Next Day.
Shura woke up on wood that was hard, unforgiving, real, with no cushion or warmth, only surface beneath him, as if the world itself refused to soften for him.
He had slept there all night without clear dreams, or maybe too many to remember, scattered and unformed like noise that never settled into meaning.
The world felt different in the morning, quieter in a way that wasn't peace but absence, as the Spectral Gold was gone and there was no lingering glow or distortion left in the air.
The city had returned to its usual rhythm of cold structure and warm air, endless motion continuing as if nothing had ever paused for him and nothing ever would.
Shura sat up slowly, his body aching in a constant dull way rather than sharp pain, a reminder that didn't speak in bursts but in persistence, telling him simply: you're here now.
He rolled his shoulder and winced slightly.
"…Yeah."
Still real.
He looked ahead at the Knights moving in unison, boots striking stone in a controlled rhythm, perfectly synchronized like a living machine.
Left. Right. Left.
"…So it's back to normal."
His voice was low, almost swallowed by the city. A pause followed.
The girl's voice came back clear, sharp: "Free Area. Industrial edge."
Shura frowned slightly.
"…Was she real?"
He looked at his hands, still faintly shaking not from fear, but from uncertainty.
"I left… because everything was given."
"And she tells me to go there?"
A pause.
"…or was that just another dream?"
His expression tightened.
"I hate dreams."
Silence.
"They feel real… even when they aren't."
And sometimes, they change things without asking.
He stood up in a slow stretch, muscles resisting, heavy, unwilling.
Then he started walking.
No direction at first, just movement.
A thought formed simple, incomplete.
A step.
"I need a way to earn."
Another.
"…I don't know where to start."
He tried to run.
Pain shot through his legs—immediate, sharp, like something tearing through something unready.
He slowed.
Didn't stop.
"…Then I'll run slowly."
It still hurt.
Each step pulled at something untrained, something soft that didn't yet know how to hold weight.
But he kept moving, because stopping felt worse.
After a few steps, he glanced back just once the place he came from already distant, already fading.
"…I'm sorry."
Not loud. Not explained. No name attached.
Then forward again.
The city changed as he moved—gradually, almost politely.
The towering structures thinned, spacing widened, the walls becoming different, less polished, more functional.
On the left, a low wall stretched endlessly into the distance.
On the right, nothing—no visible boundary, just open space dissolving into haze, like the world hadn't decided what to put there yet.
Further ahead, mountains stood massive and silent, watching.
"…So that's the wall."
Not built. Not designed. Just there.
He kept walking, lost in thought.
He didn't notice someone watching him.
A Knight—tall, armored, still. Like part of the road itself.
Then movement.
The Knight stepped forward and closed the distance easily too easily.
"First time here?"
Shura stopped.
Turned slightly.
"…You could say that."
The Knight studied him carefully, not just his face, but his posture, his hesitation.
"You're young."
A pause.
"Walking alone?"
His gaze dropped to Shura's coat the silver threading, the subtle structure woven into it, not flashy, but unmistakably crafted.
"…That outfit doesn't match the road."
"Your parents?"
Shura looked away.
The answer came quickly—
but quietly.
"…I left."
The Knight's expression softened, just slightly not pity, but understanding.
He stepped closer, then sat beside him slowly, deliberately, without a sound of armor, only control.
A hand rested gently on Shura's head not forceful, not heavy, just present.
"You want to build something for yourself."
A pause.
"…don't you?"
Shura didn't answer.
But he didn't move away either.
That was answer enough.
"People who come here early…"
pause
"don't come back the same."
The Knight's voice was calm.
Grounded.
Not dismissive.
"This world…"
small breath
"…isn't kind."
"Go back."
"Learn first."
"Then come here when you can survive it."
Shura's thoughts tightened. He accepted it in a breath—he wasn't ready yet, not truly.
But going back wasn't possible, because it would erase everything he had felt so far: the pain, the confusion, and the beginning that was forming inside him.
So he spoke, quiet but steady, as if choosing direction for the first time.
"…I'm a writer."
The Knight blinked. Slightly surprised. Shura continued.
"…but I don't know how to write."
"…Every word just teaches me what comes next."
Wind passed between them.
Then the Knight laughed genuine, unrestrained for a moment, not mocking, not harsh, just real.
"That's a dangerous kind of writer."
He stood up. Still smiling faintly.
"…I'd like to read that book someday."
Shura looked at him. Really looked this time.
For a moment, the Knight didn't move.
He looked at Shura's hands thin, unworked, no scars, no calluses. A blank page.
"So," he said, "how do you plan to start?"
Shura hesitated.
Then—
"I'll go to the Industrial Area first."
A small pause.
"See if there's anything I can do."
The Knight let out a short laugh.
"Your pen can't write the weight of work."
Shura didn't respond.
Didn't argue.
Didn't agree.
"Pen, hm…" the Knight continued, tilting his head slightly.
"Can you draw?"
"…Maybe."
"Complex structures?"
Shura thought for a second.
Not memory—
feeling.
"…I think so."
The Knight studied him again. Longer this time. Measuring something unseen.
"I don't think it's safe," he said finally.
"Not for someone like you."
He reached into his pocket and pulled something out a small object, black, heavy, dense in a way metal shouldn't feel.
He held it out.
Shura didn't take it immediately.
The Knight spoke.
"This is a Vanguard's badge."
"The workers respect two things—"
He tapped the token lightly.
"the rhythm of the machine…"
Then his gaze lifted.
"…and the shadow of the Guard."
"If someone tries to take your 'pen'…"
A faint glance at Shura's coat.
"…or your coat—show them this."
Shura's hand didn't move. He already knew what this was—help, again, given, placed in his hand without him earning it.
"I don't want—"
"It's not a gift."
The Knight cut him off, calm, certain.
Shura looked up. The Knight's expression hadn't changed.
"It's an investment."
"On someone who had the guts to leave."
Silence.
"If you make something of it…"
He turned slightly.
"Find me at the High Gate."
"You can tell me the ending of your first chapter."
Another pause.
"That's the price."
Shura looked at the token again, then reached out and closed his fingers around it as the cold metal settled into his palm, heavy and real.
It wasn't kindness or comfort, but weight, responsibility, and expectation pressing into him at once.
He held it still, letting that truth sit without moving.
"…Can I know the name…"
Shura asked quietly.
"…of my first investor?"
The Knight stood.
"Saku."
He began walking away.
Boots striking stone in perfect rhythm.
He didn't look back.
"Don't get caught in any 'Someone,' boy."
Shura lowered his head slightly in a small, respectful bow, and for a moment he was alone again, or so it seemed.
He looked down at the Black Iron Token resting in his palm cold, hard, honest.
Before he could move, the air shifted, subtle but heavy, and another Knight stood nearby in golden armor, worn with authority, each step deliberate as he approached Saku and spoke—"Commander"—his voice friendly, almost cheerful.
"How's the experience leading the Monster Hunter group?"
Shura's thoughts froze.
Wait—Commander?
His gaze shifted from the golden armor to Saku.
Plain armor. No symbols.
…Him?
Mr. Saku… is the Commander?
The Royal Knight rubbed the back of his neck slightly.
A small, awkward smile.
"Thanks for trusting me," he said,
"…and giving your post to scum like me."
No pride. No arrogance. Just honesty, like he didn't fully believe he deserved it.
Saku let out a short laugh, relaxed, unbothered.
"You won the board."
A pause.
"So you take the seat."
Simple.
Final.
Saku smirked slightly.
"But don't get used to it."
A beat.
"You still can't defeat me next time in chess."
The Royal Knight laughed.
Light.
"That was one match."
A pause.
"I'll win again."
Saku's eyes sharpened slightly.
"You are sharp."
"But weak."
No insult. Just truth.
"I hope you'll gain strength someday."
This time the Royal Knight didn't laugh.
He nodded once. He understood. That armor was temporary. Strength was not.
His gaze shifted briefly over Shura, not questioning, just noticing, then moved on.
Saku turned toward Shura and smiled simple, unchanged.
Shura reacted instantly. He bowed once, then again, deeper this time Commander, Investor, the same person in different weight.
When he rose, he didn't speak or stay. He turned and walked away without hesitation, without looking back.
After a few steps, he raised a hand in a quiet goodbye. Behind him, their voices continued.
"Next time I'm keeping the post longer," the Royal Knight said.
"Win properly first," Saku replied.
Shura walked on. The token in his hand heavier now.
"…Chess…"
he whispered.
A way to take something.
He didn't look back.
The city didn't guide him this time.
It didn't offer him anything.
Good.
He tightened his grip on the token and walked into the part of the city that didn't care if he survived.