CHAPTER NINE: THE VILLAGE OF ISLEZ

As dusk settled over the rolling hills of Fulaina, painting the heavens in streaks of crimson and gold, Mika and her companions finally reached the outskirts of Islez — a village renowned not merely for its vibrant night markets and lantern-lit streets, but for the warmth and resilience of its people. The air carried the scent of pine, rain, and faint incense from nearby shrines, mingling into a nostalgic perfume that whispered of both safety and secrets.

Nestled at the edge of the Eastern Wilds, Islez exuded a charm older than its cobblestones. Its houses were built close together, their roofs slanted to withstand the mountain winds, and in the distance, the faint glow of spirit wards shimmered like ribbons of pale blue light woven into the sky. This was Kazuo’s birthplace — and for now, it would serve as their temporary refuge.

Mika adjusted the deep maroon hooded cloak that Suzumi had personally laced with protective charms. The faint hum of enchantment at her shoulders felt like an invisible hand resting protectively between her shoulder blades. Her heart thrummed with a mix of excitement and apprehension. This was her first time beyond the walls of Luyas — beyond the expectations, the judgement, the weight of her title. Freedom had a strange flavour; unfamiliar, thrilling, and faintly bitter.

At the South Gate, two Krieger guards stood at attention, armour polished and posture impeccable.

“Welcome to Islez, Lord Shinji,” they chorused in unison, bowing low with disciplined grace.

“Kriegers aren’t just guards these days,” Kazuo murmured as they passed through the heavy wooden gates. “They’re the Elders’ eyes and claws. And those in green — the Heilers — don’t let the gentle look fool you. They’ll either stitch your wounds or slit your throat, depending on who you ask.”

Shinji acknowledged the remark with a short nod, his expression unreadable. Mika trailed close behind, keeping her hood low. Yet, despite her composure, her nerves betrayed her. When her gaze accidentally met that of a Krieger’s, her pulse spiked. Their eyes widened slightly — recognition, perhaps? Alarm? She braced herself, ready for accusation. Instead—

“Welcome, Milady,” one of them said, bowing deeply. “Please rest assured that while you are in Islez, you are under our protection. Feel free to roam as you please.”

Mika blinked, momentarily stunned. The warmth in his tone was genuine. She offered a small, awkward nod before quickening her steps to rejoin the others.

“Ya alright?” Kazuo asked, his sharp eyes catching the faint colour rising in her cheeks.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” she said quickly, though her voice betrayed the faint tremor of nerves.

Her attention shifted then — to Shinji. He was already surrounded by villagers, much to her surprise. Elders offered baskets of fruit, small trinkets blessed by local priests, and folded paper talismans meant to bring fortune. Even the children swarmed around him, tugging at his sleeves, giggling, asking questions he didn’t answer but never ignored.

Mika had never seen him like this — the stoic Clan Lord kneeling patiently to tie a child’s loose shoelace.

“Oi! What about me, huh?” Kazuo called out, voice booming across the square. “Do I not get any love? I’m the hometown hero here!”

Children squealed and charged at him like a wave. Kazuo collapsed under them, laughing theatrically as they wrestled for his attention.

“Been a while, hasn’t it, Shinji?” he said between laughs once he managed to crawl free.

“Not much has changed,” Shinji replied evenly, though a faint flicker of nostalgia passed through his eyes.

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Kazuo said, brushing dust from his red jacket. “Let’s get you to the Elders. They’ll want a full report.”

As they walked through the narrow, stone-paved lanes, Mika noticed faint lines shimmering above the rooftops — geometric wards forming an invisible dome over the entire village.

“Are those… force fields?” she asked quietly.

“Protection shields,” Kazuo nodded. “After what happened in Andania, the Elders doubled security. Patrols, wards, the works. A couple of rogue Spirits tried sneaking through recently. Ralph and his boys took care of them.”

The mention of that name made Shinji stiffen slightly, his eyes narrowing. Ralph — a name best left buried.

Before the silence could thicken, a high-pitched squeal pierced the air.

“SHINJI!”

A petite girl with rose-gold curls came running full-speed across the square. Before anyone could react, she launched herself straight into his chest.

“...Rinda,” Shinji muttered, tone flat but not unkind.

Mika tilted her head, bemused. She leaned closer to Kazuo and whispered, “Who’s that?”

“Ah, that’s Rinda,” Kazuo whispered back with a knowing grin. “Best Heiler in Islez. We raised her here. Been moon-eyed for Shinji since she was barely twelve. Declared she’d marry him on the temple wall — in red ink, no less.”

Mika blinked. “Did he ever… return her feelings?”

“Nah,” Kazuo smirked. “He treats her like a sister. Still, that hasn’t stopped her. Love makes people stupid — and sixteen-year-olds, even worse.”

A sudden shout echoed from nearby. “Help! My purse!”

Before anyone moved, Rinda spun, three throwing knives flashing from her sash. In one fluid motion, she pinned the thief’s robe to the ground. Kriegers swooped in immediately.

“Nice one, Rinda!” Kazuo whooped.

“The Elders won’t appreciate the noise,” Shinji sighed.

“Then let’s not keep them waiting,” Kazuo said cheerfully. “Ladies, after you.”

***

Far from Islez’s lantern glow, a decrepit hut festered in shadow, half-swallowed by marsh and twisted reeds. It was the lair of the exiled Kriegers — a rogue clutch the Elders had cast out.

At the centre of the room Ralph sat like a carved bruise: massive, cruel-featured, his scarred cheek splitting into a grin as he read the letter. His fingers trembled. Victory.

“Boys,” he drawled, spinning a dagger between his fingers. “Looks like the bait did its job. The lamb wandered right into the slaughter.”

A lieutenant leaned forward. “Do we pull Arnold out now?”

Ralph barked a short laugh. “He can wait. Tonight is the prize.”

An eyepatch-scarred man scowled. “We still don’t trust him — that informant.”

“Relax.” Ralph sneered, lips curling. “The bastard’s a charming flirt, but betrayal sticks. Men like him never forget.”

With one smooth flick he loosed the dagger into the wall; it buried itself in a photograph. The image showed a younger Shinji and Suzumi, laughing and careless. Beside them, a cheerful Kazuo posed in mock-heroics; at the far edge, a darker figure — older, hair tied back in a high ponytail — watched with a confident smirk.

The past wavered in the photograph like a shadow. Vengeance was waking.

***

The Grand Elders’ residence towered over Islez’s heart — a sprawling structure of ancient wood and silver accents, its entrance guarded by twin statues of wolves. Four figures waited at the gate, each bowing as the group approached.

“Welcome, Lord Shinji,” said Elder Shion, a tall, thin man with a long white beard and a voice that carried both wisdom and warmth. “We are honoured by your return. And this must be your apprentice, Lady Mika. Lady Suzumi sent word of your arrival.”

Mika bowed politely. “It’s an honour to meet you, Elder Shion.”

“The honour is ours, child. You’ve endured much.” His tone softened. “Please, rest while you can. Our Kriegers will see to your safety.”

“Your hospitality is appreciated,” Shinji said, offering a respectful bow.

“Come, a banquet has been prepared,” Shion continued, gesturing toward the staircase. “Consider it our humble way of welcoming you home.”

Before they could move, Kazuo raised a finger. “Ah, actually, I’ll be sitting this one out. There’s a beautiful lady waiting for me at the bar, and I’d hate to be rude.”

Rinda’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Excuse me?! You begged me to cook onion-beef stew for you and now you’re running off to flirt?!”

Kazuo flashed a nervous grin. “Now, now, don’t be jealous, princess. Save me some leftovers, yeah?”

“I’m going to KILL you!” she screeched as he darted away.

Shinji sighed. “If he bothers you again, let him starve.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” Rinda fumed. “You’re not the one cleaning up his messes!”

“Then stop cleaning them,” Shinji replied, deadpan. “You’re spoiling him too much. Let him sleep in his own filth.”

Rinda huffed, crossing her arms tightly. Shinji, of course, knew her frustrations all too well. He had read her letters before — filled with complaints about Kazuo’s womanising, carelessness, and endless antics. But beneath the frustration, Shinji saw affection — stubborn, loyal, unspoken. He had scolded Kazuo several times for it, though the latter never seemed to take the hint.

“You and Kazuo seem close,” Mika interjected, hoping to ease the tension. “Are you perhaps siblings by adoption?”

“We’re housemates,” Rinda said, her voice softening. “I’ve lived with him since I was a child. But yeah, you could say we’re practically siblings. Still—” she puffed her cheeks, “he spends his days chasing women while I’m stuck handling the chores and paying all the bills!”

She was sixteen — young enough to feel everything deeply, yet old enough to believe she could shoulder the world alone. Mika noticed the faint glimmer in her eyes beneath the irritation — something far warmer, far gentler.

It reminded her of Guy.

I didn’t even get to say goodbye…

A quiet ache surfaced in her chest. She missed him — the brother who’d left Luyas for commandant training with a proud grin and a ruffle of her hair, telling her to keep out of trouble. Though he could be exasperating, he’d been her anchor.

“He doesn’t work?” Mika asked, her voice softer now.

Rinda scoffed. “The Elders offered him a Krieger position a dozen times, but whenever they come knocking, that idiot vanishes for months! Then he returns with his pockets full of coin and no explanation whatsoever.”

Despite the constant complaints, Mika sensed there was more beneath her words — a quiet worry, a reluctant fondness.

“Maybe he’s secretly a travelling merchant?” Mika teased.

Rinda snorted. “Travelling merchant, my foot. More like a trouble magnet with a talent for finding disaster.”

Before Mika could respond, a young Heiler arrived with a steaming tray. “Here you go,” he said shyly. “Freshly baked bread and a selection of local cheeses as appetizers for your enjoyment, Elders and guests.”

The scent of freshly baked bread and melted cheese filled the air. Mika’s stomach growled audibly, earning a faint chuckle from Shinji.

“Seems your apprentice appreciates good food,” Elder Shion said, amused.

“She’s had a long journey,” Shinji replied with mild fondness.

The table was laden with delicacies — roasted meats, spiced vegetables, glistening fruits — but Mika found comfort in the simplest offering: bread and cheese. She ate with quiet gratitude, her exhaustion melting with each bite.

***

The homecoming banquet went incredibly well, leaving Shinji and Mika pleasantly full. After finishing their meals, they excused themselves for the night and retreated to their assigned rooms. Rinda returned to her own home after a bone-crushing hug and a kiss on Shinji's cheek, much to his blushing dismay.

"The food was incredible! I feel a little bad for the chefs who had to keep feeding us," Mika admitted with a sheepish smile.

"Don't worry," Shinji replied with a hint of amusement in his voice. "Those chefs live to feed people, especially guests who've travelled far."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Of course, with your bottomless appetite, they probably loved having you around."

Mika's cheeks flushed a vibrant red. Her hand instinctively flew to her stomach in a self-conscious gesture. "I-I am most certainly not a glutton!"

Shinji stopped walking abruptly. Without meeting her gaze, he spoke in a hushed tone. "Thanks... for not leaving any leftovers, especially the onion stew. That moron can starve for all I care."

Taken aback by his unexpected gratitude, Mika smiled. "The onion stew was delicious, truly. Hard to resist finishing it all. After all, Miss Rinda's a wonderful cook!"

The heavy doors groaned open, revealing the vast Combat Training Hall. Polished wooden floors gleamed under lantern light, their surface scarred from years of drills. Rows of weapons lined the walls like silent witnesses to countless duels.

Mika followed Shinji inside, her eyes darting across the practice dummies and racks of bamboo swords. The air smelled faintly of oil and old wood.

“Why are we here?” she asked, confusion lacing her voice.

Shinji walked ahead without answering. His boots echoed softly as he reached for a bamboo sword, testing its balance before tossing another to her. She caught it—barely—and frowned.

“What happened at the river today…” he began, voice low but firm, “you hesitated. That hesitation nearly cost both our lives.”

He turned to face her, eyes sharp in the dim light. “Do you understand what that means, Mika?”

Her throat tightened. “I—”

“Why did you hesitate to kill?” His tone wasn’t accusatory. It was calm. Heavy. Demanding truth.

Mika’s gaze dropped to the floorboards. Her fingers trembled around the hilt. “Because…” she whispered. “It wasn’t just a monster, Shinji. That Spirit—it was my kin.”

The confession scraped out of her, raw and fragile. “You don’t know what it’s like… to strike your own kind. To carry the blood of innocents and call it survival.”

Her voice broke, words spilling like cracks in glass. “The last time I drew my sword—Andania burned. I can still hear them screaming. I can still smell the smoke. Half a town—gone—because of me.”

The air hung heavy. Shinji said nothing at first. Only the faint hiss of the lantern flame filled the silence.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter—but harder. “The battlefield doesn’t forgive softness. It doesn’t care about guilt or purity. It only asks one thing: will you live, or will you die?”

He stepped closer, his violet eyes unwavering. “Taking a life is never right. But failing to protect the ones who depend on you is worse. Guilt means you still have a conscience, Mika. But don’t let it chain you.”

Her breath hitched.

“If you must fight,” he said, “then fight for something. For yourself. For the ones you can still save. Learn from Andania, but don’t let it bury you.”

The silence broke with the sudden crack of bamboo meeting bamboo.

Shinji had lunged—fast. Too fast. Mika barely raised her sword in time to block. The impact sent tremors up her arm.

“Not good enough!” His voice cut through the air. “Don’t think—move! Pretend I’m your enemy!”

Shinji struck again, harder. Each blow pushed her back, forcing her to adapt. Her defence grew sharper, movements less hesitant. Sweat rolled down her neck, her breath ragged—but her eyes, burning now with defiance.

Then — his blade struck her wrist. Her weapon clattered to the floor.

Shinji’s stance shifted. A piercing thrust—the kind meant to kill.

Instinct took over. Mika unsheathed her twin blades in a blur. Steel met bamboo with a fierce clang that echoed through the hall. Sparks danced in the air, and this time, she didn’t back down.

She parried, spun, and kicked with desperate precision. Her boot slammed into Shinji’s stomach, knocking him back a step.

The hall fell still.

Mika’s chest heaved. Shinji blinked, then—slowly—smiled.

“Well done,” he said, rubbing his abdomen. “Didn’t expect you to pull that one.”

She couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at her lips.

“Cheap trick or not,” he continued, his tone softening, “you’ve got instinct. That’s the first step. Remember what you felt just now—the will to survive. Hold on to that.”

He extended a hand. She took it.

“Come,” he said, his voice a calm rumble. “You’ve earned rest. But tomorrow, we begin again.”

And as they left, the hall returned to silence—save for the faint creak of the floorboards, and the unseen shadow perched above the rafters, watching them leave.

***

Kazuo’s boots scuffed the cobblestones in a rhythm too deliberate to be casual. His hands, buried deep in his pockets, clenched around the crumpled letter. He passed a group of Kriegers stationed at a street corner, their posture tense even during their supposed routine patrol.

Their greetings were short, clipped. No humour. No familiarity. Just stiff nods and wary glances. Kazuo returned their nods with an overbright grin and a voice that rang just a touch too loud, trying to force cheer into a conversation none of them wanted. The awkward silence that followed only fed the unease growing in his chest.

He tried to shake the feeling, tried to convince himself that Shinji—sharp-eyed and far too perceptive for his own good—hadn’t sensed anything earlier. That he hadn’t caught even the faintest whiff of suspicion. Kazuo was confident. He had to be. Because if he wasn’t, this entire game he played would start to crack.

As he turned the corner, the modest silhouette of his home came into view, nestled quietly between a weaver’s shop and a sleeping apothecary. Relief surged briefly through his veins like a balm.

“Home sweet home,” he muttered under his breath, forcing a grin.

The door creaked open.

“Welcome back.”

Her voice froze him mid-step.

Rinda stood in the living room, bathed in pale moonlight. A pink nightdress clung to her small frame, but her expression was all storm—arms crossed, jaw set, eyes burning.

Kazuo flinched. “R-Rinda! You’re still up? Couldn’t sleep without me, huh?”

“Don’t start.” Her tone was ice. “We had a deal. No more disappearing acts.” She jabbed a finger at the clock. “It’s nearly three in the morning, Kazuo.”

Kazuo lifted both hands in mock surrender. “Ah, right, my fault. Lost track of time saving the world again.”

“You were at the tavern, weren’t you?”

“Only briefly!” He forced a laugh. “Had to maintain diplomatic relations—with the bartender.”

Rinda’s glare could have melted armour. “You treat everything like a joke.”

Kazuo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “If I didn’t, I’d go mad.”

For a heartbeat, silence. Then Rinda asked, softer: “Who’s the girl?”

“What girl?”

“Shinji’s new apprentice.” Her eyes narrowed. “Mika. Everyone’s talking. You didn’t mention her.”

Kazuo’s grin faltered. He glanced aside, voice suddenly quiet. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

“It matters if she’s dangerous,” Rinda shot back. “You’re too trusting.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “That’s rich—coming from you.”

Rinda glared again. “The Elders want to see you in the morning. Before Shinji leaves.”

Kazuo nodded, yawning tiredly. “Got it. Oh. And Rinda?”

“What?”

He smiled faintly over his shoulder. “Thanks for waiting up.”

Rinda’s lips twitched — somewhere between annoyance and fondness. “Whatever, idiot. Go wash the ale off your face.”

Kazuo chuckled and disappeared into his room. The latch clicked softly.

“One of these days, you’re going to break my heart, Kazuo.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. But he heard it.

Kazuo let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. The mask slipped just long enough for guilt to show. He moved towards his room, the faintest smile lingering on his face as the door clicked shut behind him. For all the secrets he carried and lies he spun, Kazuo knew one thing was true—Rinda always waited.

In a world where loyalty was as fleeting as moonlight, that meant more than he could ever say.