Chapter Two: Disaster Strikes

Chapter Two: Calamity Descends

Another half year passed, and with just one day left before Shuster's birthday, he was about to turn five—the age at which he could finally register with the Order of the Demon Sword Knights. As usual, he finished his morning training and went to eat, then resumed his physical exercises after lunch.

In the afternoon, the weather suddenly turned gloomy, which put Shuster in a foul mood as he went for his weighted run. The oppressive sky stirred a restlessness within him he had never felt before, a frustration that made him want to vent. He ran out of the village in one breath, and as he looked back from afar, a sense of foreboding swept over him. He dashed back toward the village at full speed.

Halfway there, he saw thick smoke rising from the village, intensifying his unease.

At last, Shuster reached the village entrance. A wave of desolation rose from his feet to the crown of his head as he took in the scene—half the village was in ruins, the ground littered with blood and severed limbs. Despair overwhelmed him, and he fell to his knees.

Suddenly, a sense of danger surged from behind. Years of training and battle experience from his previous life saved him—his left hand reversed to grip his blade and raise it high, stepping back instinctively into a defensive stance.

With a metallic clang, his blade absorbed the lethal strike. Shuster looked up at his assailant and froze—not from fear, but surprise at the bizarre sight: a green jester’s hat, a lopsided body, a giant scythe for a left leg, a wooden stick for the right, mouth babbling incoherently, and tufts of straw poking through a burlap sack. Recognition dawned on him—wasn’t this a Scarecrow from Devil May Cry 4? Damn it, who’s the one out of place here, me or it? For the first time, Shuster doubted the reality of his world.

Of course, this thought lasted only a moment. There was no room for distraction in battle, and Shuster paid the price—a heavy blow landed on him. Off balance, he staggered back a step, but that shock brought him back to his senses. “That was close,” he muttered inwardly, finally focusing on the enemy before him. Now was not the time to worry about the village—survival came first.

The Scarecrow demon swung again. This time, Shuster pivoted on his right foot and slashed horizontally. With a sharp rip, the demon was cleaved apart and exploded in a burst of straw. At last, the fruits of his three and a half years of training showed themselves—not that his movements were complicated, but they were swift as lightning. From the moment of the attack to the demon’s destruction, less than one and a half seconds had passed.

Only then did Shuster remember—his mother! He tore toward his home like a madman.

Of course, the way was far from easy. Sprinting, sliding left, a reverse vertical slice, a backward leap, a flying arc slash, landing on one hand and springing up into a whirlwind kick, chaining attacks seamlessly—within four seconds, he had slain three demon Scarecrows and kicked aside a fourth, dashing onward.

Vaulting a wall, he could see his house ahead—when suddenly, with a thunderous crash, the entire building collapsed. Seven demons burst forth. “No!” Shuster screamed, but it was already too late; there was no hope for his mother’s survival. One demon spotted him and shrieked, the others hopping closer. Shuster raised his gaze to the bloodstained scythe of one—the orange hat and scythe for an arm marked it as their leader. His sky-blue eyes, tinged with crimson, fixed on that weapon. “Kill it. Kill it!” echoed relentlessly in his mind.

With a shout, Shuster exploded with unprecedented speed. In a blur, he darted past the Scarecrow leader and on to the next, and the next, repeating the movement—one and a half seconds later, all the demons froze, then fell to pieces in a staccato rhythm. Shuster sank to his knees, murmuring, “Mother, I’ve avenged you…” as tears streamed down his face.

A soft slicing sound came from behind, followed by a cold voice: “Kid, battle’s no place to lose your head.” Turning, Shuster saw a boy of about ten—handsome, with a cold expression and white hair fluttering in the wind. At the words, Shuster stood up and replied, “Thank you.”

“Tch. Can you still walk? There’s no time to stay here.” With that, the boy turned and strode away.

“Wait! Wait for me!” Shuster chased after him. “Big brother, my name is Shuster—Shuster Redona.”

“Nero.” The boy’s indifferent voice drifted back. Turning his head, no one noticed the faint, almost imperceptible smile that crossed his frosty face in the sunlight.

“Hey, kid.”
“Hm?”
“Don’t get lost in doubt. What’s done is done. Take up your sword and fight! Fight for the people of the village!”

Gazing at the ruins that had once been his home, Shuster understood—his time was short. “Wallowing in confusion ends only in despair. If you resolve to move forward, there’s no room for hesitation.”

“Tch,” Nero muttered, looking at the boy—though “child” was more accurate. “I’m Nero, squad captain of the Demon Sword Knights’ Second Company. If you’re interested, come find me after this is over.” “Alright,” Shuster replied calmly.

Along the way, as they cut through more demons, more villagers were rescued. With a swift draw and slash, Shuster dispatched another demon. “Nero, I’ll take the left, you go right. We’ll split up.” Without waiting for a reply, he dashed off.

“Tch. Impulsive kid,” Nero said coldly. “But interesting.” He headed to the right.

Carving a bloody path, Shuster finally arrived at a spot where he and his childhood friends used to play hide-and-seek. He stepped inside, his footsteps echoing softly.

“Who’s there?” a voice called.
“It’s me, Shuster.”
Following the voice, he found all his friends gathered together. “Shuster, what are you doing here? What’s it like outside?”
Shuster shook his head. “The village is destroyed. Less than a third survived. We don’t have much time—head for the church with me. The Temple Knights are there.” With that, he led the way out, the others following in silence.

After running for a while, they reached the place where he and Nero had parted. The left side was clear—Nero had gone right. The path ahead led to the church.

“Hurry! Stick together. If anything happens, call me.” They all sprinted desperately toward the church.

Suddenly, the one in front skidded to a halt, pushing everyone back. “What’s wrong?” Shuster asked.

“There’s a ton of monsters ahead! What do we do?”
With a metallic hiss, Shuster drew his sword. “Just stand back and watch.”
“What?” Turning to look, Shuster was already gone.
“Whoa!”
“What?” They looked ahead—his small form darted among more than twenty Scarecrows, the clash of steel and sharp slashes echoing fiercely.

At last, with a final slash, the battle was over. Looking at the disheveled, petite figure before them, his friends were lost in awe.

“Don’t just stand there—get to the church. The village may be gone, but its people still live.” With that, Shuster ran on ahead.