Motoyasu led the team to Rabiel's territory, his horse galloping steadily, his posture firm and confident. His prior nervousness and hesitation were no longer visible—or maybe they had simply disappeared. Motoyasu was sometimes like that, after all. The nervous wreck one moment, the unshakable hero the next. He was incredible. Truly.
Ren thought that sincerely.
Meanwhile, his own hands were trembling. Very subtly—the kind of tremor someone would only notice if they were looking for it. Cold sweat beaded at his temples, and his stomach churned with every hoofbeat. What if he stumbled over his words when they arrived? What if he accidentally revealed their plan? What if he froze, or said the wrong thing, or did something that made Rabiel suspicious?
Motoyasu seemed unbothered by anything. He placed his faith in everyone—in Ren, in Noritoshi, in Naofumi, in the strangers who had volunteered to fight beside them. He believed, with absolute certainty, that they would succeed.
Could Ren answer that kind of expectation?
The freak loner who had spent most of his life hiding behind a screen? The socially inept highschooler who couldn't read a room to save his life?
His musings were cut short as they finally arrived in front of Rabiel's territory.
The walls rose before them—high, thick, imposing. Guards manned the battlements, their spears catching the afternoon light. The gates were closed with the portcullis lowered and the entrance sealed like a mouth clamped shut.
Before Ren could say anything, Motoyasu spurred his horse forward and began shouting.
"Hey!!! Excuse me!!! I'm the Spear Hero!! And the guy behind me here is the Sword Hero!! We want to talk with the owner of this land!! Can you help us!!"
His voice was surprisingly loud—commanding in a way Ren had not expected. The guards on the battlements exchanged glances. One of them laughed, a short, skeptical sound.
"Sure you are," he called down. "And I'm the King of Faubrey."
Motoyasu didn't miss a beat. His spear changed forms—the transformation rippling through the weapon in a flash of light, the metal shifting, the shape warping. A moment later, it settled into a form Ren didn't recognize, ornate and gleaming, clearly magical.
Ren followed suit. His sword flowed through his hands like water, the blade elongating, the hilt reshaping itself. He held it up so the guards could see.
The laughter stopped.
"Wha—"
"No way! They're the real deal!"
Guards scrambled on the battlements, pointing, shouting, shoving each other aside to get a better view. Someone tripped and nearly fell. Someone else dropped their spear. He's also pretty sure some of them started fighting because they shoved each other one too many times.
The commotion spread like fire through dry grass.
If there was one thing consistent in this world, it was that every legend described the Heroes as being capable of changing the forms of their weapons. Any inhabitant of this world would recognize them as the real deal—provided they didn't live under a rock.
The gates groaned. The portcullis began to rise.
A man emerged from the gatehouse—tall, broad-shouldered, his armor polished to a mirror shine. His face was weathered, his hair cropped short, his eyes hard and assessing. The commanding officer, probably. He barked orders at the guards—several of them breaking off, sprinting toward the estate, disappearing through an inner gate.
Then he turned to face them.
And he smiled.
His lips pulled back from his teeth, wide and practiced, but the expression didn't reach his eyes. Those stayed flat. The corners of his mouth pinched upward, but there was no warmth in the gesture, no ease. His body language was stiff, his shoulders too high, his hands clasped behind his back in a way that looked more like restraint than deference. Simply put, Ren could tell the man never meant any expression he put on towards them and only politely arranged it.
"Lord Spear Hero. Lord Sword Hero." His voice was smooth, almost oily. "Forgive the confusion. We don't often receive visitors of your... stature."
Ren forced himself to nod. His hands had stopped trembling. He didn't know when.
"We're here to see the master of this territory," he said. "We have matters to discuss."
The officer's smile widened—still hollow, still wrong. "Of course. He has been informed of your arrival. If you'll follow me, I'll escort you to him personally."
He gestured toward the inner gate, where the guards had already disappeared.
Ren glanced at Motoyasu. Motoyasu grinned back at him—easy, confident, utterly unbothered.
"Lead the way," the Spear Hero said.
They rode through the gates.
Passing the outer wall, Ren could see that it was thick and seemed ancient, its stones darkened by decades of weather. Guards manned the battlements, their spears catching the afternoon light, their eyes tracking the visitors—in this case, them—with reasonable suspicion and awe. Ren counted them as they passed—a dozen visible, probably more hidden. The intelligence had been accurate. Rabiel did not take chances with his security.
Beyond the wall, the commoner district sprawled.
It certainly was not what Ren had expected. The buildings were neat, the streets clean and the people were all well-dressed. Children played in the squares. Merchants called out from their stalls. A woman carrying a basket of bread smiled at them as they passed. It looked, at first glance, like any prosperous town in any prosperous territory.
But… something felt off. They kept on treading the path, led by the guards and Ren watched closely.
The children stopped playing when they saw Bara. One of them burst into tears. Their mother gathered them close, her face tight, her eyes fixed on the ground. The merchants' calls faltered when they noticed Rhea. A man selling vegetables turned his back. A woman with a cart of fabrics crossed to the other side of the street.
The guards escorting them watched it all with expressions that did not change.
"Charming place," Tersia muttered, loud enough for only the party to hear.
Farrie elbowed him. But she didn't disagree.
Motoyasu spurred his horse forward, drawing alongside one of the guards—a young man with a scar on his jaw and a spear that looked too big for him.
"This is quite a setup you've got here. How many people live in the outer district?"
The guard blinked, clearly not expecting conversation. "Ah—a few thousand, Lord Spear Hero. Maybe more."
"A few thousand! That's impressive. You must have your hands full keeping everyone safe."
The guard's chest puffed out, just slightly. "We do our duty."
"I can see that. You've got a good eye—I noticed you scanning the rooftops back at the gate. Most guards don't think to look up."
The guard's expression shifted—surprise, then something that might have been pleasure. "My father taught me that. He was a guardsman too."
"No kidding? A family tradition. I like that." Motoyasu's smile was warm, easy, utterly disarming. "What's your name?"
"Kaelen, Lord Spear Hero."
"Kaelen. Good name. It sounds strong." Motoyasu clapped him on the shoulder. "You ever think about what you'd do if you weren't guarding a gate?"
Kaelen looked confused. "I... no. Never."
"Well, you should. A man with your skills could go far." Motoyasu's voice dropped, conspiratorial. "The Heroes are always looking for competent people, you know. People who can think on their feet, especially people who notice the things others miss."
Kaelen's face went through several expressions—confusion, surprise, dawning hope. He opened his mouth to respond, but one of the older guards cleared his throat, and Kaelen's mouth snapped shut.
Motoyasu just laughed and fell back to ride beside Ren.
"Made a friend," he murmured.
Ren said nothing.
The inner wall rose ahead—shorter than the outer, but thicker, its gates reinforced with iron. The guards here were different. Older. Harder. They did not look at the visitors with suspicion and awe like the one in the outer wall did. It was as if they were being… assessed.
Beyond the wall, the center of Rabiel's territory.
The main house was visible even from the gate—a sprawling structure of grey stone and dark wood, its windows glinting in the afternoon light. Gardens surrounded it, manicured and lush, the flowers arranged in patterns that must have cost a fortune to maintain. Servants moved between the hedges, their heads down, their steps quick. Guards stood at every entrance, their hands on their weapons, their eyes tracking the visitors with open hostility. Something Ren rarely ever felt.
Ren kept his expression neutral. His hand rested on his sword. Unfortunately, his stomach was still churning.
Rabiel was waiting for them at the door.
He was exactly as the intelligence had described—overweight, his strawberry-blonde hair an unkempt mop, his mustache shaped like two small leaves over his upper lip. His clothes were elegant, expensive, black and gold and purple, with white frills at the collar. A dark purple cape hung from his shoulders, and his boots were polished to a mirror shine.
He was smiling.
The smile was warm. Open. Inviting. The smile of a man who was genuinely pleased to see you.
Ren's skin crawled.
"Lord Spear Hero. Lord Sword Hero." Rabiel spread his arms wide, his voice booming across the courtyard. "Welcome. Welcome. I've been so looking forward to meeting you both."
He descended the steps, his bulk moving with surprising grace, and clasped Motoyasu's hand in both of his.
"Please, come inside. We have so much to discuss."
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"—of course, if you had sent word ahead, I would have prepared a proper welcome. A feast, perhaps. Entertainment. Something worthy of Heroes." He spread his hands, his rings catching the light. "As it is, I'm afraid you've caught me rather unprepared."
Ren kept his voice level. "It's already good enough that you accepted our request to speak with us."
Rabiel laughed—a rich, practiced sound. "When a Hero visits your territory, you do not simply 'accept' their request. You roll out the finest wines, slaughter the fattest cattle, and pray that your hospitality is remembered." He glanced back at them, his smile warm, his eyes cold. "Since the feast is not yet prepared, I will instead offer you and your party a special tour of my mansion. A chance to see what my territory has to offer. Perhaps, by the time we return, the kitchens will have caught up with the occasion."
Ren inclined his head. "We would be honored."
Around them, servants moved through the corridors—carrying linens, adjusting paintings, polishing already-spotless surfaces. Their energy was frantic, almost desperate. A maid nearly collided with a footman carrying a tray of glasses. A manservant dropped a stack of napkins, scrambled to pick them up, and scurried away with his face flushed.
Rabiel's smile didn't waver. "Forgive the chaos. My household staff is not accustomed to entertaining guests of your stature on such short notice."
"Think nothing of it," Motoyasu said. He had fallen into step beside Rabiel, his posture relaxed, his hands clasped behind his back. "Honestly, we're the ones who should be apologizing. Showing up unannounced like this—it's a bit rude, isn't it? I didn't even think about it until we were already through the gate."
Rabiel's eyebrows rose. "You are Heroes. You do not need to apologize for—"
"No, no, I insist." Motoyasu waved a hand. "You've got a whole system here. Schedules, routines, people who rely on things happening at certain times. And here we come, trampling through like a pack of startled chocobos, throwing everything into chaos." He grinned. "My mother would have boxed my ears for less."
Ren watched Rabiel's face. The smile was still there, but something in it had shifted—a flicker of genuine surprise, quickly masked.
"Your mother sounds like a wise woman," Rabiel said.
"She was. She taught me that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar." Motoyasu gestured at the frantic servants. "So. What can we do to make this easier on your people? We don't need a feast. We also don't really need entertainment. We just need to talk."
Rabiel was quiet for a moment. Then he laughed—a different laugh this time, less practiced, almost genuine.
"You are not what I expected, Spear Hero."
Motoyasu laughed in kind and said, "Thanks!"
They walked on. Ren let himself fall back a few paces, watching the interaction. Motoyasu was, more often than not, stupid. He was impulsive, reckless, and incapable of thinking through the consequences of his own actions. But he was also charismatic. He knew what to say to people—when to flatter, when to joke, when to apologize. He could make a guard forget his suspicion, a servant forget her fear, a nobleman forget that he was supposed to be manipulating them.
It was only when women were involved that his brain seemed to short-circuit. Around anyone else, he was effortlessly charming.
The corridor turned, and a new wing opened before them—the paintings older here, the carpets worn, the walls darker. Rabiel gestured expansively.
"I understand your graciousness. But please, let me keep my pride as a noble and personally give you a tour of this mansion. After all, most of the places here are personally decorated by yours truly."
Motoyasu's eyebrows rose, his grin widening. "Ho ho, if that's the case, I wouldn't hold back. You wouldn't mind my expectations getting higher, right?"
"Of course. Keep it as high as possible. I will strive to answer to it."
Ren watched the exchange from a few paces back. Motoyasu was somehow good at this—genuinely good. Just a while ago, he had been pale and stammering, his hands shaking so badly he could barely grip his spear. Now he moved through Rabiel's mansion like he belonged there, trading pleasantries with a man who probably had children locked in his basement.
It was quite irritating.
But now was not the time for that.
Ren let himself drift backward, slowing his pace until Bara's massive frame blocked him from view. The beastman didn't react nor did he acknowledge the maneuver—just kept walking, his shoulders broad, his shadow swallowing Ren entirely.
"Open Minimap."
The overlay bloomed in the corner of his vision—the layout of the mansion, the corridors, the gardens. Icons moved through the spaces: servants, guards, the slow pulse of Rabiel's personal retinue. And there, near the eastern wall, a cluster of icons he had been waiting to see.
Noritoshi's team. They're moving and already began to enter.
Good.
Ren dismissed the minimap and quickened his pace to catch up.
"—and this hallway leads to the grand salon," Rabiel was saying, his voice echoing off the marble. "The chandelier is from Faubrey. Imported at great expense."
Motoyasu whistled appreciatively. "You really went all out, huh?"
"I believe that if something is worth doing, it is worth doing properly."
Ren fell into step beside Motoyasu, his expression neutral, his hand resting on his sword.
The tour continued.
Rabiel led them through room after room—a gallery of hunting trophies, a ballroom with a floor that had been imported from some distant nation, a library with ceilings so high that the books on the top shelves were only accessible by ladder. He spoke at length about each one: the provenance of the art, the cost of the materials, the envy of his peers. His voice never wavered. It was clear to everyone who has eyes and ears that he loved the sound of his own description.
Time passed. Ren couldn't say how much. Noritoshi should be in the basement by now.
He couldn't check the minimap. Not with Rabiel's guards watching, especially with the risk of that telltale flicker in his eyes giving them away. But someone tapped his elbow three times—quick, deliberate, a signal they had agreed on before leaving the camp.
Tersia. His face was still grinning, still joking with one of the younger guards, but his elbow had found Ren's at exactly the right moment.
Three taps. Noritoshi was in position.
Ren's heart rate picked up. Any time now, their plan would begin in earnest.
Meanwhile, Motoyasu kept the conversation going singlehandedly. What a conversation monster. Ren chipped in occasionally. A question here, a comment there. Enough to seem engaged but not enough to draw attention.
The rest of the party stayed mostly silent. Elena walked with her hand on her sword, her eyes scanning the corridors. Rino had her hood pulled up, her face shadowed, her staff tucked beneath her arm. Lesti walked at the back, her posture perfect, her expression unreadable.
Rabiel had looked at her once, briefly, when they first entered the mansion. His gaze had slid over her like water over stone—no recognition, no interest. He saw a commoner. He looked away.
Lesti's expression didn't change. But Ren saw her shoulders relax, just slightly.
Then Rabiel suddenly stopped.
Motoyasu looked at him in confusion. To be fair, so did everyone else. The sudden halt was so abrupt that Elena nearly walked into Rino's back.
Rabiel turned and snapped his fingers at a servant who had been trailing at a respectful distance. "You. Has the feast been prepared yet?"
The servant flinched. "No, it hasn't been—"
"Then let's serve them the special one we always keep on hand." Rabiel's voice was firm, almost impatient. "We've been going on for too long, and our guests should have something to fill their stomachs by now. Understood!"
The servant's face went pale. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. "...Yes. Yes, milord. Understood."
He scurried away.
That was a bit weird. The servant's reaction, the way Rabiel had insisted on "the special one"—something about it made Ren's skin prickle. But Motoyasu, without missing a beat, clapped his hands together and grinned.
"The special one? Now I'm intrigued. You really shouldn't have, Lord Rabiel. I'm already looking forward to it."
Rabiel's smile returned, warm and practiced. "Then you shall not be disappointed. Please, wait in my antechamber for a moment. I will personally arrange the dining room. A servant will come to fetch you shortly."
He gestured down the corridor, where a set of ornate doors stood open, revealing a room with plush chairs and a low table. Then he was gone, his purple cape disappearing around a corner.
They filed into the antechamber. The doors closed behind them.
Motoyasu plopped down onto one of the chairs, his legs sprawling out, his head tipping back. "Man... that was really tiring."
Myne settled into a chair near the window, her hood still pulled low over her face. "You did a good job, Motoyasu."
"Ugh... but still..." He turned his head toward her, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "If the one speaking were a pretty lady like you, Myne, I could listen for hours. No, days even."
"Huhuhuhu. I'm honored."
Myne hadn't pulled her hood back since this morning. Her face was hidden, her hair concealed entirely beneath the dark fabric. Ren supposed it was good. Everyone in their party could acknowledge that she was the prettiest of all the people here, and getting Rabiel's attention—especially the wrong kind—would only spell bad news.
Ren kept his mouth shut. He leaned against the wall near the door, his hand resting on his sword, his eyes fixed on the wood grain.
His minimap pulsed in the corner of his vision.
The area around them was jarringly empty. No servants, no guards, no staff moving through the corridors. Just the huddle of their own icons clustered together in the antechamber like sheep waiting for slaughter.
Below them, deeper in the estate, Noritoshi's icon was still in the basement. The cluster of dots around him—small, stationary, too many to count—must have been the children.
Then Ren saw them.
Flashes of red. Moving fast. Converging on their position from multiple directions.
"What is that?" Motoyasu's voice was sharp, his earlier exhaustion gone. He was on his feet, his spear in his hand.
Everyone was staring at their own minimaps now. Ren could see it in the way their eyes went distant, the way their faces paled.
"Have we been found out?" Elena's hand was already on her sword.
"But how?" Rino's voice trembled. "We didn't say anything suspicious, did we?"
"Is it Noritoshi?" Lesti's head turned toward the door. "Could he have been discovered?"
"No!" Tersia's voice cut through the rising panic. "I've kept my minimap open the whole time. There's no way Noritoshi was discovered. His icon hasn't moved from the basement. He's still there. The children are still there."
The red dots kept coming.
Ren forced his breathing to steady. "Could it be they're just planning to welcome us? A procession, maybe. Guards lining the halls to escort us to the feast."
"Who knows..." Motoyasu's voice was low. "But let's prepare for the worst case. If the worst really happens, we break through."
He looked at Bara. The beastman's massive frame filled the corner of the room, his axe resting across his knees. His expression was calm, but his eyes were tracking the door.
"Bara. You lead."
Bara nodded, rising to his feet. The axe came up to his shoulder.
"I'll go behind you and help you break through the guards' ranks."
"Got it."
"Ren." Motoyasu's voice rumbled through the room. "You'll be with Rhea, guarding the rear."
Ren nodded. "Got it."
"Got it." Rhea echoed.
They hadn't even hit level thirty. But their stats, thanks to the strengthening methods they had been grinding for weeks, were almost equivalent to Class Up individuals. They were more than capable now. Ren held onto that thought like a lifeline.
A knock at the door.
Everyone froze.
"Excuse me, Lord Heroes." The voice was muffled through the wood, high and nervous. A servant, probably. "Please open the door."
No one moved.
Motoyasu took a step toward the door, his hand reaching for the handle.
The knocking came again—harder this time, more insistent.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
"Excuse me. Please open the door."
Ren's hand tightened on his sword. The red dots on his minimap had stopped moving. They were right outside. Lining the corridor. Waiting.
Something was very wrong.
"We need to open it," Motoyasu murmured. "If we don't, they'll know we suspect something."
"He's right." Myne's voice was low. "Open it. But be ready."
Motoyasu reached for the handle.
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Yo, author here.
So uhh... sorry for disappearing again? Yeah. Life's a mess.
Right now I'm in Osaka. Next week I'm flying to the Philippines—gonna be there for a month. Then Indonesia for another month. So my life is basically a chaotic travel montage with no steady Wi-Fi. I'll try to upload more consistently, but no promises. I'm at the mercy of airport lounges and questionable hostel connections.
Anyway. Enough about my jet-setting chaos.
I need your help. And also, I need someone to explain something to me because I'm genuinely confused.
There's this user named Racist69 (yes, that's his username). He has an AI-generated profile picture of George Floyd and Jeffrey Epstein doing... stuff. I'll let you imagine.
At first, he left a comment saying my characters talk weird and that it must be AI. Fair enough—I rarely use English casually, mostly in formal settings, so my dialogue can sound a bit stiff. I told him, "Nah man, it's not AI, I'm just new to writing."
His response? Slurs. Nazi support. Nonstop spam.
I tried to talk to him. Told him to contact me if he's really that full of hatred so maybe we could resolve something. But nah. Dude's unhinged.
When I pointed out that his profile picture is AI-generated (while he's accusing me of using AI), his response was, "It's okay because I'm using it to oppress minorities."
...What?
But that's not the end. Here's the REALLY weird part.
This user—Racist69—only appears on my mobile phone. When I check the same comment section on my laptop, he's not there. I asked a friend to look on their device, and they got, "This user does not exist."
So... what's happening here? Is this a glitch? A shadowban? A hallucination? Am I being haunted by a racist ghost? Does this guy exist or not?
I genuinely don't understand how a user can leave comments that only show up on one device and not others. If anyone knows how this works, please enlighten me.
Anyway. Since he does appear to exist (at least on my phone), and since he's back, I want to have a little fun.
Here's my request.
Leave a very odd, completely nonsensical review/comments while name-dropping Racist69. Be extremely weird. Or horny if that's your thing. Just confuse the hell out of him.
Like for example,
"Hmm, this fanfiction is exactly like the bread that Racist69 once made for me when I was a child. Tasted like trash but I could only eat it because I grew up in poverty. Truly wonderful. Bazinga. I am Young Sheldon."
"Racist69 told me my feet were ugly, but then he licked them anyway. This story gives me the same energy. 10/10."
"I showed this fanfic to Racist69 and he started crying because the prose was too beautiful. Then he asked me to hold him. I declined. Five stars."
Go wild. I want to see how he reacts. And if anyone knows why he only exists on my phone, please tell me.
Thanks for sticking around.