Akame had finished off the rest of the guards at the mansion, her blade glinting under the dim light as she moved with quiet precision. Her Teigu, One-Cut Killer: Murasame, was a blade of death—whoever it cut would fall, slain by a poison that spread rapidly through the body, stopping the heart within moments. Bodies lay scattered around her, lifeless, their deaths swift and silent.
"Target, eliminated," she said to herself, voice devoid of emotion, though her eyes briefly scanned for movement, ever cautious.
"Not yet, Akame. We still have to deal with the daughter," came Lubbock's voice. He stood not far behind, dressed in his signature green jacket with a fur-trimmed hood. His fingers moved like dancers, manipulating razor-thin wires that glinted menacingly in the air. One servant had tried to flee, but Lubbock's threads had already wrapped around him, cutting him to pieces before he could even scream.
Elsewhere in the courtyard, the armored behemoth of the team—Bulat—was a relentless force. His spear spun and jabbed with brutal efficiency, tearing through any guard that dared approach from the shadows. Clad in Incursio, his Teigu, he looked like a knight of death—a storm of metal and flesh.
"Lubbock has a point, Akame-chan. We can't call this mission complete if we haven't taken care of everyone," he said firmly, his visor reflecting the chaos around them.
From the balcony above, two more figures emerged through a shattered window. Leone, bold and confident, surveyed the area below with a smirk. Her short blonde hair shimmered in the moonlight, her golden eyes sharp with focus. Dressed in a black tube top, low-slung pants, sturdy boots, and a scarf, she radiated raw strength.
Her hands bore the fresh marks of her latest kill—she had broken the father's neck like it was nothing. Her Teigu, The King of Beasts Transformation: Lionelle, enhanced her physicality and gave her traits of a mighty Danger Beast—sharp claws, heightened senses, and monstrous endurance.
Beside her stood Sheele, quiet and composed. Her long purple hair swayed gently, her violet eyes half-hidden behind delicate glasses. Clad in her lilac cheongsam and white boots, she looked almost serene—until one noticed the massive scissors in her hand. Cutter of Creation: Extase, her Teigu, was drenched in blood. She had silently crept behind Aria's mother and split her clean in two. The coldness in her eyes lingered, a hint of the detached calm she only displayed during combat.
"That bitch is nowhere to be found. Must've ran away, I guess," Leone called down, shrugging nonchalantly. Despite the carnage, her tone remained light, almost teasing.
"She won't get that far," Sheele replied evenly, her voice neither hopeful nor worried—just stating a fact.
Suddenly, a voice pierced the night air.
"Guys… I found her."
Everyone looked up. Perched atop the sloped rooftop, Mine stood like a painted doll in battle. Her long pink twintails fluttered in the breeze, framing her stern expression. Her frilly dress and thigh-high boots contrasted sharply with the massive sniper rifle teigu—Roman Artillery: Pumpkin—resting in her hands. She aimed it downward but did not fire.
"Good job, Mine. Well then, let's get to it," Bulat called out, nodding toward her with a gesture for everyone to regroup.
But Mine didn't acknowledge the compliment. Her face remained fixed in a serious expression, eyes narrowed.
"She won't get that far though… She's dead."
A silence fell over them.
Thick.
Stifling.
It pressed into their lungs like smoke.
"What?" Lubbock asked, incredulous.
No one moved. No one spoke. Even the sounds of the burning building and groaning structure seemed to vanish under the weight of those words.
For a moment, time itself seemed to pause, and the battlefield held its breath.
"Just like I said. She's dead, like REAL dead."
Mine's voice carried the finality of truth as Night Raid approached the spot where Aria's body lay. It was just a few feet from the warehouse doors, where the stench of blood and smoke clung heavily in the air. The entire area was stained with the remnants of violence.
Akame crouched beside the corpse, her expression unreadable. Her eyes scanned the wound, the precision of the cut, and the collapsed posture of the victim.
"A clean cut from the waist up," she observed, touching the edge of the gash with the hilt of her blade. "There's no way she would have withstood this one."
"Well obviously," Lubbock muttered, arms crossed. "A girl like her won't survive that." His tone was dry, bordering on sarcastic, as though the answer had been self-evident.
Bulat, looming nearby, gave the area a sweep with his eyes before muttering, "One thing's for sure—she won't be missed. The real question is, who beat us to her?"
Leone stood with one hand on her hip, thoughtfully tapping a finger against her cheek. "Could've been a tough bandit, maybe some guests who figured out what these monsters were doing to travelers. Whoever they are, they did us a favor."
The others nodded, but the air remained tense. For a group that lived in shadows and slaughter, the presence of an unknown killer was unsettling.
As they turned to leave the scene behind, stepping carefully over blood-soaked tiles and the remnants of collapsed wealth, Akame cast one final glance over the battlefield. Her sharp gaze paused briefly on the sea of corpses.
Sayo and Ieyasu
Their bodies weren't there.
Not among the dead.
Not among the survivors.
They were gone.
Akame narrowed her eyes, mind already whirring through possibilities. Another variable. Another shadow in a night full of them.
The sun had risen over the Capital, casting long, golden rays across the sprawling cityscape. The streets slowly stirred to life as shops opened and merchants arranged their wares with rehearsed familiarity.
Among the bustling crowd, three figures moved with quiet urgency: Tatsumi, Vito, and Gauri. Their steps were steady, but their eyes held weight—the kind born of recent loss.
Just that morning, the trio had buried Sayo and Ieyasu along the road leading into the Capital. The earth was still soft, the graves still fresh. Gauri had offered to dig them himself, each strike of the shovel a penance for his role in their deaths. Tatsumi had not spoken much since, save for quiet murmurs to the mementos he kept clutched in his hands.
Their feet carried them beyond the outer roads into the heart of the slums, a place where cracked bricks and crumbling wood whispered the truths the upper city dared not speak. There was no grandeur here—only survival. As they navigated the narrow alleys and shaded walkways, they searched not for comfort, but for obscurity.
Eventually, they stumbled upon an inn hunched in a corner like an old dog too tired to bark. The sign hung crooked, its paint faded, and the front steps creaked underfoot. Vito surveyed the building with a practiced eye.
Too shabby, he thought, but perfect to lay low.
His gaze shifted subtly to the two young men beside him. Tatsumi walked stiffly, his fists clenched at his sides, while Gauri lagged behind, face half-turned in shame. Despite their alliance, the distance between them grew with each passing hour.
These two really need to make up. Tatsumi's falling into something he might not come back from... and Gauri's barely holding himself together.
They stepped inside. The air was thick with dust and the faint scent of old wood. Behind the counter stood an old man, his shoulders stooped but his smile warm.
"Oh—visitors. How may we help you?"
Vito stepped forward and placed a single gold coin on the counter. "We would like a room for three."
The old man eyed the coin with a conflicted expression before shaking his head slowly.
"Oh, as much as we would like to accept this, I'm afraid our rooms may find you... inadequate to accommodate your needs."
Vito met his eyes calmly. "We just need a place to stay. Nothing more, nothing less."
"If you wish," the old man finally gave in, his voice low with reluctant hospitality.
He reached for the coin with a hand that trembled, then placed it gently into the register. Below the counter, three old iron keys hung from pegs. He plucked them one by one, each motion slow and deliberate, as though the weight of age and years of hardship hung from each joint.
"Here are the keys to your rooms. Enjoy your stay here at the inn," he said, offering the keys with a nod, his voice tinged with a quiet, tired sincerity.
Vito accepted them wordlessly and turned to Tatsumi and Gauri.
"We each get our own rooms," he said simply, handing each man a key. Gauri averted his eyes as he accepted his, the guilt pressing on his shoulders like a weight. Without a word, he climbed the stairs, each step groaning underfoot, the sound echoing through the otherwise still lobby.
Vito lingered for a moment, watching him disappear into the dim hallway above, then turned to Tatsumi, whose gaze remained fixed to the floor, eyes shadowed by unease.
"Tatsumi, my boy," Vito said gently, his voice low and patient, "don't be afraid to tell me what's bothering you."
Tatsumi's hands clenched tighter around the mementos in his grasp. His voice was barely more than a whisper.
"It's just... isn't it surreal?"
Vito raised a brow. "What is?"
"Me. A swordsman from the countryside. My friends are dead. And now I'm travelling with someone who... who admits he played a part in it all."
"And you're telling me you hate him?" Vito asked, voice neutral but probing.
Tatsumi hesitated. "Part of me does. Or did. I wanted to hate him. Wanted to see him suffer. Wanted him to wish he was dead." He looked up, eyes raw and glistening. "But when I look at him, all I see is a man drowning in guilt. I can't bring myself to finish the hatred."
Vito nodded slowly. "Ragazzo, revenge is natural if it gives you closure. But the more you feed it, the more it hollows you out. It doesn't satisfy. It consumes. The more you let it grow, the more you become its vessel. The more you lose yourself to the darkness you set out to destroy."
Tatsumi lowered his eyes. "So you're saying I should just forgive him?"
"I'm saying tread carefully," Vito replied, placing a firm hand on the young man's shoulder. "You're at a crossroads. One you might not return from. Choose with a clear heart, not a clouded mind. Hatred is easy. Understanding is harder."
Tatsumi nodded faintly, absorbing the words, but his thoughts remained turbulent. As Vito turned to go, he added over his shoulder, "Besides... Signore Gauri already took his first step. He helped you bury your friends. That counts for something. Even a small act of redemption is still a step in the right direction."
Vito disappeared upstairs, his steps steady despite the old creaking stairs. Tatsumi remained still, staring at the keys in his hand as if they held all the weight in the world.
The more I take revenge... the more I become a monster. Is that what you meant, Vito-dono?
He looked down at Sayo's delicate hairpin and Ieyasu's bloodied headband in his palm. Memories surged forward—their laughter, their dreams of glory, the warmth of their presence during long nights on the road.
Sayo... Ieyasu... he thought. What would you want me to become?
Upstairs, Vito unlocked the door to his room. Inside was a small space: a wooden desk by a cracked window, a single-sized bed with a thin mattress, and a chair that wobbled slightly when he tested it. The plaster walls bore the wear of years, marked with stains and faint cracks, and the smell of old paper and distant mildew hung in the air.
It wasn't much, but for now, it was enough.
He placed his coat over the chair and sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes thoughtful. From his inner pocket, he pulled out a small, tarnished locket—one not seen since his younger days. Its hinge creaked faintly as he opened it, revealing a faded photograph within.
He stared at it for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
It never gets easier, he thought, brushing a thumb over the photo. But we still walk forward.
He closed the locket, stood, and turned to face the window. The Capital was still waking, unaware of the lives shifting in its shadow.
He then turned his attention to Gauri, deciding to check up on him before the day went any further. The hallway outside was quiet, save for the muffled creaks of the aging building settling into the morning. The scent of dust and worn wood lingered in the air, adding to the stillness of the moment. Vito approached the room and knocked gently before letting himself in.
Gauri was still seated on the edge of the bed, his posture slightly hunched, his gaze fixed on the small window overlooking a narrow alley. From where he sat, one could glimpse the Capital's rooftops, gilded in the light of the rising sun, yet his mind was clearly far removed from the view.
His armor was half removed, shoulder plates lying on the floor, and his sword leaned against the wall like a monument to his burdens.
"Signore Gauri..." Vito called out softly.
"Vito-dono..." Gauri finally responded. It was the first time he had spoken to him since the night they had buried the dead.
"Speak out," the old man implored him, voice calm but firm, settling into the silence like a gentle wave.
Gauri took a deep breath, his hands clasped tightly together between his knees. His jaw tensed, then relaxed. He didn't look at Vito, as if ashamed to meet the older man's eyes.
"Do you think Tatsumi will ever forgive me?" he asked. "For my part in the deaths of his friends?"
Vito stepped further into the room, taking a seat on the nearby chair. The wood creaked under him as he leaned forward, elbows on knees. He watched Gauri for a long moment before answering.
"Asking for forgiveness is never easy," he began. "It depends on the weight of the sin you've carried... and whether the one you've wronged is ready to carry it with you. Forgiveness isn't a gift you demand. It's something earned—often with time, sometimes with pain."
Gauri gave a small nod. "I understand."
"But young Tatsumi is a good kid," Vito continued, his voice taking on a warmer tone. "He's hurting, yes, and he may hold anger toward you, but beneath that, he's got a kind heart. It will take time for his wounds to heal. But when they do, he may come to see your sorrow. Your regret. And maybe… he'll see that you're not the man you were when it happened."
Gauri turned his eyes to Vito. "And what should he see in me then?"
"That nothing good ever comes out of blind revenge," Vito said simply. "And that remorse is the first step away from becoming a monster."
A heavy silence settled between them. Gauri thought back to the night he and Tatsumi discovered the true horror behind the mansion's smiling facade—how quickly he had gone from soldier to executioner. His hands, still steady in battle, trembled now with remorse. He remembered the terror in the eyes of the captives. The cruelty he failed to see in time.
Then, a subtle warmth grew in his chest. He felt it clearly now—the same thing he felt when Tatsumi stood by him despite everything. Hope. Fragile, but present.
For the first time in a while, he allowed himself a brief smile.
"You know, for a man who's come here for the first time," Gauri said, glancing at him, "you sure know how to read people."
Vito gave a small chuckle. "Well... I spent my whole life learning not to be careless. Women and children can be careless, but not men like me. Not men like us. We carry too much on our shoulders."
Gauri chuckled lightly, the tension in his shoulders easing. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the gloom retreating slightly in the presence of shared understanding.
"Perhaps... perhaps you're right," he said, voice quieter now, but no longer burdened. "And perhaps... I still have a chance to make things right."
The old man gave a small, approving nod, then stood from the chair. His movements were slow, but with a purposeful grace.
"One step at a time," he said, before turning to leave the room, his footsteps soft against the creaking floorboards. He left behind a faint glimmer of peace in the air.
Gauri turned back to the window. For the first time that morning, the light of the Capital didn't seem so far away. The sun continued to rise, and though its rays had not yet touched the darker corners of his heart, he knew now that one day, they might.