The next morning, the group convened in the circular council chamber—a space built of polished stone and lit by tall windows that framed the rising sun. Subtle tension pulsed in the air; each person carried a distinct presence as they took their seats around the table. This time, Cyrus joined them, arms folded across his chest, his glare as sharp as ever.

  “What on earth were you thinking, getting into a fight yesterday? This mission is our priority!” Cyrus barked, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

  “Cool it, frosty,” Lux chimed in, unfazed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Marriage is a big deal, you know? Besides, we wouldn’t have Ava here if Noah hadn't won. Chill out a little.”

  Cyrus shot Lux a hard glare. “Spare me the ice puns. We have serious work to do here.” He sighed, moving past the banter. “Let’s discuss the plan. I have someone joining us today. That makes four of us for the mission to hunt down the Black Witch.”

  “Only four?” Orist rubbed his temples, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You know how strong the Black Witch is, right? You usually need a full party for a job like this.”

  Cyrus inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I’m aware, but a large force isn’t an option. My position as a Guardian might allow me an army, but it would also attract imperial scrutiny. We can’t risk the Emperor’s attention or give him an excuse to move against us.”

  Noah, leaning forward, gave Cyrus a curious look. “I’ve heard bits and pieces about you, but never the whole story. What exactly is your position, Cyrus?”

  Cyrus’s features hardened, though a flicker of pride shone in his eyes. “I’m one of the Seven Guardians of Sicillia. Our lands stretch across half of Helheim—the only region that never submitted to the Emperor. My father refused to bow, and the Emperor declared him the ‘Seventh Apocalypse’ for his defiance. We suffered for it, but we still stand apart from the Empire.”

  Lux snorted softly, recalling old battles. “The Calamity War… now that was a nightmare. For a moment, Helheim actually seemed unstoppable.”

  “We never wanted that war,” Cyrus cut back in, tension rippling through his words. “But it happened—and we can’t afford another. If I mobilize troops against a lord of álfheimr, the Emperor will take notice, and that could trigger fresh conflict. So our mission must remain covert.”

  Orist nodded in reluctant agreement. “I see. Even if the Black Witch is acting outside the law, she’s still officially a lord of this continent. The Emperor won’t ignore any shift in power here.”

  Elder Novis, seated at the far end of the table, spoke up, voice grave. “That means after the Black Witch is dealt with, things could escalate. Either we expand to stabilize the region ourselves or risk letting the Empire claim what’s left.”

  A shadow crossed Noah’s face, his determination steeled. “I won’t allow the Emperor to snatch up my family’s lands. Fafnir territory may be in ruins, but I plan to rebuild it. Once the Black Witch is gone, I’ll take the title of lord.”

  “Good,” Lux said, glancing sideways at Noah. “But don’t forget your other duties. I’ll be expecting a lot from you as a hero—training across continents, fights you can’t imagine. You’ll have your plate full.”

  Elder Novis offered a reassuring nod. “Our resources are yours. We’ll safeguard the Fafnir lands while you’re gone. No matter what challenges you face, we won’t let your home fall.”

  Noah gave a grateful half-bow. “Thank you. For now, we focus on the Black Witch.”

  “Indeed,” Cyrus agreed. “My ally, another Guardian, arrives tomorrow. She’s a defensive specialist. Her shield work is unrivaled—perfect for our front line.”

  “Sounds like a solid addition,” Lux said. “With a proper tank, we can manage the Witch.”

  Ava, who’d been silent, spoke up. “Remember, the Black Witch isn’t alone. She has ties to the Crows. If we’re unlucky, we might even cross paths with one of the Seven Wings.”

  A hush fell across the chamber. The Seven Wings—each bearing a deadly sin as a mark—were feared across kingdoms, commanding elite squads. Even a single Wing could upend the most carefully laid plans.

  Lux’s smirk returned, though his eyes held a cautious gleam. “I doubt she’ll be the only threat. So be ready for whatever lurks in her shadow.”

  Before anyone could speak, a sharp rap on the chamber door broke the tension. Heads turned as it swung open, revealing a tall man who stepped inside with a casual sort of confidence. Unconscious guards lay slumped against the corridor walls behind him, testament to his sudden arrival.

  His appearance was as striking as his entrance. Dark green and black hair fell around a bearded, angular face. Two curling ram horns rose from his head, and a heavy black cloak hung over well-muscled shoulders. Thin-framed glasses perched on his nose, which he adjusted with a smirk as his gaze swept the room.

  “Adam,” Orist greeted, letting a note of familiarity soften his usually guarded tone. “Did you really have to knock out my guards?”

  Adam shrugged, an unapologetic grin on his lips. “They tried to stop me. Not my fault they weren’t up to the task.”

  He turned his attention to the others and offered a small bow. “Name’s Adam Willow. Used to be a mercenary before I retired. Family life suits me better these days, but I still keep my skills sharp.”

  Orist gestured in Adam’s direction. “Don’t be fooled by his laid-back act. Adam’s a legend. He played a pivotal role in defending us during the death dragon’s invasion.”

  At the mention of the death dragon, Noah’s eyes lit with sudden recognition. “My father fought in that raid, too. He told me about a ‘Black Knight’ who nearly slew the beast on his own. That was you?”

  Adam’s confident demeanor shifted, replaced by genuine respect—and a hint of sorrow. “Your father, Hector, was a brave man. I’m sorry for your loss, Noah. If I can help his son on the path to heroism, I’ll gladly do it.”

  Orist inclined his head, his stance at ease. “Adam here will be our fifth member. He can adapt to almost any role on the battlefield. I trust him with my life.”

  Adam chuckled, tapping the side of his glasses. “My abilities are a bit unusual, but I promise you’ll find them useful. I’m also one of the few who wields two regalias.” His gaze flicked to Noah with a hint of teasing. “That might balance out the fact that you haven’t found yours yet, huh?”

  Noah stiffened at the reminder, but Lux clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let it bother you. If you really are the hero, the stars will guide you to a regalia in their own time.”

  Adam’s grin returned. “And when you do, you’ll be a force to reckon with. Until then, I’m your extra firepower.” He extended his hand. “So what do you say, hero? Ready to hunt down the Black Witch—and whoever else crosses our path?”

  Noah’s confidence rose at Adam’s easy acceptance. He grasped the offered hand with a firm shake. “With the five of us, I’m sure we can pull this off.”

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  “You have a familiar scent. One of your regalias, it’s Lancelot, isn’t it?” Lux asked, his gaze sharp and curious. “You’re right,” Adam replied with a knowing smile. “Did you know a previous wielder?”

  Lux’s eyes glinted with a mixture of pride and nostalgia. “I did. The first hero I trained wielded Lancelot. It’s a powerful regalia, especially in the hands of someone who can match its intensity. His style was ruthless, a true force of nature. I look forward to seeing what you can do.”

  Adam let out a low laugh before turning to Orist, an old spark in his eyes. “It’s been a while since we sparred. How about a round for old time’s sake?”

  Orist shook his head but smiled wryly. “I’m not as young or as reckless these days. Besides, I already got bested once this week by our new hero.” He nudged Noah with a grin, though his pride in the young hero was evident.

  Adam shrugged and turned to Cyrus, a playful challenge dancing in his eyes. “Fine, fine. What about you, Cyrus? One of the Seven Guardians must be quite a worthy sparring partner.”

  Cyrus gave him a slow, predatory grin, already brimming with anticipation. “I’ve got time to kill until my ally arrives. Let’s see if you can keep me entertained.”

  Together, they headed to a training ground—a sunken arena of packed earth surrounded by low stone walls. Despite being open-air, the space felt unusually still, as though the upcoming clash had already subdued the wind itself.

  Cyrus halted at the center, turning to face Adam. “How far are we taking this?”

  Adam’s answering grin was nothing short of feral. “It’s no fun unless I go all in. I’ll need Soul Release to really get my blood pumping.”

  Cyrus nodded once, lifting a hand toward his chest. “So be it. Awaken, Jack Frost.”

  A tall, icy-white staff shimmered into existence, topped by a hollow, triangular spearhead. The weapon exuded a tangible chill that spread in a widening circle around Cyrus, frosting the ground with delicate spiderweb cracks of ice.

  Adam’s grin broadened. “That’s the spirit. Awaken, Cú Chulainn! Awaken Lancelot!”

  In his right hand appeared a long white spear, its shaft like twisted tree roots and a black blade that hummed with raw, untamed energy; this was Cú Chulainn. In his left, he grasped Lancelot—a pitch-black lance veined with crimson streaks that thrummed with the echoes of ancient battles. Sparks of red energy danced along the lance’s blade, leaving the air humming with its dark aura.

  Cyrus took in the sight, his gaze unwavering. “No holding back, Adam! And don’t blame me if you lose an arm.” He slammed his staff into his chest. “Soul Release!”

  In an instant, the staff merged with Cyrus’s body. Frost energy surged outward like a howling blizzard, bleaching his hair snowy white and draining the color from his skin. His eyes glowed an unearthly blue, and the frost beneath his feet thickened into jagged spikes that crackled with every movement. An aura of absolute cold radiated from him, turning the arena’s floor to solid ice.

  Adam laughed low in his throat. He gave Cú Chulainn a sharp twirl. “Decisions, decisions… Let’s see who’s itching for battle today. Alright, partner—it’s you. Soul Release!” With a wild grin, he plunged Cú Chulainn into his chest.

  A roar of primal power overtook him. White armor erupted along his arms and torso, crowned by a shredded cloak of swirling darkness. A deep crimson streak shot through his green hair, and his eyes glittered with savage delight. His ears sharpened to a predatory point, and black claws extended from his gauntleted hands. Even the ground seemed to pulse under his feet, as if bowing to the raw ferocity coursing through him.

  From the sidelines, Noah watched in stunned awe. “What… what did they just do?” he asked, voice catching in his throat.

  Lux folded his arms, clearly pleased by the display. “Soul Release,” he said, his tone equal parts reverence and excitement. “They’re fusing their very essence with their regalias, channeling the legends sealed within those weapons. Regalias aren’t just tools, Noah—they hold the spirits and legacies of ancient myths from realms far beyond this one.”

  Cyrus clenched his fists, and the ground froze in a swift eruption of glistening ice spikes. Moving like a phantom across the slick surface, he launched a hail of jagged shards that tore through the air toward Adam.

  Adam only gave a confident grin. He plucked a single strand of crimson hair and stretched it into a spear that he hurled with casual precision. The crimson projectile twisted and spun between the ice shards, as if guided by its own will, nearly catching Cyrus off-guard.

  “You’re not the only one with surprises,” Adam taunted, reaching for another lock of hair. “And these spears never miss.”

  Cyrus scoffed, gathering a swirling gust of snow that billowed into a protective wall. Adam responded by brandishing Lancelot—its black steel threaded with glowing red veins—then charged headlong at the barricade. In one brutal thrust, Lancelot punched through the swirling snow, forcing Cyrus to spin aside. He conjured a blade of ice in desperation, but Lancelot sheared clean through it, scoring a frosty line across Cyrus’s arm. A thin trail of blue blood crystallized on his skin.

  “You’ll have to do better,” Cyrus warned through clenched teeth. Without missing a beat, he slammed a fist into the ground. Columns of ice snapped up, entangling Adam’s legs.

  Adam laughed, unfazed. He transformed another strand of hair into a crimson spear, driving it into the ice beneath him. The spear expanded with a violent crack, freeing him in an explosion of scarlet energy.

  “Let’s heat things up!” Adam roared, braiding three more strands into a barbed trident. He hurled it, and mid-flight, the weapon separated into three individual spears that spiraled toward Cyrus.

  Cyrus countered with a curved shield of solid ice. Two of the spears crashed harmlessly against it, but the third streaked past, grazing his side. Wincing, he summoned a howling gust that spread ice in every direction, thickening the frozen terrain. Another barrage of icicles shot from his hands, each one lethal and precise.

  Adam ducked and weaved in a fluid dance, narrowly avoiding each shard. “Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted, hurling Lancelot at blinding speed. The lance shredded through a hastily formed ice barrier, barely missing Cyrus’s chest.

  Snarling, Cyrus unleashed a storm of icy winds. Snow and hail coalesced into a swirling vortex, obscuring Adam in a frenzy of white. Yet a heartbeat later, Adam’s gauntleted fist tore through the barrier. He lunged at Cyrus, claws ready, only to be met by Cyrus’s ice-encased punch. Their blows collided with a thunderous crack, sending spiderweb fractures rippling across the frozen ground.

  Adam unleashed a fresh volley of blood-red spears, each homing in with uncanny accuracy. Cyrus moved with glacial grace, but the relentless projectiles snapped at his heels, forcing him back.

  “Enough,” Cyrus muttered, his eyes glinting with an eerie blue light. In that instant, time itself seemed to warp around him. Every spear froze in midair, suspended mere inches from his body as though captured in a frozen moment.

  Adam’s grin never wavered. “Impressive. But that won’t keep me down.”

  Without warning, Cyrus conjured a massive ice-scythe. In one sweeping arc, he brought the blade to rest just an inch from Adam’s neck. At the same time Adam pulled another strand of crimson hair and, in a blink, formed a short spear aimed straight at Cyrus’s heart.

  For a moment, they stood locked in a tense standoff. Cyrus’s scythe hovered at Adam’s throat, while Adam’s spear hovered at Cyrus’s chest. Frost curled along the blade’s edge, while a faint crimson glow pulsed around the spear’s tip.

  At last, Cyrus let out a slow exhale, lowering his weapon. “Seems we’re both still standing,” he said, voice tinged with reluctant admiration.

  Adam dropped his spear and rolled his shoulders. “I’ll call that a draw,” he agreed, the slightest hint of respect flashing in his grin. Slowly, both men ended their Soul Release, returning to their usual forms.

  Adam stretched, his breath still ragged from exertion. “Been ages since I’ve had to try like that. Reminds me I’m still alive.”

  Cyrus gave him a level look, though a trace of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Don’t get too cocky. I’m the strongest of the Seven Guardians when it comes to raw combat.”

  On the sidelines, Noah felt his heart pound with a mix of awe and yearning. Turning to Lux, he asked quietly, “Do you think I’ll ever reach that level?”

  Lux offered a reassuring pat on Noah’s shoulder. “If you keep training and pushing your limits, there’s no telling how far you’ll go. You’ve got something special in you, Noah—even they can see it.”

  Stepping forward, Noah raised his hands. “Let me help you recover.” His arms glowed with dark markings that curled around his forearms and climbed faintly up to his cheeks. A gentle healing aura washed over Adam and Cyrus, easing their aches and sealing their wounds.

  The markings on Noah’s skin pulsed and spread, each beat sending a ripple of pain through him. Yet he held his ground, determined not to show weakness.

  When he finished, Adam and Cyrus stood a little taller, their fatigue gone. Adam gave Noah a curious glance. “Handy ability you’ve got there,” he remarked, nodding in thanks.

  Cyrus, looking equally impressed, ran a hand through his hair. “Who knows, you might surprise us sooner than you think.”

  Noah let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. In the stillness after the storm of combat, he felt a fiery resolve burn inside him.

  “I’ll get there,” he vowed, voice resolute. “No matter how high the bar is set, I’ll reach it.”