"From here on, we have to be quiet…" Shuzo whispered excitedly.
He pulled Donovan through the thick bushes.
His small hands clung to the giant's with a determination that didn't fit his age at all.
Don followed reluctantly, wet branches slapping his face, the thicket resisting every step he took.
"What are we even looking for?" he grumbled and was about to grab the little Wächterprince by the collar —
when he finally saw what Shuzo meant.
Before them rose a tall fence, its iron tips cutting sharply against the night sky.
And beyond it — a sight that stole even Donovan's breath.
A line of uniformed men stood there — motionless, perfectly aligned.
But it wasn't their discipline that caught his eye,
it was the dark presence radiating from them —
like an invisible force field, thickening the very air around them.
"There…" Shuzo breathed in awe.
The King's G.O.L.D. Unit.
Donovan's breath grew heavy.
His gray eyes narrowed as he studied the warriors more closely.
The men wore battle robes that looked both elegant and menacing.
Tactical pants, tight boots — and the signature chest harness carrying their firearms.
Golden symbols trailed across their shoulders and armor — like runes of an ancient language.
But the true center of that ominous power
was none other than the King himself.
Donovan swallowed hard as his gaze locked onto the man standing at the head of the formation.
The King.
Not wrapped in a battle robe like his soldiers.
No cloak around his shoulders — and yet, even the black shirt he wore felt like an insignia of absolute dominance.
With calm certainty, he rolled up his sleeves to his wrists —
as if his very body meant to mock the idea of armor.
The fabric clung to his muscular frame,
as if even it froze in reverence.
His face — an image of cold authority.
Black hair fell in long strands across the bridge of his nose.
His eyes.
Dark — streaked with an emerald glow.
Gloomy, magnetic, filled with untamed power.
A shiver ran down Donovan's spine.
The man was the perfect blend of terror and allure —
a living embodiment of pure strength,
commanding both reverence and fear.
"It's about to start!"
Shuzo hissed, bursting with excitement, pulling Donovan out of his thoughts.
And indeed—
"Move."
A single word from the King.
One gesture — powerful, precise —
and the G.O.L.D. Unit began to move,
synchronized like a machine, sharpened by endless hours of training.
With a heavy, unified step, they took their formation,
their gaze locked on the man at the center.
Kuroboshi.
Who answered only with the faintest twitch of his mouth.
Then — they struck.
The ground trembled beneath their boots,
even the wire fence began to vibrate.
Blow met blow,
movements crossed,
yet not a single strike landed.
Kuroboshi dodged, deflected, redirected —
not with force,
but with ease,
as if he could read the rhythm of their bodies before they even moved.
A strike, a turn, a lunge —
he moved, he danced in a pattern
known only to himself.
"Try it together."
His voice was calm, rough — yet it sounded like a threat.
The men shifted positions,
began to listen to one another —
Breaths.
Steps.
Short commands.
They no longer fought against one another —
but as one.
And suddenly, the rhythm changed.
Out of chaos came order.
Out of motion — precision.
Kuroboshi reacted instantly,
parried, blocked, stepped back —
and each movement melted seamlessly into the next.
Fluid, perfect, inimitable.
The battle was no longer a duel.
It was a dance.
A war dance — one that bound power, instinct, and trust into a single force.
"That must be the G.O.L.D. Unit…"
Donovan's voice was barely more than a whisper.
"…the elite that makes the whole world shit its pants."
Kuroboshi stopped.
Only a single breath of silence.
Then:
"Better."
A praise.
Brief — yet for them, worth more than any medal.
Hidden deep in the bushes,
Shuzo could hardly tear his eyes away from his father's imposing figure.
Every movement of the King — swift, precise, merciless — held him captive.
His father was more than a warrior;
he was a living legend.
A manifestation of strength itself —
one that filled Shuzo with both reverence and wonder.
One could swear the toxic green in Shuzo's eyes began to glow with excitement.
Yes…
That's how I want to be.
Just as strong as him.
With a thunderous strike, the King drove his fist into the ground.
"Now — Stage Two."
He rolled his shoulders — a sharp crack echoed.
The sound rippled through the field like a gunshot.
In that same instant, the entire unit straightened in perfect sync.
With icy precision and faces carved with deadly determination,
they shifted into the next mode.
In that fraction of a second, it happened —
the air around the soldiers seemed to thicken,
the temperature to drop.
Their eyes flared suddenly with a blood-red glow.
Cold, merciless — yet filled with the energy of a predator in full hunt.
Donovan, who claimed to fear neither man nor monster,
realized in that instant that these men were a weapon.
A dangerous, all-consuming weapon.
While he stood frozen in place —
Shuzo had been waiting for this very moment.
Without warning, the boy burst out of the bushes,
charging toward the clearing with pure excitement.
His face burned with determination.
"No matter what Father says!"
His voice cut through the silent night like a knife.
"I'll become just as strong as he is!"
His small figure looked tiny compared to the imposing warriors —
yet that didn't stop him
from stepping right into the center of the clearing.
He took a deep breath,
clenched his fists,
and tried — with all the focus he could muster — to mimic the movements he had just seen from the unit.
It was a sight,
that made Donovan both amused and worried.
"Oh, boy…" the demon muttered, sinking back into the bushes.
"The kid's really lost his damn mind."
"Yes!" Shuzo shouted eagerly — swinging his small hand for a punch.
He hopped forward, straightened himself with a serious look, and pursed his lips in fierce concentration.
Then came the next strike — clumsy, stumbling.
"Then Father will see that I'm strong enough!"
He repeated the movements again and again.
Donovan kept his gray eyes on the little whirlwind,
picked absently at his own ankle, and sighed.
"Now I'm starting to get it…"
He scraped a strip of dry scab from his skin between thumb and forefinger.
"So that's why you've been sulking — because your old man doesn't think you can fight…"
Then he flicked the bit of skin into his mouth,
chewing on it like a piece of stale gum before snorting:
"Well, kid, he's got a point. Just look at you.
You're not gonna make it far as a great warrior like that."
But Shuzo wasn't listening.
The boy was too absorbed in his training —
his toxic green eyes sparkled with focus.
"Like a battle-crazed grasshopper…"
Don muttered with a crooked grin,
peeling another strip of scab from the back of his hand.
This one was particularly large —
almost like a tiny demonic prize.
Satisfied, he popped it into his mouth,
chewed with an audible smack,
and even gave it a review:
"Not bad. Got a bit of a salty aftertaste."
He glanced at Shuzo,
who clearly had no sense of balance whatsoever.
"Why don't you just give it up?"
Shuzo froze mid-movement. "What?"
The question seemed to hit deeper than he wanted to admit.
"No!"
He gasped in disbelief, then softer:
"Why?"
"Well, it's not like it's gonna change anything…"
Don raised his hands in a placating gesture, almost casually.
"You're not a fighter, not a hero — just a kid who's been spoiled, that's all…"
He shrugged, adding:
"Not that I mind, but — the G.O.L.D. is a whole different league."
Shuzo stumbled back,
speechless.
Then he hissed through his teeth in anger.
"Damn it! —
Just shut up!"
Donovan frowned,
scratching his temple.
"But what if it's the truth, pal?"
And that —
was exactly
what Shuzo didn't want to hear.
Not from Don.
Not from someone who never understood anyway.
His brows furrowed in anger.
"That's enough, got it?!"
He shot him one last, ice-cold glance before snatching his cloak from the ground — and storming off.
Don sighed.
"Shuzo…"
He felt sorry for the little guy, but…
Why in all hell would he rather be a damn war machine —
instead of a spoiled, well-fed prince surrounded by pretty females?
"WAIT!"
He couldn't have known
how much self-loathing was boiling inside the boy.
"He's always running off! Damn kid's a pain in the ass!" Don cursed, his voice rough and low as he forced himself up and fought his way through the undergrowth.
Branches scratched his arms,
wet leaves slapped against his face.
"Why can't the brat just sit still for once…"
But then — he froze.
A shiver crawled down his spine —
so cold and sharp
he swore someone had just pressed a knife between his shoulder blades.
The air vibrated.
His heartbeat turned into a drum —
not louder, but clearer.
Too audible.
He looked up.
Through the trees —
he saw the King.
Kuroboshi stood in the center of the formation —
and in that moment…
he had caught him.
His eyes were glowing red.
The demon gasped,
his whole body froze.
SHIT?!
He knew exactly what that meant —
the state only Wächtervampire could reach:
The Blutrausch.
No escape.
No hiding.
Every beat in his chest felt like a drum signal —
played only for the King.
"Damn it… I've gotta warn Shuzo!" — his buddy.
Cold sweat ran down the sides of his face.
He knew Shuzo was still safe —
that damned wristband on his arm was blocking the King's senses.
But still safe didn't mean forever.
As for him?
He was an open book.
Don tore his gaze away, throat tightening.
Run!
Without thinking, he pushed forward, crashing through the undergrowth.
"Always me…" he rasped and took off running.
Away from those eyes —
the eyes that followed him like a predator's.
But a disrespectful rat
had never been able to escape from Kuroboshi —
not…
…not if he didn't want it.