The sea was calm again.

  The waves lapped gently against the hull as the five remaining ships drifted toward the port.

  What awaited them was something out of a different world.

  The city stretched along the coastline like a living painting, its skyline a mix of elegance and history. Towering pagoda-style buildings rose above the waterfront, their curved roofs adorned with intricate golden embellishments. Stone-paved streets wove between wooden merchant houses and elegant tea pavilions, illuminated by the soft glow of paper lanterns swaying in the ocean breeze.

  At the highest point, a grand castle overlooked the city—its walls pristine white, its tiled rooftops layered like the wings of a crane. It stood silent and imposing, watching over the port like an ancient guardian.

  The scent of salt and cherry blossoms filled the air, blending with the distant aroma of roasting fish and simmering broth.

  Beyond the docks, the city pulsed with life.

  People in flowing silk robes walked the stone bridges arching over narrow canals, while vendors called out from their stalls, their voices mingling with the gentle clatter of wooden sandals on the pavement.

  It was peaceful. Too peaceful. After the horrors of the battlefield, it felt unreal.

  No wreckage. No blood. Just a city untouched by war.

  But for how long?

  “Welcome to Hizuru, the most beautiful city you’ll ever lay eyes on!” Havok declared as he stepped off the ship, arms wide. "Though, not as beautiful as the fine ladies you’ll find here." He grinned, openly admiring a pair of passing women.

  William took a slow breath, eyes scanning the scenery. “This is… unreal.”

  A paradise in the middle of hell itself.

  “Hey, crazy idea—what if we just stay here?” Dovak suggested, his mouth still half-open in awe. “Like, forever.”

  Havok let out a dry laugh, popping the cork off a bottle of rum that had magically appeared in his hand. “Oh, you can stay, sure. But trust me, there's a price for that. Look at me—nearly died just bringing you lot here.”

  Dovak nudged Nigel with his elbow, smirking. “Still, wouldn’t be the worst place to settle down, huh?”

  But Nigel wasn’t listening.

  His eyes were locked on the other ships pulling into the docks.

  His pulse quickened.

  Scanning the faces of the survivors—most of them battered, broken. Some limped forward with missing limbs, bandaged eyes, or wounds too fresh to heal. Others carried the emptiness of those who had seen too much death.

  But none of them mattered.

  There was only one face he was looking for.

  And then—he found her.

  “Oh, thank whatever gods, spirits, or cosmic horrors exist out there—WE SURVIVED!”

  Sam’s voice cut through the moment as he dropped to his knees, grabbing fistfuls of the dock and kissing the wooden planks.

  His excitement lasted about two seconds before his face twisted in disgust. “Ugh—tastes like seagull crap.”

  Nyx sighed, barely sparing him a glance.

  The city was breathtaking—more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen in the Rings.

  But she didn’t care. Not right now.

  Her eyes swept the crowd, heart pounding, a small, nagging fear lodged in her throat.

  Please. Let him be here.

  Then— She saw him.

  Nigel was already moving toward her. Not too slow, not too fast.

  Measured. Controlled. Like someone who cared but refused to show desperation.

  They stopped a step apart, locking eyes for a few moments of quiet understanding.

  Then…

  “Oh wow, look at this—”

  Sam’s voice rang out again. “A tragic lovers' reunion. Are you two gonna stand there like a couple of awkward idiots, or are you actually gonna say something, idiots?”

  Without warning, Nyx drove her fist straight into Sam’s stomach.

  Sam barely felt it. But, ever the performer, he immediately doubled over, gasping dramatically. “Oh—gods—fatal wound—I see the light—”

  Nyx ignored his theatrics.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, turning to Nigel. “You know… when I didn’t see you on our ship, I—”

  She stopped herself.

  She wasn’t one for open sentiment, but the meaning was clear.

  Nigel held her gaze for a moment before nodding. “I know.”

  Sam, still mid-performance, clutched his chest. “Wait, wait—did I just hear that right? The unstoppable, cold-hearted General Nyx was actually afraid?”

  Nyx didn’t answer.

  Instead, she casually placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder—then shoved him off the dock.

  A loud splash followed.

  “GAH—BETRAYAL!” Sam’s voice rang out from the water.

  Nyx exhaled, shaking her head. “Much better.”

  Nigel let out a faint, amused smile. “Yeah. Me too.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  A soft chuckle came from behind them.

  Nigel turned just as a hand reached down, helping a drenched, grumbling Sam climb back onto the dock.

  Sam coughed, water dripping from his hair. “She can be so cruel sometimes…” he lamented, half-serious, half-melodramatic.

  The man beside him watched the exchange with quiet amusement before stepping forward.

  “Takemura Jin.” He introduced himself with a small bow.

  Nigel’s expression immediately hardened.

  Nyx gestured toward Jin. “This guy’s the reason we’re still standing. Without him, our ship wouldn’t have made it.”

  Jin remained composed, his unreadable gaze meeting Nigel’s.

  Nigel, however, didn’t return the bow.

  He never trusted people easily, and he wasn’t about to start now.

  “Nigel,” he said flatly. No more. No less.

  Sam, sensing the tension in the air, clapped his hands together.

  "Alright, alright—how about we move this whole welcome speech… over there?" He jabbed a thumb toward what looked like a bar.

  Before anyone could agree or object, a voice rang through the port.

  "Welcome, dear participants!"

  A woman floated gracefully above them, her crimson kimono flowing like silk in the wind. She was beautiful, poised—her presence soft yet commanding.

  "You’ve done well to make it this far," she continued, her voice carrying a bright, almost melodic energy. "The battle you survived was no small feat. Hizuru’s gates do not open for just anyone."

  As she drifted closer, her gaze swept across the crowd, warm but piercing—until, for a brief second, it landed on Nigel.

  "And some of you…" she said with a knowing smile, "have even called upon a Kaibutsu and been cleansed by them."

  A few murmurs rippled through the survivors, but the woman moved on before the tension could linger.

  "But enough of that. You've earned a break. Hizuru is yours to enjoy—its hot springs, its inns, its bars filled with the best food and drink you will ever taste."

  Then, her tone shifted—light, but firm.

  "There are, of course, a few rules."

  She raised a delicate hand.

  "One: The people of Hizuru are not to be harmed. Any act of violence against them will be met with absolute punishment.

  Two: You may not kill other participants within the city walls.

  And lastly, a personal recommendation—consider joining a Faction. It will be invaluable not just in this stage, but in what’s to come."

  She clasped her hands together, her expression brightening once more.

  "Now then—enjoy your little rest. You've more than earned it."

  With that, she gracefully turned and ascended, leaving behind only the lingering scent of cherry blossoms and incense.

  After a few hours, the group settled into an inn near the city center.

  “Six thousand credits per night?! This is daylight robbery!” Sam groaned, staring at the price list. “A thousand credits for… sushi? What the hell is that?”

  “It’s a dish made with seasoned rice, usually combined with raw fish, seafood, vegetables, or fruit,” Jin explained calmly. “It’s a traditional meal in my family.”

  William glanced up. “I heard some participants say that if we join a guild, they’ll cover our lodging for free.”

  Sam wrinkled his nose. “Raw fish? Yeah, no thanks… Wait—did you say free lodging?” He slammed the menu down. “Alright, screw it. Let’s join a guild.”

  Nyx turned to Nigel. “What do you think?”

  Nigel hesitated.

  Joining a guild meant dealing with more people. And that was never good news.

  The more people involved, the greater the risk.

  Finally, he exhaled. “I don’t like the idea… but unless we want to burn through all our credits on food and shelter, we might not have much of a choice.”

  “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go immediately!” Sam declared.

  Then he paused.

  “…Uh. Where exactly are we going?” He turned to William.

  “The castle at the highest point of the city,” William replied, nodding toward the towering white fortress above them. “That’s the Factions’ Hub.”

  Sam grinned. “Perfect. No time to waste—free food and shelter await!”

  With that, they set off, winding their way through the picturesque streets of Hizuru.

  The castle loomed high above them, its pristine white walls reflecting the golden afternoon sun. As they stepped through the grand entrance, the air was instantly filled with shouts and voices overlapping—a chaotic marketplace of recruitment.

  “Which faction should we join?” William asked, glancing around.

  “I guess we should see what they offer first,” Nyx muttered. “Not like they gave us much guidance.”

  Before they could take another step, a wave of recruiters descended on them.

  “Join the Red Hood Faction!” one participant in a deep red cloak called out. “We have the largest numbers in the Chaos Tournament! Daily missions for massive rewards!”

  “The Blue Tiger Clan welcomes you!” another voice rang out. The speaker was wrapped in a long coat patterned like a tiger’s fur. “The best lost treasures, the most dangerous missions, and rewards beyond imagination!”

  Everywhere they looked, newcomers were getting swept into the factions of their choice.

  The recruitment process was simple but efficient—a digital signature followed by an instant tattoo of the faction’s crest on the forearm, marking them for easy identification.

  The largest factions were already teeming with thousands—tens of thousands—of members, and today, their ranks would swell even further.

  Dovak, eyes gleaming with excitement, was already scanning for the biggest and boldest group to join.

  Nigel, meanwhile, was doing the opposite.

  His gaze swept the room, searching for something smaller. A faction away from the chaos. A faction where he wouldn’t have to put too much trust in strangers.

  “There.”

  Nigel pointed toward a small, tucked-away booth on the second floor.

  “There’s hardly anyone there.”

  Dovak groaned. “Oh, come on! We should join one of the big factions!”

  The group ignored him. After a few seconds of pouting, he muttered something under his breath and let it go.

  Sam squinted at the booth’s sign as they approached. “The Coalition.”

  “As long as we’re talking dozens or hundreds of members, not thousands, I’m fine with it,” Claire said.

  Nigel stepped forward and addressed the gruff-looking man sitting behind the reception desk. The guy looked like he’d seen at least two lifetimes' worth of disappointments.

  “How many members does this faction have?” Nigel asked.

  The man grimaced.

  “Five.”

  Sam threw his hands up. “Perfect! Just what we were looking for!”

  The man leaned forward, squinting at them like they were the dumbest people he’d ever met.

  “Y’oughta be less excited ‘bout that,” he muttered. “This faction’s cursed.”

  “…Cursed?” Claire echoed, raising an eyebrow.

  Lars sighed, rubbing his temple. “We barely get any damn mission. And on top of that, we’re just seven people, kid. Been here twenty-seven years, an’ our founder? She’s pushin’ fifty.”

  There was a pause.

  Then—

  “Yeah, so assuming we understood any of that,” Sam said, “how do we sign up?”

  Lars let out a raspy chuckle. “Yer a rude little bastard—but I like yer attitude.”

  He tapped the stack of registration forms on the desk. “Each of ya signs this, then you get t’crest burned onto yer forearm. That’s how we tell who’s who.”

  “I’ll go first,” Dovak said, stepping up. “At least let me have this.”

  No one objected.

  Dovak barely skimmed the form, his eyes jumping straight to the signature line.

  Then, rolling up his sleeve, he stretched his arm out.

  Lars grabbed a small tattooing device, his fingers hovering over a red button.

  “Oh yeah—name’s Lars. People round here call me Old Lars.”

  He pressed the button.

  A brief flash of light.

  “Ah—shit!” Dovak yelped, jerking slightly at the sting.

  It faded fast.

  When he looked down, a fresh mark was seared into his forearm:

  A large black circle. Inside it, a white triangle, and at each of the triangle’s three points, a smaller gray circle.

  The crest of The Coalition.

  “Oh, I think I’ve seen something like this before,” Dovak mused, inspecting the tattoo. “It’s, uh… abstract art or something, right?”

  Lars stared at him.

  Then he burst into raucous laughter.

  “Abstract art?! Ya dimwit!” he wheezed, clapping Dovak on the back. “This ain’t just some fancy scribble! This here symbol carries real meaning!” He smirked. “But I’ll let the Founder explain that one.”

  Dovak muttered something under his breath, rubbing his arm.

  Lars straightened, arms crossed. “In any case—we’re celebratin’ tonight! We just doubled our numbers in one day!”

  William raised an eyebrow. “Who exactly is the Founder? You seem to be the only one here.”

  Lars waved a hand. “Hold yer horses, kid—I’ll call ‘er now.”

  He pulled out a small communicator, punching in a number. The group watched as he waited for a response.

  Then—

  “Ah, Lady Founder!” Lars exclaimed. “We got seven new young’uns joinin’ the Coalition today! …Huh? …Yeah, yeah, that’s right… Aha. Right. …She’ll be right over,” he added, turning back to the group. “She’ll be here soon.”

  As they waited, the rest of them took turns completing their registration.

  Sam inspected his new Coalition tattoo, then glanced at Dovak with a smirk. “Huh. Didn’t hurt at all.”

  Dovak shot him a glare. “I have sensitive skin, alright?!”

  Claire and William, meanwhile, had drifted into a conversation about electronics and robotics.

  Nigel observed them quietly. He wasn’t sure when they’d gotten so close.

  Claire was usually arrogant and dismissive, yet with William, it was different. She actually listened.

  He leaned back in one of the rickety chairs near the Coalition’s booth and let out a deep breath.

  The first one in a long time.