The morning sun cast a warm glow over the city in recovery. Broken buildings stood like fractured bones, wrapped in scaffolding and makeshift cloths. Beneath them, people shuffled through debris, searching for anything left unclaimed—scraps of memory, food, or metal.
Canis walked quietly through the hospital gardens, boots crunching soft gravel. He spotted Aron and Easton at a bench, the two of them hunched over steaming bowls of soup.
"We're moving out. Get ready," Canis said flatly, his arms crossed behind his back.
Both men looked up, a little surprised, a little disappointed. Their spoons hovered above their bowls like unanswered questions.
"But we just started eating…" Aron muttered, eyes pleading.
Canis stared at the bowls, then sighed. "I respect food too much to waste it. Finish first."
It wasn't just a command—it was a principle. Canis turned away, letting them eat in peace while he stood near a flowerbed, watching the petals shift gently in the breeze.
Ten minutes later, the three of them walked out of the military hospital, each carrying a light pack. They moved with purpose, but their eyes couldn't help wandering. Around them, families were picking through ruins. Children chased each other between shattered walls. The cost of the last battle lingered in every stone.
Easton's face darkened as they passed a burned-out bakery. "This place was thriving last week…"
He walked silently for a moment, then asked without looking back, "Boss… did you say what you wanted to say to Shina before we left?"
Aron added, "About the alliance?"
Canis nodded once. "I said it. But there's no agreement. Not yet."
Easton raised an eyebrow. "That's not like you. Since when does Canis Majoris soften his ego to talk truce with his rival?"
Canis turned his head just slightly and flashed a sly grin. That grin—Easton knew it all too well.
"Tch. That look again," Easton groaned. "You're up to something, aren't you?"
"Trust me," Canis said.
Easton snorted. "I always do. Doesn't mean I like it."
They continued walking, turning down a road that had once been lined with restaurants and inns. Now it was silent, the only sound coming from the wind dragging dust through the empty windows.
"So what's the plan?" Easton asked.
Canis didn't hesitate. "We hunt the rats."
---
Somewhere Else…
Far from the damaged city, in a region untouched by war, a massive white mansion basked under a clean, clear sky. Polished marble, gilded statues, and quiet halls. Too quiet.
Inside, two figures made their way through the main corridor—Lagos, tall and scarred, and Satgas, his arms folded, expression unreadable. Their steps echoed through the lavish space, every chandelier above them reflecting their silhouettes.
They were halfway through the main hall when a man stepped into their path.
He wore a black tuxedo, wrinkled and hanging loosely off his shoulders like he hadn't bothered with a mirror in years. A long blade rested on his hip, and his hair was slicked back without precision.
His eyes—cold, black, devoid of emotion—locked on them.
"What business do you have here?" he asked.
No bow. No welcome. Just tension.
Lagos took one step forward and answered calmly, "We're here to see your boss."
Silence settled between them like a drawn blade.
Then, laughter—gentle, amused—echoed from the garden terrace to their right.
All three turned.
Seated at the edge of the marble floor, where stone met trimmed grass, a man reclined in the shade of a tall tree. His face was hidden beneath branches and dancing shadows. His posture was relaxed, but the weight of his presence was undeniable.
"It's alright, Omatsuri," the man said smoothly. "Let them in."
Omatsuri—the man in the tuxedo—glanced back in surprise. "Boss… you're already here?"
The seated man waved lazily. "No need to get stiff. I'm curious what sort of tale these Bloodminers are bringing today."
His voice was calm. Confident.
He was One of the Infamous All Stars, Baron the Living Blade.
A well-known Warrior whose name had earned whispers across both the Empire and Fallen heaven. His reputation came not from myth—but from what many claimed as fact: that he could slice through anything, even without a sword in hand.
The Bloodminers stood still, as if measuring the air between them and this man. There was no welcome—but also no threat. Only expectation.
Baron remained seated, his hands resting loosely on his knees.
And he waited.
{Chapter 52 end}