Five days before the Danghai’s Conference

Symphony cheered from the sky. She was impressed with the progress.

It was a wonder what four days of getting killed did for the two.

Yuri and T moved as one, matching each other's pacing and weapons like they were dancing in a ball-room.

What a joy it had been to watch them grow. Did they know they created a new sword-form in this bedlam? Symphony giggled to herself. She did help by telling them to mind their footwork. The rest was on them, mixing the flexibility of Rem’s adaptive combat-style with the sequence from deep within T’s memory. Maybe she should ask Dream to show them the video of Ace. The momentum-heavy blade-work and the accompanying footwork would help the two smoothened any remaining kink in their dance.

And their dance continued.

The two fought back-to-back. Yuri annihilated the demonic boar before him with a sword-wind. Behind him, T grabbed the serpentine monster with her free hand and thrust her sword into its mouth to finish the monster off.

Symphony also noted their accomplishment. Yuri had learned enough from T memories to evoke winds into blades. And T finally relearned her natural attribute and drew a blade from light. They still had a way to go of course, but she was satisfied with the rate of their progress. The two had shaved over three-quarter of 187 demonic beasts in about five days.

A gigantic monster roared in the desert. The massive eight head serpent rushed at the two, dividing the sands with thief presence. Out of the sand, inky tentacles the size of a sky-scrappy emerged, signaling the Kraken's advent. Last but not least, a gigantic demonic elephant stomped into the fray.

The battered and bloodied T and Yuri looked at each other in resignation, flourished their sword at the hoard, and ran.

Symphony watched Yuri carved the massive tentacle coming at him, spun in the air, and sliced off the serpent’s head. Landing on the now seven-headed serpent, he released a burst of sharp winds, dropping the monster. Meanwhile, T landed atop the elephant and ran, dragging her light-blade across the monster back and drawing a fountain of blood.

Symphony cheered as the two continued to hack apart monsters. She wanted to cry. They grew up so fast. To be fair, anyone would grow up after dying over twenty times.

…

Three days before the Danghai’s Conference

Here in the city of Danghai, the VIP gathered.

Director El Acerbia of the Isle of Knowledge waited inside his hotel room, going over the document regarding his plan. It appeared there weren’t any deviations. Everything had aligned. He only needed one more piece.

Coming out to the Station District, Balperia’s Grand Sage — Ophelia Runesea—stepped out of the flying ship and yawned. Next to her from the train is the Grand Empire’s representative, General Alexander Stride. They were the strongest of their respective nations, and they came here with one objective: to obstruct Orwell Mehest.

On the wharf, Starland’s minister Albert Starling and his bodyguards—Captain Mercia of the Centuria’s Royal Guard made their landing. They noted another belonging to the representative of the Holy Grace Church — the superstar of the generation — 33 Star member Thalia Holyworth.

…

Inside the Business District, atop the most expensive penthouse, was the dinner held by the final and familiar group.

Xerxes Enma was pouring the wine for an old overweight man — Agnus Aurorin. Rubric sat beside him, staring at the expertly cooked high-grade brief of this dinner table.

It was the party of the rich and powerful. Senior representatives of the Seven Continental Alliance and Divine Fist mingled in the room. Together, they were the monolithic block of old-money schemers who planned to spin the Conference to their advantage. Opulence and power were the name of the party.

Xerxes would say the glittering penthouse and luxurious, million-credit cuisines were the apex of his life — the bread and butter where he thrived. That would be a lie. Xerxes was aware how alienated this room was to reality. Every jewel crusted container was the evidence of their ignorance to the vampire’s threat, slavery, and warring factions. Being the member of the Clan who had sponsored and perpetrated those tragedies gave Xerxes the unvarnished truth of his sins. He might be a natural at swimming in this polluted water, but it was akin to an act of survival. He needed to mingle with the schemer and power-broker to not be exploited.

In a few concurring moments of self-reflection, the Lion-man found himself envying his old friend Rubric and Alpine. Members of the Enma Clan hung around gritty reality and smeared themselves in the stench of the powerful, but the Divine Fist was removed from both.

The Snow Maiden Sect where Alpine hailed from was the symbol of ruthlessness and cold elegance. No one would be trading favors with them because everyone was too crude by their standard. It was impressive how the organization bred such an icy exterior. Blood Iron Army where Rubric hailed from was more of the stern military-type who avoided mingling with politics.

Xerxes made a face. Then there was the Holy Sword Order self-righteousness. The Enma Clan just didn’t get along with them.

The voice of his conversation partner brought Xerxes back to reality.

“Your wife is beautiful as always,” Agnus motioned to the Wolf-woman chatting with other Aurorin’s dignitaries. “I heard your daughter is turning into a splitting image of her. I wonder when will Shyme make her debut, Xerxes?”

Xerxes frowned. He didn’t want to bring Shyme into this bleak world of cloak of dagger, if he could help it. Sadly, he couldn’t. His daughter inherited the blood of Enma and politicking was their trade.

That didn’t mean Xerxes needed to accelerate that inevitable day.

“Shyme had angered Alpine,” Xerxes said, wincing at the fury he had to experience in his daughter’s stead. “Apparently, she skipped on her training and came here before us. Right now, Alpine is hunting for them.”

To run from Alpine, Shyme and Serenade came to the one place she couldn’t possibly destroy in the fit of rage. The fact they could shop at the famous international event was a bonus. Shyme had written to him a few days ago that they had reached the destination, and Alpine’s reaction had been legendary.

In his opinion, Xerxes believed there was more to it than that.

The two girls knew Orwell would come here. They had a strange fate with that man, or specifically, his counterparts. Both Serenade and Shyme harbored a feeling for the men who were rivals to Orwell. Maybe they held a faint hope that their mysterious crushes would be observing their old nemesis.

Scratched that, Xerxes believed that must be what his daughter was thinking, and there was a high possibility that Shyme was right. He didn’t know how most fathers would react, but Xerxes wanted to meet this man who impressed himself into Shyme’s heart. He heard many things about Chronicler from Shyme, but nothing solid enough to paint the picture of this man.

“Yo, Xerxes,” said another dignitary.

“Hello, Aman,” Xerxes greeted the representative from the nation of Elypt. “I’m expecting you.”

“Yeah,” Aman said with a troubled smile. “Look, I know this is getting repetitive, but one of our hotshot wants to—”

“No,” Xerxes said. “Tell Alma that my daughter is off-limits, and isn’t the betrothal to Sonovia enough for a man.”

“Heroes are attracted to the flavor of flesh, old mate,” Aman said. “He is planning to come here to ask for your daughter’s hand personally.”

“Over my dead body,” Xerxes said.

Xerxes didn’t care whether it was Chronicler or Alma. The only wedding Shyme could have was the one over his dead body.

…

On the rooftop of a skyscraper overlooking the sun-setting skyline of Danghai, was a clown in a ringmaster’s costume and laughing mask. His inhuman vision could see the darkness brewing from the ground and the sea. It hung in the air like a smokey string from the heavens. The monster in a man’s guise reflected over the past.

The grand performance six-hundred-years in the making was finally dawning over the horizon. For ten years he lurked to fulfill the grand commandment. His long-awaited moment was within reach.

Every life on Earth existed to perpetuate its ecosystem and prolonged the immortality of their species. The jester wasn’t blessed with that mission. Their kind didn’t exist in the natural food-chain or possessed the gift of procreation. They were an anomaly into the natural order — a cheap plastic plant in the rainforest. Imitation who came into being because nature was too hard to replicate.

He tried not to dwell on that tragedy. His kind preferred not to remember the selfishness of their creator and the pointlessness that was their creation. That black mark in their history was better left buried.

They had a purpose now.

The Queen who abandoned them no longer matters. Their new messiah had introduced them to their gods. Reshaped for this holy purpose, they finally received the providence.

It was time to upend the natural order.

A communicator beeped, and the Jester picked up the line.

Perfect. All the cargos had reached their target.

Two days. Two more days and he would announce the will of the forsaken race to the world.

The world would soon know the name of their Lord.

…

One day before the International Trade Conference.

“The shroud of the Malice has blanketed the city,” Rem — Dream — spoke to his comrades. “Tomorrow, our enemy will undoubtedly make their move.”

Hikma — Chronicler — sat by Dream’s right. He was dressed in Horizon Dawn’s reinforced tunic, a black mantle, silver utility belt, combat boots, and fingerless gloves. A black helm sat on the table in front of him.

Yuri — Requiem — felt nervous about this meeting.

It was barely a day since he completed Symphony’s training and exited the Astral Realm. His uniform arrived this morning. Apparently, the Dawn reverse-engineered the Quick-Equip system and made some improvement in the share-space aspect. According to Hikma, it was their Director — Cytortia — who put this suit together for him.

Contrasting to Hikma’s uniform, which looked like a space-wizard get-up, or Dream and his trench coat, Yuri got a black stealth-suit with light plating and blast-resistant fabric. It came with a black mask covering his mouth, adding a more hostile look to him.

Rem stood, straightened up, and began his speech.

“Gentlemen, I won’t mince words. Our inability to locate and remove the enemy's cargoes had ensured our enemy could launch their scheme unopposed. Our vision into the future has been clouded ever since the Malice escalated its effort,” Ciel pranced around the room. “The VIP arrived too late for us to warn them. Not that they would take our concern seriously. Within 15 hours, we will have to take on the Fea, the Wolf Hoard, the Dark Elves, and Acerbia at their full power. Without Ace and Empress, we are missing our major firepower. I know Orwell and Wayward would be there to milk the opportunities. We have the same goal, but they too had their own agenda that wouldn't be good for our values.”

Rem stopped and looked into the eyes of his friends.

“But I will ask you this; when had that stopped us before?” Rem expertly strummed the mood. “We — Knights of Symphony — always faced those odds. To stand for good in this evil-worshiping clown world, was to accept we are outgunned and outnumbered. Fine. It wouldn’t be fair for the poor bastards gunning for us otherwise. We all sat here because we believe that right will triumph. That the honorable and gentle must prevail. After tomorrow, our enemy will learn that no number, nor might nor cosmic evil, can stop the sun from rising. Be vigilant, my comrade, tomorrow we will prevail.”