A Serious World

The sky above the grassy plains of Logincia was bluer than sorrow, the kind of blue that dared to be beautiful while people bled beneath it.

BOOM!

A sound split the morning air—louder than thunder, crueler than war.

Another explosion. Then another.

"–We’re under attack!!"

"Protect the convoy!!"

The dragon-drawn carriages—six in total—formed a convoy transporting both food rations and one very important figure: Sir Edward Guan, nobleman of influence and infamy. He sat snugly in the black-scaled carriage, swaddled in silk and fear.

“—Damn it all, how many of those bombs do they have!?”

The shout came from a mountain of a man—Captain Reiss, the head of expedition security. His muscles seemed carved from boulders, his armor dented from battles long since survived. Black hair clung to his scalp in sweat-drenched defiance.

“Not bombs, sir! It’s—Magic Crystals! They’re using enchanted explosives! Too precise. Too fast!” a soldier yelled, his voice nearly swallowed by the roar of fire and magic.

“Professionals…” Reiss narrowed his eyes. “Then we’ll need to send in our own.”

A low groan rose from one of the forward carriages.

“Oh come on. I was napping,” complained a voice, thick with sleep and disdain.

A man emerged—draped in red, katana at his side, eyes narrowed like a predator half-awake yet fully deadly.

Adam.

The Reckless Swordsman.

“I keep telling people—I hate that name,” he muttered as he stretched, bones popping like percussion beats to his theme song.

Then the air shimmered.

A figure in a long, black hooded cloak stepped into view. The mage. The one responsible for the explosions.

The eyes beneath the hood glinted like molten glass as the spell was chanted:

“O’ darkness darker than night, fall beneath my wrath—
Destroy all in my path: Explosion!”

A swirling sphere of black and yellow light burst forth—straight for Adam.

“...You think that will stop me?” he said with a grin too wide, too reckless.

His blade came free in one motion—a foolish swing that aimed to cut an explosion.

BOOM.

The world went white. Then black.

Then quiet.

Dust filled the air. The ground trembled.

"...He's dead," muttered a guard near the wreckage.

The convoy froze.

“By order of the Kingdom of Lugunica,” barked Captain Reiss, stepping forward, “you are under arrest for the assault of a noble and destruction of property!”

But the cloaked mage simply chuckled—a soft, sing-song lilt in her voice. Her eyes glowed beneath the shadow of her hood.

“Arrested? Oh, darling. We’re not here for your noble,” she sang. “We’re just bored.”

“...What kind of psychopath says that?” Reiss asked, horror crawling into his throat.

She didn’t answer. Only raised her staff.

“Sharper than any blade,
Swifter than the wind,
Pierce and tear and end them all—
El-Wind.”

FWOOSH.

The guards didn’t even scream.

Their heads fell like cut fruit. Blood painted the grass red.

“You belong to me now—”

She stopped.

A cough.

A grunt.

A figure rising from the crater, covered in soot and defiance.

“Ugh… I smell like smoked fish,” Adam muttered, standing. His red kimono now more black than red. His grip on the katana tight.

“You’re persistent. I hate that,” hissed the mage.

“And you’re annoying. I’m Adam—the Redless Swordsman.”

“You can’t even say it right, you idiot—”

She never finished.

Adam moved faster than light.

Her staff dropped in two clean pieces.

“You’ll regret this... next time, Redless Swordsman.”

“Shamac.”

Darkness swallowed her—and when it faded, she was gone.

Reiss emerged from hiding, pale and trembling. “I-is she gone?”

Adam said nothing. He just looked up at the now-cracked magic tree swaying gently above the wreckage, as if mocking the chaos below.

Several hours later...

The capital city of Logincia bustled as usual, blissfully unaware of the death just miles away.

In a quiet café by the marketplace, Adam slumped into a seat. The smell of roasted beans and buttered bread filled the air.

“Oi, massive forehead—what do you wanna eat?” called a voice with a grin.

Adam turned—then blinked.

“…Hazrul?”

The waiter smiled. “Long time no see, idiot.”

“You too, Hazrul—the fastest runner in school and slowest waiter I’ve ever met,” Adam quipped back, chuckling.

Laughter filled their table as memories spilled: old school days, brutal nights in the slave compound, the moment they were transported to this world. It was warmth in a cold reality.

Then the conversation dimmed.

“Hafiz…”

“Three months,” Hazrul said quietly. “Not a single word.”

Adam stared at his coffee. Then at his right hand—mutilated, scarred. A reminder.

It was Hafiz who stood with him against the Light Dragon. Hafiz who gave him a chance at reclaiming what was lost.

And now Hafiz was the one missing.

“I owe him everything,” Adam murmured.

The sun dipped low. They said their goodbyes.

Adam walked away.

But the weight of that silence behind Hafiz’s absence walked beside him.

And the world… the world was already starting to change.