The Phantoms walked past them, each casting a careful, lingering glance their way—unaware of the chaos that had unfolded within the tavern just moments ago.
They watched closely as the Phantoms confidently shoved the door open and walked in. Bystanders instinctively kept their distance, fear etched into their faces as they backed away in silence.
Daylan and the others knew all too well—they couldn't afford to wait for the Phantoms to return from the tavern. Without a second to spare, they hailed a carriage and climbed in, disappearing into the city streets before actions could follow.
As the carriage rolled on, Daylan's heart pounded. He kept casting sharp glances at his surroundings, alert and tense, making sure they weren't being followed.
They got out at a safe distance, ensuring the driver couldn't trace their mansion's whereabouts. After scanning their surroundings carefully, they pulled off their masks.
Daylan's shirt was stained with blood—enough to raise suspicion on its own. Without lingering any longer, they headed straight home, their pace matching their heartbeats.
The moment they stepped inside, a wave of relief swept over them. Daylan and Medora sank into the sofas, while Astara casually removed her overcoat with a sigh before taking her seat.
Their fears suddenly vanished.
After a brief pause, Medora's stomach rumbled. Without hesitation, she got to her feet and made her way to the kitchen.
"Are we certain now?" Astara broke the silence.
"Yeah… Gerald Rhys is the leader of Phantom." Daylan muttered.
"You were surprisingly calm after seeing it. I was expecting a full-on mental breakdown or something."
Daylan sneered. "I'm not that weak, you know? But mostly, it's because I wasn't the one meeting him. And with no stronger opponents around, I had to end things quickly—I didn't have time to dwell on him. If we'd been even a minute late, we could've been in serious trouble."
"How long till we make our next move?"
Medora shouted from the kitchen.
"A day or two, I suppose. How they react will determine Gerald's political influence. Either way, it'll take them some time to respond.
We'll patrol the city tomorrow, keep an eye out for signs—but avoid going past Spine Street. I don't want to run into my parents, so the church district is off-limits."
Medora walked in, holding a piece of bread and a cup of milk. "How sure are you they'll even act? Considering how weak those guys were, I doubt your father would care much about them."
Daylan leaned forward and broke off a piece of Medora's bread. "Of course, he doesn't care about them. But as a leader, our actions would bruise his pride.
Strolling into his territory and walking out with his men bloodied and broken—that's a hit to any leader's ego. So no matter how disposable they were to him, he'll still feel the need to assert his dominance."
As their conversation drifted from strategy to casual chatter, the day slipped by unnoticed.
Their routine resumed, and before they knew it, night had fallen. Astara was in the library, Daylan lounged on the sofa with a book, and Medora was training.
At that moment, a knock sounded at the door. Daylan glanced around, uncertain if they were expecting anyone. With the others occupied, he rose to his feet and went to see who it was.
As soon as he opened the door—before he could even see who it was—a black cloth was thrown over his head. Before he could resist, he realized he was already in a moving vehicle.
His heart pounded as fear crept in—but he knew better than to let it take hold.
Given the situation, he knew reacting wasn't his best option, for now. He had no idea how many there were or who they might be, but one thing was certain—it wasn't the Phantoms. If it were, they would've gone after Astara and Medora too.
Knowing Mr. Enzo, he would've come at me head-on. This has to be the Bastian family's doing.
He tried to shift his position, but each movement only made their grip tighten around him. He brushed his legs against theirs and cautiously stretched them out.
Two, huh? I think we are far enough… I'm not seeing your boss, sorry.
Energy Manifest…here goes nothing.
He took a deep breath—and in an instant, forced his hand upward, driving his elbow into one of their throats. The man reeled back, gasping for air.
But before Daylan could follow up, a sharp metal tore through his gut. Warm liquid soaked his clothes—he'd been stabbed. He knew he had to end it fast. Seizing the moment, he ripped the dagger from his side and, with swift, brutal strikes, slit both of their throats.
Without wasting a second, he tore the cloth from his head, leaned forward, and smashed through the glass dividing him from the driver. Before the man could react, Daylan plunged the dagger into the back of his neck, then hurled himself out of the carriage.
Daylan watched the carriage sluggishly roll away, then looked down at his wound. It had worsened—his movements had torn it open further. Without hesitation, he sprinted back home, reactivating Dark Spiral the moment it began to fade, numbing the pain before it could slow him down.
The lingering pain from the moments his ability deactivated made his body tremble—a sharp reminder that he couldn't afford even a second to catch his breath.
Before long, he arrived home to find Medora in the living room, drying off with a towel. The moment she saw him, she rushed over to him.
"What happened?"
"Heal me first."
As soon as Medora finished healing him, Daylan collapsed onto the sofa. Astara emerged moments later, drawn by the panic in Medora's voice.
Daylan sighed. "I think the Bastian family adopted me… and they just stabbed me when I tried to escape."
"Did you kill them?" Astara asked. Her voice was etched with concern.
"Oh yeah, I made sure they were all dead—so they can't legally tie anything back to me."
"Including a distance between them and the house?"
Daylan gave Astara a firm nod.
"Does this affect our mission?"
Daylan shook his head. "Not at all. I knew they'd come eventually, so I'd already planned for them. And now that I know more about how they operate, I can counter them easily. We act like nothing happened, alright?"
They gave him a nod and returned to their activities.
Daylan got to his feet and headed to his room. Lying back, he began to reflect on everything he'd read about the Bastian and Jireh families—their limitations, their influence, and how it truly operated beneath the surface.
Despite his many attempts to mask it with strategic thinking, fear clung to him—he was paranoid, anxious, and deeply unsettled.
What if they had been stronger? Why do I suddenly feel so confident, when deep down, I know just how afraid I am?
As his thoughts spiraled deeper, his eyes grew heavy, and sleep quietly overtook him.
Morning came faster than they realized.
Dressed in casual attire, they stepped out of the house, planning to walk through the city—hoping to spot wanted posters or even catch sight of the Phantoms themselves lurking nearby.
A few minutes into their walk, Daylan noticed there was no trace of the previous night's incident. That alone confirmed the Bastians would make their move soon—but this time, it wouldn't be as easy as before.
As they wandered, they decided to explore the northern part of the city on their own. Daylan and Medora, being from the southern district, were mostly familiar with the church and the vast ocean beyond it.
While Daylan had visited every region at some point, the monastery on the western shore held little interest—just more sea, and never enough time to explore. The eastern side, where the tournament was held, was vibrant and beautiful, though with less water. Even then, he hadn't had the chance to take it all in.
But the northern district was different—vast dry land stretched out before them, filled with intricate machinery, grand statues, and some of the city's most stunning architecture.
They began exploring. Statues of the gods were scattered throughout the city—some sculpted as men, others as women—hinting that no one truly knew what their gods looked like.
Exhaust vents stretched high above the industrial buildings, puffing steam into the sky. Despite their limited number, the sight was oddly pleasant to them.
As they wandered casually, an old woman suddenly approached them, insisting they pray to the gods. She claimed it was to protect them from all evil eyes, her tone firm with the kind of conviction that made refusal feel like a curse in itself.
Surprisingly, no one recognized Astara.
Despite her appearance at the tournament, the people had no idea she was their princess. And the confidence she carried—it was as if she'd known all along that she wouldn't be recognized.
"These people haven't seen me that often. It'd be a whole different story if we were in the Royal Capital. Why do you think I chose to stay in Honor City? You people are so forgetful." She giggled, while Daylan and Medora responded with playful sneers.
Night fell quickly, and still, there was no sign that the Phantoms had made a move. With nothing else to follow up on, they decided to head back home. The carriage ride was filled with laughter and playful conversation as they reminisced about the day's adventures.
As soon as they reached a cautious distance from the house, Astara spoke up.
"I think there are people in front of the house."
Daylan smirked, then turned to Medora.
"Take the carriage back to the southern district. Bring the guards—and the captain."