The Vitalis, Bridge

  Inside the bridge of The Vitalis, King Baldrik’s mana-comm—the very one Young Mo had snatched earlier—was now installed neatly into the ship’s systems.

  Young Mo, still perfectly disguised as King Baldrik, stood upright in front of the device. His posture was stiff, authoritative, and unmistakably royal.

  “King Baldrik,” King Cassemir’s voice emerged from the crystal. “My men reported they cannot reach your base. What happened?”

  Young Mo answered immediately, without hesitation.

  “Aye,” he said. “I ordered my men into full lockdown because of demon spies. Only I am allowed to make outside communication.”

  A brief pause followed.

  “…And the demon spies?” King Cassemir asked carefully. “Have they been… taken care of?”

  “Yes, they did,” Young Mo replied, his tone perfectly cold, measured, and rehearsed to match Baldrik’s personality. “I even had the chance to test the holy shells. It’s proven to be… dangerously effective.”

  He let out a low, restrained laugh.

  “Kukuku.”

  “Haha! That’s great!” King Cassemir said, clearly pleased. “That means its ready to use for the upcoming battles!”

  “Indeed…” Young Mo replied, his expression calm, his grin hidden behind the disguise.

  “So,” King Cassemir continued, “I assume nothing has changed, then?”

  “Nothing changed,” Young Mo said, his lips curling into a confident smile. “Tomorrow, your men will be showing up in the Dwargonian assault, while my men sneak in to bombard Dawn City.”

  He emphasized every word carefully.

  “Just—like—we—planned.”

  ---

  The Vitalis, Above the Hull

  The Vitalis hovered calmly in mid-air, parked several kilometers away from Goldenclaws HQ. Far above it, several Murican Reaper drones circled lazily, their steady rotation silently guarding the Vitalis.

  On top of the hull, the rest of the team were completely spent and resting while watching the sunset.

  Goldenclaws HQ lay below it. The surface buildings were still standing, stubbornly intact, but heavy black smoke continued to pour out of the hangar bay. Nearby, the three airships they’d dealt with earlier were still burning.

  Kovalski lay flat on his stomach, chest and belly pressed against the cold metal hull. His limbs were spread out, face turned toward the sunset.

  “Can’t believe we survived all that spec-ops shit…” he muttered weakly.

  “I know, right…” Irving replied, lying in the exact same position beside him.

  Neither of them moved. Completely flattened by exhaustion after all the epic coal shoveling.

  Next to them, Ivy and Bella sat together. Bella leaned her head against Ivy’s shoulder. After so many near-death experiences, their sisterhood had undeniably grown stronger.

  …Kinda.

  …Maybe.

  A single tear slipped down Ivy’s cheek.

  “Single Piece…” she whispered.

  “Let it go, Ivy…” Bella sighed softly. “Gosh… I miss Murica…”

  “Sigh… you’re right…” Ivy replied. “Somehow, I even miss my evil sister.”

  “Yeah,” Irving added without moving his face, “let’s just go home… I’m done with all this treasure-hunting shit…”

  “Agreee…” Kovalski added lazily.

  “Sigh…” All the misfits let out a long, synchronized sigh, continuing to watch the sunset—and the steadily smoking Goldenclaws HQ below.

  Behind them, Megan stood with the captain. Both still carried an air of authority, even though they were as exhausted as everyone else. They leaned slightly, enjoying Murican cigarettes like veterans who had earned the right to poison themselves in peace.

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  “Puff… time to find a new home…” the captain murmured to herself, eyes fixed on the smoking Goldenclaws HQ.

  Megan glanced at her.

  “…Should I say sorry that we’ve killed your companions?” Megan asked.

  “Nah, don’t sweat it,” the captain replied casually. “None of them could satisfy me anyway.”

  “Eh?” Megan stiffened, clearly not expecting that answer.

  “Especially the last dwarf I had sex with,” the captain continued, her expression sour. “Pure, utter, pathetic, mediocre sex partner.”

  “Gah!” Kovalski yelped suddenly, his body twitching as if stabbed by invisible knives.

  “What’s wrong? You got hit somewhere?” Ivy asked, turning her head.

  Only Irving understood. He reached over and patted Kovalski’s back in silent solidarity.

  “Well,” Megan said, clearing her throat, “if you wanted to, maybe I can write some recommendation for you to work with us.”

  “I’m done doing military,” the captain replied flatly. “I don’t want to get stuck in a base all over again. I want to explore the world and fuck every handsome male species I can find.”

  “W-well,” Megan said carefully, “my office isn’t military. And the field assignments usually take you around the globe.”

  “Well, alright then.” The captain patted Megan’s back. “Might give it a try. I need to find my brothers a new job anyway.”

  “Brothers?” Megan asked.

  “My crews,” the captain clarified.

  “Sure thing,” Megan smiled. “As long as you and your brothers can pass the tests—which I believe you can pass easily.”

  The captain replied with a confident grin.

  “By the way, I can’t give you my name now,” Megan said, offering her hand. “But what should I call you?”

  The captain accepted the handshake.

  “Name’s Islavok. Just call me Isla.”

  “Did you hear that?” Bella said cheerfully toward Kovalski. “That’s practically your name spelled backwards.”

  Kovalski did not respond.

  He pressed his face harder against the cold metal hull.

  Irving patted his back faster.

  “My, my… may I join your afternoon break?”

  Young Mo emerged from the hull hatch, already back in his original form.

  Isla’s eyes immediately locked onto him.

  “Oh?” She tilted her head slightly. “Is that the demon who was masquerading as His ma—”

  She paused, corrected herself smoothly.

  “—King Baldrik?”

  “Uh huh,” Megan replied.

  “Hmmm…” Isla openly inspecting Young Mo from head to toe with the intensity of someone evaluating an artistic object value. “Interesting.”

  Young Mo raised a hand politely, smiling with professional courtesy.

  “Sorry, Miss Dwarf. I only fuck for work—and my shift is practically over now.”

  Instead of disappointment, Isla’s expression split into a wide, delighted grin.

  “Hmmm, interestiiing!” she drawled. “It really is a big world outside.”

  “So,” Megan asked, cutting in before the inspection escalated, “have you finished talking with the Meridinian King?”

  “Yep. And he’s totally buying it,” Young Mo replied, grin widening. “Our mission is complete now.”

  “By the way, I told her I’d make a recommendation letter for her to join us,” Megan said, pointing her thumb toward Isla. “I expect you’ll do the same when talking to the old man.”

  “I’m totally on board,” Young Mo said, flashing a thumbs-up. “As far as I know, our agency needs pilots who can drive foreign aircraft anyway.”

  Megan and Isla exchanged matching grins.

  Suddenly, a crewman half-popped out of the hatch behind them. It was the same one who had passed out in the engine room earlier. He looked mostly fine now, aside from the bandages wrapped around his head.

  “Captaaaain!” he shouted enthusiastically. “The coal feeder is fixed! We can leave now!”

  “Alriiight!” Isla shouted back. “I’m coming to the bridge!”

  She turned back briefly.

  “Well then, don’t stay here for too long,” Isla said as she headed toward the hatch. “We’re moving soon.”

  “Right. Behind you,” Megan replied, following her without hesitation.

  Young Mo then walked over to the misfits.

  They were still staring at Goldenclaws HQ below—eyes unfocused, expressions empty.

  “Say,” Young Mo spoke from behind them, tone casual, “I heard you guys found Diamon D. Roger’s and his companions’ belongings down there?”

  “Yep,” Irving replied flatly.

  “That’s it,” Bella added flatly.

  “That’s all,” Kovalski followed, equally flat.

  “Bummer,” Ivy concluded, her voice just as lifeless.

  None of them turned around. None of them even blinked.

  “And did you bring any of the items?” Young Mo asked.

  “??”

  That finally did something.

  The misfits’ expressions shifted—confusion creeping in slowly.

  “You know,” Young Mo continued, voice smooth, professional, dangerously helpful, “if a mythical legend like Diamon D. Roger is actually proven to have existed…”

  He raised a finger.

  “Then his personal belongings would be considered highly valuable artifacts.”

  The misfits’ heads snapped toward him.

  “And,” Young Mo went on, adopting the gentle tone of a salesman explaining a once-in-a-lifetime offer, “if all the other artifacts were already destroyed…”

  He smiled.

  “…it would only make the remaining ones surge in price. So really, it’s even better if you only recover one item.”

  Slowly—very slowly—the misfits turned their heads back toward Goldenclaws HQ.

  “And unlike the military who confiscate everything,” Young Mo finished cheerfully, “our flexible agency would gladly find any royalty or noble in Talvaris wealthy enough to purchase it.”

  A beat.

  “With some middleman fees, of course.”

  The misfts eyes stayed locked on the fortress below.

  Each misfit’s lips trembled as they forced words out.

  “I-I think…” Irving said, voice shaking.

  “M-Maybe…” Kovalski followed.

  “W-Who knows…” Bella whispered.

  “W-We should…” Ivy tried.

  And, as usual, the universe listened attentively.

  KRRK—KRRK—

  CRRRAAAAAAACK—

  The underground structure beneath Goldenclaws HQ finally gave up.

  THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM

  The earth collapsed inward.

  The massive fortress buildings cracked, tilted, and folded into the sinking ground like paper models losing structural integrity. Towers disappeared. Walls shattered. The perimeter gates followed, dragged screaming into the void.

  Everything went down.

  “NOOOOOOOOO!!!”

  Any remaining Goldenclaws survivors died instantly.

  Along with the misfits’ hopes.

  They screamed in unison, hands reaching out helplessly toward the collapsing ruin, as if grief could physically pull artifacts back out of the earth.

  Young Mo watched them.

  He didn’t stop smiling.

  “Welp,” he said calmly, salesman tone fully intact, “I guess the answer is no.”