The story begins before Yory killed Azravene, because what she said had been true. Under orders from the witch, she sent the fifth female merchant to spy on Joe, Tyva, and Lana.

Joe and the girls were sitting in a tavern in Dyka village, enjoying a delicious yellow soup and fresh bread. The other patrons wore content smiles, clearly relishing their meals.

After a while, the chef stepped out from the back room and called out, "Are you satisfied, lads?" Some cheered in response, while others were taken aback to see that the chef was a ghoul, dressed in white fabric and gloves. He smiled and nodded, replying, "I thank you for your kind gesture."

Lana glanced at Joe and said in surprise, "A ghoul! I didn't know ghouls could cook!"

Joe grinned and replied, "What, you thought they only ate raw meat and drank swamp water? Their culture is rich, with deep traditions. Like the Elves, they enjoy sharing their knowledge and learning from others. That’s why they excel in things like cooking and magic."

Tyva wiped her mouth, then mused, "But why aren’t ghouls as prosperous as dragons or elves?"

Joe took a sip from his goblet before answering, "Ghouls have been caught in endless wars—starting with a minor conflict with demons centuries ago, then the Battle of the Forsaken with the elves 200 years ago. They've even fought two wars with this kingdom. Dragons, on the other hand, had strong support from demons, and elves built successful trade relationships with almost everyone, except the dark elves. Ghouls stood alone, without allies."

Lana exchanged a solemn look with Tyva. "Alone, and no one ever came to ease their suffering. That’s unfair."

Joe looked at both of them and said, "That's life. It’s not always fair, but we still have to live it to the fullest. The sooner you accept that, the better."

Both Tyva and Lana nodded, returning to their meals while Joe silently mused, "Yory, watch your back."

Meanwhile, the female merchant, one of Azravene's pawns, kept a vigilant eye on Joe and the girls. She sat with cold, vacant eyes, observing the lively tavern around her.

Just then, a black-haired woman with striking blue eyes entered the tavern. She froze for a moment, spotting the female merchant. Her face lit up in shock, tears welling in her eyes. Without hesitation, she hurried through the crowd, apologizing as she manoeuvred toward the merchant’s table. Reaching her, she threw her arms around her.

"Sister! Where have you been? Our family has been worried sick!"

The female merchant remained indifferent, her gaze locked on her targets.

After a tense moment, the woman pulled back, confused by her sister’s cold demeanour. Tears running down her face, she said, "Vespera! It’s me, your sister, Marigold!"

But Vespera didn’t react, her focus unwavering. Frustrated and hurt, Marigold slammed her hands on the table, the loud thud silencing the entire tavern as heads turned in shock.

Everything stopped. The customers, mid-bite or mid-conversation, stared in stunned silence.

Marigold, confused by their reactions, looked around. When she finally turned her attention back to her sister, her breath caught in her throat. What she saw was incomprehensible.

Vespera had plunged a knife deep into Marigold's right hand.

The pain hit Marigold all at once, and she let out a scream of agony, clutching her injured hand.

One of the tavern’s patrons, who had been singing moments earlier, rushed forward and pulled Marigold away from Vespera, guiding her to safety.

Joe and the girls stared at Vespera, who stood there, expressionless, as though nothing had happened. Tyva glanced at Joe, her voice tense. "Joe, is something wrong?"

Joe nodded, his voice firm. "Go to the second floor where I can see you."

At that very moment, far away, Yory killed Azravene and severed her head.

Back in the tavern, the owner rushed toward Vespera, shouting, "Vespera! Have you lost your mind!? That's your sister, for the three hells' sake!"

Vespera remained eerily silent. Then, in an instant, she plunged her knife into the owner’s left arm.

The pain surged through his body, and he gasped in shock. Clutching his arm, he stammered, "Vespera, what happened to you?"

A singer from the tavern tried to intervene, grabbing the knife to disarm her. But Vespera, with unnatural strength, overpowered him, kicking him into the crowd of horrified onlookers.

With a wild scream, Vespera charged at the tavern owner like a berserk creature. Before she could reach him, Joe stepped in her path, swiftly stabbing her in the stomach with his dagger.

Blood poured from the wound, but Joe was stunned to see that Vespera’s face remained expressionless, as if she hadn't even registered the injury. Her veins bulged across her face and hands, her eyes turning an eerie white. With terrifying speed, she grabbed Joe’s left arm and thrust her knife toward his face.

Joe caught her wrist just in time, stopping the deadly strike. With a grim determination, he wrenched his arm free and stabbed her heart five times, blood splattering across both their faces.

As Vespera staggered, a nun entered the chaotic scene. Her eyes fell on Vespera, and her expression shifted from shock to deep concern. "Vespera!" she cried, stepping forward. "What has happened to you?"

Vespera suddenly shoved Joe backwards with surprising force, nearly knocking him to the ground. Her white eyes fixed on the nun, and she charged toward her. But Joe quickly recovered, darting behind her and locking her in a firm hold. "Sister! Kill the damn monster!" he shouted desperately.

Tears streamed down the nun’s face as she stared at Vespera, her heart heavy with sorrow. She began chanting softly, her voice trembling. Meanwhile, the tavern owner and the ghoul chef rushed to assist, managing to grab hold of Vespera’s arms despite her violent struggles.

Joe tightened his grip around Vespera's neck, his strength and grit keeping her in place. "Sister!" he called out again, his voice strained. "Now!"

Marigold, clutching her wounded arm, slowly rose. Her tear-filled eyes locked onto Vespera’s twisted, pale face—a face that had once been so familiar and loving. Her heart ached at what her sister had become.

The nun completed her chant, her voice breaking with emotion. "Holy magic: Təmizləyici alov."

A soft yellow flame appeared before her, obedient to her command. It swiftly surged toward Vespera, engulfing her body in an ethereal fire.

Joe, the owner, and the chef—though in physical contact with Vespera—felt no pain. The flames caressed them gently, leaving them unharmed. They stepped back cautiously, watching as Vespera burned, her figure motionless, with no sign of struggle.

As the flames consumed her, the eerie silence in the room was broken only by the crackling of the fire. Vespera stood still, her eyes no longer white but now fixed on her sister, Marigold.

Marigold watched, trembling, as Vespera’s body was engulfed in the holy fire. But it wasn’t the sight of the flames that shook her the most—it was Vespera’s expression.

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Through the burning flames, Vespera wore a serene, peaceful smile. It was the same smile Marigold remembered from their childhood when Vespera had been the protective older sister, always watching over her and their family. Even as a merchant, Vespera had taken care of them, ensuring they were safe and provided for.

Now, that same sister, consumed by magic and madness, smiled one last time at Marigold before disappearing into the flames.

Vespera’s voice, though faint, was filled with gentle calm as she whispered, "I love you, sister."

With that, she collapsed to the ground, her peaceful smile lingering until her final breath. Joe turned to the nun and said softly, "Thank you. I know this wasn’t easy for you—she was your friend. But you ended her suffering."

The nun, Elysia, nodded, her face wet with tears. Marigold, overwhelmed with grief, rushed to Elysia and embraced her, crying out, "I’ve lost her, Elysia! I’ve lost my sister!"

Some of those who had known Vespera wept openly, while others bowed their heads in quiet respect. Soon, two other nuns arrived to carry Vespera’s body to the temple for examination, hoping to understand the cause of her transformation and to prepare her for a proper funeral.

Joe walked over to Tyva and Lana, who quickly ran to him, wrapping their arms around him, their tears flowing freely. Smiling gently, Joe wiped away their tears and reassured them, "Stop crying, I’m fine."

Lana looked up at him, her voice trembling. "I was so scared!"

With a soft chuckle, Joe ruffled both girls’ hair affectionately, trying to soothe their fears. "Be strong, like me, and you’ll live a long, good life. Be kind and strong, and you’ll always live on in people’s hearts."

Both Tyva and Lana gazed up at him, nodding solemnly, as though committing his words to memory.

The tavern owner approached Joe, offering a grateful smile. "Do you want another meal? It’s on the house, my friend, after what you did for me."

Joe glanced at the girls, then scratched his head thoughtfully. "No, I think we’re done here. But thank you for the offer. And thank the chef for me."

The owner nodded and returned to check on his other patrons. Joe, his attention now on Elysia, offered praise. "She’s quite skilled."

A nearby singer chimed in with a warm smile, "That’s Elysia, one of the kindest nuns around."

Joe raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You know her?"

"Of course," the singer replied. "She’s always helping people, no matter their race or background. We could use more like her if we ever want the peace those nobles are always preaching about. Just yesterday, she even tried to help a demon merchant. Though, in the end, another demon helped him."

Joe smiled and nodded in appreciation. "Thank you. Have a good night."

The singer nodded and returned to his friends. Joe, taking both Tyva and Lana by the hand, gently advised, "We should head back to the inn. Too much is happening lately."

Tyva agreed, her voice calm but cautious. "Yes, it’s better to be careful."

Now, in the present, Nearf sprinted through the northern castle’s burning hallway, his face half-scorched, and his body riddled with wounds. The castle was in chaos—flames consuming its walls, and many rooms reduced to rubble by magic and fire. Corpses of witches and demon knights littered the ground, the battle leaving devastation in its wake.

On the second floor, Fulik, the head of servants, and his wife, Fyona, the head of maids, stood fiercely, their swords already drenched in blood. Fulik’s left arm and back were marked with wounds, while Fyona nursed a minor injury on her right leg and a deeper one on her chest. Yet, despite their injuries, they fought on, relentlessly.

A witch suddenly launched a fireball at Fulik, but he deftly dodged it and charged. In a flash, he closed the distance, and with a single, swift strike, he decapitated her before she could react.

Fyona, feeling the ground tremble beneath her feet, shouted urgently, "Fulik! More are coming. Get ready!"

Fulik met her eyes and responded with calm resolve, "I’m always ready. The Gyovani family counts on us."

Fyona nodded, determination in her gaze. "Once this is over, we’re taking that vacation."

Fulik turned to her, his voice softening for a moment. "My dear Fyona, anything for your happiness. But first, we survive this. And make sure every traitor dies."

Fyona smiled briefly, but her focus quickly shifted to the two demon servants charging toward them. Without hesitation, she raised her blade and prepared for the next fight.

Fulik gripped his sword tightly, a fierce roar escaping his lips. "DAMN TRAITORS!"

Meanwhile, on the third floor, Evangra staggered, her breath laboured, blood trickling from her mouth. A gaping wound marred her right shoulder, and her right hand was maimed. Around her, the sounds of explosions echoed from the traps she had set, each one meant to slow down the relentless knights and servants advancing upon her position.

On the opposite side of the castle, Nearf sprinted, his left arm scorched from blasts, yet he pressed on. He moved swiftly, weaving through the traps Evangra had left behind, relying on his agility and quick instincts to evade each deadly obstacle.

Methodically, he searched room after room until his eyes landed on the nearly demolished chamber, triggering a memory of a conversation with Monroe from years ago. Monroe had thanked Nearf for his help, frustration etched on his face for not being able to locate a particular item, even with the aid of countless servants.

In that memory, Nearf handed Monroe a bouquet of pink flowers, offering simple advice. "Head south, far from the southern castle. You’ll find a beautiful forest where the forest children play and frolic. There’s plenty there—take what you need."

Monroe smiled, deeply grateful. "Thank you, Nearf. This will honour my wife’s family traditions and bring her so much joy!"

As Nearf walked away, he’d commented, "No trouble. Though I’ve always found the elders’ traditions exhausting—so much effort for the smallest things."

Monroe chuckled. "Nearf, those traditions are what unify us. They bring people from different lands, traditions, and backgrounds together. They remind us that, despite everything, we are one."

Back in the present, Nearf stared at the ravaged castle and muttered, "People come first. This castle of iron and stone means little to me."

He rounded a corner near the throne chamber, and his heart sank. There, he spotted Evangra casting a powerful lightning spell at Fulik, who knelt on the ground with a peaceful smile, seemingly resigned to his fate.

Fyona, far across the hall, was sprinting desperately, her voice a frantic cry of despair, "Fulik!"

Meanwhile, in Dyka village, Marigold left the tavern to share the heartbreaking news of her sister’s death with their parents and the other villagers. Inside the tavern, the singer lowered his head, addressing the patrons with a heavy heart. "We shall now sing to honour Vespera, as our traditions demand—a good sister and an honest merchant."

His two fellow singers handed their instruments to the nun Elysia and the tavern owner. Elysia took up the lute, while the owner claimed the flute. The singer gently cradled his own lute and began to sing softly:

"In the tavern's hallowed halls, we sing,

For Vespera, lost on a darkening wing.

Her memory, in our hearts, we'll bring."

Back in the castle, Nearf moved with explosive strength and unreal speed, hurling himself into the path of the lightning spell, shielding Fulik from certain death.

The singer brushed a tear from his eye and, with a voice trembling with emotion, continued:

"In shadows deep, she took her stand,

In a world that slipped through her hand.

Vespera, once bright, now to the other land."

As the lightning spell hit Fulik, it ignited flames that rapidly consumed the surroundings. Smoke and dust swirled together, forming a dense haze that clouded the air, making it almost impossible for both the witch and Fyona to spot where Nearf had disappeared.

When the dust settled, Fulik’s eyes widened in disbelief, stunned by how Nearf had appeared out of nowhere to shield him from the deadly attack. His amazement was mixed with dread, fearing for Nearf’s safety amidst the fiery chaos.

In the confusion, Fyona seized the moment and hurled her dagger straight at Evangra’s chest. The blade struck true, and Evangra grasped the hilt, pulling it out with a snarl. Fueled by pain and fury, she unleashed a searing wave of fire magic toward Fyona.

But just as Evangra prepared her attack, the singer’s tear-streaked face broke into a smile, and with a soft, fragile voice, he sang:

"In the tavern's hallowed halls, we sing,

For Vespera, who spread her caring wing.

Her memory, in our hearts, will always spring."

Nearf, moving with lethal precision, lunged forward and plunged a dagger into Evangra’s right eye. Her scream echoed through the burning chamber, a cry of agony that pierced the chaos. Nearf left the dagger embedded, then, without hesitation, wielded his sword and thrust it into her neck.

The blade cut through cleanly, emerging from the other side, and blood poured from Evangra’s mouth as she fell to the ground, lifeless.

Fyona, panting, rushed to Fulik’s side. He pulled her into a tight embrace, tears of relief streaming down his face. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you alive,” he murmured, his voice choked with emotion.

Fyona clung to him just as fiercely, her own voice shaking as she replied, “Me too! Husband, me too!”

Fulik glanced at Nearf and froze in shock. Nearf's left arm was gone, reduced to ashes by the Evangra’s lightning. The remnants of his arm lay scattered on the floor, charred and crumbling.

Fyona’s face twisted in concern as she cried out, "Lord Nearf! We must—"

But Nearf interrupted, his voice steady despite the loss. "No need to worry. The pain is minimal, I assure you. I'll be fine."

Fulik rose, his tone urgent. "Nearf, this is too dangerous! We need to tend to your wounds now before it gets worse!"

Nearf, with determination in his eyes, shook his head. "The bleeding has stopped. What I need is to bring down the barrier and protect my family. Fulik, Fyona, I need your help to finish off the remaining attackers. Once that’s done, we focus on the barrier!"

Without hesitation, both Fulik and Fyona responded in unison, "Yes, Lord Nearf!"

As they charged forward to rejoin the battle, Fulik suddenly paused, looking back at Nearf with a conflicted expression. "Why did you risk yourself to save me? I’m just a servant—not your friend, not your equal."

Back in the tavern, the singer sang his final verse, his voice soft yet filled with emotion. The patrons sat in reverent silence, many with tears in their eyes:

"In the wake of sorrow, hope will always shine,

Vespera's memory, a guiding star in the night.

With every note we sing, her spirit takes flight."

Nearf met Fulik’s eyes, then Fyona’s, and flashed a radiant smile—one that mirrored the warmth he shared only with those closest to him. "Because you’re family. I’ll never betray or abandon my family."