Satoru rubbed his neck, slouched in Millicent's office like he'd just woken up from a nap. "That's why I was so damn confused. Thought you lot cleaned up that demon shitshow in, what, a few hours?"
'One and a half month, huh?' He squinted at Millicent, trying to sniff out a bluff, but her golden eyes didn't flinch. Straight truth, no chaser.
"Well, fuck me," he muttered under his breath, leaning back in the chair.
Millicent tilted her head, scarlet hair catching the light like a goddamn halo. "How is that even possible?" she asked, voice steady but sharp, like she was sizing up a puzzle with missing pieces.
"Hold that thought," Satoru said, snapping his fingers. Poof! He was gone, leaving Millicent blinking at an empty chair.
Dude didn't fuck around. He'd warped straight to outer space, sunglasses glinting against the void, and shot across the planet like a comet with a death wish.
First stop; the so-called "Dark Continent." Except, surprise, bitch! No shadowy hellscape, just more landmass sprawling past a massive ocean hugging Delmar like a clingy ex.
He hovered over the sea, peering down at the churning mess below. It wasn't just waves; it was a torrent, roaring down from a waterfall so wide and steep it looked like the planet's edge had snapped off.
Flat-earth conspiracy nuts would've creamed themselves. "What the hell kind of geology is this?" he grumbled, scratching his head.
No wonder no one sailed that shit. Cross it and you'd be fish food before you could say "demon portal!"
He sighed, popped back into Millicent's office maybe five minutes later, and flopped into the chair like he'd just grabbed a coffee.
She didn't even twitch, just locked eyes with him, waiting. Satoru smirked, snapped his fingers again, and a shimmering veil dropped over the room; privacy mode, activated.
"This shit's better off staying between us," he said, voice low but casual. "People have been swallowing this fissure into Dark Continent fairy tale for centuries. Don't wanna ruin their bedtime story just yet."
Millicent raised a brow, unimpressed but listening. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and spilled the gist; minus the creepy voice and trippy vision.
That part was his little secret until he could connect the dots. "That fissure sucked me into another world, not some spooky Dark Continent.
I flew around for hours but found nothing. No humans, no demons, just a big, dead rock. Like someone hit the reset button and forgot to repopulate it."
She frowned, gears turning. "That doesn't explain the time gap."
Satoru waved a hand, all breezy. "Time dilation, honey. Different worlds, different clocks. Few hours there, month and a half here. Physics is a bitch."
Her blank stare screamed she didn't get it, so he dumbed it down. "Think of it like… one place is a sprint, the other's a fuckin' marathon. Time stretches weird." Close enough.
Then it hit him; Marcille. A month and a half? Shit, she'd be ready to skin him alive.
Millicent caught the flicker in his eyes. "I don't know if she's angry. But she's worried sick, though. She's been a mess."
His grin softened, just a hair, and he stretched his senses out like a radar ping. There she was; in the church, hands glowing, patching up some poor bastard.
Classic Marcille. He could warp in, scare the shit out of her, but nah; he'd save the theatrics.
"For now, can you please keep the other world part to yourself. I don't think the world is ready for that truth yet." Millicent spoke.
Satoru tilted his head, unbelievingly, "Whatever, you're just gonna report to that, all mysterious Guild Master of yours in the end, aren't you?"
"He's one of the few people I trust. And he's not even mysterious."
"Your choice, red. Don't come crying to daddy later." He smirked with a wink.
Unimpressed, she said, "What about the news of your return?"
"Yeah, this stays quiet too," he said, nodding at Millicent. "My grand return's gonna stir the pot enough, I'll handle the epic reveal myself."
She shrugged, all business. "Your funeral."
For now, he decided not to tell Millicent the full story. No absence of the Dark Continent in this world, bullshit, just about the ruined husk of a planet, which he circled top to bottom to prove it.
The "Demon King" crap was a lie, or at least a hell of a misdirect.
He'd locked onto Delmar's coordinates with that weird brain-GPS the voice had zapped into him, warping back like it was nothing.
But why the dead world? And that voice; cryptic bastard, was playing a game he didn't have the rulebook for.
He'd keep it close, not out of mistrust, but because it was too damn fun being the only asshole in on the secret.
For now, anyway.
Satoru didn't warp to the church. Nope, he went home; their home. Stepped inside with a lazy stretch, sunglasses sliding down his nose.
Place was spotless; couch cushions fluffed, floors gleaming, even his room looking like a maid hit it. Marcille had kept it tight, like he'd just stepped out for milk.
"This, kid," he muttered, a pang of something soft hitting him square in the chest.
By evening, the door creaked open. Marcille shuffled in, staff propped on her shoulder, green eyes dulled from a long-ass day.
She froze mid-step, locking onto Satoru standing there; goofy grin, arms wide like some jackass welcoming committee.
"Wha-" Her brain short-circuited, legs buckling. Down she went; out cold.
"Shit," Satoru laughed, catching her before she ate floor. "Maybe not my brightest move." Whatever. He scooped her up, light as a feather, and tucked her into her bed, blanket pulled snug. Girl needed the nap.
Few hours later, Marcille bolted upright, gasping like she'd dreamed the whole thing. Then- sniff, sniff- something was cooking. Her heart did a flip, but she tamped it down.
Could be Lysa or Millicent, those two had been regularly dropping by to check on her like mother hens. Still, she dragged herself downstairs, ready to say thanks.
But when she hit the kitchen and saw him; Satoru, apron tied sloppy, white hair a mess, flipping some sizzling mess in a pan, and she lost it.
Tears stung, legs moved on autopilot, and she launched herself at him, arms clamping around his waist like a vice.
She Didn't care if it was real or a ghost; she bawled, all the pent-up worry and hope spilling out in messy sobs.
Satoru froze for a split second, then hugged her back, one hand ruffling her hair. "Sorry I took so damn long, kid." His voice was light, but there was a crack in it, just enough to show he meant it.
Marcille shook her head, face mashed into the apron, soaking it with tears. "No, no- I'm just glad you're back. I knew you'd come back." Her voice broke, raw and shaky, but hell if she'd let go.
He chuckled, patting her back. "Yeah, yeah, takes more than a shiny portal to ditch you." He didn't pull away, just let her cling, the kitchen filling with the smell of whatever half-assed meal he'd thrown together.
Marcille finally peeled herself off, wiping her face with her sleeve, green eyes puffy but fierce. "Where were you?" she demanded, voice still thick.
Satoru grinned, flipping a pancake; or what might've been a pancake if he gave a shit about recipes. "Oh, you know, scenic detour. Got lost in the multiverse, killed some demons, usual Tuesday stuff."
He winked, dodging the meat of it. She'd get the full scoop eventually; maybe. For now, he'd let her stew, keep that shroud of mystery dangling.
She huffed, crossing her arms, but the relief in her stare was brighter than her spells. "You're impossible."
"Damn right," he shot back, sliding the plate on the dining table. "Eat up, kid. You've been holding down the fort like a champ."
She sat down and dug in, Satoru leaned against the counter, watching her with that lazy smirk. One and a half months gone, and she'd kept the faith.
Fuck, he didn't deserve her. But he was back, and whatever cosmic bullshit was brewing out there? He'd smash it, same as always.
For now, though, he'd let the kid eat her burnt pancakes and cry it out. Plenty of time to drop the real bombs later.
The evening erupted like a goddamn volcano, Loran's Guild banquet hall, a circus of booze, cheers, and bad decisions.
Word of Satoru's return spread faster than a bar tab at last call, and the place was buzzing; adventurers hollering, tankards clashing, some poor bastard belting out a slurred ballad about "the white-haired tornado."
Satoru, stone-cold sober, was the drunkest-acting motherfucker there. He'd hopped onto a table, juggling knives with his warp bullshit, spinning them midair like a demented ringmaster.
"Step right up, folks! Watch me defy gravity and your shitty expectations!" he cackled, teleporting a mug from some guy's hand to his own just to throw the booze around and toss it back.
The crowd ate it up, roaring like he'd slain a wyvern with a spoon.
Hours later, the hall was a graveyard of passed-out drunks and staggering survivors. Only the hardcore stayed upright; Satoru, sprawled in a chair with Marcille koala'd onto his chest, snoring like a baby.
Millicent, sipping water with that unshakable golden cool; Vanessa, smirking like she'd seen worse; and Lysa, twitching with murder in her eyes.
Satoru didn't miss a beat, leaning toward Millicent with a lazy grin. "So, Red, you ever think about ditching the cape for a night and letting loose for once? You know, especially since a legend has returned."
Millicent blinked, deadpan. "I'd rather wrestle a spiked moose barehanded." Shot down, clean and brutal; his charm bounced off her like arrows off a shield.
Vanessa snorted, pinning Lysa's arm before the knight could lunge. "Easy, tiger; he's unkillable, remember?" Lysa growled, but stayed put, seething.
Satoru shrugged, unfazed. "Alright, catch me up. What'd I miss in my month-and-a-half vacation?" The trio traded looks, then spilled the tea.
Vanessa kicked it off, gruff as ever. "City's been a shitshow. Repairs, demon cleanup, the usual. Oh, and some pointy-eared pricks rolled in. Elven ambassadors, all high and mighty, demanding Marcille like she's their lost puppy."
Lysa cut in, fists clenched. "Claimed she's 'one of theirs'. They wanted to drag her to Eldoria. Bunch of bullshit. Elves don't give a damn about half-bloods even if they're useful."
Vanessa nodded, voice steady. "Ms. Millicent shut it down. Told them she's a part of the Guild and the Church. Touch her, and they'd have Astartes and the holy rollers up their asses.
They did back off with tails between their legs, but they'll be back. Smelled like a power grab."
Satoru glanced down at Marcille, still drooling on his jacket, and smirked. "Thanks, Red. Owe you one." He filed that debt away; Millicent didn't fuck around, and he'd repay it in style later.
But mid-chat, his Six Eyes pinged; a flicker in the room, faint but sharp. He didn't flinch, just grinned wider. Millicent beat him to it, her voice slicing the air. "Come out."
A shadow rippled beside her, and a figure uncloaked; kneeling, cloaked in black, one leg down like a loyal dog. "Found it, Ms. Millicent," he rasped, handing her a small pouch.
She nodded, and poof! he was gone, vanishing like smoke. Satoru chuckled. "What, you keeping an assassin on speed dial now?"
"Not an assassin," she said. "Guard. Guild Master sent him after the fissure mess. Things got… complicated."
"Complicated how?" Satoru leaned forward, elbows on his knees, Marcille shifting slightly but still out cold.
Millicent's eyes flicked to him. "That veil you use. Can you put it up again?"
He shrugged, snapped his fingers, and the room shimmered, locked tight. She leaned in, voice dropping.
"That fissure? I have reasons to believe it wasn't random. The city's barrier was active, and it kept the portal from opening in the city but then, demons were somehow, in the city.
Someone had tampered with the anti-demonic barriers surrounding the walls. It just looked like result of mana leakage from our devices, but the timing was too precise."
Satoru's mind flashed to her old warning; fissures were wild cards, sure, but not untouchable. "You're saying someone weaponized it?"
She nodded and opened the pouch, revealing a small, jagged shard; pitch-black, pulsing with a vibe so thick it'd make a priest shit bricks, but that was for Satoru.
To normal eyes and senses, the sheer density of demonic magic in that thing made it impossible to detect.
She spoke, "Black Diamond. Crystallized demonic energy, rarer than a tiny piece of Rehmentite. Forms when too much dark mana piles up in mines, battlegrounds etc.
This is part of a bigger piece, which was enough to open a fissure that big, let those giants slip through. But it'd need a big or a very complicated magic circle and a large amount of mana to pull that off."
Lysa piped up, her glare cutting through the haze. "Only one prick I know has the time, brains, and grudge to pull this?
Shou Tucker. The Guild Rep from Barol City. Crafty old bastard, mage to the bone. He'd torch a village for a shiny coin and a pat on the back."
Vanessa frowned, tapping the table. "Tucker's a hateful son of a bitch, no question. We've clashed; professional rivalry gone sour.
But this? Risking a city just to spit on Ms. Millicent's face? He's not that dumb. There's a payout here, something bigger than petty revenge."
Lysa pointed at the shard. "This is proof; part of the crystal they used. We can use this as a leverage for investigation, can we not?'
Satoru's Eyes zeroed in; that little rock was a goddamn nuke of demonic energy. Dense enough to match those slippery fuckers from Adramalekh's hellhole, the ones who'd danced past his Infinity back in the day.
He whistled low. "That's one hell of a spicy gravel. So, what's the play then?"
Vanessa grunted, crossing her arms. "Investigation's the smart move, but that'll just spook Tucker and whoever's pulling his strings. They'll bury it deeper."
Satoru's grin turned feral. "Then let the genius think he's winning. Keep him smug, let him slip."
Millicent nodded, catching on to his thoughts. "I will poke around quiet. Guild channels and so on. But you-" She pointed at Satoru.
"You can dig up dirt on Tucker, hard proof; names, deals, whatever's he is dealing with. Do that, and I'll make sure the Guild pays you; Four times what I've already paid."
Satoru didn't know Tucker from a hole in the ground, but this? A juicy mystery with a side of chaos? His blood was practically singing. And the Seros coming in...
"Oh, I'm in. Secrets, sabotage, some old prick to fuck with? Sign me up." He cracked his knuckles, already plotting. "I'll sniff out his dirty laundry so fast he'll think I'm his goddamn shadow."
Millicent tucked the shard away, her golden aura flaring just a touch. "Good. Keep it discreet; well, as discreet as you can manage."
He laughed not too loud but a bit sharp, jostling Marcille awake. She blinked, groggy, mumbling, "Wha-Satoru?" before nuzzling back into his chest.
He patted her head. "Sleep, kid. Daddy's got a conspiracy to crack."
Vanessa snorted. "You're a menace."
"Damn right, I am." He shot back, grinning like a wolf.
The morning after the banquet hit like a hangover without the booze. Sun barely scraped past the horizon, and Loran was still half-asleep, nursing its party wounds.
Satoru lounged in his house, sprawled across the couch with a bowl of sugary crap balanced on his chest, when the door banged open.
Lysa stormed in, dark-blue ponytail swinging, eyes narrowed like she'd just caught him pissing on her sword. "Spar with me," she said, flat and hard, no room for bullshit.
Satoru blinked, spoon halfway to his mouth. "The fuck? You drunk from last night or something?"
"Now!" She crossed her arms, steel-plated boots clanking on the floor. Vanessa loomed behind her, smirking, with Marcille fidgeting in between like a worried puppy.
Satoru sighed, tossing the bowl aside. "Fine, whatever. Beats sitting here picking lint outta my ass."
By late morning, the Guild training ground was buzzing. A flat slab of concrete and stone stretched out, ringed by a loose crowd of adventurers; some stretching, some gawking.
Vanessa and Marcille parked at one corner, the kid still fidgeting while Vanessa leaned against a post, arms folded.
A tank-topped adventurer nearby scratched his head. "Lysa's been a moody bitch since those Elf pricks showed up," he muttered. "What's she want with him? Dude doesn't even swing a blade."
Vanessa shrugged, eyes on the platform. "Dunno the exact why, but I'd bet it's his smug face. She won't hold back with him; anyone else, she'd pull punches."
She left out the real kicker. Lysa'd been stewing since the elf standoff, pissed at her own helplessness, swinging steel nonstop to claw past her limits.
Satoru was just the perfect punching bag; unbreakable, infuriating, and cocky enough to light her fuse.
Center stage, Satoru slouched, hands in his pockets. Tight black shirt hugged his lean, ripped frame, grey pants loose and scuffed, dark leather shoes planted like he didn't give a damn.
White hair gleamed under the noon sun, blue eyes glowing behind his shades. Lysa faced him, rapier gleaming; a lighter blade than her duty weapon, but sharp as hell.
Sleeveless blue top clung to her, steel guards glinting on her legs, stance coiled tight. She was ready to carve him up.
Satoru? He looked ready for a nap.
'No Infinity,' he decided, yawning. 'Let's see what she's got.'
Marcille tugged Vanessa's sleeve, voice small. "She'll be okay, right? I've seen him fight; it's… messy."
Vanessa snorted. "He won't kill her, kid. But yeah, he doesn't play favorites when it's go-time." A memory flashed through the crowd's heads; some drunk hag at a tavern mouthing off about Marcille.
'Orphan, half-blood, unwanted trash,' the same cliché Karen crap, and Satoru just smirking as he let the kid heal the bitch's smashed-up face after he'd rearranged it.
No mercy, just results. Eyes snapped back to the platform. Shit was about to pop off.
Lysa lunged, rapier slashing a silver arc, wind magic trailing her blade like a razor-sharp gust. She was fast; fucking fast. Boots scraping stone as she pivoted, thrusting low, then high, a blur of steel and fury.
Satoru sidestepped, casual as hell, head tilting just enough to let the tip whistle past his nose. She spun, wind howling, and stabbed again; a feint into a brutal cross-slash aimed at his chest.
He leaned back and flicked a finger to nudge the blade off-course, grinning like a jackass.
She growled, doubling down. A gust blasted from her feet, propelling her into a whirlwind strike; rapier slicing in tight, lethal circles.
Satoru danced through it, hands still pocketed, ducking and weaving like it was a game of tag. The crowd gasped as she summoned a wind blade, a crescent of green energy ripping toward him.
He slapped it aside with a bare palm, the gust exploding into a harmless breeze, and yawned louder. "C'mon, Lysa, I'm falling asleep here."
Her eyes blazed. She charged, rapier thrusting like a storm of needles; precise, technical, every move was a textbook kill shot.
Satoru bobbed around it, deflecting with lazy swats, stepping just out of reach. She leaped, wind coiling around her, and brought the blade down in a screaming arc.
He caught her wrist mid-swing, twisted it aside, and smirked as she stumbled. "Nice try, princess."
Lysa roared, ripping free, and went all-in. A flurry of slashes, wind tearing up the platform, dust swirling. She was like a tempest, every strike faster, deadlier, pushing her limits to tag him just once.
Satoru let her cook, dodging with that infuriating ease, until she saw it; an opening. She lunged, rapier aimed straight for his gut, victory flashing in her glare.
Then; Bam!
His hand blurred, a single tap to her back, and she cratered into the stone, half-buried, out cold. The platform cracked, dust billowing, but she was fine; just bruised and dreaming.
Satoru dusted his hands. "Can't go soft on a pretty face. She'd hate me for it."
The crowd erupted; cheers, groans, a few curses. Marcille waved, beaming, while Vanessa scoffed, muttering, "Showoff."
Satoru stretched, cracking his neck, when his Eyes pinged. He'd clocked it from the beginning. A presence in the back, cloaked, hood shadowing their face, perched like a statue amid the rabble.
'Alright, mysterious figure, what's your deal?' he thought, smirking. He flicked his gaze over; Marcille still waving, Vanessa rolling her eyes, and that figure just… sitting.
Then; Whoosh! They were gone. Not warped, not teleported; just raw, blistering speed.
A shockwave ripped through the grounds, wind and dust blasting outward. Satoru's hand shot up, catching the tip of a massive, curved blade; golden, wicked, and long as a damn spear.
The force shoved Lysa's limp body out of the boundary, concrete groaning and caving in, under the pressure. He grinned; fingers clamped on the steel.
'Good thing I flipped Infinity back on; hand would've been a goner.' The crowd froze, jaws dropping, as the attacker loomed into view.
Tall as a fucking tree, maybe two and a half meters, lean build; sharp even under the cloak, they could tell that it was a woman. And she was holding that sword on her left arm.
Satoru let go of the blade, stepping back with a smirk, cracking his neck. "Alright, tall and quiet; you gonna just stand there, or you got something to say with that big-ass sword?"
The woman lunged again, towering frame; a lean missile, blade singing through the air in a tight, vicious arc. Satoru ducked, pivoting on his heel, and snapped a palm up, redirecting the strike away, her blade striking against the lifted concrete.
Sparks flew, concrete splitting with a slice. She didn't pause; spun low, slashing at his legs, forcing him to hop back, boots skidding.
The crowd gasped, Marcille yelping, "Satoru!" as Vanessa's axe twitched in her grip.
He laughed loud and wild. "Well, shit! Someone's got moves!"
He deactivated Infinity again, he might need it, but fuck if he'd spoil the fun.
He dashed back in a blink, creating a distance but she was on him in a heartbeat, cloak billowing, that curved golden blade, almost reminiscent of an Odachi's blade, slightly longer than her own height, slashing down like a guillotine.
Satoru twisted, bare hand deflecting the strike with a flick, the shockwave ripping outward, scattering concrete pieces and shoving Lysa's unconscious ass another few feet.
"Fast for a giant," he taunted, dodging another thrust that grazed his shirt. She was a goddamn whirlwind; despite her height, she moved like flowing water, blade weaving patterns too quick for most eyes to track.
Wind magic? Nah, just pure skill, honed to a razor's edge. Satoru grinned wider, shifting gears; his usual predator stomp traded for something sharper, cleaner.
He flowed into a stance, fists loose, and met her next swing with a spinning elbow, knocking the blade high. She adjusted midair, landing light, and countered with a backhand slash that nearly kissed his throat.
The crowd was losing it. Marcille clutched her staff, green eyes wide.
"He's actually trying; what is she?" Someone said, voice full of surprise.
A grizzled adventurer's jaw tightened, muttering, "Fuck me, she's matching him."
Nearby, Vanessa squinted, voice shaky. "That style… no way. Can't be her." But the thought remained, 'The height, the blade; shit- But she's supposed to be...'
Satoru didn't hear the commotion, didn't care; he was in the zone. She charged, blade flashing in a triple-strike combo; high, low, mid.
Each hit was a kill shot if he slipped. He weaved through, hands blurring, parrying with palms and forearms, redirecting her momentum.
She growled, faint but audible, and leaped, spinning midair, sword slashing down with enough force to cleave through him, if it hit.
He sidestepped, grabbed her wrist as she landed, and twisted, hurling her toward the platform's edge. She rolled, boots scraping, and sprang back, blade thrusting straight for his chest.
He caught it barehanded, inches from his heart, grinning like a maniac. "Nice try, mysterious lady." She yanked free, darted left, then right, feinting with surgical precision.
Satoru matched her, ducking a horizontal slice, then flipping over a sweeping cut that carved a gash in the concrete.
He landed, snapped a kick at her side and she blocked with the flat of her blade, skidding back a step. Her cloak flared, but the hood held, shadows still masking her face.
"Holy shit," a tank-topped grunt breathed, wiping sweat. The murmurs grew, a mix of awe and denial rippling through the crowd like wildfire.
Satoru laughed again, dodging a thrust that grazed his hair. "You're good, lady; real good." She didn't answer, just pressed harder, blade dancing in tight, lethal arcs.
He bobbed around it, throwing jabs; fast, controlled, nothing sloppy; testing her guard. She parried one, countered with a slash that forced him to twist midair, landing in a crouch.
For once, he wasn't just clowning; this chick was pushing him, not to his limit, but enough to make him work. No Infinity, no warp, just fists and feet against that golden death-stick. And fuck, it was fun.
She lunged again, blade arcing high, then dropping low; a feint into a brutal upward cut. Satoru spun aside, grabbed her arm, and yanked her forward, off-balance.
She twisted free, her metallic boots slamming stone, and they clashed; blade versus hands, speed versus speed.
Sparks flew as he deflected strike after strike, her movements a blur of gold and black, his, a storm of white and blue.
The platform groaned, cracks spiderwebbing under their dance. Gusts of wind; shockwaves making all the observers step back.
Marcille's eyes widened. She thought she had improved, but this, this was a real fight. A true dance of death.
Another woman's voice cracked, "They're wrecking it!" Vanessa growled, "Let 'em! She's nuts, he's crazy, perfect match."
The crowd was split; half cheering, half dumbstruck, a few whispering names from some stories, too wild to believe.
Then; stillness. She froze mid-step, blade raised, chest heaving just a fraction. Satoru stopped too, hands loose, smirking like he'd won the lottery. "What, calling it quits already?"
A gust roared through the grounds, sharp and sudden, ripping at her cloak. The hood flew back, and time fucking stopped.
Scarlet hair spilled out; long, wild, brighter than Millicent's. Framing pinkish-red lips and a golden-brown blindfold tight over her eyes.
The crowd sucked in a collective breath, Marcille gasping, Vanessa cursing under her breath. Satoru tilted his head, blue eyes glinting. "Huh, blindfold's my style, though."
She didn't move, didn't speak, just stood there.
Her golden blade gleaming under the sunlight.
... To be continued!!!