Memo 011: (R1)Permanetly closed!

The name rang through the room like thunder.

Yano drew his sword, the steel gleaming with a blinding edge under the faint restaurant light. His aura spiked higher, rattling the glassware, shattering a lantern in the corner. He leveled the blade at Nateas, his face twisted with raw rage. “This time… I vow—I will slay you here and now!” The room fell silent except for the sharp hum of Yano’s power, a storm ready to rip everything apart.

“When will it end, Demonill?!” Yano roared, his eyes locked on him with burning conviction. “When will your so-called benevolence stop trampling the innocent? How many more kindred souls will you hurt before you’re satisfied?!” He lunged forward, his blade flashing like a streak of silver lightning. The tables rattled under the pressure of his aura as chairs scraped against the floor. Nateas could barely hold himself upright, his body weakened, but his eyes never left Yano’s.

And then—

“Stop!”

Nagisa threw herself between them, arms spread wide, the hem of her clothes fluttering under the crushing pressure of Yano’s power. Her voice cracked, yet carried the weight of unshakable resolve. “He isn’t dangerous!” she shouted, shaking her head fiercely. “You’re wrong, Yano—he protected us! If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t even be standing here alive!” Yano’s sword hovered just above Nagisa’s chest, his rage clashing against her plea. His grip tightened, torn between conviction and the words that struck deep into his heaif.

Yano’s jaw clenched. His hand gripped the hilt of his blade so tightly that his knuckles blanched. “You’re blind. He’s twisting you. Demons don’t save—they consume. He may have shielded you once, but it’s only so he can drain you later. That’s what they do. That’s what he is.” Nateas stood still, his expression unreadable, his gaze lowered as if burdened by chains no one else could see. The shadows clung to him, whispering truths and lies in equal measure. How many more must suffer before your faith crumbles?” He raised his weapon, eyes blazing. “I won’t let your delusion poison the Vanguard. A future drenched in mercy for demons is no future at all.”

“What will convince you?” she cried, her eyes shining. “If you want an arm, take an arm! If you want a leg, then take it! If it will prove to you that he is not our enemy!” Nateas tilted his head, his expression almost comical in its disbelief. “Huh?” he muttered, drawing out the sound in exaggerated confusion, as though her reckless offer had stunned him more than any strike ever could.

But then her voice steadied, softer, yet carrying like a vow: “He’s my bodyguard. He’s here to protect me. As long as I am here, standing by his side, he will not harm another individual again.”

The words struck the air like a verdict.

Yano’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening on his weapon. He searched her face, desperate to find deceit, weakness, hesitation—anything to prove her wrong. But there was only fire in her eyes, fire that burned against his conviction. Behind them, Nateas let out a slow, amused chuckle, though there was weight beneath it. “You’re staking a great deal on me, wench. 

Yano’s lips curled. “You would trust a demon’s word over mine? Over the Vanguard’s oath?” His voice cracked, fury and hurt tangled together. And for the first time, doubt flickered in his heart—not about Nateas, but about the girl who dared to defy him.

Entering the tall glass doors of the building, the sound of boots echoing against the marble floor, the princess knight of Veylstra approached Yano with a faint smile tugging at her lips. Her long cape trailed behind her, the silver emblem of her order glinting in the light. “Oh, Yano,” she said, voice carrying both warmth and steel, “you know when a girl has her mind set—it’s set.”

Her name was Serenya Veythra, the Roseblade of Veylstra, a knight whose resolve was as unshakable as the kingdom she swore to defend. Her tone was teasing, almost playful, but her eyes told a different story—unyielding, resolute, and unafraid to challenge Yano head-on. She carried herself with an elegance that was sharpened by danger. Her long silver hair shimmered like moonlight against her royal blue cloak, and her armor—ornate but functional—hugged her form like a second skin, inlaid with thin glowing runes that told of her status as both knight and spellblade. Her emerald eyes were playful, yet they carried a weight of someone who knew how to command both battlefield and court. She stepped forward, lips curving into a mischievous smirk. Raising one gloved hand, she touched a finger against her mouth in a teasingly seductive gesture, tilting her head ever so slightly.

“Well, if he truly isn’t dangerous,” she purred, her voice smooth with mock curiosity, “then he must prove it… in a way that satisfies me.” Her eyes lingered deliberately on Nateas, glinting with intent. “A nice kiss, perhaps?” Nagisa instantly stiffened, face flushed deep crimson. She held her arms out protectively, shaking her head in sharp disapproval. Nagisa’s breath hitched. The pact…the pact… Her thoughts ran in frantic circles, her hands trembling at her sides. If we kiss again—if it’s a true kiss—it might destroy the binding keeping Nateas in check… Serenya’s finger lingered on her lips in a deliberately seductive gesture, her crimson gaze fixed on Nateas as if he were prey caught in her web. A sly smile curved across her face.

“No kiss, huh?” she murmured, feigning disappointment before letting her tone slide into something darker, silkier. She leaned closer, the faintest trace of mockery in her eyes. “Well then…”Her smile widened, but it was no longer playful. Shadows seemed to gather around her as her expression twisted into something wicked, her eyes flashing with the kind of hunger that had nothing to do with romance. “A bodyguard,” she purred, her voice cutting the air like a blade, “has to put their body on the line.”

Nagisa froze, every hair on her body standing on end as Serenya’s beauty gave way to cruelty. The air grew sharp, suffocating, as Serenya tilted her head with unnatural calm. “I’ll cut him up,” she whispered, her smile turning vicious, “until I’m satisfied.” Nagisa’s instincts screamed at her. She could feel the sharpness in Serenya’s words, the dangerous heat radiating off her. If Serenya truly meant what she said, then Nateas wouldn’t stand a chance. Acting before the tension snapped, Nagisa stepped forward, seizing Nateas by the face with a sudden cutesy smile. “Nateas,” she sang his name, her tone feather-light yet trembling with urgency. Before he could react, she guided his hand, slipping it beneath her shirt, pressing his palm firmly against her bosom. Her cheeks burned crimson as she held him there, the heat of her skin radiating into his fingertips. Nateas’s breath caught in his throat. A sharp, startled shriek escaped him—the first time he had ever made such a sound. Inside, his thoughts tumbled wildly, spiraling into something unfamiliar, almost frightening. What is this? This feeling… it’s soft—squishy… but also heavy, like… like an ageláda? 

His wide eyes darted down to Nagisa, whose blush only deepened. She refused to meet his gaze, gripping his wrist tighter to keep him in place. Serenya, who had been watching from the corner, turned as red as a flame, her lips parting as though she’d just stumbled onto something forbidden. She nudged Yano with her elbow, her voice caught between disbelief and embarrassment. “They’re practically lovers if they’re that close…” she whispered. Nagisa, still flushed but stubborn, shot her a glance, her voice sharp and defensive. “I don’t have a lover. And it certainly wouldn’t be him.” Yano’s jaw was set tight, his displeasure plain on his face. He looked like a man who had been cornered into a room he wanted no part of, his dark eyes fixed on the tangled mess of bodies and tension unraveling in front of him.

The heavy door groaned open, and the sound of armored boots clattered against the stone floor. A pair of knights entered, their expressions as stiff as their posture. The taller one raised a hand in a formal gesture, though his voice carried little warmth.

"We have orders from the king,” he said, tone clipped. “We’re to check the this building. His Majesty requires something important retrieved immediately.” The words settled like lead. Even Nagisa, still pressed against the wall with Nateas near her, felt the air shift. Serenya’s wicked grin faltered for the briefest instant, her gaze flicking from the knights to the door that led below. Yano exhaled slowly through his nose. “with haste then." 

The knights descended, torches in hand. The heavy door groaned open, spilling faint light across the cold stone steps. For a moment, only silence. Then—

“Sir! Down here!” one of them barked. The others rushed in. A body lay sprawled against the cellar wall, unconscious, face battered but recognizable.

“It’s Riku,” a knight growled, kneeling beside him. He checked for a pulse, then looked up sharply. “Still alive. Knocked out cold.” His eyes narrowed, suspicion dripping from every word. “And since You three are the only ones stationed here—” he rose to his full height, hand resting on his sword hilt, “—they’ll have to answer for this, other than the demonill we'll need these other two identified.” Another knight’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. “Bring them in. Now. The king will decide their guilt in interrogation.” Yano clenched his fists, stepping forward instinctively as steel shifted around them, the circle of armored men closing in on Nagisa, Nateas, and Yuranu. The air grew heavy, a noose tightening with each second. No one moved. No one breathed. The cellar door slammed shut behind the knights. 

Nagisa takes a slow step forward, her eyes glinting with defiance. She folds her arms, voice calm but cutting. Nagisa: “This’ll do. Saves me the trouble of requesting an audience. I have a few questions for your so-called king anyway.”