Kanto pulsed with life. The narrow streets bustled with merchants hawking their wares, children weaving between adults, and travellers going about their day. From a nearby dojo, sharp war cries sliced through the morning air, drawing the attention of passersby.
Inside, students rushed forward, wooden rods clutched tightly in their hands. Their target—Evelyn.
She exhaled slowly, grounding herself.
Then she moved.
Slipping through their attacks like flowing water, she struck with pinpoint precision. Each blow sent her opponents sprawling to the floor, their rods clattering beside them.
As the last of them hit the mat, Evelyn turned, surveying the fallen with a quiet expression. She returned her training rod to the rack.
"Good job, Evelyn."
Her teacher’s voice was warm and steady. As he approached, she gave him a slight bow.
His sharp eyes studied her from head to toe before a knowing smile tugged at his lips.
"You’ve improved these past few months," he remarked, folding his arms. Then, in a more teasing tone, "So? Do you think you’re at that mysterious swordsman’s level yet? Or do you still want to keep pushing yourself?"
Evelyn lowered her gaze. "No," she admitted. "I’m nowhere near it. And I think… I never will be."
But then, she lifted her head, resolve burning in her eyes.
"But if I can protect this town from more trouble, then that’s enough."
Her master chuckled softly. "Then try to enjoy yourself every now and then. Even the strongest warriors find time for a little… carefree exercise to lift their spirits."
Before she could respond, the dojo doors flew open.
Janet and Marian stumbled inside, breathless.
"Evelyn!" Janet panted, clutching her side. "Y-You have to see this!"
Frowning, Evelyn followed them.
The streets had emptied into the town’s bar, where nearly everyone was gathered, their voices hushed as they crowded around a parchment pinned to the wall. A chill ran down her spine as she neared.
Her gaze locked onto the words.
Her breath hitched.
"You know him, right?" Marian whispered beside her. "He saved you that night."
Evelyn’s knees buckled, the weight of the message crushing down on her.
"Today, the Weeping Swordsman will be killed."
*
The deep bellow of great ship horns thundered across the bay, their echoes rolling over the land. From the towering vessels, figures descended in measured strides.
“How preposterous,” one of them seethed. “To execute the very man who saved Pyrovile… an unforgivable disgrace.”
“It took us days to reach the Second,” a knight muttered, his expression grim. "We can't just let this pass by"
A chef stepped forward, twirling his pan atop a finger. “This might turn into another fight,” he mused, glancing at the woman beside him. “Sure you’ll be alright?”
She nodded firmly. “I’ll be fine. Like LB said, we can’t just stand by. They saved us last time.” Her gaze hardened. “Now, it’s our turn to return the favour.”
Hudson adjusted his coat, the morning breeze tugging at his hair as he exhaled slowly.
"Now," he murmured, voice steady. "Let’s go save our dear friend."
Mary, Gordon, and Bobby exchanged knowing smiles before turning their attention forward.
Before them, an army of guards stood at the ready, their polished armor gleaming under the rising sun.
Rows of carriages lined the docks, waiting to carry them to their destination- the execution grounds.
*
The tranquillity of the Third Realm's desert shattered as a guttural scream tore through the air, shaking the towering dunes.
A man rode atop a raging bull, the beast's hooves kicking up clouds of sand as it thundered across the wasteland. Clutching a parchment tightly in one hand, he fixed his gaze on the distant horizon.
"We don't have all day, you damn bull!" Andy bellowed, delivering a sharp smack to the beast’s flank.
The bull let out an enraged snort and charged forward, tearing through the desert with renewed ferocity.
*
The news spread like wildfire. Bloodborne, the infamous guild master, had captured the Weeping Swordsman—a man condemned as a ruthless criminal, responsible for the slaughter of hundreds.
A monster who had turned an entire forest in the Seventh into a desolate wasteland. A man wielding a forbidden and terrifying gift, his very name striking fear into the people of the Nine Realms.
By decree of the People of the White Rose, the Weeping Swordsman was sentenced to death. The beheading is at the Second, set for late morning.
At Falcrest Mansion, Nathan and Mireille rushed into their carriages, dozens of guards joining them in their haste.
"Emilia... Pasta..." Mireille whispered, her voice trembling, her eyes hollow from crying. "Where are you?"
Nathan barked orders for the carriages to move faster. He tried to maintain his composure, but his hands trembled, sweat beading down his forehead. His foot tapped anxiously against the carriage floor.
The Swordsman had been in captivity for days, and the lords—his aunt included—had gone silent. The hunters, once restless, had mysteriously settled. And now, without warning, an execution had been announced. Yet his children were nowhere to be found.
Nathan had sent letter after letter to Bloodborne. Not one had received a reply.
But today, he would get his answers. And to the Realms, he prayed it was good news. Every lord, every official, and every noble of great standing had been summoned to witness the execution. Attendance was compulsory. Afterwards, an announcement regarding the future of the Realms would be made.
Nathan couldn't care less about any of that.
"I just want to see my children," he muttered under his breath.
Mireille sat in silence, her gaze fixed outside the window in a desperate attempt to distract herself. Then, a dark shadow passed overhead. The silhouette of a giant bird loomed against the sky. She leaned out the window, lips parting as if to speak—but she stopped herself, slowly retreating back into her seat.
Nathan moved from his side of the carriage and sat beside her, pulling her into his arms. Mireille buried her face against his chest, her body trembling with quiet sobs.
Gently, his fingers smoothed down her hair as he searched for the right words.
"They'll be alright, darling," he murmured. "Emilia and Pasta will be alright."
*
Darkness enveloped the Weeping Swordsman. Blood dripped down his battered form, pooling on the cold stone floor as the heavy chains around him rattled with each step.
"Move it!" a guard snarled, driving a searing-hot spear into his back.
He did not flinch. Did not scream. He merely walked forward, his pace unhurried as the distant cries of the people outside grew louder. The roar of the crowd swelled, merging into a chaotic storm of rage and unease as the light ahead grew closer—until...
He stepped out.
A sea of people filled the execution grounds, their voices clashing in an uproar. Anger twisted their faces, but among them, scattered throughout, were a few with worry in their eyes.
Guards struggled to maintain order, but they could not stop the mob from hurling objects at the stage.
The swordsman stood there. Whip marks marred his skin, one eye swollen and bruised. The rags clinging to him barely concealed the deep wounds underneath.
His gaze flickered behind to the top of the stage, where eight figures sat in grandeur, watching in silence. Yet among them, only one held his focus.
Bloodborne.
The guild master stood at the forefront, arms crossed behind his back, his eyes locked onto the swordsman with an expression impossible to decipher.
Then, the executioner stepped forward. His face was hidden behind a mask, his hands gripping a massive axe.
Hades exhaled, lowering himself to his knees.
Ever since the fight with Jin, he had regained all his hidden memories—his fate as a fallen celestial, the strange old man who raised him, the arts he had been taught. And the countless crimes he had committed.
Yet, even now, surrounded by thousands, flanked by guards, he knew he could escape. A burst of energy or a flicker of the third power, and freedom would be within reach.
His eyes drifted once more—to Bloodborne. And then, to Zyrion, standing on the stage, hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
The young man looked far more dangerous than the last time they met.
Hades sighed, tilting his head to the sky, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Oh, how I wish..." His breath hitched. "I could see those annoying siblings just one more time."
"LEAVE HIM ALONE!"
A desperate cry tore through the crowd. A woman’s voice, raw with emotion.
Hades’ eyes widened. That voice... He scanned the restless sea of people, his gaze locking onto her. "That's the woman from the village the hunters raided. What is she doing here?"
Her people surged forward, their anger igniting like wildfire. Trash and debris pelted the stage, hitting the guards. Others joined in—people with dark skin and exposed clothing, unmistakably from Pyrovile.
"He saved our lives, damn it!" one of them screamed.
"Where were the lords when Pyrovile was on the brink of destruction?"
Another voice rang out. "And the Battle of the Fourth! They were too scared to intervene!"
The crowd fractured into chaos. Some fought, others rushed toward the stage. The guards scrambled to contain the uproar, but it was useless.
Until—
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
Lord Mikah rose to his feet. Calm. Unshaken. Then—
BOOM!
A pulse of raw power burst from him, a force so immense it crushed the riot in an instant. The air trembled, and the civilians faltered, their defiance silenced by the sheer weight of his presence.
"We shall now continue the execution," Mikah declared before returning to his seat, his gaze lowered.
Only he and Bloodborne knew the truth of Hades’ identity. The more Mikah tried to save both the swordsman and Bloodborne’s reputation, the more trouble it brought. Protecting Hades all these years—every risk, every manoeuvre—would come to nothing today.
Today, he would witness the death of a once-great warrior. One who could be an ally to Realms.
"A shame indeed," he whispered, looking down to the stage.
Hades was once an uncontrollable menace, but now he had become something more. Something human. But his past sins could never be erased.
If let alone, the other lords would have executed him without question and turned their suspicions onto the Seventh Lord and his men. As a last resort, Mikah had given the order. Bloodborne had to be the one to capture him.
Hades remained still, his gaze trailing to the high balcony where the Falcrest couple had taken their seats among the nobles.
A faint smirk crossed his lips. "Emilia looks a lot like her mother," he said. "But Pasta... he’s nothing like his father’s cool demeanour. He must be adopted."
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
The executioner raised his axe.
A man clad in white stepped forward, his long beard cascading down as he spoke.
"Today, the Weeping Swordsman will die for his crimes against the Nine Realms," he declared, his voice echoing across the hushed execution grounds. "With his death, a peace treaty will be signed between the realms, marking the dawn of a new era." He lifted his arms to the heavens. "MAY THE SUPREME BEING WATCH OVER US ALL!"
The executioner swung.
A bolt of lightning tore through the sky.
CRACK!
A thunderous explosion sent the executioner flying off the stage.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Guards tensed, hands flying to their weapons. Hades, however, remained still, his eyes closed, his fists clenched—but his smile never wavered.
Zyrion’s brow twitched as he gripped his blade. "I recognise this annoying lifeforce anywhere..."
The skies darkened.
Dragons coiled through the clouds, their forms like slithering serpents, their roars shaking the very earth. A chilling breeze swept across the land, an unnatural stillness creeping over the execution grounds.
And then—
Laughter.
The Falcrest couple held each other, their lips parting into a smile
A wild, unrestrained chuckle ripped through the heavens as a single figure shot downward, breaking through the clouds at blinding speed.
CLANG!
Zyrion’s sword was already drawn, intercepting a strike as smaller dragons swirled around them, their presence crackling with energy. The sheer force split the very stage beneath them, sending jolts of raw power streaking through the air.
Pasta grinned wide, his green eyes gleaming. "Long time no see, master."
Guards swarmed the stage, only for an onslaught of explosive fireworks to rip through their ranks.
Jiji swooped down, her legs kicking against Shot’s side as they weaved through the skies, picking off guards with precise, merciless strikes.
Kabal roared like a mad beast, charging through the guards like an unstoppable beast, scattering soldiers like leaves in the wind.
Above it all, the lords watched, some bewildered, some calculating. Others, unmoved.
Bloodborne, however, merely sighed, his gaze fixed on the tempest above.
He already knew. This wasn’t a battle they could win.
*
Shinari stood atop the clock tower, the wind tugging at her dark cloak as she gazed down at the execution grounds below.
Sparrow approached, wearing a similar cloak as a small bird perched on his shoulder. “I see your plan was a success,” he remarked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
Shinari let out a soft chuckle and turned to him, a glint of mischief in her golden eyes. “Oh? Haven’t I been defeated?” she mused, taking a step closer. “The swordsman won, I lost a valuable pawn, and now the realms will never fall under my rule.” Her smile deepened as she leaned in, her gaze locking onto his. “So tell me, dear scholar, why do you think this is my victory?”
Sparrow met her gaze, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “When we first met, I suspected you were a demon. But after some careful investigations… I uncovered the truth.”
Shinari’s playful expression faltered slightly. “What?”
He smirked. “A fallen celestial,” he whispered. “Your goal was never to conquer the Nine Realms, but to unite them—through force, since their rulers refuse to listen to reason. The only reason you see this as a loss… is because she became the ruler instead of you.”
A moment of silence stretched between them before Shinari let out a laugh, stepping back. “Yes, you’re right. I never expected her to be so cunning.” She exhaled, folding her arms. “She played the game masterfully—outmanoeuvred me in my own domain. And she did it so effortlessly, working in the shadows while letting her companions take the stage.”
Sparrow stroked the tiny creature on his finger. “Then I suppose it’s time we make our exit,” he said. “There are more games to play, and you’ve hardly had your fill, have you?”
Shinari tilted her head, studying him. “You mean to follow me?”
“You need a companion, don’t you?” he replied smoothly. “Someone who can match your wits… and perhaps, someone with a bit of charm to balance things out.”
A sly smile graced her lips. “How intriguing.” She placed a finger on his chest. “Alright then, sweetheart,” her eyes gleamed. “I look forward to our future games of chess.”
Sparrow nodded. "We may be outlaws now with the disciples searching far and wide for us," he said, shifting his gaze back to the scene below. “But first… let’s enjoy this final act.”
Shinari’s grin widened as she turned back to the execution grounds, her golden eyes shimmering with anticipation. “You know me so well.”
*
The skies churned into a bleeding crimson, dark stars flickering ominously above. Towering statues loomed, their stone forms encircling the execution grounds. And atop them—thousands of disciples stood, unmoving, their presence alone enough to paralyse the guards below. Weapons clattered to the ground as terror sank its claws into their hearts.
“What a chore,” Mercury sighed, sitting cross-legged in midair, her fingers idly twirling as tiny stars danced across them.
A deep rumble echoed through the heavens as a dragon descended, its sinuous form spiralling through the sky before coming to a graceful halt beside the execution stage.
From its back, a lone figure stepped forward, his presence swallowing the light around him. Shadows clung to his form, obscuring his facial features as he approached. Then, kneeling before the bound swordsman, the man finally spoke.
“Hades.”
Hades' breath hitched. His vision wavered. “…Father?”
Ryonnuske nodded. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
Hades swallowed hard, his hands curling into fists. “You’ve changed.”
“And so have you, child,” he whispered, his voice soft as petals. “Leaving you at the land of Heathens had brought you so much suffering, Hades.”
Hades stared at him, his mind reeling. This was him. The man who had raised him, who had hardened him through relentless training, yet had forced him to remain ignorant of his true identity. Even when Tankenu had pressed Hades for answers, he had feigned oblivion.
Back then, he had clung to the promise of reunion, believing they would meet again when the trials were over.
But fate had other plans.
"Hades..." Ryonnuske’s finger tapped the swordsman's forehead. “Do you want to live?”
Hades lowered his head. “I have committed countless sins,” he murmured. “Hurt and killed so many. Failed those who depended on me.” His voice dropped further, barely audible. “How can I wish to live? How can I ignore my crimes and keep moving forward?”
Ryonnuske studied him. “Hades—”
“I should have died back then, in the mountains,” Hades whispered, his eyes dull with regret. “I should have been stronger. Then maybe… maybe none of this would have happened. The war on the Nine Realms, all the suffering—because I was too weak.”
Ryonnuske met his gaze, unwavering. “We are all weak, Hades,” he said. “No one can predict how time would have unravelled had things been different. No one. Sin, regret, suffering—they are the weight we bear as humans. We cannot discard them, but we can strive to lighten their burden by changing our ways.”
He raised both hands—one igniting into roaring flames, the other swirling with frost. “Where there is good, there is always evil. But balance? Balance is an illusion. One will always rise above the other—whether through brute force or quiet destruction.” His voice lowered, his eyes sharp. “You chose your path once, Hades. But now, you will choose again. And this time… you will choose the right one.”
Hades trembled. “But my past—”
Ryonnuske clenched his fists, extinguishing both elements. “Your past remains where it is,” he said firmly. “But your future… that is decided by what you do now. Join the Disciples, Hades and I'll offer you a new beginning.”
Hades squeezed his eyes shut. “This…” His breath was uneven. “This is too generous for a man like me.” He exhaled sharply. “I know what the Disciples are. I know what they do to seek redemption. And I know your plans—to stand against the Supreme Being—”
“So what?” Ryonnuske interrupted, his voice carrying an edge. “Do you think the Disciples are just a pack of lowly criminals looking for absolution?” His eyes gleamed. “There are hundreds among us with far worse sins than yours, Hades. Don’t overestimate yourself.”
A breath of silence passed.
Hades slowly opened his eyes to meet his father's gaze. This was the chance for him to redeem himself, to start afresh. His chains rattled as he flexed his arms—then, he shattered them. Rising to his feet, he gazed down at Ryonnuske.
“You refuse to let me drown in my regrets, Father.” He let out a breath, almost a laugh. “This is unexpected.” His voice softened. “It’s been so long… and I have many questions.” He said, lowering himself to one knee. “But for now… I accept your invitation. Leader of the Disciples.”
Ryonnuske laughed. “Oh? I’m not the leader of the Disciples, Hades.”
Hades’ head snapped up. “What?” He frowned. “Then… who is?”
The skies cracked apart, splitting open like the jaws of some ancient beast. The force that surged forth obliterated Mercury’s domain in an instant, the illusion vanishing as reality reasserted itself.
Lord Richard, Dvalin, Ansan, and Duke Timbody fell to their knees, their bodies trembling under the sheer weight of the presence that had arrived. The other lords turned to them in bewilderment, unable to comprehend what had just transpired.
Mireille's gaze lifted to the heavens, her smile growing wider.
“Emilia…” she whispered.
A great form cut through the sky, wings spread wide as it descended amidst the storm of dragons. Puck, no longer just a mere bird, but a celestial being bathed in radiant wings, soared down toward the stage.
Pasta, mid-battle, let out a sharp laugh, stepping back as he eyed the creature with a smirk.
“That damn bird.”
As Puck landed beside the dragon, a pulse of energy rippled around her as she kept a smug look.
Hades staggered slightly, feeling the familiar, yet altered, lifeforce wash over him.
“Mr. Swordsman!”
Emilia’s voice rang out as she sprinted forward, throwing her arms around him. Her tears slipped down his chest, her grip tightening before she pulled back to deliver a punch to his side.
“You just had to go and get yourself captured.”
Mr. Swordsman let out a low chuckle, though he felt the weight behind that playful hit.
“Don’t tell me…” He peered down at her, studying her carefully. “You’re the Leader of the Disciples?”
Emilia pouted, looking up at him. “Hey, a little ‘How you doing?’ would be nice” she huffed before exhaling with a small smile. “But yes. It’s a long story, so let’s save it for later.”
Mireille wiped the tears from her eyes as she watched from the stands, her heart twisting with a mix of relief and confusion. Her children were standing before her. But why had they saved the swordsman? And why… why did they feel so different?
She sniffled. As long as they’re alive… that’s all that matters.
Beside her, Nathan clasped her hand, feeling the same bittersweet comfort.
Emilia turned toward them, offering a soft wave. They returned the gesture, even as countless questions burned within them.
With a subtle shift of her foot, the wind gathered beneath her, carrying her toward the lords’ platform.
Many of the gathered nobles remained frozen, their faces twisted with uncertainty.
Lady Missui, however, strode forward without hesitation.
“Explain yourself, Emilia!” she demanded, her sharp voice cutting through the silence. “How dare you interfere in this execution!”
Emilia’s face remained stoic as her grand-aunt approached. They stood before one another in tense silence—until Missui’s stern expression melted into a smile.
Without warning, the two embraced.
“Oh, Emilia,” Missui whispered, her voice warm. “You’ve grown so much.”
"Miss you too aunt," she replied.
The spell of silence shattered.
Lex, Lord of the Sixth, shot to his feet, throwing his hands in the air.
“Alright, someone needs to tell me what in the Nine Realms is going on!” he bellowed. “First, these old men start bowing out of nowhere, and now our enforcer is standing with the Disciples?”
Lord Kinna let out a weary sigh as he faced his predecessor Timbody.
He plucked the white rose from his lapel before dropping it to the ground and crushing it beneath his boot.
“Can’t you read the room?” he muttered, sinking to one knee. “We’re being overthrown.”
Lex's face twisted in horror.
“Wait, what?!” His voice shot up before he forced himself to steady. “That’s the only explanation, isn’t it?” His gaze snapped toward Emilia. “How dare you make a mockery of the lords with this display! I hope you understand the consequences of your actions. You will be executed alongside the very man you came to save.”
“Go ahead,” Emilia said, stepping forward. “I’m not opposed to war.” She halted a breath away from him, her eyes locking onto his with an unwavering stare. “But before you order your men, tell them this—”
She leaned in ever so slightly.
“If there is war, another man will raise their children and hold their wives.”
Her fingertip pressed lightly against his chest.
“And I,” she whispered, “will have dominion over your realm.”
Lex’s breath hitched. Then he felt it—a crushing force unlike anything before, radiating from the young woman before him. The very essence of the motherland coiled around her, suffocating in its presence. His knees buckled beneath the weight of it, sweat rolling down his temples as he fell to the ground.
Lord Mikah stepped forward, letting out a nervous chuckle.
“I thought we were family,” he said, rubbing his neck. “Why was I left out of this little secret?”
Lady Missui laughed softly.
“I have no idea myself. This was all Emilia’s doing,” she said with a grin. “I did warn them about meddling with a Falcrest.”
Emilia’s gaze drifted across the gathering—until her eyes met Bloodborne’s. She turned away with a huff, breaking the poor man's heat as he reached out for her.
Emilia stood before the gathered masses, her voice ringing out. “From this day forward, the Nine Realms shall stand under new rule. Under my name—Empress Emilia Falcrest. No longer shall we be bound together merely by trade, but by unity, by understanding. A new order will govern these lands. The Disciples shall resume their sworn duty as guardians of peace across the realms, while the captured hunters will be given a choice—serve this kingdom with unwavering loyalty or forfeit their heads. They, too, have stained their hands with sin, but slaughtering them will only lead to further bloodshed. Let this be the last.”
Her voice carried across the hushed crowd, her presence suffused with authority. “We are tired. Tired of living in fear of hunters, of mercenaries, of the constant murmurs of war. But as of today, we cast off that burden. And I—no, I swear to you—I will restore the Nine Realms to its former glory. A land undivided. A kingdom of prosperity. One race, one people, under a single banner! A banner not raised for a god who has long abandoned us, but for ourselves! Since no salvation came from above, we shall seize our own fate! Not just for us, but for the future generations who will inherit this world!”
For a moment, silence reigned.
Emilia exhaled, glancing at Pasta, who met her gaze with an encouraging smile. Then, she stepped forward, raising her fist high. “For the glory of the Nine Realms!”
The silence shattered into a deafening roar. Flowers soared through the air as cheers and cries of discontent clashed.
Emilia felt it all—the emotions of everyone surging through her veins. The pulse of life itself rippled outward, stretching across four realms, filling her senses with raw, immeasurable power. It was intoxicating.
Lady Missui strode toward her. “Empress, we have a situation.”
Emilia turned. “What is it?”
“The Eighth Realm has lost its ruler—Lord Jean is dead. For months, they've been under military control.”
A slow grin crept onto Emilia’s lips. “That won’t be a problem,” she said. “I know just the man for the job.”