The carriage rumbled to a gentle halt before an estate that rose like a polished gem in the heart of the capital. Aria's mansion was a pristine structure of white stone and high-arched windows, its outer walls adorned with fine latticework and blooming flower beds. Manicured hedges bordered the path leading to a grand double-door entrance, framed in ornate gold trim and flanked by twin marble columns.
Tall, polished windows caught the glow of the setting sun, throwing delicate amber light across the cobblestone courtyard. A fountain gurgled softly at the center, its crystalline waters catching reflections of the mansion's pale facade, which seemed almost untouched by time or weather.
Inside, the mansion was no less impressive. Gilded chandeliers hung from high vaulted ceilings, their candlelight dancing off polished floors and framed oil paintings. The air was heavy with the scent of perfume and expensive wood polish—sterile, refined, and practiced. It was a home designed to awe, not to comfort.
Both men stepped into the mansion, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble floor. Tatsumi's eyes widened, drinking in the grand architecture—the high ceilings adorned with gilded moldings, the tall windows spilling golden light onto the floors, the faint scent of flowers and polish that wafted through the air like perfume.
"Whoa... this place is amazing," he whispered, almost to himself.
Vito, however, remained silent. His dark eyes moved slowly across the interior—not in awe, but in calculation. He noted the unnatural symmetry of the room, the perfection of the decor, the stillness of the air. Everything was too pristine, too rehearsed. It was a house of masks.
He felt something was wrong.
"Ahhh… Aria brought someone in again," came a deep but gentle voice from nearby, relaxed and unbothered.
"What a habit. I wonder how many it's been now," followed another, this time maternal and sweet.
Tatsumi and Vito approached the lavishly decorated living room. Aria's parents sat comfortably, sipping tea from delicate porcelain cups, their expressions warm, as though receiving guests was a quaint little game.
Behind the father stood the guards, silent and stern, their eyes trained forward like statues.
Those men… they really are strong, Tatsumi thought, his gaze drawn to their rigid postures and sharp focus. I wonder if they can even be nice to two unknown guys like us just because they have people like these…
Vito's thoughts wandered elsewhere. These men… they seem like they follow orders without question. No conscience behind those eyes. Just obedience.
He glanced back at Tatsumi, who wore a dazzled expression, like a boy who'd stumbled into a palace from his bedtime stories.
Naive, Vito thought.
"Thank you very much for bringing us in," Tatsumi suddenly exclaimed, bowing deeply. Gratitude filled his voice, his sincerity impossible to fake.
"It's okay, it's okay. Make yourselves at home," Aria said, smiling brightly.
Before she could say more, her mother chimed in with cheerful warmth.
"If we help people out, happiness will eventually come back to us, right?"
"Mom! That's not the reason I'm doing it for!" Aria huffed, flustered, her cheeks coloring in embarrassment.
Laughter lightly touched the air, but it was soon broken by a new voice—measured and low.
"You are very kind, Signorina… too kind," Vito said at last.
Tatsumi eagerly stepped forward, ready to speak, but Vito remained where he stood. His eyes lingered on Aria. He watched how she tilted her head just slightly, the perfect angle to seem modest. How her gaze drifted, not aimlessly, but with intent—landing on their clothing, their worn shoes, cataloging details.
"Oh, I just can't turn away travelers in need. My family loves helping those who come to the Capital full of dreams," she said.
"Ah, kindness… it is a rare thing among the rich. Almost as rare as generosity without expectation," Vito replied, his tone smooth but edged with something less forgiving.
Aria's smile didn't falter. But her eyes flickered—just for a moment.
Her father set down his teacup, the porcelain clinking gently against the saucer. "You're a thoughtful man. Where did you say you were from again?"
Vito offered a nod, but his answer was careful. "Far from here. A place where trust must be earned, not gifted."
"Indeed," Aria's mother interjected lightly. "But in the Capital, we like to think trust is the first gift we offer. It makes things... easier."
"Easier for whom?" Vito asked softly, almost rhetorically, though the question hung in the air like a thread no one dared to pull.
Tatsumi chuckled nervously, trying to ease the sudden weight of the moment. "He's just tired. The road's been long for both of us."
"Yes, I'm sure it has," Aria replied smoothly. She clasped her hands before her. "Well then, let's prepare your rooms. Dinner will be ready shortly. You'll be safe here, I promise."
Vito gave a small bow. "That's a kind promise, Signorina. I'll remember it."
The family gave them a bedroom to share with. Thankfully for Tatsumi, there were two separate beds present in the room, so he wouldn't have to let either one of them sleep on the floor.
The room itself was modest yet elegant, trimmed with carved wooden panels and lit by the soft glow of an oil lamp resting on a desk between the beds. Heavy curtains framed the tall windows, and the faint scent of lavender drifted in from somewhere deeper in the mansion.
Vito gazed at the view as he leaned into the window. His eyes were locked onto one specific place—a warehouse nestled inconspicuously near the edge of the estate grounds, half-hidden by treetops and swallowed in shadow. It stood out to him like a wound hidden under silk, something too purposeful to be forgotten.
"Vito-san, what's up with that back there?" Tatsumi asked, curiosity laced in his tone, referring to Vito's earlier behavior in front of Aria and her family. He sat on the bed, removing his boots slowly, watching the old man's silent contemplation.
Vito turned his attention toward the boy—this naive, honest lad who hadn't yet seen the full extent of the world's cruelty. If he was going to survive in a place like this, he had to learn fast, and perhaps Vito could spare him some of the lessons he had to learn the hard way.
"Tatsumi, my boy, from where I came from, there exists a saying: Never judge a book by its cover. There's always a hidden motive lying behind every smile like theirs."
"Hidden motive, huh?" Tatsumi repeated, mulling over the thought as he rubbed the back of his head. He didn't want to think badly of people who had shown them kindness.
"I mean, if they're willing to lend us a helping hand, then who are we to turn it down?" Tatsumi added with a shrug as he settled into his bed, pulling the blanket over himself and sighing softly.
"Perhaps. But sometimes the world isn't always kind to people like us. Sometimes we have to survive if we want to make it through. Trust must be earned, not given freely." Vito's voice carried the weight of experience, of too many nights spent watching his back, trusting no one.
He then removed his coat and hung it over the back of a chair. As he moved, Tatsumi noticed a faint glint in the coat's pocket—a sliver of steel perhaps—but dared not to ask. Something about it told him it was better left unspoken.
The old man removed his shoes, flexing his toes with a tired grunt, easing the soreness of long travel. The way he moved, deliberate and grounded, reminded Tatsumi of a soldier rather than a wanderer.
Tough guy, Tatsumi thought to himself. Like someone who's been through a war.
I'm lucky, Tatsumi continued to muse. I met some wise old man in the streets, then we got saved by some nice people in the end.
He lay down on his bed, staring at the wooden ceiling, his thoughts drifting. Now it's just Sayo and Ieyasu. I hope they both got to the capital safely…
Still, there was something different about Vito. Something deeply buried under layers of calm and silence. He came to him with nothing, yet carried the presence of someone greater than any general Tatsumi had ever met. There was strength in his silence, a quiet authority that came not from title or wealth—but from having endured and survived.
I wonder what kind of person he is in his homeland… Tatsumi thought, as his eyes slowly began to close.
Meanwhile, Vito remained standing a moment longer, staring once again through the window at the warehouse. His expression was unreadable, but the faint crease in his brow suggested an old instinct stirring once more. Trouble had a scent, and that building reeked of it.
The next morning, Aria invited Tatsumi and Vito to the bustling marketplace, where color and noise collided in a dizzying celebration of wealth. She indulged in splendor with the carefree excitement of a child, darting from one boutique to another as her guards trailed behind, arms laden with neatly stacked boxes of expensive garments and accessories.
"We're going to that shop next!" she chirped, pointing excitedly to another lavish clothing store. Her energy was boundless, and the extravagance overwhelming. Tatsumi stood frozen in comical horror at the sheer volume of purchases.
"It seems like we're staying home this time," Gauri, one of Aria's bodyguards, muttered dryly as he shifted the weight of the boxes in his arms.
"Her shopping's amazing, isn't it? The amount is just getting silly now," Tatsumi said, sweat-dropping at the absurdity.
"Such is the vicissitude of nobility," Vito observed calmly, his voice tinged with dry amusement.
"Anyways," Gauri added, tilting his head upward, "look up."
Tatsumi and Vito followed his gaze.
"That's the center of the capital—the palace."
At the heart of the capital, rising like a crown above the tangled sprawl of rooftops and winding stone streets, stood the Imperial Palace—a monolith of authority, ancient and unyielding. From a distance, it looked almost ethereal, its white stone walls glimmering in the sun, too pristine for the filth and blood that pooled in the alleys below. But up close, its perfection turned menacing. Every tower cast a long, cold shadow. Every gate was too high, every spire too sharp.
The palace was surrounded by a secondary wall of polished black stone, taller and thicker than the outer city defenses—less a barrier to invaders, more a boundary to separate gods from men. Guards in crimson-plated armor stood at perfect intervals along its length, motionless as statues, eyes always forward, always watching.
"Humongous," Tatsumi reacted in exaggerated awe. "Is that where the Emperor who controls the country is!?"
"No…" Gauri leaned closer, his voice lowered, face darkening.
"It's a little different… There's an Emperor, but he's a child right now. The one who really controls the Emperor from the shadows…"
What he said next made Tatsumi flinch in shock, while Vito arched a brow, intrigued.
"The Minister… he's the one rotting this country."
The Emperor, a child…
The Minister, pulling strings from behind the veil…
Pulling the strings…
"So the Emperor is a puppet," Vito stated plainly, eyes narrowing.
"You could say that again," Gauri replied, his voice hushed. "But be careful. Heads will be rolling if you're heard saying that aloud."
Tatsumi clenched his fists at the realization of it all. His expression darkened, shadows falling across his youthful face.
"Then… the reason my village is suffering from heavy taxes…"
"That's the capital's common sense," Gauri replied bluntly, voice heavy with resignation.
"There are guys like that as well"
He shifted his attention to a nearby wall, where a collection of wanted posters fluttered in the breeze. Each one bore a stark title in bold letters:
Night Raid.
One poster stood out—an image of a woman with long black hair, piercing crimson eyes, and a stoic expression that seemed to bore through paper and time alike. Beneath the illustration, a single name was printed: Akame.
"Night Raid?" Tatsumi echoed.
"They're a group of assassins shaking the capital to its bones," Gauri explained. "As the name suggests, they strike at night. Their targets? Nobles, generals, and anyone with too much power and not enough conscience."
Vito listened in silence. For the first time since arriving in this strange world, the landscape of power and rebellion became clear to him. A puppet emperor. A rot-hearted minister pulling strings from the shadows. And now, an underground resistance—bloody, relentless, and feared.
A kingdom caught in a silent war.
Gauri turned back to Tatsumi, his eyes serious.
"Prepare yourself. Just in case."
The boy shook off the darkness clouding his face. He straightened his shoulders, clenched his fist again, this time not from sorrow, but resolve.
"Yes!"
Later, Vito approached Gauri as the others moved ahead.
"So, what do you think of Night Raid?" he asked, candid and quiet.
Gauri folded his arms. "They're scum. That's for sure."
But he paused, his voice softening.
"But that doesn't make us better."
Vito nodded slowly, his gaze drifting to the sky, calm and clear above the chaos of the city.
"I admire their dedication to the cause," he said. "That's one thing I can agree on. But their methods… they won't get them anywhere. Murder is still murder, no matter the reason. In the end, they're just the other side of the same bloody coin."
He let the silence stretch before finishing quietly:
"I've seen men fight for justice and lose their soul along the way. When that happens, the cause becomes just another excuse."
Gauri met his gaze, and for a moment, there was understanding between them—men who had both seen too much, who knew that lines, once crossed, could never be uncrossed.