Ch. 6 — Ashes of Trust

The city was quiet, but not with peace.

Shops opened late, streets emptied early. Soldiers patrolled not with confidence, but suspicion, their hands never leaving their hilts. And wherever Arata walked, silence followed.

Children peered from doorways, whispering. Merchants averted their eyes. Even comrades on the walls shifted uneasily when he passed.

The words clung to him more than the smoke of battle ever had.

In the Council Chamber, the fracture widened.

“We cannot allow him to remain free. ”

“He’s the only reason we’re still alive. ”

“Every demon we’ve faced has targeted him—he draws them to us. ”

“And he’s slain them all. ”

The arguments raged, louder with every passing day. No decision came—only more division.

At the far end, Aris sat rigid, saber laid across her lap. Her jaw was tight, her eyes sharp, but fatigue weighed her posture.

This city will tear itself apart before the demons even strike again.

Meanwhile, in the barracks, Arata sat alone, cigarette glowing faintly in the dark. His katana rested against the wall, still cracked from the last battle, its glow weak but alive.

He leaned back, smoke curling past his thin smile. “—Hell of a comedy. Save ‘em, scare ‘em, repeat. ”

With his Draconic Eyes, flickered faint crimson-white behind his shades. Through them, he heard the whispers of the city, slithering like poison.

“—He’s waiting to turn. ”

“—Better dead than cursed. ”

Arata’s let out a small, lopsided smile faded. His hand pressed lightly against his chest, feeling the restless fire within. “—How long ‘til they try? ”

Far beyond the walls, the Crowned Demon stood in black flame, his golden eyes gleaming with delight.

“Good, ” he murmured. “The city prepares its own blade against him. We need not strike—the humans will do it for us. ”

The shadows hissed with laughter, the fire roaring higher.

And in the silence of the city, the first spark of betrayal was lit.

The whispers reached the council first.

Not as rumors. Not as speculation. But as proposals, delivered in low voices, behind closed doors.

“He cannot be trusted. ”

“He cannot be controlled. ”

“If we wait, he will turn—and when he does, it will be too late. ”

A faction formed in the shadows, governors and generals alike. They didn’t dare call it what it was, but the plan was clear: contain the flame before it consumed them.

Chains.

Seals.

Exile.

Execution.

The words circled like vultures over the table.

Aris overheard enough to know the truth.

She stood outside the chamber, hands clenched on the hilt of her saber, jaw tight. Her voice was ice when she stepped inside.

“You plot betrayal against the man who has saved you more times than you can count. ”

The chamber fell silent under her glare, but only for a heartbeat. Then one governor sneered.

“And when he burns us all, Commander, will you still defend him? Will you die smiling in his fire? ”

Aris’s hand twitched toward her blade. Her voice was steel. “If you move against him, you doom this city faster than any demon. ”

The chamber fractured again, half nodding in agreement, half whispering sharper than before.

Meanwhile, Arata stood atop the eastern wall, cigarette burning between his fingers, Draconic Eyes watching the wasteland. His crimson coat flared in the wind, his katana strapped to his back.

Through the silence, he heard them.

Not the demons.

Not the ruins.

But the voices inside the walls.

“—Chain him before it’s too late. ”

“—Better to kill him now. ”

“—The flame is a curse. ”

Arata gave a tight half-smile was faint, bitter. “—Figures. Should’ve known they’d turn faster than the demons ever could. ”

He flicked ash into the wind, eyes narrowing at the horizon. The fire in his chest burned restless, unsteady.

And far out in the ruins, black fire stirred.

The night broke with a sound no one had heard before.

A roar—not of beast nor demon, but of fire itself. It shook the walls, rattled glass, sent civilians spilling into the streets in terror.

From the wasteland beyond the gates, something vast moved through the smoke.

At first it looked like a man.

Silver hair glimmered in the moonlight.

A crimson coat trailed the ash.

A katana burned with molten fire.

Gasps tore through the ramparts.

“—It’s him. ”

“—It’s Arata. ”

“—No he’s outside the walls. ”

And then the truth came.

When it stepped into torchlight, its face was wrong. Its eyes were not crimson-white but pits of black flame. Its grin was not sharp but monstrous. The fire it wielded did not warm—it consumed, devouring stone and steel alike.

The demon army howled behind it, their shrieks blending with its impossible roar.

On the eastern wall, Arata froze. His cigarette fell from his lips, his shades sliding down just enough for his Draconic Eyes to burn in disbelief.

“—Tch. Cute. ” his wry smile curved sharp, bitter. “Guess they finally built themselves a counterfeit flame. ”

Soldiers turned to him, eyes wide, their whispers sharper than blades.

“—Two of him. ”

“—Maybe the monster was outside all along. ”

The construct raised its burning katana. With a single swing, fire split the ground, reducing barricades and soldiers alike to ash. The city screamed.

Arata’s grip tightened on his real blade. Flames roared along its cracked steel, his let the corner of his mouth quirk sharp as ever.

“—Fine. Let’s see whose fire burns brighter. ”

He leapt from the wall into the wasteland, coat snapping, katana blazing, to face the demon’s deadliest weapon—

Himself.

The wasteland erupted in fire.

Arata’s katana blazed as it clashed with the construct’s burning blade. Flame met flame, each strike detonating shockwaves that split the ground and cracked the walls of the city.

From the ramparts, soldiers shielded their eyes, their fear louder than the battle itself.

“—Two flames. ”

“—Which one is ours? ”

“—They’re both monsters. ”

The city watched not a savior, but a nightmare—two identical infernos tearing the night apart.

Arata grinned through grit, sweat and blood streaking his face. “Not bad—for a knockoff. ”

The construct sneered, its grin jagged, voice warped but familiar. “I am the flame perfected. You are just the ember. ”

Its blade swept wide, a torrent of black fire erupting, searing the wasteland into molten rivers. Arata leapt clear, his Draconic Eyes blazing, every movement sharp, precise. He landed, fire spiraling from his katana.

“Perfected? Please. You’re just the bootleg version they sell in back alleys. ”

He surged forward, blade cutting molten arcs, their flames colliding again. The impact shook the walls, sending rubble crashing into the streets.

On the ramparts, Aris’s jaw clenched as she watched. Her voice carried over the chaos. “Hold your ground. That thing isn’t him. ”

But the soldiers’ whispers gnawed at her command.

“—How do we know? ”

“—Maybe the real one’s already gone. ”

“—What if we’re cheering the wrong flame? ”

In the wasteland, the construct’s laughter echoed. “Hear them? They don’t believe in you. They never did. Every swing you take proves me right. ”

Arata’s thin smile curved sharp, bitter. His katana flared brighter, cracks glowing white-hot.

“—Doesn’t matter. I don’t swing for them. ”

He roared, charging headlong into the storm, flames colliding with his own reflection—

Two infernos locked in a duel that terrified the very people he swore to protect.

The gates creaked open as Arata staggered back toward the city.

His coat hung in shreds, his katana broken at the hilt, his arms blackened with burns. Smoke curled from his body with every step. Yet his gave a wry smile stayed sharp, alive through blood and ash.

But instead of cheers, he was met with silence.

Rows of soldiers stood inside the gates, blades drawn, shields locked. Their eyes were wide, trembling—not with awe, but with fear.

“—He killed it. ”

“—But what if it was never the real monster? ”

“—What if he is? ”

The whispers slithered like chains, binding the air.

Arata stopped just short of their line, his shades reflecting steel tips leveled at his chest. He tilted his head, a tight half-smile faint but bitter. “—Cute. Save your asses and this is the welcome wagon? ”

No one moved. No one lowered their blades.

From the ramparts, civilians leaned over, whispering, cursing, praying. Mothers clutched their children, men clenched their fists, some shouting to drive him out, others begging to let him in.

The city was split in two, and he stood at the center.

Then Aris pushed through the line of soldiers, saber drawn, her eyes sharp as steel.

“Lower your weapons, ” she commanded, her voice like thunder. “He fought for this city. He bled for it. Without him, you’d be ash. ”

Some soldiers obeyed. Others stood firm, blades shaking but unmoving.

“We can’t control him—”

“He’ll turn on us next—”

The divide deepened, steel against steel.

Arata chuckled low, shaking his head. “—Figures. You people are more predictable than the demons. ”

His let the corner of his mouth quirk curled sharp, though his voice dropped raw. “—Guess the only question left is whether I fight for a city that’s already decided it’d rather kill me than trust me. ”

The soldiers shifted, fear sharpening, tension like a blade about to break.

The Council Chamber was louder than war.

Governors shouted across the table, generals slammed fists, soldiers filled the walls with drawn steel. Civilians pressed in the galleries above, their voices clashing like thunder.

“Chain him. ”

“He’s our shield. ”

“He’s our curse. ”

The room split clean down the middle—no compromise, no unity.

At the center, Arata leaned against the railing, arms crossed, his broken katana resting at his side. His shades hid the glow of his Draconic Eyes, his thin smile faint, bitter.

“—You people really don’t get tired of this, huh? Same circus, same arguments. Only thing missing is popcorn. ”

His voice cut through the noise, but not the fear.

Aris rose at the head of the table, her saber flashing as she slammed it down. Sparks lit the air.

“Enough. ” Her voice carried like steel over fire. “He fought. He bled. He destroyed what no one else could even face. And you still call him a monster? Then maybe the real monsters are sitting at this table. ”

The chamber froze under her glare. But not for long. The fury returned, sharper than before.

“He’ll burn us alive. ”

“Better to kill him now than wait. ”

Arata chuckled low, shaking his head. “—Cute. You’re louder than the demons. ”

He pushed off the railing, steps slow, coat trailing like blood behind him. His let out a small, lopsided smile curved sharp, but his words were raw.

“—Doesn’t matter. You’ll make your choice. Bind me, exile me, worship me—it’s all the same. I’ll still be the one bleeding when the demons come knocking. ”

He stopped at the chamber doors, looking back once.

“And when they do, don’t expect me to ask who I’m saving. You won’t like the answer. ”

He walked out, the doors slamming shut behind him.

Far beyond the walls, the Crowned Demon watched through black flame, golden eyes burning with cruel joy.

“Yes—” he whispered. “Tear him from them. Tear them from him. When the moment comes, they’ll strike the first blow—and the immortal flame will finally burn itself out. ”

The stage was set.

The betrayal was near.