Lancelot's eyes narrowed as he held Rachel firmly in his grasp, her feet barely brushing the ground. The words she had just spoken echoed in his head, almost mocking in their simplicity. He is a good person.

"There are no good people in the world, girl," he said at last, his voice low and edged with certainty born from a lifetime of bloodshed.

Rachel stilled at his words. Her chest rose and fell quickly, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Maybe not," she admitted, her voice steadier than she felt. "But compared to you, Leon is a far better man."

Lancelot tilted his head, studying her with an unsettling calm. He wasn't angered by her defiance; if anything, there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes, as though he was silently daring her to continue.

Rachel drew in a sharp breath. She had no choice but to push forward. "The people of Shantel have been oppressed for three generations," she said, words spilling out in a rush. "The empire abandoned them, left them to rot, without care, without help. But Leon didn't. He stood for them, even when he didn't have to."

Lancelot chuckled, the sound harsh and dismissive. "That's your reason?" His grip on her arm tightened, but his tone dripped with amusement. "You're more naive than I thought. Shantel is nothing, a backwater husk. There are other cities in this empire far more deserving of protection."

Rachel seized on that opening like a lifeline. Her voice rose, trembling with urgency. "My point exactly! Only a good person would choose to protect a backwater place like this when no one else would. And let's say you're right, that there are no good people in the world. Then compared to you, compared to so-called protectors of the empire who turned their backs on these people, Leon can be considered a good person, because you are not!"

Her words cracked with raw emotion. She wasn't speaking with reason anymore, but from the burning truth in her chest. And though reason often ruled men's choices, no one, least of all Lancelot was free from emotion. He had contradicted himself more than once this very day, and Rachel could see it now: beneath all his composure, he was just another man swayed by feelings he pretended to scorn.

****

Lancelot's mind was a storm of contradiction. From the very beginning, he had been undecided, kill the boy, or spare him?

At first, his mission was clear: investigate what had destroyed corruption in this region. But then he met Leon. A boy who should have been insignificant, yet wielded a power far beyond his rank. An anomaly. And of course, only such an anomaly could have wiped out corruption here. It made sense.

But when Lancelot moved to bring the boy back, Leon retaliated.

Raised and bred within the Imperial Guards, Lancelot was a man of no half-measures. When struck, he struck back. At first, he intended only to restrain the boy. But Leon's strength… it exceeded expectation. The power he displayed forced Lancelot into a battle far fiercer than he'd anticipated.

Then came the humiliation.

In the middle of combat, he, Lancelot, a Rank 7 professional, was restrained. By a mere Rank 3. The boy had gone for the kill, and Lancelot's instincts roared to life. He broke free, answering with a killing strike of his own. He meant to pull back, but by the time he thought to stop, the attack had already landed.

That was when the truth revealed itself.

Leon's body did not bleed like it should have. Instead, the wound patched itself with void-born energy. Lancelot recognized it instantly: corruption. The one thing he was sworn to oppose.

In that moment, all thought of use was drowned beneath the shadow of threat. Leon was dangerous, perhaps too dangerous to be allowed to live. And so, despite his earlier hesitation, Lancelot moved to kill again.

Yet even as his blade of will pressed down, something in him resisted. Deep inside, he wanted a reason to stay his hand. Leon was a threat, yes, but he was also… useful. Perhaps necessary. He only needed a sign.

And the world answered as that sign came in the form of Rachel.

Now, with both of them subdued in his grasp, Lancelot replayed her words in his head. The girl's voice rang with unshakable conviction, calling Leon a good person, a protector where no protector should be.

Silence stretched. Then, at last, Lancelot spoke.

"There is a saying," he murmured, his deep voice carrying weight, "that elves are an honest race."

Rachel said nothing. She only held his gaze, her breath quick but steady.

Lancelot's eyes narrowed, searching her face for any trace of falsehood. After a long moment, he exhaled sharply, and his hands loosened.

Leon slipped free, unconscious, falling heavily into Rachel's arms. She staggered, clutching him close.

"I hope those rumors are true," Lancelot said, his tone edged with warning, "for your sake."

In the next instant, he, Leon, and Racheal, along with the suffocating pressure of his presence, all vanished, leaving only silence in their wake.

****

The whole forest fell into a heavy, watchful silence after Lancelot vanished with Leon and Racheal. It was the kind of quiet that felt like the world holding its breath, waiting for something to break it.

In the Lords manor of Shantel, the city waited too. No footsteps announced the Lord's coming. Only the echo of the earlier thunder lingered in their chests.

James stood at the pane, knuckles white against the glass. He watched the empty silhouette of the forest until his jaw set. Then he turned to his squad. "I'm going to see if our Lord is okay." The words left him small but honest, a man stepping into the one thing left to him, duty.

"Captain, you can't leave," Crystal protested. Her voice held steel and worry braided together.

James did not flinch. He met her eyes, steady. "I know. Lady Racheal told me not to come," he said. "But I can't stay away knowing my lord is in danger. If I forfeit my life to bring him back safe, it will be worth it."

There was a pause. The room felt suddenly too small for all the fear and resolve inside it.

Crystal's mouth tightened. She looked to the others and saw what James had already seen: loyalty that ran deeper than fear. "Captain," she said, voice low and certain, "then let us go with you. We will not be left behind." She gestured at the rest. "We are going with you."

For a moment James only stared. Pride and something like relief warmed him. "It has been an honor leading you," he said, blunt and raw.

"It has been our honor, sir," they answered in a single, ragged chorus.

They bore no illusions. They were about to step into the teeth of a Rank 7 battle. The odds of returning alive were small. But Shantel's hope stood broken on one man's shoulders, and hope was worth any price.

They strapped on armor, checked blades, and took a last long look at the their city, before moving out, like soldiers walking into a verdict they had already accepted. They did not pretend their cause was wise. They only knew it was necessary.

Outside, the night kept its silence, watching them go.

****

A/N: I tried to explain Lancelot reasoning in this chapter, just hope it makes sense.

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