As the realisation sank in, Lumiere broke into a cold sweat.
"Don't fuck with me, Julian. I'm serious, so—"
Julian cut him off.
"I'm not." He let out a long, tired breath. "I named my son Lumiere. It was my wife's dying wish."
Lumiere shuddered.
"That's impossible. What about the man who raised me?"
Julian's voice was steady, almost hollow.
"He was your grandfather. A better father than I ever could've been."
The two stood in heavy silence, the distant clash of battle echoing outside — but here, in the wreckage of the hall, it was unnervingly still.
Julian finally moved, unsheathing his sabre with a sharp ring of steel.
"We need to go. They need us."
He turned toward the door, but Lumiere grabbed his arm.
"Wait."
His voice cracked.
"I don't believe you but if what you say is true. After this... I want you to tell me about my mother."
Julian didn't look back.
"I'll think about it."
Back atop the deck, Wilhelm screamed across the chaos:
"Mark my words, you bastard — today, I will definitely kill you!"
He tossed aside his sabre, grabbing a small mallet from the hand of a dead soldier nearby. Somehow it felt more fitting for the work ahead.
Without hesitation, he and the masked figure charged toward each other. As Wilhelm locked eyes with the man's expressionless mask, it was like staring at his own reflection — distorted, empty. Maybe that was the point of the mask all along.
The figure swung his axe in a vicious arc, but Wilhelm barely ducked beneath it, feeling the wind of the blade rush past his head.
In a flash, Wilhelm struck back, slamming the mallet into the figure's kneecap. There was a sickening crack, and the masked man dropped to one knee.
Wilhelm seized the chance, hammering at the mask with frantic blows. Tiny fractures spidered outward.
But the man, with a guttural moan, seized Wilhelm by the throat and slowly rose to his full height. His grip tightened. Wilhelm kicked and struggled—
Then, two sabres stabbed clean through the figure's back.
It was Idris, blade still dripping as he yanked it free and moved for another strike.
But the masked man reacted with inhuman speed. He released Wilhelm and lunged at Idris, slamming him violently to the deck. Before Idris could cry out, the man grabbed him by the ankle and smashed the back of his skull into the wood — once, twice, again — until Idris went limp, blood pooling around him.
Wilhelm scrambled to his feet, heart hammering.
He leapt onto the man's back and swung the mallet into his head, but the blow barely seemed to register.
The man turned his attention fully to Wilhelm now. He pressed forward, swinging the axe in brutal, relentless strokes. Wilhelm dodged, first left, then right, barely keeping ahead. Spying a cannon nearby, he sprinted for it, pretending to ready a shot.
The masked man lunged.
At the last second, Wilhelm ducked under his weight. The figure flew over him and caught himself desperately on the cannon's rim, dangling over the ship's edge.
Wilhelm didn't hesitate. He rammed the cannon forward, blasting it at point-blank range into the man's stomach. The deck erupted in smoke and soot.
Wilhelm staggered back, coughing. When the smoke cleared, his stomach dropped — the man was still there, clinging stubbornly to the cannon, though his mask had finally been blasted away.
"Why won't you just die?!" Wilhelm roared, voice breaking.
He threw his body weight against the cannon, trying to push it — and the monster — overboard. But before he could, the man vaulted back onto the deck.
For the first time, Wilhelm saw his face. And he knew, beyond any doubt:
It was the Count Saint-Germain.
Wilhelm laughed — a hoarse, hysterical sound.
"I didn't expect that. Guess I'm killing two birds with one stone, huh? My brother's killer — and a vile piece of shit."
The Count only smiled, a smug, knowing smile that made Wilhelm want to tear him apart with his bare hands.
Before he could move, Tao burst onto the scene. With a cry of rage, he plunged his polearm through the Count's side, almost exactly as he had once before.
"This is the third time we've killed you, bastard," Tao spat, "This is revenge for my men!"
Pinning Saint-Germain in place with the polearm, Tao held him steady — giving Julian his chance.
With terrifying calm, Julian stepped forward. In one fluid motion, he drew his sabre across the Count's exposed throat as he danced past him. Blood fountained from the wound, hissing against the wood.
Remembering the strange, deadly properties of Saint-Germain's blood, Tao acted instantly. He seized Wilhelm and pulled him back, out of the splash zone. The Count's eyes narrowed with bitter disappointment as they slipped from his reach.
Coughing blood, Saint-Germain rasped,
"I guess this is the end. Third time's the cha—"
"Shut it," Julian snapped. "I'm not done with you yet."
Without warning, Julian slashed cleanly through the mast. The heavy wood collapsed onto the Count, crushing him with a sickening crash.
The deck split beneath the impact, and Saint-Germain's blood ignited in furious, wild flames.
Burning, staggering, Saint-Germain dragged himself upright — a living corpse wreathed in fire — and made a desperate run for the nearest window.
But there, blocking his way, stood Lumiere.
For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Then Julian, still moving with precision, hurled his sabre down to Lumiere.
Lumiere caught it awkwardly. It felt alien in his hands — the balance wrong, the curve unfamiliar — and yet, somewhere deep inside, it stirred a memory in his blood.
He tightened his grip.
With a cry, he lunged forward and slashed.
The Count twisted aside at the last second, but Lumiere's blade still caught him — severing his earlobe clean off.
Saint-Germain snarled, rearing back, and struck at Lumiere. Before the blow could land, two unnamed soldiers fired their rifles, the shots staggering the Count slightly.
It wasn't enough.
With a savage howl, Saint-Germain sprinted toward them and — impossibly — breathed fire.
Flames engulfed the two soldiers in an instant, their screams cut short.
Above them, Wilhelm burst through the shattered roof like a demon from the heavens.
He landed squarely atop Saint-Germain's shoulders and, without hesitation, began smashing the mallet down on his head again and again. His flesh scorched alongside the Count.
Saint-Germain roared, seizing Wilhelm by the leg. With monstrous strength, he hurled him across the deck — so violently that Wilhelm's leg tore off at the knee, a spray of blood following his limp body.
Lumiere moved to strike again, but the Count, now a blackened, burning horror, turned and fled.
Tao sprinted after him, shouting, but he was too late.
Saint-Germain threw himself through the window, vanishing into the darkness beyond.
In the aftermath of the battle, three soldiers had died — two at the Count's hand, and one killed by one of his men. Wilhelm and Idris hovered on death's door.
Wilhelm bled heavily, his body scorched by burns. In a twisted stroke of luck, the burns had partially cauterized his worst wounds.
Idris, though seemingly in better shape, was worse off. The brutal slam to his head had crushed the back of his cranium, and he was hemorrhaging internally.
Tao ordered Julian to sail for Naples to treat the wounded. Without a word, Julian obeyed.
When they arrived, Wilhelm and Idris were rushed into intensive care.
Kolya sat at Idris's bedside, quietly praying.
By some miracle, Idris stirred, his consciousness fragile and flickering. His voice was little more than a whisper.
"You shouldn't pray for me," he said, "to a God I don't even believe in."
Kolya smiled softly at his friend's awakening.
"My Lord is merciful. He will welcome you with open arms."
Idris chuckled weakly at Kolya's stubborn faith.
"Hey, Kolya," he murmured. "Promise me something."
Kolya leaned closer.
"What is it, brother?"
Idris sighed, the breath rattling in his chest.
"It looks like... I won't be able to keep going with you guys. Make sure you finish our mission. Please — save my family."
Kolya gently patted his chest.
"Only if you promise me," he said, voice thick, "that when you get out of here, you'll cherish them. And live your life to the fullest."
A faint smile touched Idris' lips.
"You've got yourself a deal."
He closed his eyes and drifted into a peaceful sleep.
Kolya watched him quietly, his hand still resting on his friend's chest.
"Rest well, brother," he whispered. "I'll see you after this is all over."
With that silent promise etched into his heart, Kolya vowed to carry on Idris's will — for a better future, for someone he loved like family.
Idris died an hour later.
Kolya never found out.