The battlefield had finally gone quiet.
The ruined remains of Alfred's collapsed sound barrier disappeared little by little, dissolving like invisible glass returning to silence.
Far away, everything had paused.
Alfred lay against fractured asphalt in his normal form now.
Without the violent pressure surrounding him, age suddenly showed itself honestly.
The madness in his expression had dimmed, replaced by something tired.
Shams Raye approached slowly.
He stopped beside Alfred, bent down slightly despite the pain in his own body, blood still drying along half his face.
Alfred coughed weakly.
"…What the hell was that?"
Shams looked at him for a moment then sighed.
"You know, people spend their whole lives building walls. Funny thing about walls. They usually forget love, fear, regret, guilt, loyalty… none of those ask permission before entering. They are always cruel and unpredictable."
He glanced briefly at the destroyed battlefield.
Alfred gave a tired laugh despite blood in his throat.
"That is supposed to be wisdom?"
"No. Just me trying to sound smarter than I am before someone dies."
"Did you say sound?"
A faint breath escaped Alfred that might have been amusement.
Shams finally looked at the rifle.
"RE: Metamorphosis: Samsa."
He spoke more seriously now.
"It's not a bullet in the normal sense. It aggregates emotion of mine, yours, the battlefield's, memory itself.
Sentient beings carry emotional residue whether they want to or not. Fear. Loyalty. Rage. Regret. As long as emotions exist inside the target, the trajectory becomes inevitable."
His gaze lowered briefly toward the dried blood wrapped around the rifle.
"The user's blood forms the output. The stronger the blood memory carried through it, the more accurate the transformation becomes. Walls, barriers, defenses… they don't stop it because emotions don't travel physically. They exist already inside them."
Alfred stared quietly and then laughed once weakly.
"Haha. That was very cool. You can stop calling me enemy now."
Shams straightened slightly.
"…Sir."
Alfred looked mildly offended.
"You don't gotta do that."
"You have been a Martial for twenty-three years. You are in your seventies now. You earned the esteem."
Alfred looked up at the ruined sky.
"…Huh. I can finally rest. You know… I was never protecting Adam and Zenon."
Shams frowned slightly. Alfred looked distant now.
"Those two idiots? They are candidates quarreling for power not service of humanity. That is what ambitious people do.
But in my case? No. I made a promise to myself. My previous King had ordered me to protect the candidates. No matter what happens. So I stayed loyal."
Shams's expression changed slightly.
"It means you were holding back the whole time?"
Alfred didn't answer. Shams looked at the battlefield.
"You never tried killing anyone. Except Collin."
Alfred shut his eyes briefly.
"That man…If I didn't make it terrifying enough, nobody would run."
Shams went still.
"You wanted fear to rush upon them, isn't?"
"Yes."
"To make them retreat."
"Yes."
"Wait a minute... all this chaos, was this planned?"
Alfred smiled weakly.
"…I don't know. But if somebody planned it… guess they were smarter than me."
Shams crouched closer. Alfred looked toward him one last time.
"I shall provide you a respectable death that matters."
Shams lowered his head slightly.
"Rest well, Sir."
Alfred looked upward one final time.
"…About time."
.....
The top floor of the headquarters felt detached from the rumbling in downstairs.
The throne stood at the far end of the chamber beneath dim lighting, untouched by either man.
Adam stood near the window, hands in his pockets, staring down at the city in distance.
Zenon remained seated near a long table. Posture relaxed only on the surface.
Both looked tired.
Adam looked downwards viewing the height.
"You know what bothers me? Nobody actually asks whether we want this."
Zenon looked up slowly.
"Want what?"
Adam turned halfway, gesturing vaguely toward the photo of previous King's scrambled photo frame.
"This."
His voice carried irritation buried under exhaustion.
"The constant expectation that one of us has to become King because some old people with too much influence decided our destiny."
Zenon laughed quietly.
"You think I wanted this position? Adam, I spent years trying to avoid authority. I don't even enjoy meetings. Half the time I don't enjoy people.
I wanted distance. Solitude. Maybe relevance without responsibility."
Adam looked at him for a moment.
"You never wanted the throne?"
"No."
The answer came immediately. Too fast to be rehearsed.
Zenon rubbed his temple briefly before continuing.
"I think that's the part nobody understands. Everyone downstairs is fighting over the assumption that we are desperate for power."
He exhaled through his nose. "I am not."
Adam turned back toward the chair where The King once used to sit.
"…Then why are we still doing this?"
Zenon's expression darkened slightly.
"Because somebody wants us to."
The Suspense arrived when both people realized they had quietly reached the same conclusion months ago.
Zenon looked toward the ceiling for a second before speaking again.
"You ever feel something strange? Like… something repeating?"
Adam frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
Zenon searched for words carefully.
"Sometimes, I hear conversations and already know where they are going before they happen."
Adam's expression shifted.
Zenon continued.
"I walk into rooms I have never entered before and somehow know where things are. I dream arguments days before people actually say them. Sometimes I feel exhausted by things I don't remember living through."
The room went strangely still. Adam looked away. Because he understood immediately.
"…I thought that was just me," Adam admitted quietly.
Zenon looked up in shock and pure disbelief.
Adam continued slower now.
"I also have had dreams. No… not dreams. Places I haven't visited. Hallways. Faces. I wonder if someone is trying black magic or something."
Outside, wind struck the glass. Something below exploded again.
Zenon leaned forward slightly.
"You think someone's manipulating this?"
"Yes. But not for the throne. No."
Zenon narrowed his eyes.
Adam turned slowly.
"I don't think 'They' care who wins."
A longer silence followed.
"I think 'They' just needed us to hate each other."
Zenon laughed softly again.
Then he looked toward the untouched chair.
"Do you ever get the feeling, that somebody somewhere already knows how this ends?"
Adam didn't answer immediately.
"…'Sometimes'..."
He looked toward the door.
"And the strange part? I don't think 'They' are trying to stop it."
The conversation ended eventually.
Two men stood at the edge of something neither truly wanted.
Adam stepped away from the window first.
Zenon stood.
Adam exhaled once.
"Guess this is where we have to stop pretending we are not doing it."
Zenon loosened his sleeves slightly.
"We were always going to end up here."
Because both knew exactly what the other was capable of.
Adam extended his hand slowly. A folding fan materialized into existence.
Dark lacquer wood lined with silver edges.
Cherry blossom petals drifted into the midair around him.
Zenon narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Still using that terrifying gardening method?"
"It's not gardening."
Adam flicked the fan once.
The petals spiraled upward unnaturally. A crack appeared in the floor.
From it, glowing filaments emerged. Thin veins of Runic Flow spread through the room.
Zenon crossed his arms slightly.
"You make it sound worse every time."
Adam continued anyway.
"The fan spreads microscopic Runic spores into surfaces. Floors, air pressure, temperature changes, residual movement."
Another petal formed near his shoulder. Sharp enough to gleam.
"Then they bloom based on accumulated motion and intent."
A pause.
"The more movement around me…the sharper the season becomes."
Hundreds of petals slowly gathered.
"That ability bothers me." Zenon smiled.
"Why?"
"Don't act, you have weaponized your patience."
A notebook appeared in his hand. A simple one with nothing impressive but black cover.
Every page marked with arrows. Pointing at different directions.
"Vector Seize."
Zenon flipped it open. A loose paper floated outward.
"You know what still annoys me about your Astra?" Adam asked.
Zenon raised a brow. "Shut yourself."
Adam released a deep breath trying to stretch himself before the clash. He answered it anyway.
"You somehow managed to turn indecision into violence."
Zenon almost laughed.
"Don't worry, my Astra kills people very quick, if not instantly."
The floating papers were moving on its own. Arrow marks glowing faintly.
"Now, shall you prepare your grave? Every being has momentum and directions. I only borrowed the steering wheel. "
Adam suddenly felt his balance lean sideways in wrong direction unknowingly being pulled by an invisible force.
Zenon sighed quietly.
"So, let's finally prove why neither of us should have been candidates."