Aldemar under attack...

The afternoon sun bathed the rooftops of Aldemar, a quiet town that seemed to have never known war.

The market stalls offered warm bread, worn fabrics, and trinkets that were common in every village, but for Ayato, that air of normalcy was almost alien.

The group walked among the locals, freshly armed after their visit to the blacksmith and the magic shop, when they heard an enthusiastic voice:

"Ah, comrades of the epic!"

A young man with lilac hair, wearing an oversized white cape covering an extravagant violet aristocratic suit and carrying a bow adorned with runes, appeared leaning against a lamppost. He had a notebook in his hand and the smile of a self-proclaimed hero.

"I am Lucien D'Artois, mercenary, poet, and chronicler of my own exploits. And you are fortunate enough to cross paths with the protagonist of the greatest epic ever written!"

Ayato looked at him, incredulous. "...And this madman?"

Lucien wrote something in his notebook, muttering: "The skeptic in the group underestimates me with a comic relief face, but he will soon recognize my greatness."

Vera stifled a laugh.

Isolde ignored him, though Lucien tried to bow to her.

"Noble lady, my bow is at your service, and my sword at the disposal of your beauty."

Isolde answered him with a look so cold it almost froze the air.

Ayato sighed, palming his face.

"Great... another 'wannabe hero with a fifth-rate Don Juan complex'. Just what I needed."

Lucien lifted his chin, unoffended. "Fate doesn't bring heroes together by chance. You and I will be rivals, Mr. Comic Relief... rivals destined to shine."

Ayato muttered under his breath, "Circus rivals, you mean."

***

As the group made their way through the alleys toward the small square on the outskirts of town, Lucien walked solemnly ahead of them, cape billowing in the wind and a notebook in his hand. 

He muttered phrases as he wrote quickly.

“And so, the hero of light, accompanied by his faithful comrades, crossed the humble landscapes that would witness his first glorious deed…” he recited in a forced voice.

Ayato rubbed his face with his palm. “God, are you really going to narrate every step?”

“Narrating is insufficient, dear rival!” Lucien smiled, his eyes twinkling. “What I write here will become the ultimate epic poem. The world will remember my name!”

Isolde walked on, cold as ever. “As long as you don’t interfere in the battle, do as you wish.”

Vera stifled a giggle, amused by the contrast.

The air seemed thin… too thin.

Suddenly, a bell rang in the square, followed by screams. An animal roar echoed through the streets. Villagers fled, dragging their children, while winged shadows swooped down from the rooftops.

Dark dogs, their skin stuck to bone, burst into the crowd. Deformed bats pecked down, and behind them crawled starving humanoids with elongated claws.

"Ah!" Lucien raised his bow. "Fate is testing us!"

"Fate is an idiot," Ayato muttered, drawing his revolver and sword.

Lucien fired the first arrow, which glowed with golden runes and pierced a bat in mid-flight. He stepped forward theatrically.

"Protect the innocent! Let the hero show the way!"

A dark dog immediately charged him, and Ayato had to push it back with a slash of his new sword.

"Was that your plan? To die first to inspire us?"

Lucien staggered, writing something in his notebook: "The skeptic saved him, proof of their growing bond of brotherhood."

Ayato almost hit him with the hilt of his sword.

Vera raised her staff. A circle of light formed beneath her feet, and with a firm shout, she launched a white blast that burned several henchmen. The light reduced them to dust.

"It works!" she gasped, surprised at herself.

Isolde silently launched herself at the humanoids. Her new weapon cut fluidly, as if the blade knew its path before each movement. Its dance was cold, lethal, without a trace of hesitation.

The ground shook.

From the shadows emerged a Revenant, a skeletal horseman armed with a spear, although there are variants that allow them to use swords, axes, and bows, making them very versatile high-ranking monsters.

But they always have in common that they ride an equally skeletal steed, which breathes fire as a long-range option.

The attack no longer seemed so random if they sent an enemy like that.

"This is my moment!" Lucien shouted, aiming at the monster. "The hero must face the enemy general!"

He launched a volley of arrows, but the horse spat fire, incinerating the arrows. Lucien tried to recite a pose, but ended up rolling on the ground.

"Idiot!" Ayato ran, sword in hand, covering him just before the rider attacked with his spear at full speed.

The duo improvised:

Lucien fired from the ground, magical arrows that destabilized the bony equine's movements and deflected its fiery breath.

Ayato dodged, blocked, and counterattacked with slashes and revolver shots.

"Cover my left flank!" Lucien shouted, surprisingly serious for a moment.

Ayato clicked his tongue, but obeyed. "Don't even think about telling this now!"

Vera summoned another blast of light, weakening the skeletal horse.

Isolde finished it off with a precise cut to the Revenant's joints before it had time to attack on foot with its lance.

Finally, Ayato unloaded a bullet directly into its skull, causing it to collapse.

Silence fell over the village.

The villagers applauded, thanking the adventurers. Some approached with tears in their eyes.

Vera lowered her staff, panting but proud. "This time... I really helped."

Isolde calmly cleaned her weapon. "Less useless than I expected," she said to Lucien.

He, on the other hand, was already frantically writing in his notebook.

"The hero, with the help of his companions, brought down the Commander of Darkness. The people cheered him, but he knew the real battle still awaited..."

Ayato looked at him with resignation. "You're unbearable."

Lucien looked up solemnly. "Then it's official! I'm joining your company. This will be the most glorious volume of my epic."

Ayato sighed. "Great. An egomaniac on the journey."

As calm returned, Ayato couldn't shake the feeling that the monsters' attack had been pre-planned.

He looked toward the horizon, where Clémarine was waiting.

The shadow of the Tyrants seemed to extend even to the smallest corners.

And the real hell was yet to begin.