"DAD!" Alex barreled into Gereon's office like a man who had just discovered free snacks at a fancy party. The servant— bless their soul—walked with heavy and wobbling legs and with a small stack of papers like a circus act before giving Alex a polite nod and making a swift exit, probably hoping to avoid whatever chaos was about to unfold.
Gereon, ever the calm patriarch, didn't even flinch. He just kept scribbling away on his parchment like it owed him rent. Without glancing up, he muttered, "What is it, Alex? As you can see, I'm knee-deep in this paperwork, so if it's not on fire or a siege, make it snappy."
Alex, unfazed by his father's lack of enthusiasm, strolled further in, already launching into his pitch like he was trying to sell him a vacation package. "So, when are we hunting down that self-important moron who thinks he killed Amber?" His tone was so calm it could've been mistaken for a dinner invitation— except for, you know, the murderous undertone.
That got Gereon's attention. The quill froze mid-sentence, and he looked up slowly, his expression saying, You had my curiosity, but now you have my attention. "I was planning to handle that myself," Gereon said, emphasizing his superiority like a teacher explaining basic math to a student who had already flunked three times.
"But as you can see, I'm rather busy." With the dramatic flair only a man of his age could pull off, he tucked his quill away inside the ink bottle, moved the paper he was writing on from the slanted board to a neat stack nearby, and stood up with the air of a man who had just solved the world's biggest problem.
"So," Alex said, plopping down on the cyan couch like a tired cat, "can I do it, then? You know, take the guy out, make it look stylish?" His grin was the kind that usually preceded bad decisions and long apologies.
"No," Gereon shot back, sitting down across from him with the energy of someone ready to crush his hopes. "I'll handle it myself— end of this year."
"Wait, what?!" Alex nearly choked on his indignation. "That's, like, two months away! He could slip off our watch by then, grow a mustache, change his name, maybe even open a bakery or something!"
Gereon shook his head with a mix of fatherly patience and can-you-not energy. "Two reasons why it would be okay to do it at the end of the month." He held up two fingers like a professor delivering a lecture to a particularly dense student. "One, Amber will have safely reached her school by then, and two— you're forgetting your wife."
Alex leaned back, squinting. "What does Eleyn have to do with—"
"She already got his blood, genius," Gereon interrupted with a smirk so smug it could've had its own address. "Through those guards who told him about our house. So, no, he's not shaking off anything— not unless he's also a wizard with an invisibility cloak that blocks off ritualistic tracking."
Alex sighed like a teenager who'd just been told no to borrowing the car. He snagged one of Gereon's cigars, earning an arched brow but no protest. Lighting it with the fire he created by snapping, he exhaled a puff of smoke and tried to sound cool. "Fine. So, what do I do now? Because, spoiler alert, the Church of Night is up to some serious nonsense. I think I should dig deeper."
Gereon raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued despite himself. "Oh?"
Alex's grin stretched wider, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Yep. Questioned a fanatic's soul after killing him— real talkative for a dead guy." He puffed on the cigar, savoring the moment like he'd just revealed the plot twist in a murder mystery. "And let me tell you, Dad, I found some very interesting info."
Gereon leaned forward slightly, his face a mix of concern and exasperation. "Of course you did. And let me guess— you plan to act on it in the most reckless way possible?"
Alex shrugged, smirking like the cat that ate the canary. "What can I say? It's a family tradition."
A giant rock burst into a spectacular shower of pebbles, gravel, and a weird puff of dust that made the moment oddly dramatic, like Judge had just been born from the very earth itself. Emerging from the debris with a flair no one had asked for, Judge wielded two gleaming twin blades connected by a chain. And what was he doing with them? Spinning them wildly like nunchucks in a way that screamed, I saw this in a movie once, and now I'm unstoppable.
Perched in a nearby tree, sipping from a suspiciously unlabeled bottle, Seraphis casually shouted down, "Head towards the water, Judge! And try not to embarrass me this time. Remember what I taught you— walk on the water, not sink like a bag of rocks!"
Judge rolled his eyes so hard it's a wonder they didn't fall out of his head. Sure, he'd been training for weeks with the memory of swords that he remembered and could now wield swords like an action hero at the climax of a blockbuster, but his movements were... let's just say they had the finesse of a cat chasing a laser pointer. Not graceful, but extremely effective.
Behind him, a demon— minus one tail and a leg, because Judge had been busy— staggered forward in a rage. Its grotesque grin had melted into a scowl that screamed, This isn't over, you punk! The demon lobbed blood-red spheres of fiery substance at him relentlessly, as if it could do it all day long. It was like a supernatural dodgeball game Judge had zero interest in playing.
But Judge wasn't having it. Spinning his blades faster than a toddler hopped up on sugar trying to swing glowsticks, he cut through the spheres midair, sending tiny explosions all around. Trees, the ground, even some innocent rocks— none were safe from his destructive display. It was less a fight and more an accidental landscaping service.
"Don't stop spinning those swords!" Seraphis yelled again, taking a swig from her bottle. "You stop for one second, and it's game over! And no, I'm not saving you this time!"
"Yeah, thanks for the pep talk!" Judge shouted back, narrowly dodging another sphere that singed the edge of his coat. He couldn't turn his back on the demon, obviously. Rule number one of fighting a raging demon: never give it a free hit. Rule number two: don't die.
Finally, they both reached the lake. Judge stared at the water's surface with the enthusiasm of someone about to attempt a very dumb idea. Seraphis' voice echoed in his mind, "You'll never learn to walk on water if you don't try under pressure. And if you fail... well, you'll get wet, and the demon will probably kill you. No big deal!" What a motivational speaker, he was almost in tears.
"Okay, here goes nothing," Judge muttered. He ran ether through his legs and planted one foot on the water's surface, which obviously held. He grinned. "I'm doing it!" Then the second foot touched, and he immediately wobbled like a baby deer on ice.
Meanwhile, the demon, unfazed by the spectacle, launched another volley of those glowing red orbs. "Oh, come on!" Judge groaned, zig-zagging across the lake's surface to dodge them. It looked impressive until you realized he was flailing like someone trying not to slip on a wet floor.
The demon wasn't giving up either, hurling more and more spheres with the precision of a very angry pitcher. Judge, determined not to get obliterated, slashed through them, making mini firework shows with each hit. Explosions scattered water everywhere, soaking his clothes and—of course—his top hat, which he'd been very proud of keeping dry until now.
Judge gritted his teeth. He could've finished this fight five minutes ago if not for his master's brilliant idea to make this a training session. "Fight the enemy on water," Seraphis had said, "It'll be good practice." Easy for her to say; she wasn't the one dodging demon death balls while playing Sword Ninja: Lake Edition.
Finally, Judge stopped spinning his blades and darted to the side, dashing towards the demon in a zig-zag motion that looked both calculated and a little like he'd forgotten how to run straight. The demon hurled even more spheres, but Judge sliced through them mid-charge.
"Keep going, Judge!" Seraphis cheered from his tree perch. "You're almost not terrible!"
"Oh, shut up!" Judge snapped, charging forward with renewed determination. He didn't know if he'd win this fight or if he'd end up drenched and demon-fried, but one thing was certain— this lake was never going to look the same again.
With a deep breath, Judge stopped his advance, leaned forward slightly, let go of the handles of his blades, and held the chain. The swords left his hand and went forward due to inertia.
He injected ether into the blade in order to activate the principle of strengthening. Then, he slammed down the twin blades with all his might.