-- Ray --
Ray and Caleb gratefully accepted the steaming tea Yong handed them. Beside them, a fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the small, cosy kitchen of the blacksmith and wrapping them in warmth. With a weary sigh, the lanky man sank down next to Ray on the wooden bench, adjusting the worn-out cushion behind his back.
"Thanks," Caleb murmured, bringing the cup to his nose and inhaling deeply.
Ray nodded in silence, but set his cup down for the time being—just as the blacksmith's quiet wife returned to the kitchen, a wooden case full of bandages and salves tucked under her arm. Her smile was gentle as she said, "A good tea does more than any medicine."
Her voice was rough—unexpectedly so—and didn't quite match her otherwise modest appearance. When she had opened the door earlier, letting two complete strangers into her home, one of them bleeding, she hadn't asked a single question. No hesitation, no suspicion. Ray found the calm simplicity of her presence deeply comforting, grateful she wasn't pressing him for answers.
Without a word, she began to dab a pungent-smelling ointment onto his face. The sharp scent stung his nose, and the sudden burning on his skin made Ray flinch. But once again, a quiet, almost motherly smile tugged at her lips.
"The burning will pass," she said softly.
After tending to Ray's wound, the woman glanced silently at her husband. Yong gave a quiet nod, and with that, she said, "I'll set up blankets and pillows for you in the sitting room. You can sleep there."
"Thank you," Caleb replied softly.
She nodded once more and began gathering up the salves and bandages. "Good night," she added, pressing a brief kiss to her husband's forehead before turning to the two men. She gave them a gentle nod, a final kind smile. "Get some rest."
A moment later, the three men were alone in the kitchen. Yong rose from his seat, and for a brief second, Ray feared he was about to leave the room without another word—without answering the storm of questions building inside him.
But the blacksmith didn't leave. Instead, he rummaged through one of the dozens of drawers lining the kitchen wall. With a soft grunt of triumph, he pulled out a glass jar filled with simple biscuits and placed it on the table with something oddly childlike in his satisfaction. Then, he sat back down next to Ray.
"Why are you helping us?" Ray asked, his voice steady, his eyes fixed on the man's.
After everything that had happened with Marlow Bowe, Ray no longer believed in kindness without reason—especially not toward strangers who, by their very presence, posed a political risk.
Yong didn't answer right away. Caleb now eyed him with the same guarded suspicion.
"What's in it for you?" he asked, flatly.
The blacksmith's hand curled into a tight fist. His eyes stared down at the table, unmoving. His brow furrowed deeply, and his voice, when it came, was so quiet Ray almost missed it.
"Revenge."
Yong finally lifted his head, and his eyes—once those of a quiet craftsman bargaining over gold and steel—now burned with something else entirely. There was a brokenness in them, yes, but also a fire that refused to die. No trace of the patient merchant remained. This was the gaze of a man who had nothing left to lose.
"I never intended to forge your swords for gold," he said, his voice low and steady. "You could've never afforded them. Not in a hundred nights of dishwashing and ale-slinging. The materials I use, the craftsmanship behind them… you'd have spent years at the Dancing Stag just to earn one."
Ray blinked, stunned.
"No," Yong continued, his fists trembling, his eyes burning. "I told you I would forge them because I saw a warrior in you. A man who had suffered. A man who might carry the same wounds I do. In you, in both of you, I saw hope—for me. My resolve was sealed the moment I heard your request."
The blacksmith's voice caught in his throat. He drew a shuddering breath, and the next words came out hoarse and ragged.
"They took my daughter."
The firelight threw harsh shadows across his face, making the deep lines seem like craters carved by grief. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, which he quickly shut tight, as if to trap them inside.
"They marched through Tsubuki on their way to the Southern Water Tribe. Thousands of them. The order was clear: let them pass. Do not interfere. Stand down."
Ray could no longer hold back his outrage. "How could you—"
Yong raised a trembling hand, his expression full of sorrow and bitter resignation. "We were told it was for the good of our people. That our neutrality would preserve peace. That if we just looked the other way, the storm would pass."
He paused. "Our leaders, our Bishop Vincit… they knew what would happen. They knew what they were letting through." He practically spat the name, venom dripping from every syllable.
"They're cowards. They don't care about what's right. All they care about is protecting their own power. Their own comfort. They would sell their honour to preserve their precious positions."
Yong let out a hollow, mirthless laugh.
"But why—" Ray began, still struggling to understand, still clinging to the idea that something about this had to make sense.
Before he could finish, Caleb reached out and placed a soft paw on Ray's clenched fist. The warmth of it grounded him—steady, familiar. His friend didn't say a word, but his meaning was clear:Now is not the time for anger. Now is the time to listen.
Ray drew a slow breath and nodded. He would listen.
"If it had truly been about peace—about protecting ordinary folk—they never would've let those troops pass," Yong said bitterly. "Some of them followed orders. They merely passed through, set up camp when necessary, and kept to themselves. A few even acted politely, like they had no quarrel with us."
He paused, and a tremor ran through him. His shoulders sank under the weight of memory. For a heartbeat, Ray feared the old man would break down entirely.
Others didn't just pass through.
Ray's throat tightened. He could feel the heat of the fire, but it brought no comfort now. He leaned forward slightly, voice low. "What happened, Yong? Please… tell us everything."
The smith's voice dropped to a haunted whisper. "Others knew they were stronger. That we were just peasants and craftsmen. They had steel and training. We had earth and sweat. And so, they took whatever they wanted."
Ray clenched his fists beneath the table. He didn't see a Shizenite anymore. He saw a father who had suffered just as he had. A man wounded by the same blades. "That doesn't give them the right," he muttered. "They have no right to stand above us—no matter their rank or training."
Yong met his eyes. "You're right," he said quietly. "But rights mean little when monsters wear the faces of men."
He looked down at his trembling hands and continued, voice ragged with rage and sorrow.
"They ransacked shops. Demanded goods and food without coin. When refused, they burned the places down—sometimes just for amusement. They trampled fields, looted homes. Some laughed as they did it. Others... had a gleam in their eyes I've only ever seen in nightmares."
He swallowed.
"And then there were the worst of them. The ones who took more than food or shelter. The ones who took women. And children."
The words fell like stones into a well of silence.
Caleb inhaled sharply through his nose, ears flattening as his paw clenched the edge of the bench. Ray, meanwhile, felt his gut twist painfully. In that moment, all he could see were his sister's wide, ocean-blue eyes. His baby sister.
His jaw trembled with rage.
But Yong was far away now. His eyes stared into nothing, locked on a memory too painful to bear. The warmth of the fire flickered over his face, but the man who sat beside them was no longer here—not entirely. He was lost somewhere in the weeks and months that had stolen everything from him.
"There were some bastards marching through who despised our women… and desired them all the same," Yong said, his voice like a dying flame. "One such group passed through Tsubiki about half a year ago. I warned my wife and daughter—told them to stay inside, to lock the doors, to make no sound while those men roamed the streets."
He paused, eyes burning in the firelight.
"There were about five of them. Two from the Empire of Fire, one a shadow elf, the rest… I couldn't place. I kept my head down the entire time they stayed here, tried not to give them a reason to notice me. But on the third day, they came to my forge. Wanted new spears. A fresh shōtō. Said they heard I was the best."
His hand trembled slightly as he spoke.
"I agreed. Of course I did. I didn't want trouble. I just… I just wanted them gone. But when they returned to collect their weapons…"
He stopped, choking on the memory. For a moment, his voice wouldn't come. Caleb leaned forward, his voice soft. "Yong, you don't have to—"
"I do," the smith said, raising a shaking hand. "You need to understand."
He swallowed hard, and continued.
"When they returned, they saw her. My little Sumi. She'd gone outside—was playing in the yard. I'd told her not to. Begged her to stay indoors. But she was… not even ten. So bright, so innocent. So lovely."
Ray's hands clenched in his lap. He felt helpless, powerless—his throat tightening with fury and grief.
"When I stepped between them, one of the men held me down. Another sliced both of my upper arms open so I couldn't move," Yong whispered, his voice breaking entirely. "They… they took her."
The words came out in a strangled gasp.
Ray's chest felt like it was caving in. Beside him, Caleb sat in stunned silence, his paw pressed tight over his muzzle.
"My wife wasn't home that day," Yong rasped. "Only Mother Nature knows what they would've done if she had been. Probably…"
He trailed off. The tears came fast now, streaming down his worn cheeks.
"Probably the same thing they did to my Sumi."
Yong pressed his calloused hands over his face, as if trying to block out the world, but nothing could stop the pain from leaking through his fingers. His shoulders heaved with quiet sobs, and the silence that settled over the small kitchen was thick with grief and rage.
Still trembling, Yong reached for the embroidered cloth Caleb held out to him.
A small, hand-stitched handkerchief—one of the few keepsakes they still carried from home. Caleb offered it without a word, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight. Ray sat frozen, his fists clenched tightly in his lap.
There were no words that could ever mend something like this. Nothing that could reach that deep.
The smith dabbed at his eyes with the cloth, but his hands were shaking so violently it was hard to hold it steady.
"They raped her," he whispered. "One after the other. And then…"
Ray shut his eyes. He didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to imagine it. The image of a small child suffering such cruelty made bile rise in his throat.
This must be stopped.No tribe, no land—no one—deserved to suffer like this.
His thoughts spun in endless circles, a storm of rage and helplessness.
"The shadow elf was last," Yong continued. "He… he held her face in his claws, even as she trembled and sobbed beneath him. And when he was done… he turned her to face him…"
Yong's voice broke again.
"…and he kissed her."
Ray and Caleb both shuddered.
They had seen what such a kiss meant. On the battlefield in Wa, they had watched with horror what became of people touched by that kind of kiss. Death would have been a mercy.
"They left after that," Yong muttered. "Left me bleeding… left Sumi on the floor, shaking. Her little hands gripped nothing. Her eyes—they didn't see me anymore. She looked into the dark… as if trying to disappear inside it."
He pressed the cloth harder against his face, but the tears wouldn't stop.
"For four days, she screamed. Four nights she cried and convulsed. She was in agony… and I—there was nothing I could do. I tried everything. Herbs, prayers, stories from when she was little… nothing helped. Her soul was breaking, second by second, locked in that darkness."
Ray's stomach turned. He bit the inside of his cheek, drawing blood to keep his emotions down.
"She begged me," Yong said hoarsely. "Begged me to end it. Begged me to kill her."
The words were barely more than a breath.
"But I couldn't. I was a coward. I thought—if I just wait long enough, she'll return to me. I thought I could save her. But I couldn't. I couldn't…"
He covered his face again, and for a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire.
"On the fourth day," Yong whispered, "the silence came."
Ray's heart pounded.
"I knew," the man said. "The moment I noticed how quiet it was. I knew it was over. But I didn't move. I didn't go to her room. I just sat here. Right here. At this very table."
He stared into the wooden grain, as if trying to remember what kind of man he had been before it all.
"Not many could've handled something like that, Yong…" Ray tried to offer comfort.Even as he spoke, part of him whispered a vow—If that ever happened to someone I loved… I would act differently.But this wasn't the moment to judge. Only to listen, Ray reminded himself.
"It's strange," Yong murmured, his voice distant. "I can't describe what I felt. Relief, perhaps. Gratitude that her pain had ended… that maybe, just maybe, she'd found some peace. But at the same time—"His voice caught, cracked."—the last glimmer of hope died with her. The hope that one day, she might laugh again, smile again. Be the girl she once was."
"It was… a release," Ray offered gently. But Yong didn't seem to hear him.
He was still trapped in the memory.
"It took me hours to climb the stairs," he whispered. "Hours, just sitting there. When I finally opened the door, I saw her."
A silence fell. Heavy. Suffocating. Like being pulled under ice-cold water with a stone tied to your chest.
"She was hanging from the roof beam," Yong said. "The same beam she used to climb on when she was little. She'd laugh and swing from it like it was her own private world…"
His voice faded.
Ray didn't know what to say. Nothing he could imagine felt right. He looked to Caleb, who simply sat still, his paws folded in his lap, face unreadable.
There was no fixing this.
Yong's grief hung over the room like a choking fog, settling into every corner of the kitchen. Even the fire seemed to burn quieter now.
Eventually, it was Yong himself who broke the silence. His voice was steadier now, but there was something cold beneath the calm.
"This grief… this shame… it will be with me until I die. The shame of not being able to protect her. Of being too weak, too slow."
His eyes lifted, gleaming in the firelight.
"But I won't let it end there."
Ray leaned forward.
"I went back into the city," Yong said. "I smiled at people, bartered my blades, played the good craftsman. But I listened. I asked questions. I tracked them. Those bastards who passed through Tsubiki—I know where they're headed next."
His hand closed tightly around the cloth in his lap.
"They will pay," he said. "I want them to suffer as she did. I want them to feel the same terror, the same pain, the same hopelessness."
"…and that's why you need us," Ray said softly.
Yong nodded. There was a flicker of something behind his expression—gratitude, perhaps. Or simply the faintest spark of belief that his plan might finally take shape.
"Yes," Yong said quietly. "I know you share my pain. You've been through hell, just like me. Your families, your friends… they suffered too. And all of it—caused by the same merciless men."
His voice quivered, not from grief this time, but from cold fury and unwavering resolve.
"That is why I hope you'll accept my price," he said. "Because what I ask of you… is vengeance. I want you to find those who destroyed Sumi. Those who ravaged the southern water tribes. And I want you to kill them. Every single one of them."
Ray felt his heart lurch. He wanted to say yes immediately. To swear that he'd hunt those monsters to the ends of the world. But then he remembered. The painful words he and Caleb had once exchanged. How powerless they truly were. Just two warriors.
And so, he hesitated.
To his surprise, it was Caleb who spoke first.
"Yong Riki," he said, bowing his head respectfully, "we will do everything in our power to bring vengeance. Our goal has always been to hold those accountable—the ones who burned Wa, who shattered our homeland. And if they are the same ones who shattered your life, then they, too, will face justice."
Yong's eyes gleamed with sudden hope.
"However," Caleb continued, clearing his throat, "we are only two. And you speak of hundreds—no, thousands. If you're asking us to charge into their ranks head-on, then I must tell you: we would die before we made a difference."
Yong nodded slowly. "I know. That's why I've prepared this."
He stood, reached into the folds of his tunic, and drew a sealed letter from within. The envelope was worn, the wax cracked and smudged with thumbprints.
"This letter is for my son," he said. "Bring it to him. I'm certain that if he hears what I've written, he will join you."
"Your son?" Ray asked.
"He's a high-ranking officer among the Officials," Yong said. "And a powerful earth-mage. Many warriors follow him—fighters trained to serve this country's elite guard. If you can win him over… you won't be alone anymore. He could become the foundation of a real resistance."
His eyes burned with conviction.
"Why haven't you contacted him sooner?" Ray asked, puzzled.
Yong's expression darkened.
"I tried," he said bitterly. "But I believe the Officials have been intercepting my messages. My son is… important to the archbishop's plans. I suspect they know what happened in Tsubiki—and they're keeping him in the dark. I've never received a single reply."
"Then why not go to him in person?" Caleb asked.
A sad smile flickered across Yong's face.
"After what happened… my body wouldn't survive the journey. And more than that—I don't know who I can trust anymore. This land is no longer safe, not even for its own people."
He looked them both in the eye.
"And neither should you trust anyone blindly. Not even the ones who smile. Not anyone."
Ray's gaze drifted to the blacksmith's legs, remembering the way Yong had shuffled across the room earlier. It wasn't just his arms that had been wounded. The man carried injuries far deeper than the eye could see.
"Alright," Ray said, extending a hand. "Let's seal this plan."
Yong grasped his hand and gave a firm nod, gratitude flickering in his tired eyes.
"You'll find my son at the Academy of the Gladiolus Guard. He's currently training the younger generation there," he explained. "And from what I've gathered in town, most of the forces that ravaged your homeland are preparing to leave the southern water tribe territories. Word is—they're regrouping near the edge of the Naka Desert. That's where you'll find them. The filth that ruined Sumi. And the ones who brought ruin to your homeland."
"How do you know this?" Caleb asked, ears perking up. "I've been asking around as well, but…"
"Just because I don't trust the Shizen leadership," Yong said, "doesn't mean the townsfolk don't trust me. At the Dancing Stag, people talk—especially after a few drinks. The only thing is… they don't talk around strangers. And you two…" He let out a dry chuckle. "You couldn't look more foreign if you tried."
From the pocket of his worn trousers, Yong pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and unfolded it on the table. A faded graphite sketch stared up at them: a man with long, pointed ears and sunken eyes. A shadow elf.
With a bony finger, Yong tapped the page.
"This is him," he said, voice flat and filled with ice. "He's the one who destroyed my daughter's life. Find him. Kill him."
He stared hard at them. At Ray.
Ray met his gaze without flinching and gave a single, firm nod. "You have our word."
In his mind, he added another name—another face—to the list. Until now, those faces had all belonged to men he'd seen during the fall of Wa. But this one… this one burned deeper. He would kill every last one of them. Every name on that cursed list.
Yong cleared his throat and continued, his tone turning matter-of-fact again. "The Academy of the Bishop's Guard, where my son Izuya is stationed, lies on an island in the eastern coastal region. It's called the Ventus region. A bit of a detour, yes—but if you can win him over, I swear, it'll be worth every step."
Ray and Caleb exchanged a look. And for the first time in many nights, they didn't feel quite so alone.
The three of them remained at the kitchen table a while longer, poring over old maps and scraps of parchment as they discussed the route Ray and Caleb would need to take. The path would lead them across nearly the entire Shizen Diocese. They would depart in two days. Ray could only hope they'd reach Izuya Riki in time—before the red-and-black forces could regroup at the edge of the Naka Desert.
Later, when it was just the two of them again, curled up near the fireplace under warm blankets, Caleb leaned closer and whispered, "Ray… If I'm ever hit with one of those death-kisses… please, end it. I'm begging you."
"Shut up," Ray muttered, eyes still fixed on the flames. "That's not gonna happen. Stop being so damn pessimistic."
Before Caleb could argue, Ray added, "Who in their right mind would even want to kiss you?"
A snort. Then quiet chuckling. They tried to muffle their laughter, not wanting to disturb the calm of their hosts.
"We're really about to start another war, huh?" Caleb said into the dark.
"Mhm." Ray's expression grew grim. He didn't like the thought of facing that crimson-black army again—but deep down, he knew: it was the only way to stop Samael.
"We know where to find them now," Ray murmured. "All we need… is an army of our own."
"Well, that's no big deal," Caleb mumbled, half-asleep already.
And finally, after everything this long day had brought them, they gave in to sleep—uneasy, but welcome nonetheless.
── ✧ ──
The craftsmanship of Yong Riki was every bit as masterful as people had claimed. Ray turned both gleaming blades in the morning light. The twin katanas were unlike anything he had ever held. Razor-sharp, yet light and fluid in their balance — weapons he had only dreamed of before. The faint marbling in the steel made them pieces of art. Yong had forged them from Kezo steel — the most durable material known for blade-making, and certainly not a cheap one.
Even Caleb had received a custom-forged dagger, perfectly sized for his paws, just as balanced and resilient. The two companions were awestruck, humbled by such a gift. They knew that with these blades came a heavy promise. Yong had spared no expense. And now, they owed him.
They shouldered their packs before first light — filled with as much dried food as Yong's quiet wife had managed to pack, along with a small tent and fresh clothes. It felt good, Ray thought. For the first time since Wa, he felt prepared. Ready to walk toward his purpose. Determination surged warmly through his chest.
They were ready.Ready to find the red-and-black army that had destroyed Sumi.Ready to strike back against those who had shattered the southern water tribe.No matter the cost.
Caleb and Ray turned one last time to wave, long and earnestly, before they left the smith's house behind. Their steps carried them northeast — away from the southern Shizen region and toward the distant lands of Sakura, places Ray had only ever heard about in stories.