Morning came to Loxra without celebration.
There were no extra bells from the watchtower. No announcements from the baron's office. Yet anyone walking along the main road could feel it—the quicker steps, the quieter voices, the way eyes kept drifting toward the old bar on the city's edge.
Eiran stood in front of the bar, his back resting against a weathered wooden pillar. From there, he watched the market slowly come alive, though it felt less alive than usual.
"This city feels strange," he muttered.
Ruen, tying his boots near the stairs, yawned.
"You're only noticing now?"
"It's usually strange because it's loud," Eiran said.
"This feels strange because it's too quiet."
The bar door opened slowly.
Mara stepped outside with a cloth draped over her shoulder. Her hair, streaked with gray, was tied neatly back. Her face was calm—the face of someone who had lived long enough not to panic over subtle changes.
She looked at Eiran for a moment longer than usual.
"You know," she said softly,
"there used to be a boy more stubborn than you."
Eiran turned quickly.
"Who?"
"A childhood friend of mine," Mara replied.
"He used to climb rooftops too. Just as hardheaded as you."
She smiled faintly, as if remembering something far away.
"And he made Helder angry just as often."
From inside the bar came a rough snort.
"Don't start," Helder said sharply.
Mara laughed quietly.
"One night," she continued, "he even dragged Helder along to peek into the back room of a gambling house."
"That wasn't peeking," Helder cut in. "That was… making sure they weren't cheating."
Mara nodded as if agreeing.
"All I know is that one dealer lost every last coin that night."
Helder huffed.
"That wasn't because we cheated."
"No," Mara said.
"It was because he could read their hands before the coins even hit the table."
She paused, then chuckled softly.
"The problem was, by the time the gamblers realized what had happened, he was already gone."
"On the roof," Helder muttered.
Mara nodded.
"Laughing. Sitting comfortably. Waving."
Helder let out a long sigh.
"And I was the one who got yelled at."
"As usual," Mara said gently.
She stepped closer and placed a light hand on Eiran's shoulder.
"And he was always asking when he could leave… even before the world was ready to let him go."
Eiran fell silent.
Ruen glanced at him briefly, then looked away.
He didn't live at the bar. Never had.
He lived with his grandmother at the far eastern edge of the city—a fragile old woman with a sharp memory.
Ruen only helped at the bar.
Carrying crates. Cleaning tables. Belonging, without ever truly staying.
Just like now.
Inside the bar, chairs scraped against the floor.
Kael was already seated at the long table with Helder. Between them lay an old map—not an official kingdom chart, but a field map, crowded with small marks and rough notes.
Helder pointed to a spot along the edge of the Auren Forest.
"This isn't normal patrol territory," he said.
"If monsters are coming out this far, something's pushing them."
Kael nodded slowly.
"Not something," he said.
"Someone."
Eiran walked in without hesitation, Ruen following close behind.
Helder glanced at Kael.
"People have started using your name again."
Kael let out a light breath.
"Nicknames always arrive faster than trouble."
"The White Blade," Helder continued.
"The Yellow Flash of Valenor."
Eiran's eyes lit up immediately.
"That's you?!" he said, unable to hide his excitement.
"Seriously?!"
Kael chuckled.
"People love giving names."
"Tell me!" Eiran pressed, stepping closer.
"Is it true you move faster than the eye can see?"
"And your unit—are they all knights?"
Kael studied him for a moment.
"You sound like you want to come along."
"I do," Eiran said without hesitation.
Ruen sighed.
"Of course you do."
Helder leaned back against the table.
"You were the same," he said to Kael.
"Always surrounded by kids who wanted to follow."
Kael smiled faintly.
"The difference," he said,
"is that my teacher was far greater than I'll ever be."
Eiran froze.
"Your teacher?" he asked carefully.
"Where is he now?"
Kael went quiet for a moment.
"I don't know," he answered honestly.
"And the world rarely gives answers about people like him."
Eiran clenched his fist.
"Then," he said with bright determination,
"I want to become someone like that."
Kael looked at him for a long time—then laughed softly.
"You already are."
By midday, twelve people gathered at the small field near the bar.
There was no neat formation. No shouted commands. Yet their presence alone made townsfolk step aside.
Bram stood with his arms crossed.
Beside him was Eldric, sharp-eyed and silent.
Sera sat atop a wooden fence, casually twirling a small blade.
Not far off, Iven yawned without shame.
Kael stepped forward.
"Other units call you Underdogs," he said flatly.
"Because they think you're always beneath them."
Bram chuckled.
"They're not wrong."
"That name isn't an honor," Kael continued.
"And it isn't a curse."
He turned to Eiran and Ruen.
"You're not part of this unit," he said.
"But starting today—"
He stamped the toe of his boot into the dirt.
"—you train with us."
"Now?" Ruen asked.
Kael smiled.
"Training never waits for readiness."
Bram grinned widely.
"Welcome to a small personal hell."
The training began without warning.
Run. Fall. Rise. Repeat.
No Vire. No elegant techniques. Only body and will.
When Eiran fell for the third time, Kael stood beside him.
"Get up," he said simply.
Eiran gritted his teeth and stood.
From the forest, the wind whispered softly.
And for the first time since the monster wolf fell,
Eiran understood—
Underdog wasn't about being beneath others.
It was about never staying down.