POV: Mixed (Ryuji / Kaito / Nogare final voice)
The smoke rose like a dying god's final breath—heavy, red, and drifting across the blasted rooftops of Bustleburg. Ryuji staggered through the haze, half-dragging his staff like a man twice his age. His lungs burned with every inhale, as though he were swallowing the last cinders of the city he'd helped ignite.
Hana appeared beside him, emerging from the smoke with her bow already drawn. Her hair was streaked with soot, her eyes sharp despite the exhaustion clinging to her like ash. She scanned the street—broken stone, dead kobolds, collapsed barricades. The fires behind them roared like a storm.
"We're close," she said. "Northwest gate."
Ryuji forced his legs forward. His robe was scorched at the edges. The crimson glow on his staff had faded to a dull ember. Infernal Cinders had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit.
They crossed the last bend—and stopped.
Kaito stood alone at the gate.
Blood dripped from his knuckles. His cloak was torn open, revealing cuts and burns across his torso. Around him lay nearly a dozen Valerian soldiers—bodies twisted, armor cracked, limbs torn in angles that didn't look human. The Lone Berserker breathed slowly, calmly, the cold wind tugging at his hair.
His eyes shifted to them but he didn't speak.
Then footsteps approached from the dark hallway behind Kaito.
Nogare emerged.
No dust clung to him. No firelight swayed his steps. He walked with the quiet certainty of a blade returned to its sheath. And behind him came Zentake—carrying a wrapped body on his back.
Kuroba.
No one said his name.
The flames behind them crackled in the silence.
Nogare glanced around the gathered group and spoke with the same still calm he used while killing.
"Time to go."
Hana nodded and took point, climbing a coil of broken stone to get a vantage angle.
"South gate is still open. Road looks clear for now. Move!"
The group broke into a run.
Ash rained over them like winter dust. Ryuji stumbled twice, clutching his staff, but kept pace. Hana, light on her feet despite heartbreak, fired arrow after arrow into the fog—each shot finding a kobold before it could screech a warning.
Zentake remained behind everyone, Kuroba's body carefully bound to him.
"I've got our rear."
Nogare took the lead beside Hana, guiding them through alleys and ruined storefronts, weaving around collapsed structures and smoldering beast corpses.
Every step felt like it sank deeper into a dying city's last breath.
They reached the southern gate as the fires behind them flared again, something collapsing loudly in the distance.
At the threshold of escape, Nogare suddenly paused and tapped the hilt of his katana.
He turned toward kaito with a faint, unreadable smile.
"Do you like the Kobold King's sword?" he asked. "I'll help you get it."
Zentake's eyes brightened with a rare flicker of childish greed. "Hey. I also want that one."
Kaito remained silent, his expression unreadable, gaze fixed back toward the burning north—as though the flames were speaking to him.
Nogare rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Zentake, help them first. Find a resting place. Carry Kuroba. Hana, lead the way. Avoid enemies at all cost."
Zentake gave a solemn nod. "I'll follow after they're safe."
He shifted Kuroba's weight carefully, adjusting the rogue's arm so it wouldn't bounce painfully against his back.
Then, without another word, he began walking south.
Hana moved ahead, scanning the road with her bow drawn. Ryuji followed, limping but determined. The four figures—Hana, Ryuji, Zentake, and silent Kuroba—slowly vanished down the long burnt highway, swallowed by the rising heat of the southern horizon.
The world behind them rumbled one last time as Bustleburg's central tower collapsed in a pillar of flame.
Kaito and Nogare stayed behind.
The embers reflected on Kaito's blade, making it look like molten steel. Nogare drew in a slow breath, the ash swirling around him like ghostly snow.
"Two swords remain," Nogare said quietly. "Kobold King's… and the Ogre King."
Kaito nodded. His eyes were full of a calm fury, a storm sealed in glass.
The two men turned—one a silent blade, the other a lone storm—walking back into the burning heart of Bustleburg.
Between them, the road flashed with sparks.
Behind them, the city continued to die in crimson smoke.
Ahead of them waited the weapons of kings and killers.
And for a moment, in the glow of the flames, their shadows looked like the start of another war.