Seeing as the intruder knew his name, Lucien jolted slightly and took a step back, his grip on the scalpel tightening as his mind spun with sharp suspicion.

'Who is this bastard?' he thought, eyes narrowing. 'Is he an assassin sent by a rival? No... I doubt it. For some reason, he seems interested in this brat. But why? I can tell he's a dark mage, and if that's the case, then him having an interest in the prince would mean he wants to kill him as well.'

'But if that isn't the case...' Lucien's thoughts trailed off darkly, his gaze sharpening with cold calculation.

"Tell me something," Lucien finally said, voice low and venom-laced. "Who sent you here?"

From his perch, Marcus remained perfectly still, scanning his surroundings with those faintly glowing eyes beneath the shadow of his hood. He took his time, the silence thick enough to choke on, before finally speaking with calm indifference. "Honestly? No one did. Look, as much as I'd love to kill you and every other lowlife in this dump, I'll kindly ask you to hand the prince over to me, and there won't be any bloodshed. See, I made a promise—and I'm not one to break those."

Lucien's brow furrowed, confusion briefly replacing his malice. "Wait a minute," he said, trying to piece the words together. "You made a promise and yet no one sent you here? Are you perhaps working for the Solara Kingdom?"

Marcus tilted his head slightly, the faintest hint of mockery in his voice. "Working for?" he echoed. "I work for no one. However…" His tone dropped, a subtle edge slicing through the calm. "I am doing this for someone. And this little conversation we're having?" His gaze swept lazily across the room. "It's eating away at my time."

Lucien studied him quietly for a long moment before his expression twisted into disgust. "So, you are working for the Solara Kingdom," he spat. "What a waste of potential. To think a dark mage would lower himself to serve the very murderers of his own kind. Just in case you're too blind to see it, they'll kill you too. Helping them today doesn't make you safe from their cleansing. You'll suffer just like the rest of us."

The room fell silent for a tense moment. Then Marcus sighed through his mask, long and drawn-out, as though genuinely disappointed. "You really don't know how to process words, do you?" he muttered. "Well, not that I have time to explain. But I'll say this—cut the crap."

He leaned forward slightly, voice still calm but laced with dark amusement. "And before you start whining about how the kingdom took everything from you and how you're some tragic victim seeking revenge, answer me this, Draumere—did your wife know that you were a drug lord? That you sold your nasty little potions to sick bastards, who then fed them to children forced into slavery? Huh? Did your loving, gentle wife know that her dear husband was a monster destroying lives for coin?"

Lucien's eyes widened, the scalpel trembling slightly in his hand.

Marcus gave a quiet scoff, shaking his head. "I guess she didn't. She probably knew nothing about the man she shared a bed with. That's good, though. Because if she did? I wonder if she would've stayed with you… or even wanted that child she carried for you. Probably not." His tone darkened, laced with mock pity. "Because that would prove those blind fools right—the ones who call us monsters."

He paused, letting the words burn their way into Lucien's mind. "So before you keep ranting about your little revenge quest for your wife," he continued, his tone growing sharper, colder, "look in the mirror, Draumere—and ask yourself if you don't deserve everything that's happened to you."

Lucien stood frozen in place, the scalpel now buried deep in the flesh of his palm from how tightly he gripped it. The flicker of rage in his eyes warred with something else—something that looked like shame.

Meanwhile, Galen simply lay there, half-conscious, hearing but not truly listening to their exchange. His mind, hazy and fading, latched onto the sound of the voice above. 'Dark mage… looks kinda cool,' he thought sluggishly. 'And he's saying stuff I'd probably say if I were a hundred percent right now.'

A faint spark lit in his fogged mind as realization crept in. 'Wait—Serah's long-haired boyfriend… Marcus?'

His lips curved faintly despite his exhaustion. 'I finally get to meet him,' he thought, almost laughing weakly to himself.

For a long, suffocating moment, silence dominated the room. Then, out of nowhere, Lucien began to laugh—a chilling, psychotic cackle that echoed through the rafters, the sound splitting the tense air like shattered glass. His laughter was unhinged, echoing the madness in his amber eyes as his body trembled with twisted amusement.

"Heh… ha… haha! You know what?" Lucien rasped between fits of deranged laughter, tilting his head back until the tendons in his neck strained. "You might just be right, stranger… maybe I do deserve what happened to me. Maybe I truly am the wretch that fate decided to ruin!" He spread his arms wide, his laughter rising again, manic and wild. Then his grin turned cold and venomous. "But if that's true… then so does the Solara Kingdom. And the Crescent Kingdom too. Every one of those hypocrites who profited off the suffering of my people—every single one of them will burn!"

As he spoke, his eyes glowed with a sinister hue. The scalpel in his grip began to hum with power as dark myst pulsed through it, veins of shadow crawling up his arm. His madness took full form as he lunged toward Galen, his intent as clear as the murderous gleam in his eyes.

Marcus merely sighed, the sound faint beneath his mask, his tone almost bored. "People never learn," he murmured under his breath.

And in the blink of an eye—he vanished. One moment he was crouched above, and the next, the air itself cracked as he reappeared midair between Galen and Lucien, his movement fluid and precise. His leg twisted with brutal grace, and the sole of his boot connected squarely with Lucien's gut. The impact sent the man flying backward like a ragdoll, slamming into the two mercenaries by the door. The pair staggered, barely able to keep their footing as Lucien's body collided with theirs, all three crashing into a heap against the wall.

As Marcus landed smoothly, he turned his attention to Galen. The prince was weak, chained, and barely conscious—his neck bound by a dull metallic collar that shimmered faintly with runic inscriptions. Marcus's sharp gaze flicked across it, immediately identifying its function. "Myst suppression," he muttered. "Cheap trick."

Without hesitation, Marcus knelt beside him, slicing through the bindings with a quick motion of his fingers. Then, with a faint click, he removed the collar, tossing it aside where it clattered uselessly on the floor.

The instant Galen was freed, his limp body slumped forward—right into Marcus's arms.

"Hey—oi, brat," Marcus muttered, slightly panicking as Galen sagged against him. "Don't you dare die on me. I didn't come all the way here to carry your royal ass home." He gave him a few light slaps across the face. When that didn't work, he hit him a bit harder—each smack echoing through the room like sharp cracks. "Wake up, sunshine!"

Galen jolted awake with a yelp. "Ow—OW! Dude! Stop slapping me like I owe you wine!"

Marcus blinked behind his mask. "Huh. So you can talk."

Galen blinked up at him, eyes squinting through the haze. "Wait…" He leaned in, squinting harder. "You're… Marcus, right? My sister's long-haired boyfriend?"

Marcus let out a low sigh and said proudly. "Yes... yes I am. And yeah, I'm here to save you on her very emotional request."

Galen's face lit up with a half-delirious grin. "Ha! I knew it was you! She wouldn't shut up about your 'mysterious charm' and 'dangerous energy.' Gotta say, man, you do look the part."

Marcus stared at him blankly. "…You sure you're not concussed?"

"Pretty sure. Maybe. Not totally."

"Yeah, you're concussed."

The moment was absurdly calm for two people surrounded by bloodstains and chaos—but it lasted only a second. Marcus stood, his posture shifting back into that predatory calm as he glanced at Galen. "Try to restore your myst control. You'll need it soon."

As if on cue, the warehouse doors burst open with a thunderous crash. Dozens—no, hundreds—of mercenaries flooded into the room, armed to the teeth. Their footsteps echoed like thunder, and their eyes gleamed with greed and bloodlust. At the center of it all, Lucien straightened himself, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as he glared daggers at Marcus.

"Kill them both," Lucien hissed, his voice like venom.

Marcus tilted his head, his eyes sweeping lazily across the mob of mercenaries. "Huh," he murmured with a faint grin curling beneath his mask. "Guess there'll be bloodshed after all."

He turned to Galen, who was now struggling to sit upright, the remnants of exhaustion still dragging him down. "Tell me something," Marcus said casually, as if discussing breakfast. "You ever killed someone before?"

Galen froze. "…What? No! I mean—no! Absolutely not!"

Marcus nodded thoughtfully. "Good. Then today's your lucky day."

"My what?!"

"Because you get to kill your first person," Marcus said simply, drawing his blades. With a faint shimmer, two curved, single-edged swords materialized in his hands, their dark steel glinting with a faint aura of myst. "And not just anyone—a walking, breathing, gold-chasing, honor-lacking scumbag mercenary."

Galen stared at him like he'd just spoken in a different language. "I—I don't think that's a lucky thing, man!"

Marcus smirked faintly beneath his mask. "Then think of it as therapy."

He straightened, his body coiled like a predator ready to strike. "Now get up, kid. You've got a front-row seat."

Lucien raised a bloodstained hand. "Kill them!"

And with that, the room erupted into chaos as a storm of mercenaries charged forward, their battle cries filling the air—just as Marcus blurred from sight, his twin blades gleaming in the flickering lantern light, cutting straight into the heart of the enemy line.