The underground tunnels of Bouten were never meant to be escape routes.
They were veins, ancient stone arteries that once carried water and commerce beneath the city's foundations. Now they carried fear.
Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, striking shallow puddles that reflected dim torchlight. The air smelled of rust and damp stone.
Lucas walked forward, unsteady but relentless. His sword hung heavy in his left hand.
His right arm — gone from the shoulder down — was wrapped tightly in dark cloth, stained with old and new blood alike.
Beside him, the Sect Leader staggered, pale but conscious. His breathing was controlled, though each step betrayed exhaustion.
Then it came.
A sound.
Metal scraping against stone.
Long.
Deliberate.
Heavy.
Lucas stopped.
He knew that sound.
A scythe.
The Sect Leader stiffened. "It's him."
From the darkness at the end of the corridor, a tall silhouette emerged.
Thomas.
The massive scythe rested across his shoulder, its curved blade still marked by dried blood a reminder of their last encounter.
His eyes were sharp.
His smile… almost pleased.
"So you really did come back," Thomas said softly. "I was beginning to think you'd learned your lesson."
Lucas shifted the Sect Leader behind him.
"Go," Lucas said quietly, not looking back.
Thomas chuckled.
"Still pretending to be someone's shield." His gaze lowered to Lucas's missing arm. "Does it still feel light without it?"
Silence thickened.
Memory struck like lightning.
The sweeping arc.
The flash of steel.
The unbearable heat.
His scream swallowed by blood.
Thomas standing over him.
Back to the tunnel.
Lucas raised his sword.
"This ends here."
Thomas shook his head slowly.
"No. This proves something."
He stepped forward.
"I used to be just like you."
And then he attacked.
The scythe crashed against stone with a deafening explosion.
Lucas rolled aside just in time. The blade tore a deep crescent into the tunnel wall.
Thomas spun the long shaft with brutal precision. Wide arcs. Heavy momentum. Controlled savagery.
Lucas could not fight as he once had.
With only one arm, every parry had to be exact. There was no room for error.
The scythe swept low.
Lucas leapt — barely — but the tip still sliced across his thigh. Warm blood ran instantly.
Thomas smiled.
"Does it remind you?" he asked. "Who made you like this?"
Lucas lunged, delivering a tight horizontal slash toward Thomas's abdomen.
Thomas pivoted, using the reinforced shaft to block. The impact rattled Lucas's bones.
"Answer me!" Thomas roared, forcing him backward.
Lucas slid across wet stone.
"You surrendered," Lucas said finally. "That's the difference."
Thomas laughed loud and genuine.
"Surrendered?" He spun the scythe overhead. Sparks flew as the blade kissed stone. "I chose."
The next assault was vicious.
A horizontal sweep forced Lucas to duck. A reverse pull nearly opened his throat. Lucas blocked, but the force shoved him into the wall.
The scythe hooked his blade.
The curved steel began creeping toward his neck.
Thomas leaned in close.
"I stood like this once," he whispered. "Cornered. Broken."
Flash.
Thomas younger. Kneeling in mud.
His sword shattered.
Bodies around him.
Before him stood a white-haired man.
Calm.
"Join me," the man had said gently. "The world was never broken. It simply moves according to the law of the strong."
Thomas lowered his head.
He surrendered his blade.
Back to the tunnel.
"I understood something that day," Thomas breathed. "Ideals don't feed you. Prophecies don't build homes. Freedom doesn't give you power."
The scythe pressed harder.
"You'll understand too… when you lose."
Lucas inhaled sharply.
"You're wrong."
With a desperate surge, he kicked upward at the scythe's shaft, using its length as leverage. The weapon shifted just enough.
Enough.
Lucas twisted his body, freeing his sword, and thrust toward Thomas's shoulder.
Steel pierced flesh.
Blood burst outward.
Thomas staggered then laughed.
"Yes!"
He attacked again without hesitation.
Now the fight became savage.
The scythe smashed into the floor, splintering stone. Lucas answered with short, efficient strikes. Thomas swung wide, reckless, feeding on momentum.
A heavy blow struck Lucas's ribs.
Something cracked.
His breathing faltered.
Thomas's injured leg began to buckle from blood loss.
Both men were bleeding.
Both were smiling faintly.
"Prove it," Thomas rasped. "Prove you can't be bought."
Lucas charged forward.
Thomas raised the scythe for a vertical execution strike.
The crescent blade descended like a falling moon.
Lucas did not retreat.
He stepped in.
Closing the distance.
The scythe was too long at that range.
Lucas drove his sword upward, straight beneath Thomas's ribs.
Time stopped.
Thomas looked down.
Steel protruded from his chest.
He began laughing.
Not hysterically.
Not bitterly.
But genuinely.
"So… there really are men who can't be shaken…"
Blood streamed from his mouth.
He gripped the scythe weakly.
"I lost… but I don't regret it…"
His eyes locked on Lucas.
"You're different."
His body collapsed.
Silence swallowed the tunnel.
Lucas stood swaying.
Breathing ragged.
Then footsteps echoed again.
Slow.
Measured.
Lighter than before.
Lucas lifted his gaze.
A white-haired old man stood at the tunnel's mouth.
No ceremonial robes.
No symbols.
Just the same man who once sat in the district streets offering stale bread and quiet advice.
"You…" Lucas's voice was raw. "You've been hiding among the people."
The old man smiled faintly.
"I needed to see whether humanity was worth preserving."
Gatto.
The Sect Leader stared, trembling.
"Brother…"
Gatto stepped forward, passing Thomas's corpse without emotion.
"Thomas chose his conviction," Gatto said calmly. "And he died by it."
He turned to Lucas.
"I allowed you to move. Allowed you to dismantle parts of my system."
"Why?" Lucas growled.
"Pressure strengthens structure," Gatto replied. "Without threat, systems rot."
He repeated his familiar words softly:
"The world was never broken. It simply moves according to the law of the strong."
Lucas felt fury twist with betrayal.
"So all of this was an experiment?"
"It was selection."
Gatto faced his younger brother.
"There is no peace. The prophecy will never come. It is a fairy tale from a weaker age."
The Sect Leader trembled.
Gatto continued.
"If you join me, you will have more than peace. Wealth. Food. Shelter. Even a wife. That is what my Master promises."
Lucas stiffened.
"Your Master?" the Sect Leader whispered.
Gatto's eyes gleamed faintly.
"Yes. This system is greater than us."
Lucas lifted his sword again, though his arm shook violently.
"I won't join you."
He lunged.
Gatto moved with minimal effort, sidestepping with disturbing ease. He did not counterattack. He simply deflected and repositioned.
"You still don't understand," Gatto said quietly.
Lucas collapsed to one knee, ribs screaming in protest.
The Sect Leader watched them both.
The offer echoed in his mind.
Wealth.
Food.
Security.
No more fear.
He looked at Lucas's severed arm.
He looked at Thomas's corpse.
He looked at his brother standing composed and powerful.
"Hey!" he suddenly shouted at Lucas. "False bearer of prophecy!"
Lucas slowly turned his head.
"Stop where you are!"
Guards emerged from the shadows.
"Release my hands," the Sect Leader commanded.
They hesitated — then obeyed.
One of them chuckled under his breath.
"Finally. As long as he stands with Lord Gatto, it doesn't matter."
Lucas froze.
The Sect Leader stepped forward.
His expression had changed.
"Lucas… how foolish you are."
He approached slowly.
"With everything Gatto offered… my brother… you should have followed him."
Lucas stared at him in disbelief.
"I am promised more than peace now," the Sect Leader continued coldly. "Freedom. Wealth. Women. Food."
He smiled faintly.
"You are nothing but dust. And dust can be erased."
The tunnel fell silent once more.
Thomas was dead.
Gatto stood untouched.
And the Sect Leader had chosen.
Lucas bled.
Alone.
But not broken.
Because at last he understood.
The enemy was not merely a man.
Not merely a system.
It was fear the force that made men kneel.
And the real war…
Had only just begun.