The room fell silent after Morgo's confession. The man who was laughing just a second ago was now sobbing, his spirit as broken as the village he led. Argol looked down at his lap, his jaw tight. He was a soldier of the Kingdom, and hearing how his own country had left these people for dead made him see red.
Reine, however, was focused on the logistics. "Morgo, sir... do you know why the war started?"
Morgo wiped his face with a trembling hand. "From what I know... the Paekl Kingdom wanted more power. They want to unite the Eight Heavenly Kingdoms under one crown."
Reine listened, but he'd heard this propaganda before. Unite the kingdoms? No one does that for peace. They do it for resources. He went to ask another question, but he was interrupted.
'Hey kid. Hey!'
Reine looked around the room. 'No, idiot! Down here!'
Reine looked down at his feet, then started peering under the couch and the coffee table. Argol and Morgo stopped talking, watching him with identical looks of concern.
"Reine... did you lose something?" Argol asked.
"No, uh... someone just called me. I don't know where it's coming from," Reine said, still scanning the floorboards.
"Young man," the old man said, his voice soft with pity. "It seems you are very tired. You're hearing things."
'Oh my god... it's me. Aurelian. You utter fool,' the voice shouted directly into Reine's consciousness.
"Oh, it's you..." Reine thought back casually, his brain still stuck on the war talk. "...Wait, IT'S YOU!"
Reine shouted the words aloud, jumping up from the couch so fast he nearly hit the ceiling. He caught himself a second later, realizing he was standing in a silent room with two people looking at him like he was a mental patient. He sat back down, face heating up.
"Sir... are you okay?" Argol whispered.
"Young man, perhaps you should really rest," Morgo said, stood up. "I have a room with two beds. Go ahead."
Argol agreed instantly, practically dragging Reine toward the back.
'Idiot. Watching you gave me second-hand embarrassment,' the sword hissed in his mind.
'Shut up. Who even are you?' Reine mumbled as they reached the guest room.
'I am Aurelian. The Mythical Sword.' The air in the hallway seemed to freeze for a split second, a heavy, ancient weight pressing against Reine's soul.
"Oh, no shit," Reine muttered.
The weight vanished. The sword didn't respond—it seemed genuinely offended by Reine's casual reaction.
The lights went out, leaving the room in shadows pierced only by the moonlight through the window. Reine and Argol lay in opposite beds. The village was silent.
"Today was really tiring," Reine said to the darkness.
He got no response. Argol was already snoring, sleeping like a baby. Reine smiled faintly and closed his eyes, his body finally shutting down.
CRASH.
A sound like a battering ram hitting a stone wall shook the house. Then came the screams.
"MONSTERS! THEY'RE HERE!"
Reine bolted upright and grabbed Aurelian. He lunged for the window. Outside, the "Grit" of the world had turned into a slaughterhouse. These weren't beasts. They were Orcs.
Massive, green-skinned warriors with tusks like ivory daggers and eyes full of bloodlust. There were dozens of them, systematically smashing doors and dragging people into the street.
Reine's hand tightened on the hilt of his "junk" sword. The time for talking was over.