The wheels creaked as they rolled along, the steady click-clack of hooves striking stone echoing beneath the carriage. Gravel crunched under the weight with every turn. His parents' quiet chatter drifted in the background, distant and unfocused, like noise from another room.
Clide stared out the carriage window, his thoughts wandering.
The Court of Souls.
Averidia's words.
The strength he had wielded, power he had never possessed before.
And most of all…
the son of "O******n."
The thought gnawed at him. Questions piled on top of one another, drowning out everything else. What did she mean?
Then something snapped him back to reality.
The carriage passed a man and a small girl standing at the roadside. Both wore black robes with their hoods drawn low, hiding their faces.
As the carriage rolled by, the man slowly turned his head.
Their eyes met.
Clide's breath caught in his throat.
Golden pupils stared back at him, unnaturally bright, sharp enough to pierce straight through him, as if they were looking directly into his soul.
A chill ran down his spine.
Clide quickly looked away, forcing his eyes back to the window as his heart pounded.
"That was weird," he thought.
After some time, Clide and his parents finally arrived home.
With winter fast approaching, Madeline headed inside to begin preparing the house, already listing chores under her breath. Arthur, however, rested a firm hand on Clide's shoulder.
"Clide," he said calmly. "Come with me."
"Oh, sure. But where are we going?" Clide asked.
Arthur smiled faintly. "You'll see when we get there."
[TIME SKIP: 3 HOURS]
Deep within the woods, the sharp clang of steel echoed through the trees.
Clide skidded across the dirt and landed hard on his back.
"Dad!" Clide groaned as he pushed himself up. "That hurt!"
Arthur stood a few steps away, his sword resting on his shoulder.
"You need to learn how to use a blade," he said evenly. "It's a useful skill."
Clide frowned, rubbing his side. "I don't get the point. It's way easier to use my hands. And swords are just about who swings harder, right?"
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"Is that so?"
He stepped forward and lifted his blade.
"Alright, Clide. Go ahead. Strike my sword as hard as you can."
Clide hesitated. "Really? That doesn't sound like a good idea."
Arthur's voice hardened slightly.
"Do it."
Clide dashed forward, gripping the sword tightly, and swung with everything he had. The air shuddered from the force behind the strike.
Arthur smiled.
He planted his feet and met the blow head-on.
CLANG!
The impact rang through the forest, but Arthur did not move an inch.
Clide stumbled back, eyes wide.
Arthur nodded, clearly impressed, but his tone remained firm.
"Your strength is real, Clide. But that wasn't swordsmanship."
He tapped his blade against Clide's.
"That is structure. No matter how strong your opponent is, if your structure is solid, your stance, your grip, your balance, they'll never break your defense."
"But what if the opponent is stronger?" Clide asked. "Wouldn't your blade just shatter?"
Arthur nodded slightly. "I suppose it could. But if it comes to that, you've already made a mistake."
He lowered his sword and gestured with it as he spoke.
"You need to keep your leverage at all times. You don't strike just because you can. You strike when you have the upper hand."
Arthur met Clide's eyes.
"And you gain the upper hand through unexpected methods."
Clide's eyes lit up. "Like the element of surprise?"
Arthur smiled. "Exactly."
"I know that one," Clide said confidently. "Let me show you."
Before Arthur could respond, Clide dashed forward in the blink of an eye.
Arthur chuckled. "Telling your opponent you're going to use surprise kind of defeats the purpose."
Still, he readied himself, feet planting firmly into the dirt.
Clide suddenly kicked up a cloud of dust, sending it billowing between them and blocking Arthur's view.
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
He's going for a high strike.
Through the settling dust, he spotted a shadow descending from above.
"Predictable," Arthur muttered.
He flipped his sword and struck with the hilt toward the shadow.
Nothing.
Arthur froze.
What he hit fluttered to the ground.
It was Clide's jacket.
Arthur's eyes widened as he looked down.
Clide was already there.
Clide lunged upward, blade in a reverse grip, preparing to swing.
Before he could complete the motion, Arthur shoved him hard in the chest with his free hand.
Clide hit the ground with a grunt.
"The hell was that for?!" Clide shouted.
Arthur's voice snapped back instantly.
"The hell was that for, you ask?" he said sharply. "You were about to slash me with a real blade. Are you forgetting that these are weapons?"
He leaned down slightly, eyes stern.
"This might be training, but it is not a game. Do you hear me?"
Clide swallowed. "Yeah… I hear you."
Arthur exhaled slowly, the tension leaving his shoulders.
"Listen, kid. Sorry for being harsh. I have to be."
He paused, then added, "That strategy you used was good. Really good."
Clide looked up, surprised.
"But you made one mistake," Arthur continued. "Switching to a reverse grip."
Arthur tapped the blade lightly.
"Unless you're using something small, like a dagger or a knife, reverse grip is almost useless. You lose reach, control, and leverage."
Clide sat up and stared at the sword in his hands.
"…I don't think I want to use a sword," he said quietly.
Arthur was silent for a moment.
"…That's okay," he said at last. "But if you want to survive in this world, you need to know how to fight. One way or another."
He turned toward the forest path leading home.
"But that's enough for today. Let's head back."
Clide nodded and got to his feet, following his father through the trees.
Winter settled in slowly, almost politely.
Snow crept over the rooftops and fences in thin layers at first, then deeper and heavier as the days passed. The Heatherson home stayed warm despite it, the fireplace crackling most evenings while the wind howled outside.
Clide spent a lot of time helping his parents.
Mornings usually started with Arthur waking him before the sun was fully up. Together they chopped wood behind the house, Clide's breath fogging in the cold air as his hands stung from the chill. Arthur corrected his stance when he swung the axe, sometimes turning it into another quiet lesson without calling it one.
Inside, Madeline kept Clide busy when she could. He helped knead dough for bread, stirred soups that simmered for hours, and fetched herbs she had dried earlier in the season. She scolded him when he tracked snow through the house and smiled when she thought he wasn't looking.
Some afternoons were calmer.
Clide would sit near the window, watching snow fall in lazy spirals while Madeline sewed or mended clothes nearby. Arthur often read at the table, occasionally glancing up to check on them both. The silence was comfortable, the kind that didn't need filling.
At night, they ate together.
Nothing fancy. Stews, bread, warm drinks that chased away the cold. Arthur talked about work around the village, Madeline complained about the weather, and Clide listened more than he spoke. Sometimes he laughed. Sometimes he drifted off, staring into the fire.
Every now and then, Clide would catch himself thinking about the Court of Souls, about Shiki, about Averidia's voice. When that happened, Madeline would call his name, or Arthur would ask him a question, and the thoughts would fade again.
Then Winter passed, just like that.
"King Mondis!"
A scout burst into the throne room, boots skidding against polished stone.
Mondis Vernminger barely looked up from the platter in his hands. Grease stained his fingers as he tore into a slab of meat.
"What in the hell do you want?" Mondis snapped. "Can't you see I'm eating?"
"I know, my king, but you have to see this," the scout said, holding up a scroll with shaking hands.
Mondis scowled. "Then bring it closer, you nimwit. Do you expect me to read from across the room?"
The scout hurried forward and unfurled the scroll.
The parchment glowed faintly, its letters etched in shimmering soul ink.
***
The Scroll
To the Kingdom of Vernminger,
By decree of the Sovereign of the Burial Court of Etheria, it has been determined that your reign has exceeded its allotted span.
Your continued existence destabilizes the balance of the southern dominions and violates the Divine Accord ratified three generations ago.
As judgment, a Diamond-Rank Soul Dragon has been dispatched.
Its arrival is estimated between ten and twenty-eight hours from the time this declaration was written.
You may resist if you wish.
You will fall regardless.
May the gods have mercy.
***
Mondis stared at the scroll, his face draining of color.
"…What the fuck?" he whispered, before slamming his fist into the arm of his throne. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?!"
He shot to his feet, bits of food flying.
"Call an escort right now!" Mondis roared. "I'm getting the everliving hell out of here! And summon every soldier in the southern unit. All of them! I want every piece of firepower we have ready to move!"
"Yes, my king!" Scout One bowed deeply. "I'll have your carriage prepared by evening."
Scout Two hesitated. "But sir… what if it's a fake declaration?"
Mondis slowly turned toward him, eyes burning.
"You retarded, unemployed, uneducated simpleton fuck," Mondis said calmly. "Only decrees authorized by the Divine can be written in soul ink."
Scout Two blinked. "Unemployed? But I'm a scout—"
"Not anymore," Mondis replied flatly. "Someone take this worthless waste of air and execute him."
Two guards seized the scout before he could react, dragging him screaming from the throne room. His pleas echoed down the corridor until they were abruptly cut off.
"Are you kidding me?!"
Madeline's voice shook the walls of their home.
"What do you mean you're going back into the ranks?" she shouted. "That bastard King Mondis and his whore of a wife should stop this bullshit!"
Arthur stood near the door, already fastening his old gear. He didn't meet her eyes.
"I know, Maddie," he said quietly. "But it's my duty as a soldier to answer when duty calls."
"Don't give me that 'duty calls' crap," Madeline snapped. "I couldn't give a rat's ass about protecting Mondis's fat ass. I doubt that bastard can even walk without servants carrying him."
Arthur exhaled, a tired smile tugging at his face. "You're funny when you're angry. You know that?"
Madeline didn't smile back.
"You know the truth," Arthur continued. "I'm bound by the Soul Contract. If I ignore the call, I lose my right to wield a sword."
He paused, then softened his voice.
"And if I go… it benefits us."
Madeline's eyes flashed. "I am thinking about Clide. That's why I'm telling you not to go."
Her voice cracked.
"I don't want you to die."