Chapter Text
Side Story 01 – Chains of Allegiance
Capital Town, Melromarc, Raphtalia's World
06 Zinat, Springtime
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the remnants of daylight clung stubbornly to the sky, painting it in deepening shades of blue. A few stars had begun to pierce through the twilight, their faint glimmers reflecting off the polished surface of Sano Masaru’s armour as he strode toward the Warm Victory Inn. The familiar creak of the tavern’s wooden sign, swaying gently in the evening breeze, was nearly lost beneath the muffled din of conversation and clinking tankards from within.
Masaru reached out a gauntleted hand, fingers curling around the iron handle, and pulled the door open. A rush of warmth greeted him, carrying with it the heady aroma of roasting meat, fresh bread, and spiced broth. The contrast between the crisp night air and the inviting atmosphere inside was almost jarring. To his right, a wooden staircase led up to the rooms available for rent, and below, the heart of the tavern stretched out before him—a lively, bustling haven of merchants, travellers, and locals seeking respite from the day’s toil.
Candlelight flickered across the wooden beams overhead, casting a golden glow against the stone walls. A waitress, deftly maneuvering between packed tables, balanced a tray laden with steaming bowls of stew and freshly baked rolls. Laughter rose from a group of traders gathered near the hearth, their voices carrying over the steady hum of conversation. Across the room, a weary mother struggled to keep her two young children from knocking over their cups of cider, her exasperated sighs swallowed by the tavern’s lively ambience.
Masaru moved with practiced ease through the shifting crowd, his armour clinking softly with each step. When he reached an unoccupied table near the center of the room, he lowered himself into the lone chair with a quiet exhale. Almost immediately, a waiter appeared at his side, taking his order with the efficiency of someone well-accustomed to the rush of hungry patrons. Masaru then reached up and unfastened his helmet, setting it carefully on the table. The polished metal gleamed under the dim candlelight, a clear testament to his status as a knight of Melromarc.
He had come seeking a simple, hearty meal before returning to his duties—nothing more. His body welcomed the brief reprieve, and when his food arrived—a plate of grilled venison and a side of seasoned root vegetables—he wasted no time in eating. The first few bites were rich and satisfying, but his mind remained sharp, his instincts ever watchful.
And then he saw them.
His fork froze mid-motion, his grip tightening around the handle as his gaze locked onto a table in the farthest corner of the room, away from the prying eyes of the street.
There, seated together in quiet conversation, were two figures.
The first was unmistakable—the Shield Hero, Iwatani Naofumi, his dark hair and piercing forest-green eyes making him an easy target for Masaru’s simmering contempt. And across from him, speaking with unsettling familiarity, was Takara Eiku, one of the young knights under Commander Sazama’s command.
Masaru’s appetite vanished in an instant.
The hum of the tavern faded into a dull roar in the back of his mind as he stared, unmoving, at the pair. Iwatani sat with an ease that Masaru found distasteful, as though he belonged here. As though he had a right to be so at ease in the company of a Melromarc knight.
But it was Takara who unsettled Masaru the most. The boy’s golden-honey eyes were bright with interest, his posture relaxed as he spoke animatedly, seemingly unaware—or worse, indifferent—to the implications of his actions. Dressed in plain clothes—a green tunic and cream-coloured trousers—rather than his knight’s armour, he looked more like a curious scholar than a sworn protector of the kingdom. A single purple flower rested near one ear, a careless addition that only emphasized how out of place he seemed.
Masaru’s jaw clenched. Takara was not simply speaking to the Shield Hero—he was engaged, interested. His expression was alight with unguarded enthusiasm, his mannerisms easy and familiar. This was no mere exchange of pleasantries. Takara was enjoying Naofumi’s company.
A knight of Melromarc, seated so comfortably with the very man their kingdom had condemned?
His fingers curled into a fist against the tabletop, the leather straps of his gauntlet groaning in protest under the force of his grip. This was disgraceful. Shameful. But what burned most was not just the sight of it—it was Takara’s complete and utter lack of awareness. He did not seem to grasp the insult he was dealing to their order, to their kingdom.
Masaru exhaled sharply, throwing a few coins onto the table with little regard for whether they landed properly. The metallic clink against the wooden surface was lost in the steady hum of conversation. Rising swiftly, he turned on his heel, his armoured boots striking against the hardwood floor with measured force. He strode toward the exit, ignoring the warmth of the tavern, the rich scent of spiced meat that had once tempted him.
The cool night air greeted him as he stepped outside, a sharp contrast to the stifling heat of his own frustration. He paused just beyond the doorway, his breath slow and measured, but it did little to temper the fury twisting inside him.
How could Takara be so blind? So naive? Did he not understand the disgrace he was bringing upon himself—upon all of them? Every knight of Melromarc was sworn to protect the kingdom, to uphold its values, and yet there he sat, treating the Shield Hero as though he were no different from any other man.
As though he were not a heretic by going against the teachings of the Three Heroes Church.
Masaru’s stomach churned.
For a brief moment, the thought of turning back crossed his mind—confronting Takara directly, forcing him to explain himself. But no. Words would not be enough. A lesson needed to be taught, and there was only one man who could ensure it was properly delivered.
Captain Ishida.
The second the name solidified in his thoughts, his anger found a new direction. Ishida would know what to do. Ishida would remind Takara of his place. And Masaru would be the one to deliver the news.
Squaring his shoulders, he stepped forward, leaving the tavern behind as he moved with determined purpose. His boots struck the cobblestone with the rhythmic finality of a war drum, the sound carrying through the quiet streets and the deepening twilight.
~*~*~*~*~
By the time Masaru reached the building containing the offices of the military’s command staff, the sky had deepened to rich indigo, the last vestiges of daylight clinging stubbornly to the horizon. The torches mounted along the outer walls flickered in the growing darkness, casting long shadows against the stone facade. Masaru’s steps quickened as he neared the entrance, his frustration fueling each stride. He ignored the curious glances of passing soldiers, their murmurs lost beneath the weight of his resolve.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door, he stepped inside, his eyes already scanning the dimly lit hallway for signs of his commanding officer. Captain Ishida’s office lay at the end of the corridor, its door slightly ajar. Masaru approached, pausing only briefly before stepping inside without announcement.
The room was sparse, illuminated by a single lantern perched on the edge of a cluttered desk. Captain Ishida sat behind it, hunched over a parchment, his dark-brown eyes narrowing as he lifted his gaze to regard the intrusion.
Masaru stood straight, hands firmly at his sides. “Sir, I bring a report,” he stated, his voice steady despite the frustration simmering beneath his skin.
Ishida set his quill down with deliberate care, his expression unreadable. "Speak."
Masaru did not hesitate. "Knight Takara Eiku was seen dining with the Shield Hero in a tavern. They appeared familiar—too familiar. They spoke comfortably, laughed even. He seems to be getting close to him."
A silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken contempt. Ishida exhaled sharply, his lips curling in distaste. "That foolish boy," he muttered, leaning back in his chair. "So, Takara is choosing to associate with that disgrace of a hero."
"It certainly seemed that way, sir," Masaru confirmed. "They weren’t merely exchanging words; they were friendly."
Ishida drummed his fingers against the desk, his gaze dark with thought. "This is troubling," he admitted, though there was no true surprise in his tone. "And yet, there is not enough for me to act." He studied Masaru for a moment before shaking his head. "For now, we will wait. See what comes of this. If he continues down this path, then we will remind him where his loyalties lie."
Masaru’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. He would wait. But Takara’s actions would not go unnoticed for long. And when the time came, he would be ready to ensure the boy was properly corrected.
~*~*~*~*~
Capital Town, Melromarc, Raphtalia's World
17 Zinat, Springtime
Eleven days passed before Masaru was summoned once more to Captain Ishida’s office. As he walked down the hall, his mind turned over the possibilities. Was this about Takara’s meeting with the Shield Hero? Or was it something closer to home—perhaps a matter of his own performance in recent drills? The uncertainty sat uneasily in his gut.
Reaching Ishida’s door, he knocked twice and waited.
"Enter," came the sharp command.
The moment Masaru stepped inside, he sensed it. A shift in the air—something colder, more deliberate. Ishida sat rigidly behind his desk, his dark-brown eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
"Knight Takara has been receiving special treatment," Ishida said without preamble. "Extra training from handpicked instructors. Have you heard?"
Masaru stiffened. "No, sir."
Ishida’s sneer deepened. "Commander Sazama arranged it. And I do not like what it implies." His fingers tapped once against the desk before curling into a loose fist. "That boy is being prepared for something, and I will not have it. The Shield Hero has already tainted him. We will put a stop to this."
Masaru listened, his pulse steady but alert.
"Commander Sazama has been transferred," Ishida continued, his tone edged with satisfaction. "He is no longer here to protect his little favourite. That means we can act."
A measured pause. Then:
"Find some others," Ishida ordered, his voice calm but carrying the weight of command. "Men you trust. I want Takara to learn his place. Make his life difficult—but be discreet. I do not want any attention drawn to us."
Masaru considered the words carefully, then inclined his head. "Understood, sir."
As he turned to leave, Ishida’s voice followed him. “But be sure not to break him completely. We wouldn’t want people asking too many questions.”
Masaru nodded once, stepping out into the dimly lit hallway.
His orders were clear. Takara had been given too much leniency, too much favour. That would end now.
His boots struck the stone floor in a steady rhythm as he walked, already considering his next steps. This was not personal—it was duty.
And duty would be fulfilled.
~*~End~*~