(The character will be introduced immediately after the episode concludes.)

Scene 1: Invitations and Intentions

The late afternoon sun bathed Freaky Town’s marketplace in a warm, amber glow. Most merchants had begun closing shop, their voices hoarse from a long day of haggling. The trio stood in front of Chisu’s stall, now stripped of its more ornate inventory—save for a few modest blades and tools.

Claude ran his hand over the smooth grip of his new broadsword, testing its weight with a few swings.
Claude (grinning):
"Still can't believe you just gave these to us. I owe you dinner. Or a kingdom. Or both."

Xero adjusted the twin blades now secured across his back. The bluish sheen of the blackened steel shimmered as he turned toward Chisu, thoughtful.
Xero (earnestly):
"Chisu… ever think about leaving this place behind?"

Chisu paused mid-motion, a rolled-up tarp in his hands. His head tilted slightly.
Chisu (brow raised):
"Leaving? For where, exactly?"

Xero (with growing conviction):
"With us. Join our journey. We’re gearing up to face real threats. You know weapons like the back of your hand—we could use someone like you."

Claude’s eyes widened, surprised but not opposed.
Claude (nodding, intrigued):
"Actually… that’s not a bad idea. You've got more edge than half the fighters we’ve met."

Mechan looked up from inspecting his new throwing knives, arching an eyebrow, but saying nothing. Chisu, caught off-guard, chuckled under his breath and leaned against the side of the stall.

Chisu (with a smile tinged by nostalgia):
"That’s flattering. Really. But I’m not just some vendor waiting for a chance to jump back into the fray."

Xero stepped closer, voice more intense.
Xero:
"That’s not what I see. You’re sharp. You’ve been out there before—I can tell. So why stay here selling to people who don’t even know what they’re holding?"

Chisu’s gaze darkened slightly as if memories surfaced he’d rather leave buried. He exhaled and looked toward the market, where vendors were packing up carts and lanterns flickered to life.

Chisu (quietly):
"I’ve got roots here. People I care about. Debts I’m still paying—not just money. Some mistakes don’t go away by running off with a new crew and a sharp blade."

Claude shifted awkwardly, recognizing the weight in his words.
Claude (softly):
"Fair. We all carry something heavy."

Chisu gave a half-smile, appreciative of the understanding.

Chisu (genuinely):
"But you’ve got fire. All of you. I see it. If things were different… I might’ve said yes without blinking."

Mechan (simply):
"Understood. But if your situation changes—look for us."

Chisu nodded, stepping forward to shake each of their hands. His grip was firm, but his smile, warm.
Chisu (grinning):
"Until then, don’t die before you figure out how to use those weapons properly."

The three chuckled. Then, without further fanfare, they turned toward the forest trail, the chatter and color of Freaky Town fading behind them as they made their way back into the dense woodland.

Three Days Later — Woodland Training Grounds

The clearing Mechan had chosen was ideal: ringed with old trees, uneven terrain littered with roots, moss-covered rocks, and natural cover. Their campsite was functional—tent, firepit, and a makeshift sparring ring formed by stones and branches.

Day 1 – Brutal Basics

Mechan wasted no time.
Mechan (barking):
"Combat doesn’t wait for comfort. Claude—stance too wide. You’re asking to be tripped. Xero—your strikes are loud. You telegraph every move. Fix it!"

The day was a relentless cycle of sparring, endurance drills, and formation work. Claude slipped in the mud during a mock ambush, and Xero overreached in a counterstrike, earning a bruise from Mechan’s training baton.

By dusk, both were sprawled under a tree, panting and sore.

Xero (smirking):
"This is what bonding feels like, huh?"

Claude (groaning):
"If bonding means my joints are screaming, then yeah, we’re basically family."

Mechan stood over them, unbothered, arms crossed.
Mechan (deadpan):
"You’ll thank me when you’re not dead."

Day 2 – Tactical Training

Mechan sketched battle plans in the dirt with a stick, lecturing on choke points, cover tactics, flanking formations.

Mechan (pointing at the diagram):
"This isn't about who's strongest. It’s about who survives. And you don’t survive by swinging wildly."

They practiced coordinated attacks. Claude learned to watch Xero’s rhythm, adjusting his steps mid-strike. Xero began to read Claude’s posture, predicting his swings. Slowly, instinct replaced hesitation.

Day 3 – The Unity Test

Mechan tied a strip of cloth around both of their waists, binding them together by less than a foot.

Mechan (sternly):
"Move together. Fight together. You fall out of sync—you both fall."

He attacked with unrelenting speed, exploiting any gap between their movements. The early rounds were disasters. But by the final round, their timing was fluid—Claude blocked low as Xero spun high, the cloth barely twitching between them.

Mechan finally stepped back, nodding once.

Mechan (approvingly):
"Better. Still rough. But better."

Xero collapsed onto the grass, smiling through the sweat.
Xero (grinning):
"Almost starting to like you, Mechan."

Claude (snorting):
"Don't push it. He’ll add another day to training just to punish us."

As they sat around the fire that night, bruised and sore but visibly stronger, a rare silence settled between them—not empty, but full of quiet confidence.

They didn’t just have new weapons.
They had something rarer:
Cohesion.

Scene 2: Shadows of Vesperion

The warm light of Freaky Town had long dimmed behind him.

Chisu walked alone now—his pace cautious, practiced, silent. The well-trodden paths gave way to narrow alleys and grime-slicked stone passages, the air heavy with mildew, ash, and secrets. His merchant’s stall, so simple and open in the daylight, was a facade. He passed through a false wall behind a crumbling tanner’s shop, descending into the narrow corridors beneath the city’s belly.

He lit a small oil lamp, its flame trembling as he entered a tight chamber no bigger than a storehouse closet. Crates of locked chests, scrolls, worn-out gear, and old expedition records were stacked high around him.

He sat slowly on a battered wooden stool, placing his hands together, fingers interlocked, as if trying to hold himself together. His smile—the one he’d worn for Xero and the others—was gone.

Chisu (muttering):
"You really offered to join them, huh… idiot."

He leaned back, head resting against the cold brick wall. Silence weighed heavy.

FLASHBACK – Grimesh Valley, One Year Ago

Blistering winds howled across the cliffs of Grimesh Valley. The sky was ash-grey, and down below, the shattered ruins of an ancient fortress jutted from the earth like broken bones.

Chisu stood in the middle of a cracked marble rotunda, brushing dust off a half-buried stone pedestal. Around him, his companions—Laxa, Torven, and Meek—sifted through debris, taking notes, unearthing artifacts. They were a known name in relic-hunting circles: The Hollow Star Company. Equal parts adventurers, historians, and survivalists.

Then came the roar.

A ground-shaking bellow split the cliffs. From the gorge below, a massive form emerged—one blood-red eye glowing through the mist. The Cyclops Guardian had awoken.

But it wasn’t the relic hunters the monster attacked.

It was the soldiers.

Laxa (breathless):
"They’re charging in head-first! They don’t know what they’re facing!"

Torven (shouting):
"They weren’t here for research. This whole thing’s a goddamn diversion!"

Chisu (grimly):
"They used us to draw it out. The Field Commander just wanted access to the sealed vaults while the Cyclops was distracted… Bastard."

The battle raged—blades, cannonfire, and magic lighting up the valley. As screams echoed, the Hollow Star Company slipped into the shadows behind the carnage, finding a broken fissure beneath the battleground.

Inside, they uncovered something… wrong.

A circular chamber lined with ancient glyphs. Seven pedestals. Six empty. One still holding a relic: a jet-black orb faintly humming with strange energy.

Meek (in awe):
"One of the Seven Relics of Vesperion… I thought it was a myth."

Torven (staring):
"Do we take it… or leave it for the monsters?"

Chisu hesitated.

And then he took it.

PRESENT – BACK IN THE HIDEOUT

Chisu reached into a hidden compartment behind a rusted shelf. From it, he pulled a small, cloth-wrapped bundle. Carefully, he unwrapped the layers.

There it was.

The Vesperion Fragment.

An obsidian orb no larger than a child’s fist, but pulsing faintly as if it had a heartbeat.

He stared at it, eyes distant.
Chisu (quietly):
"They never came for the relic. They came for us… scapegoats."

His hand trembled.

He remembered the last day.

Running. Smoke.
Laxa impaled by a spear while dragging Torven to safety.
Meek screaming as Guardian VIII troops bound him in mana-suppressing chains.
Only three escaped that day.

Only he remained now.

A knock sounded—two short taps.

Chisu quickly re-wrapped the relic, stashing it under the floorboard before unbolting a steel hatch above.

A hooded figure dropped in, face masked by shadow.
Contact (low voice):
"The searchers are back in Grimesh. Rumor is the Guardian VIII Command wants the last runner found by end of the quarter moon."

Chisu sighed.
Chisu (dryly):
"They’ve been saying that for six months."

Contact:
"This time, they’ve posted a bounty. 10,000 Ves. Dead or alive."

A bitter silence hung between them.

Contact (curious):
"You thinking of running again?"

Chisu shook his head.

Chisu (flatly):
"No point. They’ll sniff me out. No matter how far."

He stood and stared at the flickering lamp. Then, slowly, a small smile crept back onto his lips—faint, sad, but laced with defiance.

Chisu:
"But if I’m going down, I’m not going quietly."

He grabbed a satchel, strapped it to his back, and glanced toward the stairs leading out.

Chisu (softly, to himself):
"Xero… Claude… Mechan… if things were different, I’d have walked with you."

He stepped into the alley and vanished into the dark, like a wraith with a price on his head and a relic in his soul.