Halochassis

“What do you mean Alexander Goldheart is unbeatable?”

The question exploded from Adzeel’s mouth the moment everyone returned to the Iron Bandits’ headquarters hidden within Iron Heaven. The once-lively bar that served as their front now felt more like a funeral hall than a gathering place. The scent of stale ale, sweat, smoke, and dried beef lingered heavily in the air, refusing to leave the old wooden walls. Lanterns hanging from the ceiling flickered weakly, casting long, wavering shadows over the battered faces of the remaining bandits. Some sat silently with their mugs untouched, others leaned against the walls nursing fresh bandages, while a few stared blankly at the floor as if still haunted by the comrades they had lost.

Only around thirty members remained.

Their ranks had been devastated after the raid on their headquarters, the disastrous battle at the Northern Fortress, and the bloody assault on the Magic Academy. Empty chairs scattered around the room served as silent reminders of those who would never return. Every survivor carried fresh scars—some carved into their flesh, others buried deep within their hearts.

Adzeel slammed the thick volume containing the records of the Celestial Wardens onto the weathered wooden table with enough force to make the entire room jump. The loud bang echoed throughout the headquarters, rattling mugs and sending tiny clouds of dust into the air.

Risha instinctively flinched, her shoulders rising as her heart skipped a beat. For a brief moment, fear flashed across her face, but it quickly subsided. She had worked under Adzeel long enough to know that his fury was never directed at his own people. His anger was aimed at fate itself.

“Autonomous Victory... huh,” Aether muttered quietly, resting his elbow on the armrest while thoughtfully rubbing his chin. His normally carefree expression had disappeared, replaced by one of genuine concern. “Out of all the Celestial Wardens... if that’s really how his ability works, then Alexander is by far the most dangerous among them.”

His calm voice only made the atmosphere heavier.

Shin crossed his arms, his crimson-purple eyes narrowing as fragments of old knowledge resurfaced in his memory.

“It’s a form of reality warping mixed with fate construction,” he explained. “I’ve read ancient records describing legendary heroes who possessed abilities that influenced destiny itself. Some could bend probability in their favor. Others could manipulate causality to ensure a desired outcome. But none of them came anywhere close to... being guaranteed victory in every battle.”

Silence immediately swallowed the room.

Even the bandits who had been whispering among themselves fell quiet.

The only sounds left were the crackling fireplace in the corner and the distant dripping of rainwater through the old roof.

Adzeel slowly clenched his fists until his knuckles turned pale.

If Autonomous Victory truly functioned exactly as the records described, then every strategy they devised, every trap they prepared, and every sacrifice they made would ultimately become meaningless. Victory itself would always choose Alexander Goldheart. Even if they somehow succeeded in eliminating every other Celestial Warden, even if every kingdom, every nation, and every living soul united to oppose him, Alexander would still stand at the end of the battlefield as the sole victor.

That wasn’t simply overwhelming strength.

It was destiny rewritten into an absolute law.

The realization settled over everyone like an invisible weight pressing against their shoulders.

Sensing the rapidly sinking morale around the room, Shin decided to speak before despair consumed the remaining members. As the strategist of the Iron Bandits, he understood that battles were often lost long before swords were ever drawn. Once hope disappeared, defeat soon followed.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Shin said in a steady voice, deliberately keeping his tone calm despite the grim discussion. “Right now, we have more immediate problems to deal with. One vengeance at a time, boss.”

Adzeel remained silent for several seconds before finally exhaling a long, weary sigh. The tension in his shoulders eased ever so slightly as he leaned back against his chair.

“Shin’s right.”

His eyes shifted toward Shin, and a crooked grin slowly crept across his face as he recalled the young man’s remarkable performance during the Adventurer’s Guild incident.

“So...” Adzeel began with an amused smirk, “when exactly are you planning to stab the Untouchable Windwalker in the back? And before anyone gets the wrong idea, I mean with an actual knife—not some sexual betrayal.”

Laughter instantly erupted throughout the room.

The heavy atmosphere lightened just enough for several exhausted bandits to chuckle into their drinks. Someone whistled from the back, while another loudly joked about wedding invitations. It appeared the rumors surrounding Shin and Lireina had already spread throughout the organization, growing more exaggerated with every retelling.

Shin forced a small smile, carefully masking the discomfort hidden beneath it.

“Lireina is far more useful alive than dead,” he answered without hesitation. “As long as she trusts me, I can continue gathering valuable intelligence about the Adventurer’s Guild and the Celestial Wardens. Once I’ve extracted everything I need...” His expression hardened, his voice becoming as cold as steel. “...I’ll throw her away like a piece of trash.”

“Whoa...” Aether let out a low whistle, raising both hands in mock surrender while grinning. “That was terrifying, even by my standards.”

“That’s our brains for you!” Adzeel laughed loudly, grabbing a beer mug from the table before raising it high into the air. Foam sloshed over the rim as he declared, “Here’s to Shin! May he be the one who finally brings down the Untouchable Windwalker!”

“Cheers!”

Dozens of mugs rose together before crashing against one another with a chorus of loud clinks. Ale splashed across the table as the surviving bandits laughed and drank, eagerly celebrating a victory that had yet to happen. Even Aether joined the toast with a broad smile.

Shin also lifted his mug.

He drank alongside them.

He laughed when expected.

He played his role flawlessly.

Yet beneath the convincing performance, his chest felt strangely heavy.

Sitting among the bandits, surrounded by their laughter and confidence, Shin felt less like one of them and more like a lone black sheep hiding within a pack of hungry wolves. Every lie that left his mouth added another stone to the invisible burden weighing on his conscience. He had no intention of betraying Lireina—not now, and perhaps not ever. Whatever feelings had quietly begun growing inside him, they made deceiving her far more painful than deceiving anyone else.

No.

His true objective had never changed.

His revenge was reserved for only one person.

Qinglong.

The man who had murdered his best friend.

Everything else—the deception, the infiltration, the lies, and the dangerous game he continued to play—were merely stepping stones leading him toward that single, burning destination.

But after that...

Shin had no idea what came next.

The question lingered stubbornly in the back of his mind, refusing to disappear no matter how much he tried to focus on the meeting. His revenge against Qinglong had always been his guiding purpose, the single thread keeping him moving forward through countless lies and dangerous alliances. But if that revenge was finally fulfilled... then what?

Would the Iron Bandits still accept him if he admitted the truth?

If he stood before them and confessed that he had genuinely fallen in love with Lireina instead of merely using her as a pawn, would they still call him a comrade? Or would they brand him a traitor the moment those words left his mouth? Worse, would someone seize the opportunity to expose every secret he had hidden from her? Every lie. Every deception. Every crime he had committed while wearing two different masks.

His stomach tightened at the thought.

There was no telling how Lireina would react if she learned everything. The trust she had placed in him had been built atop countless half-truths. If that foundation crumbled, perhaps she would never look at him the same way again.

The possibility frightened him more than any battlefield ever had.

Lost in his thoughts, Shin barely noticed the meeting continuing around him. The headquarters slowly grew noisier as some of the bandits whispered among themselves instead of paying attention to Adzeel’s speech. From somewhere behind him came a pair of familiar, irritating voices.

”Man, I wish I was Shin,” one bandit muttered with a drunken laugh. ”The guy actually managed to charm the Untouchable Windwalker. You know, every time she beats the hell out of us, I keep watching her tits bounce.”

His companion snickered loudly.

”Same here. Even when I can still stand, I just stay on the ground for a while. Sometimes her skirt flips up while she’s kicking our guys around.” He laughed into his mug. ”Not gonna lie... she’s hot.”

The first man leaned forward with a filthy grin spreading across his face.

”I’d love to get my hands on her. I’d keep assaulting her until she cried and begged me to stop. Hahaha!”

The laughter had barely left his lips before the atmosphere around them changed.

A chill seemed to sweep through the room.

Shin slowly rose from his chair.

The scrape of wood against the floor silenced several nearby conversations. Without a word, he turned toward the two hoodlums. His face wore the same polite smile as always, but his crimson-purple eyes had become frighteningly still. There was no warmth in them—only an icy intensity sharp enough to make the air itself feel colder.

He looked directly at the man who had spoken.

”Say that again.”

His voice was calm.

Soft.

Almost gentle.

That somehow made it infinitely more terrifying.

The two low-ranking bandits immediately froze.

Every instinct they possessed screamed at them that they had crossed a line they never should have approached. Shin wasn’t raising his voice. He wasn’t threatening them outright. Yet the murderous pressure radiating from his gaze was enough to make their throats run dry.

One wrong word...

One careless movement...

And they were convinced they would die before anyone could stop him.

”I-I...” the first bandit stammered, pointing frantically at his companion. ”It wasn’t me! H-He started it! Miller was the one talking!”

”W-What?!” Miller’s face turned pale. ”No! He’s lying! I didn’t say that! H-He was the one making those jokes!”

Their desperate attempts to betray one another only made them look more pathetic.

Shin silently raised a single index finger.

”I heard both of you, gentlemen,” he said, his smile never fading. ”And sooner or later...”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

”...you’re going to pay for those words.”

Before another word could be exchanged, a firm hand grabbed Shin’s arm.

”Yo, yo, Shin.”

It was Aether.

The fellow Halochassis wielder casually pulled him away from the two trembling bandits as though separating children about to start a fistfight.

”Get back here.”

Shin didn’t resist.

He allowed Aether to guide him back toward the table, though his gaze never left the two hoodlums. Even after sitting down, his crimson eyes continued to bore into them, causing both men to visibly shrink in their seats.

Aether sighed and folded his arms.

”Jeez,” he muttered. ”Can’t you take a damn joke?”

Shin finally looked away from the frightened pair and turned toward Aether.

”What if that was your wife?” he asked quietly.

There wasn’t a hint of anger in his voice anymore.

Only sincerity.

”What if they talked about your wife like that? Would you still call it a joke?”

Aether’s expression softened.

”Of course I’d be pissed,” he admitted after a brief pause. ”Anyone would.”

He leaned back in his chair before giving Shin a crooked smile.

”But not enough to start a bar fight.”

For a brief moment, amusement vanished from his face altogether.

”Besides...”

His eyes drifted toward the half-empty mug in front of him.

”My wife is gone.”

The words landed with surprising weight.

Shin’s expression stiffened.

”...I see.”

He quietly reached for his own mug of beer, taking a long drink to hide the awkward silence that followed. The bitter taste lingered on his tongue as guilt settled into his chest. He had noticed the wedding ring on Aether’s finger long ago and naturally assumed the man had a family waiting for him somewhere.

He had never imagined the ring was simply a keepsake from someone he could never see again.

The conversation ended there.

Neither man spoke another word about it.

At the front of the room, Adzeel climbed back onto the makeshift wooden platform that served as his podium. The murmurs gradually faded as everyone’s attention returned to their leader.

”As of now,” Adzeel announced, his voice carrying throughout the headquarters, ”our next target has already been decided.”

He opened another page of the records before continuing.

”The Queen of Shadows.”

Several bandits immediately exchanged uneasy glances.

”Unlike Alexander Goldheart’s Autonomous Victory, her passive ability is called Autonomous Death.” Adzeel’s expression grew noticeably more serious. ”According to these records, anyone struck by her attacks dies instantly. No matter how durable they are, no matter how powerful their defenses... once you’re hit, you’re dead.”

The room fell silent once more.

Even the most fearless among the bandits looked uneasy.

After a brief pause, Adzeel scanned the crowd until his eyes settled on Aether.

”Aether.”

The Halochassis looked up.

”Can Halochassis resist an instant-death ability like that?”

Aether straightened in his seat before pushing himself to his feet. The chair legs scraped softly against the wooden floor, cutting through the low murmur inside the headquarters. He gave Adzeel a brief nod, his expression serious now, the usual easygoing edge in his voice replaced by the firmness of a soldier answering his superior.

“Yes, boss,” Aether said. “As long as the Hybrid Armor is active, we’ll be unaffected by Autonomous Death.”

A low murmur passed through the room at that answer, but it quickly died down when Adzeel lifted a hand for silence. His face remained grim as he looked over the remaining bandits, each of them worn down by the string of losses they had already suffered.

“Then this next operation will only consist of me, Risha, Shin, and Aether,” Adzeel declared. His voice carried with the weight of finality, heavy and sharp enough to make the air feel tighter. “The rest of you will stay back and support us from the sidelines. We can’t afford to lose any more lives.”

No one laughed at that. No one argued either.

The room felt colder after those words, as if everyone had become aware at once of how thin their numbers had grown. The mugs on the tables sat half-finished, the smell of beer and sweat hanging in the air, but even that familiar roughness could not hide the tension now settling over the group. The Iron Bandits had been battered too many times already. Every survivor in the room understood what Adzeel meant. One more disastrous mission could break them for good.

Soon after, a copy of the records about the Queen of Shadows—Zerova—was placed into Shin’s hands. The paper felt rough beneath his fingers, the edges slightly worn from handling, and the pages gave off the faint dry scent of old ink and dust. He lowered his gaze and began reading, his expression gradually shifting as details emerged from the record.

Zerova had two children.

Both of them were still very young, only around three years old.

Shin’s eyes lingered on that part longer than he expected. The dry, clinical wording of the report did little to soften the image that came to mind: a mother leaving home, two small children waiting for her return, and a household that would likely fall silent if she never came back. The records also noted that Zerova was suspected of taking assassination jobs on the side, including the killing of dukes and duchesses. It was a cold, efficient summary of a woman who had likely spilled a great deal of blood over the years.

Still, as Shin continued reading, a faint unease stirred in his chest.

For someone like Zerova, death had probably become part of her daily life. But her children had done nothing wrong. If the operation succeeded, then they would likely be left behind without their mother, too young to understand why she never returned home. The thought stayed with him, quiet but persistent, and for the first time since the briefing began, Shin felt a small but unmistakable flicker of pity for their next target.