Lea

The sound of weapons clashing echoed through the blood-soaked Sanctum, ringing against shattered pillars and crimson-stained marble. Each impact was sharp and desperate, accompanied by the faint jingle of ornaments from a tall, looming figure whose movements were almost theatrical in their cruelty. Nearby, a living corpse hung from iron hooks, Romeo, armless, broken, and forced to witness the battle in mute horror.

The Legendary Stalker staggered back a step, her chest rising and falling as she struggled for breath. Her gaze burned with pure hatred as she locked eyes with her mortal enemy. Arlecchino only laughed, the sound light and mocking despite the carnage surrounding them.

"Where is the legend I faced before?"

Arlecchino spoke with cruel casualness, as though discussing an old memory rather than standing atop a battlefield. Lea snarled in response, teeth gritted in rage and desperation. With a sharp cry, she rushed forward and swung her blade in a wide arc. Steel met steel with a violent screech, yet her strike failed to land. Arlecchino’s serrated sickle caught her weapon cleanly, stopping it inches from his chest.

"Shut up, You filthy puppet!"

Lea shouted, forcing her weight against the locked blades. Arlecchino merely shook his head softly, disappointment feigned behind his painted grin.

"Oh. no, no, no, I must ask."

Arlecchino said with false calmness — until his eyes shone with pure joy and twisted delight at her futile resistance. His posture relaxed, as though he were savoring the moment.

"Did you actually believe, You could save your beloved apprentice?"

Each word dripped with venom and mockery. Before she could respond, he twisted his weapon sharply, yanking her blade away from her grip. In one brutal motion, he drove his boot into her chest and sent her flying across the chamber. Lea crashed into the wall with a sickening thud, stone cracking beneath the impact.

"PATHETIC!"

He spat the word like poison and laughed, his voice echoing through the ruined sanctum. Blood dripped from the edge of his weapon as he turned away from her broken form. Then, slowly, his laughter faded.

He noticed a new presence.

Footsteps approached through the haze of dust and blood. Arlecchino tilted his head, curiosity replacing amusement. With the hilt of his sickle, he nudged his top hat upward, peering beneath its brim to get a clearer look at the intruder.

"And who might you be?"

You had heard of Lumacchio’s plan and his betrayal — of Véronique’s death, the Leader of the Sweepers, caught in a trap meant for two, one that had nearly claimed Lea as well. You had heard of the ambushes and brutal attacks suffered by both the Sweepers and even the Bastards over the following days. But above all else, you had learned the truth behind Carlo’s death: it had been nothing more than another step in Lumacchio’s scheme to earn the Alchemists’ trust.

What troubled you most, however, was his alliance with Arlecchino and the Alchemists. Lea had to be warned. She had to know the truth before it was too late.

You turned to run.

An explosion tore through the corridor before you could take more than a few steps. The blast hurled you violently against the wall, knocking the breath from your lungs. Stone cracked under the impact, dust and smoke filling the air. By sheer luck alone, you survived.

Through the settling debris, a figure approached.

He wore a refined suit untouched by the ruin around him, a golden mask gleaming faintly in the dim light. Both gloved hands rested calmly atop an umbrella — though beneath its polished frame, you could see the outline of a hidden gunblade. Lumacchio himself stood before you. From beneath his coat, something else caught your eye: a small syringe filled with a glowing blue liquid, carefully secured inside his vest.

"How in the world are you still alive? Hah! You really are one of the luckiest fellows I've ever met."

He shook his head slightly, as though in genuine disbelief.

"All that effort to stop you, down to the drain, Proud of yourself?"

The words carried hidden disgust beneath their casual tone. You demanded to know why he was doing this — why he had betrayed everyone.

"It's no great mystery, lad. For myself! Obviously!"

He snorted, barely containing his amusement.

"Wait, You expected some grand speech on justice, honor, and duty? Meaningless concepts in this world."

He turned his gaze away for a moment, shoulders trembling as he struggled to restrain his laughter.

"No speeches. Just action. I just need to carry out my part in Sir Simon's grand plan, and get rid of Arlecchino myself. Of course after he kills Lea! will be an easier task for me."

He looked back at you, eyes glinting behind the mask.

"And then? I'll reap all the rewards I have sown. Whoever lives, dies, or fights means nothing to me. Let us take you, for example..."

Lumacchio began to approach, slow and deliberate, yet careful to keep his distance. He raised the umbrella slightly, and you could now clearly see the hidden barrel concealed within its shaft.

"You think your story means anything?"

He chuckled softly.

"You are a nuisance to be disposed of. a... NOBODY."

You demanded to know about Véronique.

"Véronique was a nuisance, too. One who dug too deep."

His words dripped with venom as he spoke her name, as though even remembering her annoyed him.

"The Legendary Stalker and the Leader of the Sweepers. Two troublesome sides of the same coin. It is indeed unfortunate that my trap built for two, snared only one."

He tilted his head upward, staring briefly at the shattered ceiling. Then he spread his arms wide, the umbrella still clutched firmly in his grasp.

"That so-called Legend. Lea Florence, evaded my scheme. But you know where she is... Don't you?"

You swore you would never reveal her location. You even suggested that perhaps there was still a peaceful way to resolve this.

Lumacchio burst into laughter.

"I'm so glad you mentioned this! Of course I, too, want only peace. You see. I abhor violence. We are not savages, my good fellow."

He turned away from you, gazing at the gaping hole in the wall where the explosion had torn through stone and steel alike.

"I am grateful the Alchemists dealt with Véronique. I find such things... distasteful."

He laughed at his own words, clearly amused by the contradiction.

"Now, it's your turn. And what could be more peaceful solution, than you simply not resisting and allowing me to do what I must?"

With a sharp metallic click, he adjusted his grip on the umbrella. The mechanism inside shifted, locking into place. The hidden blade and barrel aligned, ready for combat.

The corridor fell silent once more — save for the faint echo of settling debris and the slow, measured steps of a man who had already decided your fate.

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