Chapter 57 From Failures to Success

Rein ripped his boots free from the shattered marble, dust rolling off him as he stood up. He dragged his sword across the floor, sparks spitting in his wake, before snapping it up into battle stance.

“Heh! Guess I was wrong—looks like you tin cans aren’t just here for decoration after all. Tho I held back a lot, you block my swing, shove me through the floor, and still don’t say a word? Damn, you guys are really committed to this whole ‘silent knight’ act.” 

Rein tilted his head, cracking his neck with a pop.

 “Fine by me. Less talking, more smashing.”

He leveled his sword at the knight that had just slammed him.

 “Round two, big boy! Hope you stretch first! Let’s see if your arms are as tough as your poker faces!”

Rein lunged, this time he used 1% of his power. The knight swung his claymore down like a tree trunk, but Rein twisted under it, sparks spraying as the blade kissed the marble. He popped up on the knight’s flank, sword spinning in his hand before carving a deep gash through the plated shoulder. Metal shrieked.

“Come on, big guy! You call that a guard? My grandma could parry better than that—and she’s been dead for over 300 years!”

The knight staggered back under the storm of blows, sparks showering as Rein’s sword slammed into the massive claymore again and again. Each clash drove cracks deeper into the marble, each strike heavier, sharper, faster. Rein ducked low, blade scraping the ground, then spun upward in a wide, blazing arc—sending the knight skidding back across the floor.

“Hah! Look at you, all armor, no bite! I’ve fought tavern drunks with more balance. But hey! At least they fall with some dignity!”

The knight tried to raise his claymore for a desperate guard—Rein laughed, knocked it wide with a brutal kick, and slammed his blade straight into the center of the armor. The force blasted the knight off his feet, sending the hulking figure crashing across the floor.

Rein straightened, resting his sword across one shoulder, a grin tugging at his lips.

 “And that’s the part where you go flying.”

The knight tried to lift his weapon again, but Rein blurred forward, sword smashing against the claymore with a force that echoed down the hall. Metal split, plates buckled, the massive knight crashing back into a pillar with enough force to shatter stone. Rein didn’t give him a breath—his boot slammed into the knight’s chest like a cannon shot, sending him sprawling across the marble.

Armor split and cracked under the impact, helmet dented, buckles snapping loose. The hulking figure crashed down hard, a broken heap of steel and dust. With a final clatter, the ruined helmet tumbled off and hit the ground.

Rein froze mid-step, grin faltering.

The face beneath wasn’t some nameless soldier. It was a familiar face.

“Wait… hold up—” He took a slow step forward, eyes locked on the broken face.

 “Is that you… Henry?”

The knight’s face twitched, mangled under the weight of whatever corruption twisted him. Half his skin warped, muscle fibers swollen like ropes, veins bulging and pulsing with a sickly black glow that looked more poison than blood. One eye was his own—bright, human—while the other burned like coal.

“What the hell… what did they do to you? Damn it, Henry… you were one of us. You were—my brother in arms. One of Hero candidates. They said you went back home when you couldn't keep up with the training, never seen you again. And now…” 

His tone dropped, fire returning behind his eyes. 

“Arthur turned you into this monster.”

Hans stepped forward, cane tapping once against the marble, his lips curling into a cold smile.

“Ah! No, it wasn't the King. It's all me. Oh, and don’t waste your breath on him, Hero. Henry isn’t the boy you remember anymore. He—and so many others—were broken down, then rebuilt into something better. Tools. Weapons. Soldiers who never question, never hesitate.”

He gestured casually at Henry with his cane, as if displaying fine art.

“Every cadet who failed the Hero program, every coward who quit halfway… what good were they? Wasted potential. Useless flesh. But now? Now they serve a purpose. Fearless, tireless, stronger than they ever were in life. From failures to success.”

Henry twitched, muscles straining, a low growl bubbling from his throat. Hans didn’t even glance at him.

“Of course… the process leaves them a bit unsightly. Twisted bodies, veins burning with demon blood, minds stripped of doubt. Disgusting to look at, yes. But utility outweighs aesthetics. Rein, you should be thanking me. I’ve given your former brothers and sisters new life. They may not remember your little bonds of friendship, but at least now… they are useful."

Rein froze for a moment, staring at Henry’s ruined face, then back at Hans.

“…Useful? You twisted bastard… You call this useful?! He was my friend. A human being. Not some puppet for your sick experiments! All those faces I thought I’d never see again—what did you do? Chop ‘em up, sew them back together, pump ‘em full of whatever it is until they forgot who they were?! And then you dare—you dare stand there proud of it?!”

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh, dragging his blade across the floor as sparks flew.

“You’re insane, Hans. And if you think I’m just gonna stand here and let you keep playing God…”

Rein pointed his blade straight at Hans.

“…then you’re outta your damn mind. Because I’ll cut down every last one of your ‘successes’ until I’m standing over you. Round two’s already started, old man.”

“Rein!” Liora’s voice snapped across the corridor, “This isn’t the time to play Hans's games. We don’t have the luxury to waste our time here. Every second we spend fighting these abominations is another second Arthur gets closer to realizing we’re coming. We need to reach the throne room! Now!”

Verron’s hand landed on his shoulder. 

 “Go. Get to the throne. Do what you must. She’s right. You three go. Silvia and I will handle this. Hans was my master once—what he taught me I used to defend people, not to butcher them into toys. I won’t let him keep twisting lives. I will not let those poor souls stay trapped in that hellish state. Hans will not go unpunished. I’ll put an end to his work."

He turned to Hans. 

“Isn’t that right, Master? Been too long since our last dance.”

Silvia cracked her neck, twin scimitars flashing into her hands like silver fangs. Her smile was cruel, playful, almost hungry.

 “Mm, I’ve been itching for a warm-up. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure none of them follow you upstairs.”

Mari threw her arms wide, planting herself between Rein and the advancing knights, fire magic sparking around her fingertips.

 “Yeah, you heard the bossy ones—go, go, go! Me, Selene, and Kaia’ll keep old man Hans company. Not every day I get to fight the King’s assassin squad.”

 “We’ll hold them here. Don’t look back. Go!”

“Go. Hurry, Rein. We’ll be fine.”

Liora didn’t waste a second. Her hand shot out, clasping Aura’s wrist tight.

 “We have no time for this."

 In a flash, she blinked them across the hall, reappearing at Rein’s side. Before he could get a word out, her other hand clamped onto his arm—then snap.

Rein blinked, his stomach lurching as the world shifted. When his eyes refocused, they stood before a towering set of doors, the throne room.

 “…You—teleported us straight here? Why didn't you do it from the start, would have saved us a lot of headaches.” 

Liora released his arm as she said, “Do you think I wanted to drag us through half the castle like rats in the walls? Teleporting isn’t some cheap trick I can fling around. Every jump leaves a trace of magic. The more I use it, the easier it is for the detection crystals—and Arthur—to pinpoint us. One jump, maybe two, I can mask. But from the gates straight to here? The entire castle would have lit up like a beacon.”