Emily stepped into the grand mansion, her breath hitching as her eyes swept over its vast interior. She had never been inside a place so immense, its sheer size momentarily disorienting. However, she clung to Richard’s words—her goal lay beneath the mansion. That was where she needed to go.


    As she moved forward, a long corridor stretched before her, flanked by two staircases spiraling toward the upper floors. To her left, paintings of Sir Gallant adorned the walls, chronicling his life and achievements. To her right, a single portrait caught her attention—a depiction of Gallant standing beside a woman.


    Emily halted, drawn to the image.


    The woman’s golden hair shimmered, even within the confines of the painting. Her pale skin was luminous, almost otherworldly, and her emerald-green eyes seemed to hold untold depths. But what struck Emily most was not the woman herself—it was Gallant.


    His smile in the portrait was different from any other depiction of him. It was genuine, unburdened by the weight of time and sorrow. His arms wrapped around the woman in every picture, holding her with undeniable love.


    Was she his wife?


    Beneath the mansion, in the dimly lit basement, Sir Gallant sat in silence, chewing his nails as fear gnawed at him. His usually composed demeanor had fractured, leaving him raw and vulnerable.


    Bernard, shackled nearby, studied him with quiet curiosity.


    "You once said you wanted to topple the heavens," he murmured. "Why? What could drive a man to such madness?"


    Gallant stilled, his nails slipping from his teeth. His gaze darkened, and for a long moment, he said nothing.


    "What does it matter now?" he muttered. "With August Magnus here, we’re all finished."


    Bernard smirked. "Who knows? Maybe if your reason is good enough, I’ll help you."


    Gallant exhaled sharply, his voice heavy with grief.


    "My wife was a frail woman," he admitted. "As she neared forty, her health deteriorated. She became bedridden, her body failing her piece by piece. She coughed blood constantly. Her legs stopped working. Her vision blurred. And then…" His throat tightened. "Then she was gone."


    Silence thickened between them.


    "I’m sorry," Bernard said softly.


    Gallant clenched his fists. "After her passing, a man in a black cloak approached me. He told me I could bring her back—if I killed the gods who rule the heavens."


    Bernard inhaled sharply. He knew exactly what Gallant meant.


    In this world, five gods reigned supreme, and the World Federation served them.


    "But no one can kill them," Bernard whispered.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Gallant’s gaze was unwavering. "There are three who can."


    Bernard’s expression hardened. "You speak of The Gods Amongst Men?"


    Gallant nodded. "And one of them already possesses one of your Trinkets."


    Bernard’s grip on his restraints tightened. "Even if that’s true… do you really believe your wife would want this? Think back to your last moments with her. Would she want you to become a murderer just to bring her back?"


    Gallant’s breath hitched.


    Memories flooded his mind—his wife, weak but smiling. Her fading voice, struggling to speak.


    And her final words.


    "I’m glad I met you."


    A choked sob tore from Gallant’s throat as he fell to his knees. Tears streamed down his face, splattering against the cold stone floor.


    "Synthia!"


    Her name echoed in the chamber, raw with grief, longing, and unbearable regret.


    Emily finally found the underground chamber. As she stepped in, she froze at the sight before her—Gallant, broken and weeping.


    "Emily?!" Bernard''s voice broke through the moment. "Why are you here?"


    She crossed her arms, glaring at him. "I came to save you, obviously! And that’s not how you greet your rescuer!"


    Bernard chuckled despite himself. "Sorry… and thank you."


    Emily’s scowl softened into a small smile. Seeing her master alive filled her with relief.


    Gallant wiped his eyes and reached into his pocket. Emily tensed, instinctively preparing for an attack, but Bernard shook his head, signaling her to stand down.


    From his pocket, Gallant pulled out a key.


    He stepped forward, unlocking the cell door with a quiet click. Pushing it open, he undid Bernard’s cuffs and gestured for him to leave.


    Bernard struggled to walk, his body weak from captivity. Emily rushed to his side, wrapping an arm around him for support. As they moved, Bernard glanced back.


    "Your wife would be proud," he said.


    Emily frowned, confused, but chose not to question it.


    "We need to move," she said. "August is here."


    Bernard sighed. "I figured. Where are we headed?"


    "The harbor. But first, we need to find Adrian."


    Bernard smirked. "Adrian? Is that your boyfriend?"


    Emily didn’t even flinch. "He’s a good friend," she replied. "And a better person."


    Bernard raised a brow. Normally, she would’ve yelled or hit him for teasing her. But this time… she didn’t.


    "Can’t wait to meet him."


    When they arrived, they found Adrian locked in a fierce battle with Gil. However, it was clear Adrian was at his limit. His breaths were ragged, his stance unsteady.


    I can’t keep this up… Adrian thought, his body screaming in protest. But if I fall, I’ll make sure he falls with me.


    Gil, wrapping the remaining length of his chain around his arms, surged forward. He unleashed a flurry of punches—swift, brutal, unrelenting.


    Adrian barely reacted in time, raising his dagger to block a devastating right hook. The impact sent him stumbling sideways, his balance lost. Before he could recover, Gil''s leg swung forward, slamming into his ribs.


    Pain exploded through Adrian’s body. He hit the ground hard, clutching his stomach. He wasn’t sure if it was the attack or the strain of using his newfound ability that hurt more.


    Gil exhaled, standing over him. "Stay down. You’ve lost."


    Adrian… laughed.


    "Lost? Me?" He grinned, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "I’m not even close to my breaking point."


    Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up.


    But his body betrayed him—his legs buckled, and he dropped to one knee.


    Bernard’s expression darkened. "If he keeps going, he’ll die."


    Emily cupped her hands around her mouth. "Adrian, stop! We can escape now!"


    But Adrian didn’t hear her. His world had narrowed to a single focus—the opponent before him.


    Gil sighed. He could see it now.


    No matter how many times he knocked Adrian down…


    He would never stay down.


    And for the first time—Gil felt pity.


    "I give up," Gil said, raising both his arms in surrender.


    "Why?" Adrian asked, his brow furrowing.


    "No matter how many times I knock you down, you refuse to stay down. So what''s the point?"


    Adrian was taken aback by Gil’s unexpected surrender, but he did not question it further. There was no time to waste—he needed to reach the ship before anything else delayed them.


    Without another word, they left.


    Adrian limped toward the dock, his body aching with every step. Beside him, Emily matched his slow pace, burdened by the weight of supporting Bernard.