CHAPTER 172: CAPTAIN

The coupling door at the far end screeched open, and two uniformed officers clambered in, their boots squelching in ichor. They froze immediately, eyes widening as they took in the massive corpse dominating the car.

"What the—" one started, gagging as the smell hit him.

The other raised his flashlight, scanning the wreckage, then the group. "What the hell happened here?"

Lucen opened his mouth, but Varik stood before he could speak.

"Containment breach," Varik said simply. His voice carried no heat, no defensiveness. Just fact.

The officers glanced at each other, clearly unprepared to argue. The one with the flashlight gestured toward the centipede. "That thing came out of the breach?"

"Yes." Varik’s gaze didn’t waver.

Lucen folded his arms again, watching the way the officers shifted under Varik’s tone. ’Like scolding children. They don’t even realize they’re already backing down.’

The taller officer frowned. "We’ll need statements, names, guild—"

He stopped mid-sentence when his eyes fell properly on Varik. Recognition hit fast. His face went pale.

"...You’re Varik."

Silence filled the car. Even the other officer stiffened.

Varik didn’t confirm. He didn’t have to.

The officer lowered his flashlight immediately, posture changing from tense to deferential. "Right. My mistake. No statements needed, sir." He gestured toward the wreckage, his voice suddenly respectful, almost careful. "We’ll get this car secured and cleaned up. You don’t need to stay."

Lucen smirked, tilting his head. "What, no paperwork? Thought you loved paperwork."

The officer didn’t meet his eyes. He was still staring at Varik, like looking away might be dangerous.

Varik sheathed his sword with one quiet motion. "We’re leaving."

No one argued.

He stepped past the officers and out of the freight car, his boots echoing on the steel. Lucen followed, hood tugged back up. The squad scrambled after them, their nerves frayed raw.

Outside, the night was chaos, police lights spinning across the barren landscape, radios crackling, spotlights sweeping over the length of the train. Civilians from other cars huddled together behind barricades of officers, whispering anxiously.

The moment Varik dropped down from the freight car, the crowd’s noise faltered. Some gasps. Some murmurs. And then silence that spread like ripples in water.

Lucen stepped down after him, boots crunching gravel, and rolled his shoulders. ’Everywhere we go, he’s a walking ceasefire.’

The bowman hissed low, eyes darting around. "They all know him?"

The staff-wielder answered under his breath. "Everyone knows him. He’s... he’s one of the ten."

The swordswoman stared at Varik’s back like she was seeing him properly for the first time.

Lucen smirked faintly beneath his hood. ’Took them long enough.’

Police swarmed past them into the car, avoiding eye contact with both him and Varik. Orders barked over radios, cleanup crews scrambled, but no one stopped them. No one dared.

Varik started walking toward the barricade where the civilian passengers waited. Lucen fell into step beside him, the squad trailing behind.

As they passed the officers guarding the perimeter, one of them half-extended a hand like he meant to stop them, then caught Varik’s gaze and instantly stepped back, lips pressed thin.

Lucen chuckled under his breath. "Guess we’re excused."

Varik didn’t respond. His eyes stayed forward, jaw set in that same unmovable line.

They walked past the barricades, through the civilians’ hushed whispers, and out into the open night.

Only once they were clear of the lights and noise did Lucen finally speak.

"So." He tilted his head toward Varik. "You gonna tell me what that was back there?"

Varik’s eyes flicked to him briefly. "What."

"You stand there, say three words, and suddenly the cops are tripping over themselves to bow out. Not even a clipboard in sight."

Varik adjusted the strap of his sheath. "They know who I am."

Lucen barked a soft laugh. "Understatement of the year." He shoved his hands into his pockets, the grin tugging at his mouth refusing to leave. ’And they don’t even realize the real monster in the car wasn’t the bug.’

Varik stopped suddenly, scanning the horizon. His eyes narrowed.

Lucen followed his gaze. The night was empty, just fields, dirt, the skeletal outline of trees in the distance. Quiet.

But if Varik looked twice, that meant it wasn’t empty.

Lucen’s grin faded slightly. His hand drifted near his sword hilt. "More?"

"Not tonight." Varik turned again, continuing forward.

’Not tonight. Which means soon.’

Lucen shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, shoulders hunching against the cold. His lips curled faintly again.

"Good," he muttered.

—

The night was still heavy with sirens behind them, the glow of police lights fading as they walked further down the road. Gravel crunched under their boots. Neither of them spoke for a while, the squad already dismissed back to guild quarters with shaken excuses.

Lucen tugged his hood lower, shoving his hands into his pockets. "So where exactly are we walking? Because I don’t see you as the ’take a stroll under the stars’ type."

Varik didn’t answer right away. He just kept walking with that unhurried, grounded pace, as if the weight of the world never touched him. Finally, he said, "Restaurant."

Lucen blinked. "Restaurant? After that?"

"You fought hungry," Varik said simply.

Lucen snorted. "That’s not exactly rare for me."

"Still weakens you," Varik replied.

’This guy. He talks like he’s a nutritionist and a drill sergeant rolled into one.’ Lucen smirked faintly under the hood. "Alright. Fine. Lead the way, Captain Responsible."

They cut through side streets until the sirens were nothing but a memory. Eventually, neon glow lit the path, a strip of small shops and eateries still open despite the late hour. A ramen place sat tucked between a shuttered pawn shop and a dingy bar, its red lanterns swaying in the breeze.

Varik stopped in front of it.

Lucen eyed the sign. "This is your pick? Noodles?"

"Food." Varik pushed the door open without waiting.

Inside, steam rolled off boiling pots. The air was thick with the smell of broth and charred pork, soy, and garlic. Old wooden counters gleamed with wear, stools lined up neatly. A radio played something faint and tinny behind the kitchen.

The cook glanced up, wiping his hands on an apron, and froze when he saw who walked in. His eyes widened slightly, posture stiffening before he quickly straightened bowls on the counter like it was the most important task in the world.

Lucen noticed. Of course he noticed. ’Even here. Guy can’t buy a bowl of ramen without someone acting like royalty walked in.’

They sat at the counter. Varik chose a stool at the far end, back to the wall. Lucen dropped onto the one beside him, letting his legs sprawl carelessly.

The cook approached quickly, bowing slightly. "Wh-what can I get for you?"

"Two pork miso," Varik said.

Lucen raised a brow. "You ordering for me now?"

"You’d argue for five minutes about the menu."

Lucen smirked. ’Not wrong.’ He leaned his elbows on the counter, watching the cook scurry back to the kitchen. "So. Is this what you do after every fight? Noodles and dead silence?"

"Not every fight."

"That’s reassuring," Lucen muttered dryly.

Steam hissed from the kitchen, broth bubbling. Chopsticks clinked. For a while, neither spoke. Lucen let the warmth of the place sink in, it clung to him, broth-scented and comforting in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

When the bowls arrived, they were heaping, steam curling up in lazy spirals. The pork slices glistened, egg yolks soft and bright, noodles thick and tangled beneath.

Lucen picked up his chopsticks, slurping a mouthful before blowing out a sharp breath. "Hot."

Varik ate in silence, precise and unhurried, as if each bite was a mission.

Lucen tilted his head, watching him. "You’re serious about everything, aren’t you? Fighting, eating, probably sleeping. Bet you even snore in straight lines."

Varik didn’t look up. "You talk too much when you’re tired."

Lucen smirked, swirling noodles through the broth. ’He’s not wrong. But I’ll never admit it.’

The ramen disappeared fast. Lucen finished his bowl first, setting chopsticks down with a loud clack. "Not bad. I’ll give you this one. You actually picked a decent place."

Varik drained the last of his broth, setting the bowl down neatly. His eyes shifted briefly toward Lucen. "You’re improving."

Lucen blinked. "What?"

"In the fight. You’re holding back less."

Lucen froze for just a fraction before leaning back in his stool, arms crossing. A smirk tugged at his lips. "You’re watching me that closely?"

Varik didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on him, sharp, heavy, but unreadable. Then he looked away, signaling for the check.

’He knows. He always knows.’

Lucen stretched lazily, breaking the tension with a chuckle. "If I knew all it took to get compliments out of you was almost getting eaten by a centipede, I’d have done it sooner."

Varik’s lips twitched, maybe almost a smile. Almost.

The cook delivered the check with both hands, bowing again. Varik paid without hesitation, slipping bills onto the counter. The man disappeared just as quickly, leaving them alone in the quiet hum of the ramen shop.

When they stepped back outside, the night was colder. Steam still clung faintly to Lucen’s coat. He shoved his hands back in his pockets, glancing sideways at Varik.

"You know, I could get used to this," he said.

"What."

"Saving the day, eating noodles after. It’s very domestic. You and me, like some kind of married couple."

Varik shot him a look. "Stop talking."

Lucen laughed, sharp and amused, the sound echoing down the empty street.

’But you didn’t say I was wrong.’