In one of the countless alleyways within the Imperial Capital, Gilbert and Boros stood over the charred bodies of city guards, their expressions grim.

“Hey, Gilbert. No matter how you look at this…”

“……”

Even without Boros finishing his sentence, Gilbert’s mind was already racing back to that day, three years ago.

The memories were still vivid. Black smoke rising everywhere, charred corpses strewn across the ground, and the figure standing amidst it all.

It was during that incident that Gilbert met his wife.

She had been the daughter of an ordinary, small shopkeeper. With no warning, no omen, and no reason, she had watched as everything she loved—her family and her home—was reduced to ash.

The acrid smell. The smoke spreading toward the sky. The sobbing cries of despair as she flailed, helpless.

“Gilbert. Gilbert! Calm down!”

A strong shaking jolted Gilbert out of his trance, and he turned to face Boros.

Following his colleague’s pale gaze, Gilbert noticed his own hand gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly that blood was beginning to trickle down his palm.

‘No, it can’t be.’ Gilbert thought. He had killed him. He was sure of it. With this very sword, he had severed his head.

Remembering that brought him a small measure of calm. Turning to Boros, who was still staring at him with worry, Gilbert spoke.

“Sorry. I’m fine now.”

“Are you sure?”

Gilbert nearly laughed at his coworker’s doubtful expression. It wasn’t the right time, but the absurdity was almost comical.

None of the Hounds, including himself, could exactly be described as “good people.” Yet Gilbert, having spent the longest time in this kennel, could say one thing for certain.

‘There were never teammates like this before.’

Throughout his time as a Hound, Gilbert had seen a lot. People who preached camaraderie only to betray their comrades at the crucial moment, or stab them in the back when no one was looking—he’d seen it all.

But these current members were different. To put it bluntly, every single one of them was a little unhinged, with their own quirks in both words and actions.

Take Boros, for example. Before joining the Hounds, he had been a notorious con artist and gigolo. Even after becoming a Hound, his line of work hadn’t changed much.

Boros the Swindler. Boros the Player. He carried many unsavory nicknames. Yet, he was also a man who cared deeply for his comrades.

And it wasn’t just him. All the Hounds were like that. Including Gilbert himself.

“I’m fine. Contact the city guards and inform the Captain at the scene. We’ll need everyone to—”

Before Gilbert could finish, already considering the need to inform the Captain about that man for the investigation…

A deafening explosion shook the entire capital, slamming into their ears like a physical force.

“What…?”

Boros instinctively clutched his ears, but Gilbert turned his head in a specific direction without thinking. As he moved, he muttered prayers under his breath, pleading desperately.

But his short, futile prayer was shattered as he saw it.

Smoke rising from the aftermath of an explosion.

“No!”

“G-Gilbert!”

Summoning his aura in an instant, Gilbert took off running. Watching him sprint, Boros realized what lay in the direction Gilbert was heading.

It was where Gilbert’s home was.

Where his wife and young daughter lived.

“Damn it all!”

Boros began running after him as well.

“Damus! Garel!”

Derrygan screamed at the top of his lungs toward the enormous flames rising as if to consume the sky.

But no response came back. The moment they spotted him, the three Hounds guarding Gilbert’s house moved almost simultaneously.

Just barely in time, they managed to rescue Gilbert's wife and child. Though they had fainted from shock, they were otherwise unharmed, which was a relief.

On the other hand, there was no sign of Damus or Garel's auras. Suppressing the urge to jump into the flames, Derrygan fixed his gaze on the figure ahead.

Out of the fire, the man walked out completely unscathed.

“What is this? So he's really not here? Hey, where’s the guy who cut off my head?”

“Ignis...!”

Ignis.

The insane flame mage. The very one who turned the capital into hell three years ago through indiscriminate arson.

“Bring him here. Hurry. My severed neck itches. They told me I can only be freed from this itching if I kill him.”

He was the man Gilbert had definitely killed—his head severed with this very sword.

“How are you alive? You were certainly dead!”

Even as he asked, Derrygan didn’t expect Ignis to give a straight answer.

A man who was undeniably dead had returned. Derrygan didn’t know how one could resurrect the dead, but clearly, whoever told Ignis about this “freedom from itching” was also the one responsible for bringing him back.

Whether it was necromancy or something else, the person with that kind of power wouldn’t have foolishly revealed their identity.

Thus, what Derrygan hoped for wasn’t Ignis’s answer but rather for someone capable of turning the tide to arrive—ideally, their captain.

“Hm? Oh, I don’t know. They didn’t show their face, and their voice sounded distorted. But that doesn’t matter, does it? I said I itch. It itches!”

He seemed even less stable than three years ago. Aside from the lifeless aura he radiated, the sight of him scratching away flesh to the point that his neck bones showed was proof of his lost sanity.

“Hmm. If I kill that woman and child, he'll show up, won’t he?”

Muttering a curse under his breath, Derrygan scooped Gilbert’s family into both arms and leapt into the air. At the same time, another explosion obliterated the spot where he had just been standing.

Landing atop a nearby building where no presence could be felt, Derrygan looked down at the capital guards rushing over and shouted.

“Evacuate the people! Everyone within a 20-block radius!”

Ignis might have been a crazed mage, but his magical skill was terrifying.

If faced head-on, Derrygan’s aura wouldn’t hold up against that level of destructive force. On top of that, fire magic's area of effect was ridiculously wide.

Most importantly, as if to prove the rumors true—that Ignis had lost his mind due to overindulging in magic—his mana reserves were grotesquely vast.

In other words, if he were allowed to rampage freely, the casualties would be beyond comprehension.

“Everyone, prioritize the safety of the citizens!”

Though masked in the Hound’s signature hound mask, Derrygan’s command was met with swift action. The guards quickly recognized that they couldn’t handle the situation and immediately focused on what they could do: evacuating civilians.

Casting a side glance at the guards shepherding people to safety, Derrygan’s mind raced. Though skilled, he was an assassin at his core—he couldn’t hope to defeat that insane mage.

‘Even at full strength, I’d stand no chance. I can’t do anything while protecting these two.’

It would have been better to entrust this to the guards and sacrifice himself to buy time. But Ignis’s target was Gilbert’s wife and daughter, not him.

If he handed them over to the capital guards, Ignis would immediately unleash his flames on them. That would result in not just the deaths of Gilbert's family but also the guards and evacuating civilians.

“What are you doing up there? Come down.”

Sensing Ignis’s mana rising again, Derrygan jumped once more. At this point, fleeing was the only option.

“Scurrying around like a rat…”

In a voice full of irritation, Ignis prepared to scatter even larger flames in every direction.

“Rats...”

“Are you!”

Two figures burst through the wall of fire behind him. A burly man with a menacing expression, wielding a massive hammer, and a man with a half-melted sword, his aura forming the blade anew.

Having cut through the flames, Damus and Garel struck Ignis's back with their weapons.

“Hm. I knew it.”

Without even looking back, fiery spikes emerged from Ignis’s back, intercepting the two.

“Ugh!”

“Oh, not again?!”

Stopping mid-attack and using his hammer as a shield, Damus was sent flying. Garel tried to ride the side of the spike with his sword but was knocked away when the flames shifted unpredictably.

“Garel!”

“I’m fine! Damn it! My sword’s ruined!”

“Does that matter right now, you sword-obsessed freak?!”

Setting aside Garel's peculiar sword obsession, it was important. A swordsman without a sword couldn’t fight.

Watching from the roof, Derrygan used his special wire weapon to snag a sword from a nearby weapons shop and hurled it at Garel.

“Catch this, Garel!”

“Oh, thanks… but was this the best you could find?”

“Shut up and fight, you lunatic!”

Before Derrygan could yell further, Garel was already moving. Damus followed suit, launching himself off the ground.

The pair, renowned for their formidable combat abilities both within the Hounds and objectively, unleashed a ferocious assault.

“Boring.”

But Ignis, fending off their attacks, still wore a bored expression as he summoned flames—this time larger and more intense than before, as if he hadn’t been serious until now.

Watching the flames rushing toward them, both Damus and Garel had the same thought.

‘This is…’

‘Hopeless.’

Unable to withstand the overwhelming heat of mana burning through their aura, the flames engulfed them along with an entire block.

Whoosh!

“…Huh?”

“…What?”

The two Hounds stared blankly at the sky. Just as they thought they were dead, the flames suddenly split in two.

Not only that. At the same moment, a massive surge of aura scattered Ignis’s flames into the sky.

They had seen this sight before—three years ago.

“Are you unharmed?”

Hearing a familiar voice, Damus and Garel turned to confirm their suspicions.

“Gilbert!”

“We’re saved…”

Offering the two a small smile, Gilbert stepped forward and said, “Fall back and protect my family with Derrygan. Please.”

Though they both longed to fight, Damus and Garel understood their limits and nodded before retreating.

“Be careful!”

“Don’t lose!”

Gilbert didn’t reply. Naturally—he wouldn’t hear anything as he prepared for the fight ahead.

Once they were gone, Gilbert walked forward. Ignis did the same.

For the first time in three years, the swordsman and mage faced off.

The mage spoke first.

“That ridiculous mask hasn’t changed, but I recognize you easily. I’m pleased. If I burn you to ashes, I’ll finally be freed from this itch.”

“If you hate the itching, I’ll help you. I’ll slice you into pieces and scatter you as pig feed. Then you won’t itch anymore.”

With their sharp greetings exchanged, Gilbert's aura and Ignis’s mana exploded outward, clashing violently.

His comrades called him the fire-cutter, Gilbert.

And those he burned cursed him as the mad flames of Ignis.

—!

The swing of a blade and an explosion of flames marked the start of their rematch.