---

[Stella]

Present Time, Ashmore Kingdom

---

“He’s holding back,” Yonten said, answering the confusion the way William fought induced.

She frowned. “This is a matter of life and death. Why would he do that?”

“Sometimes it’s because of who the opponent is,” Jehona mused.

“Or because of what he fears he’ll become,” Yonten countered.

Since the West Gate held no special worth to any of them, it could only be the latter.

It only made Stella wonder. What did William fear?

Her heart sank at the sight of William’s blade breaking. She leapt a step forwards, anxious, as the West Gate prepared to strike the final blow.

William blocking it with his broken blade rooted her foot from taking another step.

---

[William]

---

His strike blocked, Kav staggered. William took advantage of it to push upwards, grabbing onto Kav’s arm and pulling him close, and then angling himself to throw Kav over his shoulder. He robbed him of his blade, stabbed it next to his neck.

Kav looked at him with eyes wide in shock, panting with effort. He turned to his blade, taking in its wrong placement, before returning his sights to William.

William watched the realization of loss dawn on him, then spoke, “By the Games’ rules, you still would’ve had a chance. But your own rules were merciful, and for them I’ve won.”

Kav’s voice came out dull. “You… were a Champion?”

“I was called the Mourning Blade.” William only uttered the title once, and it was to Sera. It weighed on his tongue back then, numbed it from forming another word. It weighed like nothing now. “But I prefer to go by my own name.”

Kav moved to sit. William let him.

Gaze cast to the ground, Kav murmured, “I’ve lost…”

“You did.”

He looked up at William. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Depends on you. I’d rather not take your life, but if you broke your word, you’ll leave me no choice.”

Kav’s features twisted in disgust. “There’s no honor in a broken vow.” He pulled out the chain he was wearing and took the key from it, handing it to William.

The key was a strange sort of black, enveloped by a faint sheen of shifting colors, and interrupted by the white-glowing glyphs etched into its surface in a spiral. The carvings on its crown were meticulous, centered around four arrowheads placed in the directions of a compass. Only the west arrowhead glowed of the four, and in the same white as the glyphs.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Kav asked, bringing William’s attention back to him. “I was looking for a challenge in the Central Plains when a man in thick robes gave me this key. He said holding onto it would give me a worthy fight. He was right.”

At what cost? “You’ve caused suffering because of it.”

Kav shrugged. “I don’t claim to be a saint.”

“You had your fight now, so what will you do?”

“I don’t know…” Kav seemed lost at that moment. Young.

William sighed.

“You do know that this isn’t a battle, right? Losing once doesn’t mean that you’ve lost forever.” He pointed North, where the Azure Mountains awaited. “If I ever got back, we’ll have another match.”

“Truly?” Kav perked up, his solemn loss forgotten.

William nodded, then said before the promise solidified, “But for that, you need to make amends.”

“Amends,” Kav repeated, coming out odd and strained, like the concept itself was foreign to him.

William turned his head where the bandits under Kav’s leadership stood. “You could start with them.”

Following his lead, Kav contemplated the thought for a moment before declaring, “That could be arranged.”

---

William’s return to his companions initiated a string of questions from them. From the concerned, “Are you alright?” to the interrogating, “Why is the West Gate still alive?” Then came the expected, “Why is the West Gate fighting his bandits?”

William watched Kav tying his terrorized henchmen together for a moment, wondering how he should begin explaining. “It’s a long story.”

“We are all ears.” Yonten assured, his smile mildly concerning.

Aslan’s townspeople finally awoke from their stupor before William could start, erupting in loud cheers. They lunged at them in joy, trapping the four of them under a worrying number of bodies.

Was this how he’d die?

---

It was much later that Aslan’s townspeople allowed them the space to breathe. Some of them went to collect the fallen bandits at Kav’s heels, leading them all to be locked up in the town’s prison. The others stuck to their side and foisted them up on their shoulders, carrying them in a jovial parade to the town’s square. There, the townspeople had them sitting on a platform that viewed their celebrations.

Against the cheers, songs, and… fireworks? William told his companions what happened. The blank stares he received from them afterwards contrasted the delirious glee surrounding them.

It was Stella that flatly summarized it. “So not only did you manage to obtain the West Gate’s key, you got him to apprehend the bandits and lock himself along with them.”

“Yes.”

“Because you promised him another duel.”

“Yes...”

“What a strange fellow…” Jehona mused.

“I’d say you are stranger,” joined a familiar voice—that of the grinning stall owner. “The town is upside down because of you, yet you act like nothing happened.”

“It’s too early to celebrate,” Yonten replied with an aloof air, one that dissipated quickly when the stall owner put a large tray on their table, swiftly uncovering its contents to reveal an array of delicious-looking dishes.

“Not too early to enjoy a meal, I hope?”

Yonten didn’t need to be asked twice, rushing to take his share while the rest of them gave the stall owner their thanks.

The stall owner looked back at the celebrating people of Aslan, in his voice a marvel. “I never thought I’d see a scene like this here again.” Looking back at them, he smiled. “For this, thank you.”

---

The night darkened, yet the celebrations persisted. The townspeople were deaf to their protests, sidestepping their rejection of more food, gifts, and wine.

It was the last one the tavern owners competed to have him and Yonten indulge in, but in varying fervor. At least they accepted William’s rejection after his third goblet. Yonten, though?

“They saw you defeating the West Gate. Risking your ire isn’t worth the honor of taking their goblets.” Stella leaned close to say, watching the situation around Yonten growing more severe. “We should probably help him out of this.”

William turned to her to reply, and it was that moment they heard Yonten speak, “I told you, I don’t want it.”

The fact that he heard him alerted William first to the silence engulfing the scene, and then to Yonten holding an empty goblet over one of the tavern owners, its rim dripping the last of the wine it held.

Uncaring of the stares he garnered, Yonten got up and left, leaving them all stunned after his trail.

---

“Won’t they miss you?” Yonten drawled when they caught up to him soon after, finding him sitting on the mouth of a well close to the town’s square. The light of the lantern hanging over the well illuminated his lone figure.

Jehona let out a snort, destroying any hope for a softer approach. “What’s the matter with you now?”

Her question seemed to have pulled Yonten from whatever storm brewing in his thoughts, sounding genuinely confused as he asked, "Now?"

“You’re being more suspicious than the usual,” she elaborated, and it explained nothing.

“The usual?” was William’s turn to ask, just as confused. There was a usual level Jehona held suspicion of Yonten under?

Yonten sounded more offended than confused now. “My refusal to drink makes me suspicious?”

“No. Your anger does.”

“They were annoying.”

“True, but you were unsettled from the beginning. It was less like you couldn't drink and more like you feared to."

The more Jenoha spoke, the more alarmed Yonten looked, hints of the fear she mentioned creeping into his gaze. Something about it struck a chord in William.

“Let’s retire for the night,” came Stella’s voice, breaking the tension. “We need to make preparation for departure, don’t we?”

William didn’t recall discussing any plan in that line, but he took this boon for what it was. “Yes, we do.”

Yonten jumped up to a stand at that, his return to his usual cheer rapid. “Couldn’t agree more! We lingered in the South for long enough.”

He passed by them to lead the way to the inn they stayed in.

“What are you suspecting him of?” Stella asked when they began to follow, their pace falling slower than Yonten’s.

“It’s nothing,” Jehona answered, strangely faint.

William and Stella looked at one another, surprised at this turn of events.

Shouldn’t Jehona be eager to share her thoughts at this moment?

“Are you sure?” William prodded, more curious about her evasiveness than her suspicions.

Jehona gave a nod and picked up her pace, leaving just him and Stella.

“What’s up with these two?” she wondered aloud.

“I don’t know…”

Whatever it was, though, it worried him.

---

They found the stall owner waiting for them when they went downstairs for breakfast, table set with dishes of his own making instead of the innkeeper’s.

“I distracted them with a preparation technique after you left,” he said after they sat and started eating. “Though they were too drunk to remember anything regardless, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Good to know,” was Yonten response, utterly indifferent.

The stall owner had the sense not to question it, instead inquiring, “When will you be leaving Aslan, by the way?”

“We’re hoping tomorrow,” Stella answered him.

The stall owner stroked his beard, humming in thought. “Makes for a tight schedule, but still one that could be managed.”

Jehona stopped reaching for a piece of flat bread to ask, “Schedule?”

“For your preparations,” the stall owner explained. “You can’t go on as you arrived, can you?”

A pause, then Yonten returned, puzzled, “Can’t we?”

“You do remember asking for the bandits’ entire inventory of weapons as the prize for your wager, yes?” At Yonten’s nod, the stall owner continued, “Well, how do you expect to carry that load?”

“Stuff them into our bags,” Yonten answered, his attention entirely fixed on his plate. The stall owner, gaze fixed on Yonten, appeared a hairbreadth’s away from shaking sense into him.

“I can fit five swords into mine,” came Jehona’s unexpected—and seemingly for the stall owner, unwelcome—support. Oblivious to the stall owner’s increasing disbelief, she pointed at William. “Probably fifteen or so into his.”

The stall owner looked at William and Stella, pleading, and Stella told him, “We can’t afford a wagon.”

The stall owner’s relief was almost palpable. “You returned the money you earned from the wagers! The least we can do is arranging for your departure.” Getting up in a rush—either to start with his plans or before he heard another thing that had him questioning their sanity—he gave them a final word, “Make sure to be at the town’s gates at dawn.”

“Who does he think he is?” the innkeeper muttered under his breath after the stall owner left, moving to approach them with an eager expression. William recalled him trying to make amends in the previous night’s celebrations, only to be pushed out of the way by the townspeople.

Before he could utter a word though, Yonten sighed with bliss. “Can’t imagine eating a better breakfast than this!”

The innkeeper glared, only to falter into false pleasantness when his gaze met William’s. “Anything our heroes need?”

“No, thank you.”

The innkeeper barely kept his expression from twisting into a glower. “Well, don’t be shy to ask when you do.”

William watched his retreating back with fascination.

“I almost pity him,” Stella said. “Wouldn’t want to be in his place now that the tables have turned.”

“For fifty silvers a night?” Yonten sneered. “He deserves to rot.”

Stella nodded serenely in agreement.

So they were still upset about that.

---

Not only was the stall owner quick in his arrangements for them, he was also discreet.

“Thought you’d appreciate a departure without fanfare,” he told them when they arrived to the town’s gates at dawn, finding his lone figure awaiting them past the drawing bridge, standing before a loaded wagon and a horse—black in coat and mane, with small, white spots scattered over its form. “An ordeal, I’m telling you. They all kept asking me when you’d leave. Some of them even negotiated goods over it.”

Stella and Yonten went to climb the wagon to inspect its load, while Jehona immediately went for the horse, looking delighted at its docile acceptance of her touch.

By William’s side, the stall owner watched along, then started, “I did think of leaving Aslan.”

William turned to him. “What stopped you?”

“My daughter,” the stall owner answered. “She’s a timid thing, nothing you’d expect from a Royal Knight. She is, though, and a brave one at that."

“Where is she stationed?” From what Vice-Captain Greco told, there were particular areas of the Kingdom the Knights were stationed at, some more dangerous than the others.

The stall owner sighed. “Orion Town.”

Orion Town?

Right by the Terminal Canyon, separated from the Azure Mountains by its chasm. Vice-Captain Greco referred to it as the most dangerous area of the Kingdom, second only to the Dim Wastelands. But the Dim Wastelands was an ancient and passive threat, not the active siege that was Aldric’s schemes.

“I believe she’s still alive and fighting,” the stall owner said, a desperate hope in his eyes. “When this all ends and she returns, I’d hate for her to look and not find me here.”

It reminded William of Goran, of his belief that his mother was alive and awaiting his return. Goran was right about his hope, and perhaps the stall owner would be right about his own as well. “What’s her name?

“Maya.”

“I’ll deliver her a word from you if we ever reach Orion.”

The stall owner smiled. “Then I’ll consider it delivered.”

They set off for Bundo Pass shortly after, the stall owner’s goodbyes ringing after them.