The sunlight streamed through the car windows, illuminating the interior in golden rows and making the children's eyes sparkle with wonder. As the vehicle jostled over the rocky road, Troy—too excited to stay still—accidentally lost his balance. He nearly slammed into the window frame, but Hermes's hand shot out, catching the boy just half an inch from impact.
July immediately scolded her twin, telling him to stop playing around. Troy sulked, looking down at his light brown peasant suit, and mumbled a sincere apology.
"It's alright. Just stay still and buckle your seatbelt again, kid," Hermes said with a gentle smile.
"Y-yes, sir," Troy replied. He was thin, with messy greenish-curved hair—the first son and second child of the Camelia household. He fumbled with the belt until it was tightly tangled around him.
"Geez, brother. Mind your manners," July reminded him.
"I know! Stop reminding me! Mr. Aljen already told me," Troy puffed his cheeks.
July Camelia was the youngest of the three siblings, with short lime hair and blue eyes that mirrored her brother's. Her conservative blue sleeves and long skirt gave her a much more assertive, mature air than Troy.
Hermes noticed beads of sweat on their foreheads. He pulled out his handkerchief and began to wipe their faces. For a moment, he felt a genuine twinge of happiness, slipping back into the role of an older brother. Even though he intended to use them as tools for his plan, it was hard to resist their identical, innocent cuteness.
'Psychology books don't lie,' he thought. 'Cuteness shall prevail over the damned. No one—except maybe a cold-blooded monster—can resist this.'
But as he looked at them, a grimace touched his lips. What if the villagers didn't see a savior? What if they saw a stranger in a black car and assumed he had kidnapped and brainwashed their children? He had to play the role of "Aljen the Merchant" perfectly.
"Too cute," he beamed unconsciously.
Twenty-six minutes later, the clouds drifted over the sun, casting a soft, lucid light over the land.
"Hey, kids. Is this truly your first time in a car?" Hermes asked, sitting cross-legged.
"Yes, yes! First time, sir!" Troy confirmed.
"Y-yes, sir," July followed, her eyes darting shyly between his knees and his face.
"Oh, please. No need to call me 'sir.' How about 'Elder Brother'?" he suggested.
"Yes, Big Brother Aljen!" the twins beamed in unison.
The sheer force of their innocent synchronization hit Hermes like a physical blow. 'Oh man... these kids! Calling me Big Brother is the biggest achievement of my life. I want to adopt them!' he cried internally, fighting the urge to do a victory pose.
In the front seat, Justin watched through the mirror, his expression darkening. To him, the children weren't adorable; they were parasitic peasants trying to worm their way into the Don's good graces. 'Cynical bastards,' he muttered internally.
Hermes sensed the killing intent radiating from the driver's seat. He discreetly kicked the back of Justin's chair.
'Don't you even think about it. Don't ruin my plan, capiche?' Hermes warned with a sharp glare.
Justin clicked his tongue and lowered his head. 'Yes, sir.'
July was the first to see it. "The wall!"
The group turned to look. Ahead stood Neue Fiona, protected by a vast, heavily fortified concrete wall. Outside the fortifications lay rolling farmlands filled with grapevines and potatoes. However, a large section of the central wall near the front gate remained unfinished—exposed and raw. Hermes surmised they had run out of funds to protect their agricultural assets.
The peace was shattered by a sudden, metallic CLANG.
A bullet punched into the hood of the car. A second later, another round pierced the windshield, spiderwebbing the glass just inches from the dashboard.
"Get down!" Hermes yelled. Without a second thought, he threw his body over the twins, shielding them with his own back.
Justin didn't hesitate. He slammed the gas and yanked the wheel, taking a sharp left. The car roared through a thicket of bushes before Justin skidded to a halt behind a massive, ancient oak tree.
The butler summoned his sword to his waist and leaped out before the car had even stopped vibrating. He adjusted his gloves, his eyes scanning the ridgeline with predatory focus. He clicked his tongue; the shooter was well-hidden.
He hurried back to the car and yanked the door open. He found Hermes still hunched over the children. Justin's eyes flashed with a mix of relief for his master and intense jealousy toward the "peasants" being held so closely.
"Boss, are you alright?" Justin asked.
"I'm fine. Damn... thank goodness," Hermes panted. He sat up and began checking the twins for injuries. "What about you, kids?"
"I'm alright," Troy said, shaking.
"M-me too. July is fine, Brother Aljen," she whispered.
Hermes breathed a sigh of relief, but a cold, sharp fury began to rise in his chest. Someone had just shot at a car full of children.
"Justin, what was that? Who fired? Why?"
"I don't know yet, master. The shooter caught us by surprise," Justin replied gravely. "He could be a hitman or a bandit."
"Can you use your [Agenda] to find him?"
"Unfortunately, I can't. It has a two-hour cooldown," Justin reminded him. "Please, stay calm, master. A person with a right mind doesn't get emotional in battle. We must stay positive."
"Do you think he knows who I am?" Hermes inquired, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"I don't know yet. I have no lead, sir," Justin responded, his voice dangerously calm. "The only way to find out is to hunt down the assassin. But I won't leave without your permission. It depends on your decision, sir."
Hermes pursed his lips. 'He's right. I need to calm down. Being emotional won't help me think.' "So be it. Find that man. If he knows my true identity, we have no choice but to capture him alive to know his purpose," Hermes said, shrugging off the lingering tremor in his hands.
"W-what are you talking about, Brother Aljen?" July asked, her voice small and worried.
"Ah, nothing, little July." Hermes gave his cheeks a firm slap to wake himself up. "Thanks, you're a big help. Cuteness truly cures depression and uneasiness."
The twins looked at each other, confused, but nodded together. 'Okay.'
Hermes took a deep breath. As an adult mind in a teenager's body, he had to strategize. "Find the shooter and capture him alive. Don't forget the objective. I can protect myself, so don't hold back," he ordered, stepping out of the car.
"As you wish, boss," Justin obeyed, but as he turned to leave, Hermes tugged at his trousers.
"Justin. Remember: don't kill him. And if he has allies, treat them nicely. You're allowed to hurt them a bit, but don't go overboard. Capiche?"
"I will," Justin guaranteed with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Then, he disappeared in a blur of motion.
Hermes grabbed the Tommy gun from the car. "Stay inside and keep the doors shut," he whispered to the twins.
Suddenly, the sharp SNAP of a dry branch echoed from the trees. Hermes ducked behind the massive oak just as a volley of bullets tore into the bark. The assailant wore a grassy-camouflaged cloak and carried an old wooden Garand rifle.
Inside the car, the twins covered their heads, trembling.
Hearing the shooter pause to reload, Hermes took the chance to bolt. He had to lead the gunman away from the car; the children's safety was his only priority. The shooter, fueled by impulse, followed him blindly into the brush.
Hermes returned fire, the Tommy gun chattering as he slid down a muddy embankment to take cover behind a large rock. Dust coated his face as the shooter hammered his position with more rounds.
Hermes didn't panic. He took a lungful of air, leaned out, and fired a burst that grazed the shooter's sleeve. Infuriated that a mere boy had tagged him, the man screamed, "Take this, motherfucker!"
The rock Hermes was hiding behind cracked and split like a boiled egg under the concentrated fire. Smoke filled the air. The shooter smirked, thinking he had won—until he felt the cold, hard steel of a barrel pressed against his cheek.
"Take it slowly, will ya?" Hermes whispered, appearing beside him without a scratch. "Drop it. No, no—slow and steady. Throw the weapon over there. Now, if you want to live much longer, don't do anything stupid."
The shooter threw his rifle aside, his face turning pale.
"Who are you? Are you the one who shot us earlier?" Hermes demanded.
"I'm just a guard! I-I wasn't the first one to pull the trigger!" the man stammered.
"Then why try to kill us?" Hermes pressed the barrel harder into the man's skin.
"None of your business, intruder," the shooter spat.
"Ooh." Hermes flipped the gun and slammed the heavy stock into the man's back, knocking him to the dirt. "Stay there and kiss the ground. You're wasting my time."
Hermes stripped the ammunition pouches from the man's waist. As he examined the cloak, he froze. Embroidered on the collar was the symbol of Gaia, the goddess of Scily Island.
A few minutes later, Hermes returned to the car, the camouflaged cloak draped over his shoulder.
"Kids, do you recognize... this?" he asked, showing them the fabric.
"B-brother, I recognize it," Troy said instantly.
"Me too," July added, raising a hand. "That's the uniform of the Village Militia."
'Crap. This is bad,' Hermes thought. 'If they're the militia, we're being shot at by the very people I'm trying to win over. I need to tell that stupid butler before he starts a massacre.'
Meanwhile, out in the fields, Justin was dashing through the tall grass.
"Where are you, you douchebag? Where are you hiding?" he muttered, his eyes darting.
The militia sniper found him first. He locked onto Justin's head and pulled the trigger. "Gotcha," he whispered.
But Justin moved with a fluid, terrifying agility, the bullet whistling through the space he had occupied a microsecond before. Using the sound of the shot, Justin calculated the exact coordinates of the nest.
"Found you," Justin said, his lips curling into a crescent moon smile.
The sniper looked up, seeing the demon-like butler looming over him. For the shooter, the world suddenly became a very cold place.
Ubert, the militia sniper, was confident in his concealment. His grassy-camouflaged cloak was designed to vanish into the terrain, yet this butler had traced his position with terrifying ease. Panicking, he unleashed a desperate volley of bullets, determined to stop this madman from reaching the village gates.
'Why is he smiling like that? It's scary!' Ubert shuddered.
When he paused to change his magazine, Justin vanished. Ubert's eyes darted across the field, but the range was empty. Realizing he was outmatched, he fumbled for his radio. "Need backup in District 1, Realm Area A! I repeat, I need—"
"Sorry, lad. No backup is coming for you," Justin's voice whispered in his ear.
"Oh, shit!" Ubert shrieked.
Justin's hand was already at the man's throat, his thumb pressing into the skin until a thin bead of blood surfaced. He was ready to slice, but he hesitated, recalling Hermes's strict order: Don't kill the shooter.
"You lowly lifeform," Justin smirked, his eyes dancing with malice. "Trying to kill my boss on his trip is a no-no. Any last words, hitman?"
Ubert gulped, his entire body trembling. "W-who are you? Why are you coming to our village?"
"Hoo, you dare answer me with a question?" Justin cackled, his hand rising to deliver a lethal strike. "Killing one man won't even get my master's attention. You're just a replaceable pawn. Goodbye."
"W-wait!"
BANG!
A gunshot interrupted the "fun." Justin blurred backward as multiple bullets peppered the ground where he had been standing.
"Another prey enters the hunting ground?" Justin exulted, his bloodlust reaching a fever pitch.
Ubert scrambled toward his companions—a group of armed men with rifles and radios. In the center stood a man of about forty-five with amber curved hair and a rugged brown jacket. He watched Justin through his scope, his expression grim.
His name was Zamor Camelia, the Village Chief of Neue Fiona.
"Are you alright, Ubert?" he asked.
"Yes, Chief Zamor! I thought I was a goner. That man... he's a monster in human flesh!" Ubert panted.
"A monster, huh? Men, shoot him down!" Zamor commanded.
Justin was in ecstasy. He hadn't been allowed a proper massacre in weeks, and although he had a mission to fulfill, he intended to enjoy the "endurance" test.
The militia opened fire, but Justin moved like he was dancing the cha-cha at a high-society party. He dodged every round, closing the distance with predatory speed.
"This guy is too fast! My bullets can't hit him!" "He's coming! Kill him before he reaches us!"
"Stay calm! Focus!" Chief Zamor bellowed. "We outnumber him!"
But numbers meant nothing to the Black Sword Demon. The moment the militia paused to reload, Justin vanished again.
"Where is he?" one guard whispered.
"I'm here. Hello there," Justin whispered, tapping the man's shoulder.
"Aaaaah!"
A single chop to the neck sent the guard spiraling into unconsciousness. Justin blurred to the next man, delivering a crushing uppercut that sent him skyward. "Don't waste your bullets aimlessly," he bantered.
One by one, the troops fell. Chief Zamor and Ubert watched in horror as their entire defense force was dismantled by a man using nothing but his bare hands.
"T-this is bad," Zamor whispered. "Ubert, warn the council! Run like hell!"
Ubert turned to flee toward the front gate, but Justin flicked a tiny rock. It struck Ubert's leg like a bullet.
"Gaaaaah! My leg!" Ubert howled, tumbling into the dirt.
"Damn it," Zamor fumed, leveling his rifle at Justin.
"Ooh, the last one. The leader of these useless dogs," Justin greeted, closing the gap instantly. He smashed the rifle from Zamor's hands with a single knee strike.
"I am the leader. May I know your name, stranger?" Zamor asked, his voice steady despite the sweat pouring down his face.
"You don't need to know. You're going to die anyway," Justin confirmed gravely. "In battle, a leader pays for his subordinates' actions with his head. You shot at my beloved Don. For that, you must pay. Goodbye."
Justin's hand moved toward Zamor's throat, his fingers coiled like a blade.
"HALT!"
The authoritative command rang out across the field. Justin froze, his hand a mere inch from the Chief's neck. Zamor stood paralyzed, the cold wind of death brushing against his skin.
"Oh my, you're lucky," Justin said, his voice a low, melodic threat that chilled the air.
The standoff was shattered as Hermes and the siblings rushed from the cover of the oak tree, their voices cutting through the tense silence. "Papa!" Troy cried out, his legs carrying him as fast as they could, while July bawled, her mature composure completely dissolving into the desperate sobs of a terrified child.
Zamor Camelia, the Village Chief, felt his heart skip a beat as his rugged face crumbled with relief. "July? Troy? Oh my God... thank goodness you're okay!" He reached out for them, but Justin's hand remained poised like a jagged blade at his throat.
"Nobody move!" Justin snapped. The command was so sharp that the twins froze, caught between their father and the man who had just dismantled an entire militia.
"Kids, do you know this man?" Justin asked gravely, his gaze never leaving Zamor's neck.
"Yes, Mr. Justin! He is our father!" July begged, falling to her knees. "Please spare his life!"
"We beg you! He's the only one we have!" Troy added, genuflecting beside his sister in the dirt.
Hermes stepped forward, the weight of the situation pressing on his chest. "Justin. You heard the kids. Put down your hand. Release that man right now."
"But master," Justin retorted, his eyes flashing with a cold, protective fire. "This man... he led the group that tried to kill you. He represents the leadership that authorized the fire. He must pay for that sin."
"I know," Hermes scowled, his voice dropping into that authoritative register that made the atmosphere feel heavy. "But there is a misunderstanding here. You're doing your job as my butler, but remember what I told you. I want them alive. Don't disappoint me. This is not a request, Justin—it is an order."
"A-as you wish, master," Justin said, his voice tinged with a strange, grieving disappointment as the lethal pressure vanished.
To Justin, Hermes's sharp display of anger had nothing to do with mercy; rather, he perceived it as a cold-blooded strategy for the absolute control of assets, believing his master was "nurturing" the village chief into a debt-bound slave—a psychological enslavement far more cruel and effective than a simple execution. As he watched the flicker of annoyance in Hermes's eyes, Justin interpreted the look not as irritation, but as the "Pure Evil" of a dark god who merely spared his toys because they were currently too useful to break.
As the twins finally rushed into their father's arms, Hermes pulled Justin aside, lowering his mask temporarily to let the butler see the cold, focused intensity in his scarlet irises.
"Never kill anyone in this village without my permission," Hermes ordered. "I want absolute obedience. Do you understand?"
"Your orders are absolute, my Don," Justin declared, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the grass. "I won't lay a hand on these people. This Justin promises to devote his life to your grand design."
"Good. Keep it that way," Hermes simpered, his lips pursed. He felt a chill and quickly put his mask back on, remembering how Justin had literally caught a ricocheting bullet for him earlier. "Anyway... thanks for saving me earlier. That's all."
Justin's eyes began to sparkle with an intense, unsettling light. Unbeknownst to Hermes, his simple gratitude was a catalyst for Justin's growing madness. In the butler's warped perception, the shadows around Hermes seemed to coalesce into the silhouettes of powerful deities—Lucifer, the fallen morning star, and Michael, the commander of heavens—both bowing their heads to the young Don.
"My loyal dog," Hermes muttered a silent prayer, "remember your oath. Please don't ruin my name." He turned back to the sobbing family, the heavy aura of his "pure evil"—which was actually just extreme social anxiety—hanging over the field.