Lost?" Shouted the one standing closest to them, tucking his greasy, messy black hair behind his ears. "New to the city, huh? Come, follow us, and we can lead you to the nearest inn; it is dangerous to walk alone around here!" His voice was anything but kind, laced with audible sarcasm that wouldn't fool a child either.

"No, we are not lost." Pion answered, maintaining a slight smile. "I noticed you guys following us the moment we entered the district. I also saw one of the booth owners who was selling slave contracts giving a nod toward you guys. Soooo... which one of us is the prey you are looking for? Me or my little brother here? Or both of us?"

Seeing Pion's reaction, the trio suddenly stopped, their fake smiles disappearing, and they began examining and reevaluating their targets. The calmness Pion spoke with was not expected, and it immediately rang alarm bells within the trio's minds. They had been doing this for long and knew when they had miscalculated. A simple brute would be already angry and overprotective of the young one... who also showed no fear on his face. It was getting ominous by now.

"None." The same bandit answered with a fake chuckle, "What kind of rumors have you heard? This is the capital city, the safest place in all of Ishillia!"

"Is it now?" Pion asked, chortling, watching as they changed their tune in an instant, their underlying, threatening countenance evaporating before his very eyes. "Sorry. I was trained not to leave potential troubles to escape and cause trouble later."

He didn't give them more time, shooting out faster than they expected their target's bulky body to move. With a shoulder charge, he slammed into their supposed leader, lifting him up from the ground, flinging him back a meter or so while aiming a punch toward the face of the man at his left. The narrow space was already a disadvantage for the bandits, and while the second man tried to pull out his sword, finding his movements obstructed, a fist landed square on the side of his face, taking advantage of his fumblings.

The alleyway echoed out with a loud crack as blood and teeth sprayed against the brick walls while the bandit's body went limp, collapsing, followed by another groan. Without looking back, Pion listened to the crash and knew it was Polo's work, taking care of the last man, keeping his back turned to them, and trusting the young boy's skills.

When Pion made his move, Polo followed him as a shadow, his body remembering the harsh training he had received in the past few months. He was already faster than ever before, and with his difference in size, he had a lightning-fast drop on the surprised bandit. He landed straight on his knee, bending his right leg in the wrong direction. With a painful cry, the man fell hard on his back, panicking, watching the bone sticking through his clothes, soaking it with blood before the pain even reached his brain. He couldn't cry for long as Polo didn't hesitate, taking advantage of the situation, already standing next to him. He didn't think, nor did he hesitate, lifting his small feet and stomping down, kicking in the bandit's windpipe, turning the screams into fruitless attempts to gasp for air before suffocating to death.

"..."

The first man of the group was still in the middle of trying to sit up when Polo completed his first-ever kill, and he could do nothing but watch the scene play out, horrified by what he was seeing. One of his comrades was wriggling, clawing at his own throat, panic written all over his face before slowly dying while the other was slumped against the wall, half of his jaw almost missing, hanging torn open. What... What kind of punch was that? Who are these people?

"Still alive? Huh. Should have hit him a bit higher to crack his skull." Pion mumbled, grabbing the head of the unconscious man, slamming it against the wall, and squashing it like a watermelon before turning toward the last survivor. "So. Speak, and I need honest answers. Names, organization, and goals." He continued, raising up the guy by the throat with one bloody hand.

"Um." Polo interjected, watching the man flailing in the air, trying to pry Pion's fingers off his neck, but they didn't budge. They didn't even feel like flesh but iron clamps while his legs dangled in the air, unable to make a dent on him with kicks. "If you hold his throat like that, he can't breathe."

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"I know. I am debating if I want to hear his answers anyway. I'm just going with the protocol." He answered, tilting his head, "We are here for a concrete mission; their existence is inconsequential to our goals. "I wonder if it would even be a good practice detour for you." While speaking, he quickly glanced at the one Polo had killed, noting that he was passing this impromptu battle test with flying colors. Although Polo was visibly shaken, still breathing way quicker than he should, holding his hand behind his back to hide their shakiness, he wasn't hesitating when it came to fighting. He would not just be a good officer later on, by Pion's evaluation, but also could become a specialist if he keeps improving like this.

"I... did something wrong?" He asked, feeling Pion's scrutinizing gaze on him, thinking that he may have screwed up.

"No. You did good. Right! I decided. We won't go after them; it would cause more trouble than necessary and jeopardize our main mission. This city is a hotbed of snakes and bastards; we should stay out of their way." He shrugged and, while speaking, cracked the neck of the man, throwing him to the side without looking. "Come, let's go."

"Yes!" Polo saluted, hurrying after him, not looking back, ignoring the three bodies, and leaving the alleyway with him to disappear into the crowded streets once again.

...

....

.....

"What? Three are dead?" A raspy voice asked with great surprise, sitting in a dingy tavern. "Was it a rival gang?"

"We don't know. We were told by our agent that he sent three after a duo of promising, fresh prey, but then later on, all of our guys were found dead. We have their descriptions, but-"

"Finding them would be hard." The man nodded, blowing smoke out of his pipe, remaining leaning backward in his chair at the darkest corner of the pub. "Keep an eye on the entrances and exits of the borough. If we don't do anything, our guys will become restless... If you see them, I don't care how; just make an example of the duo! Otherwise, don't bother me with it! Three junkies and an overachieving contractor aren't worth kicking up a hornet's nest."

"Yes." The reporting middle-aged man nodded, bowing before leaving without asking questions.

"Damned idiots. If someone is brazenly murdering others like this on the streets, they clearly have connections... I told them millions of times not to randomly gather goods on the streets! We don't need to trouble barons, viscounts, earls, or Gods to save our souls, the dukes' people! I will abandon them quicker than they can say, cocksucker..."

...

....

......

Inside the manor of Duke Kustov, the head of the family was sitting in his office, drinking a cup of tea and trying to rest his mind. In the past weeks and months, everything was happening so fast, and so weirdly, he had a hard time keeping it organized. What surprised him was the fact that he was being given opportunity after opportunity to take over the leaving dukes' territories, expanding his sway within the others without doing much about it.

He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly that the royal bloodline was behind this, sweeping the way before him in a way that was not overly obvious but also clear enough that the others couldn't protest against it. This was unspoken favoritism from Pascal himself, and the others had to take it, whether they liked it or not.

"Haahh... this is just more work on my shoulders." He grunted with a half-smile hanging on his face. "Milan should graduate soon enough; he will be able to help me out. I need to slowly induct him into our plans... Hopefully, he won't freak out."

Thinking about his son, he couldn't help but ponder about the academy. Fearing that maybe the impressions he gets there will make it harder to slowly reveal the situation within the Empire and show him the light that is Avalon. But, he was sure Milan would come to understand it if he saw it in person, starting to work under him. On the big picture, he hoped that Milan would be the linchpin, connecting him to the other families, and through his son, he could provide more, broader news to his Sovereign. It was then a knock interrupted his thoughts, and his right-hand man entered the room.

"Barnabas?" The Duke asked, surprised that he didn't even wait for him to answer his knocks. "Did something happen?"

"Yes, My Lord." He nodded, bringing forward a plain letter with a hook mark on it.

"What do they want?" He shrugged, recognizing at once, opening the already-read letter.

He didn't find it weird as Barnabas was authorized to deal with messages coming from the lower-class connections spread out all over the city. The hook symbol belonged to one of their associations that operated in the grey zone of the law, being a connection between the underworld and the Kustovs. It was rare for one of their message to make this high, which could only mean they were in deep trouble or one of the other nobles had made the connection, and neither was something Kustov wanted to deal with.

"...!"

Barnabas couldn't help but watch how the face of his lord changed, knowing fully why. There was a coded letter in there, mentioning a 'Holy City,' something that he didn't know the meaning of, but whenever that code popped up, his lord always became agitated, full of fighting spirit, looking like how he was in his youth. Even his limping seemed to be gone, and he could run again.

"Send covert agents down to their headquarters and bring our guests to me. Directly and without delay!"

"Lord..."

"Do it. Now. No questions asked, got it?" Kustov said, looking into his eyes, "Bring them here and before me. Be as courteous as if you were meeting with the Emperor. Got it?"

"Y-yes."

"Then? What are you waiting for? Go! Go! Tell the maids to prepare rooms and dinner! NOW!"

This time, Barnabas was genuinely shocked and surprised... What was happening? Not that he had time to question the Duke, so he left, doing as ordered. However, he was now extremely curious about who in the world would come and visit them, warranting such a welcome.