SLAM — THUD!
"Gah!" Calcharo groaned, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he glared up at Kurian. "Are you trying to commit heresy or something!?"
He clutched his stomach, wincing as the ache crawled up his ribs. "Just how much force did you put into that slam… even my phantom shattered from the impact!"
Realizing his error, and seeing Calcharo's ghastly expression, Kurian quickly apologized. "Sorry about that, boss," he said, offering a hand and helping him up before guiding him back toward the base.
"Did my words provoke you that much?" Calcharo managed to rasp out between labored breaths, a string of saliva trailing from his lips.
The pain clawing through his body was unlike anything he'd felt before — that slam from Kurian just now felt too personal.
"Perhaps." Kurian's expression darkened into a faint frown.
"You don't intend to beat your already beaten leader now, do you?" Calcharo barked, half-joking yet uneasy — a shiver running down his spine at that look on Kurian's face.
"No," Kurian replied evenly. Then, after a pause, he added, "But I might beat myself instead."
"—!!?" Calcharo's brow arched, confusion flickering across his face. "Is everything alright with you?"
Kurian fell silent for a moment, the weight of his thoughts pressing heavy in his chest. Then, with a weary exhale, he decided against keeping it buried — he'd long resolved never to hide the truth from those he genuinely cared for.
"Boss," he said quietly, his gaze fixed ahead, "maybe I'm not cut out for this kind of life after all."
Earlier that dawn, Calcharo had challenged Kurian to their usual duel — a routine they both treated as part of their morning ritual.
And like usual, everything had gone smoothly at first, until that moment...
Clang — Clang — CLANG!
A cascade of metallic echoes rang through the morning air, each strike sharp enough to shatter the calm of dawn.
Sparks leapt from steel as Calcharo pressed forward, his voice tight with frustration: "Tch! Just how long are you going to keep parrying!?"
Kurian's reply came with a faint smirk, his knife a whisper between strikes. "Didn't I say that I hate sword grapples?" Each parry was minimal, almost casual, yet precise enough to nullify the pressure.
"At least attack, you coward!" Calcharo growled, widening his stance as his phantom lunged in tandem.
Flicking the phantom's sword aside with a casual tilt of his blade, Kurian cocked his head to the side. His hands already in motion as he lunged towards Calcharo.
"I already have my hands full with this unfair two-on-one," he murmured, flicking his hand toward Calcharo's wrist and forcing the boy's sword into the earth before deftly redirecting the phantom's blade with his own. "Attacking might be… rather precarious for me."
"Blame yourself for bringing a knife to a sword fight!" Calcharo spat, his strikes subtly shifting in timing, each one aimed to catch Kurian off guard.
Kurian, unfazed, simply quickened his pace, seizing Calcharo's wrist with his free hand as his blade lunged like a striking serpent toward Calcharo's head.
Yet, in that instant, he twisted the blade mid-motion, deflecting the phantom's strike with fluid precision.
Using Calcharo's body as leverage, he swung him like a blunt instrument, smashing the phantom aside and creating a sudden, widening distance between them.
GUSH—!!?
A sudden warmth surged along Kurian's arm. He glanced down quickly, eyes narrowing. 'Ho?'
In the instant he used Calcharo's body as a blunt weapon, hurling him alongside his phantom, Calcharo had grazed him — just enough to leave a mark.
"Tch!" Calcharo clicked his tongue, rising with visible frustration, feeling bitter over having managed only a scratch. 'His recovery… it's too fast.'
Time and again, Calcharo altered his rhythm, introducing micro-delays, feints, and tricks — but Kurian adapted seamlessly, each motion fluid, each parry precise.
"Hehe," Kurian's lips curled into a small, pleased chuckle, a quiet giggle at Calcharo's evident growth. He truly was impressed — Calcharo had greatly improved.
'His growth is commendable,' Kurian thought, letting himself enjoy the moment.
But Calcharo, catching that giggle, misread it entirely. His light-blue eyes narrowed, glinting with a cold, accusing edge. "Are you underestimating me just because you have more experience?" he spat, tension coiling in his posture.
"Sorry, I wasn't laughing at you." Kurian quickly explained, but a furious tandem of deadly arcs was already hurtling toward him, launched by Calcharo and his phantom.
"I know that, idiot!" Calcharo sneered, finally landing a solid hit on Kurian's thigh. His sword sank deep, yet Kurian didn't even flinch. Calmly, he slashed toward Calcharo, who abandoned his weapon mid-motion.
Kurian glanced at his pierced thighs, then tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. He gestured toward Calcharo with his hands before conceding, "Your win."
He pulled out the lodged sword with ease and wrapped the wound it had left with a handkerchief. Passing the blade back to Calcharo, he asked, "Another round?"
Calcharo narrowed his eyes. "You're overestimating yourself, Kurian. You could've died there if I hadn't aimed for a non-lethal spot."
"Honestly," he added, voice sharp with irritation, "why did you even bring a knife to a sword fight?"
Kurian tilted the blade at a lazy angle, its tip catching the light. "This weapon can cut, as well as kill the opponent before me." His voice was soft, unnervingly calm. "That is all I ask of any weapon."
"Besides… your growth is phenomenal," Kurian said, his tone carrying genuine admiration. "Lately, I've been using a straight grip more often than the reverse I usually favor with a knife. Facing you demands greater mechanical strength."
A flicker of pride lit Calcharo's chest, but it was fleeting.
"—!!?"
Like an avalanche crashing over him, Calcharo's body tensed instinctively; his phantom mirrored the motion, both retreating slightly as the air around them grew taut with tension.
"That said…" Kurian's voice dropped. A faint flush colored his face as his grip tightened. "Perhaps I've been a bit too lenient."
He exhaled, easing into a posture that appeared casual — arms loose at his sides, shoulders relaxed — but beneath the surface, every muscle was coiled, ready to spring like a carp moving through water it knows intimately.
"For the remainder," he said, eyes narrowing to lethal focus, "I'll be serious."
A pulse of killing intent rippled through the clearing. Kurian's gaze locked onto Calcharo and his phantom. "Here I come."
Shivers—
Calcharo shivered, recalling the moments that had transformed him into his current sorry state. Yet he couldn't help but ask, "What do you mean by, 'I'm not cut out for this kind of life'?"
Kurian's gaze lifted to the clear blue sky, the light catching the edges of his hair as he asked, almost casually, "Boss… isn't this world simply too peaceful?"
"!!!????"
Calcharo's eyes widened in disbelief. What Kurian had just said was the kind of thing only a madman could utter.
No sane person on Solaris III would ever call this world peaceful, and yet, here was someone proclaiming it aloud.
'Exactly what kind of hell did he endure in his previous life?' Calcharo thought, a mix of empathetic curiosity and dread tightening in his chest.
What could possibly drive a man to see a world steeped in lament as… peaceful?
"..." Tightening his jaw, Calcharo patted Kurian's back and said quietly, "Don't dwell too much on the past. Just live as Kurian of the Ghost Hounds."
"..." Kurian fell silent for a moment before offering a faint, grateful smile. "Aye."
As the two entered the base, one of the members came running toward them, excitement clear in his voice. "Hey, Kurian! I got something for you!"
Kurian raised a brow at his colleague's enthusiasm, while Calcharo seemed equally curious about the discovery.
"Ta-da!" The member held up a broken jade bangle. Kurian's eyes widened. "This is…"
Wearing a smug, proud grin, the member chuckled. "Hehe, it's something important to you, right?"
His cheerful tone faltered slightly as he added, "It's being auctioned in Ragunna, one of the cities in Rinascita."
Kurian's expression hardened. "Alright," he said evenly. "I'll keep track of it." With that, he supported Calcharo toward the medical bay.
"You're not going to retrieve it?" Calcharo asked.
Kurian shook his head. "It's not the right time yet. It's only been a week since we annexed a third of the Underdogs. How could I chase after ornaments of the past when there's still so much work left to do?"
He exhaled softly. "It'd be like taking a vacation when manpower is still stretched thin."
Calcharo nodded thoughtfully, then said, "Ah right, I have an announcement to make."
"Then please," Kurian replied, glancing at his quivering abdomen, "make it after you get those wounds treated."
Calcharo gave a small, understanding nod.
***
"WHAT?!"
A collective roar of disbelief erupted through the Ghost Hounds' base as every member reacted in shock to their leader's sudden announcement.
"We're going to Ragunna!" Calcharo, his chest still bandaged, declared once more, his tone firm and resolute.
Some members leaned forward, intrigued. "Hoh?"
Others protested instantly. "Aw, hell nah!"
And there stood Kurian, a deep frown creasing his face. He understood the reasoning behind Calcharo's declaration, thus, he tried to object. "Boss, this is—"
"We're going to Ragunna," Calcharo continued, cutting him off, "to expand our sphere of influence and…" His gaze turned toward Kurian. "…to retrieve a precious item belonging to our dear 'Pookie' here."
Though the Ghost Hounds were feared across the New Federation for their ferocity and unmatched combat prowess, among themselves, they shared a more familial bond — one that included nicknames.
And Kurian, despite his intimidating presence and cold demeanor in battle, was affectionately called Pookie by his comrades for his gentle, understanding nature.
Calcharo went on to explain what was the tea, and before he could even finish, the very group that had voiced their opposition moments ago suddenly shouted in unison, "Let's go to Ragunna now!"
Kurian blinked, staring at them in disbelief. "Wait! weren't you guys against this a second ago?!"
"No," the opposition collectively denied, shaking their heads.
"You literally said, 'Aw hell nah!'" Kurian pointed out, his tone caught somewhere between exasperation and bewilderment.
"No, no," they quickly corrected, switching their tone and stance entirely. "We said, 'Ah hell yeah!'"
"But—" Kurian tried to protest, only for Calcharo to cut him off sharply.
"Kurian," he said with a tone that brokered no argument, "this is an order."
Kurian's eyes widened, realizing Calcharo was blatantly abusing his authority as leader.
"Pack your bags."
For a moment, Kurian looked ready to argue further, but then his expression softened. He wasn't thinking as a soldier anymore, nor as a weapon bound by orders.
This time, he was simply a member of the Ghost Hounds — part of a family that, for better or worse, had taken him in.
A resigned smile crossed his face as he turned to make preparations, and with a quiet nod, he said, "…Aye."
***
The Ghost Hounds moved swiftly, their preparations seamless as they loaded their luggage and boarded transport. By nightfall, they were already en route — scheduled to arrive in Ragunna by the following evening.
As the moonlight washed over the quiet convoy, the dogs fell into deep slumber. Every member of the Ghost Hounds slept soundly. Everyone… even Kurian.
Beads of sweat formed on his brow, his expression tense, jaw clenched as he tossed in his sleep.
"You've grown lenient."
The voice echoed within his mind — familiar, yet hauntingly distant. No… it wasn't someone else's voice. It was his own. The voice of Ferdinand.
In the dream, he stood face to face with that past self — Ferdinand — staring at him with a look of cold disappointment.
"Such blatant abandonment," the figure said, his eyes exuding frost. "You've truly failed yourself."
"—!!?"
Kurian jolted awake, breath sharp and uneven, as the first rays of dawn crept across his face. The faint hum of the transport filled the silence, but his mind was still echoing with that word — leniency.
Clutching his head, he muttered under his breath, voice low and uncertain. "Am I being haunted by the ghost of my past for leaving it behind… or…"
His gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the city of Ragunna slowly emerged in the morning light. "…is this a warning from my senses?"
To be continued...