Overlord: Crimson Sovereign

Location: Re-Estize Kingdom — Slums District, Dusk

The rain in the capital rarely reached this far.

It touched the noble villas like a soft perfume, caressed merchant roads with the grace of silver strands—but here, in the crumbling districts of Re-Estize, it fell like regret. Cold. Relentless. Forgotten.

Sebas Tian walked calmly through the narrow alleyways, the storm misting gently against his immaculate coat.

He carried no umbrella.

He did not need one.

Every step he took seemed to repel the grime from the cobblestones, and yet he moved without disdain, as if filth had no power to offend him. He was not of this place—but he did not carry himself like one above it.

He was simply… present.

And in this forgotten corner of the Kingdom, that alone made him dangerous.

He paused.

Ahead—an alley that twisted out of sight, where brick gave way to rot, and voices were hushed even at knife's edge.

He heard it.

A muffled cry.

Not loud.

Not begging.

Just… broken.

Sebas moved.

Not quickly. Not like a warrior charging into combat.

But like a man who had already decided what must be done.

The shadows parted before him as if unwilling to be complicit.

There she was.

A girl, slumped against the wall. Torn dress. Bruised skin. One eye swollen shut. Her wrists bore the cruel red markings of iron cuffs long since removed.

She looked up. Flinched.

Then froze.

Not because he frightened her—but because, for a moment, she wasn't sure he was real.

Sebas knelt slowly.

She didn't speak. Neither did he.

Then, quietly—so quietly it might have been memory—she whispered:

"Please don't sell me back…"

Sebas did not respond with words.

He removed his cloak. Draped it over her shoulders. Carefully. As if she were made of porcelain and sorrow.

Only after a long moment did he speak, his voice calm and resolute.

"You are not going back to anyone."

Her lip trembled. "I can't pay you."

"I am not here for coin."

"You don't know what they'll do—"

"I do."

His tone didn't rise, but something beneath it did. Like a storm held behind glass.

She went silent.

Sebas stood. He extended a hand, open.

She hesitated.

Then placed her trembling fingers into his.

The girl had barely taken his hand when the air shifted.

Footsteps.

Fast. Sloppy. Confidence wrapped in sweat and piss-stained boots.

From behind the alley's mouth, five figures emerged—one by one. Gang tattoos bloomed like rot across their necks and arms. Rusted iron rods. Dull daggers. Grins like broken glass.

"Oi!" the tallest shouted. "Look at this fine bastard. Lost, are you, grandpa?"

The others chuckled.

Sebas did not turn around.

He continued helping the girl to her feet. Steady. Patient.

The leader clicked his tongue. "That one's ours. Property of Stone Claw. We are the dogs of Six Arm. Bought and branded. She ran."

One of the thugs spat. "And the next owner's already got her kneelin'? Damn, thought we'd have to break her in again."

The girl flinched behind Sebas.

That was when he turned.

No dramatic flourish. Just a glance.

Calm.

Controlled.

But something in it made three of the five take half a step back without realizing.

The leader sneered, covering his fear with fury. "You deaf? Move aside, old man."

Sebas tilted his head.

"I will ask once," he said. "Leave."

The leader blinked. "What?"

"Leave. While you still have legs to carry you."

The alley fell silent. The drizzle seemed to pause in midair.

Then the leader laughed. "Kill him."

They surged forward.

The first man raised a club—

And then fell.

His body crumpled with a sound like meat dropped on stone, face-first, without even time to cry out. A foot had struck his temple—so fast the eye could barely register it. Sebas hadn't moved more than an inch.

The second swung wildly. His wrist was caught mid-air.

Crack.

A scream.

He fell backward, clutching a hand now bending in three unnatural directions.

The third and fourth turned to run.

Only one made it.

Sebas grabbed the fourth by the collar and hoisted him off the ground. Their eyes met—terror against tranquility.

"Where is your base?"

"I—I—Stone Claw's east block! Fourth alley past the rope bridge!" the man babbled. "That's all I know, I swear—!"

Sebas set him down.

"Leave this city."

The man didn't need telling twice. He ran, limping, half-sobbing.

Only one remained—the leader. Pale. Still trying to act brave, like his gang wasn't broken at his feet.

"You—you're making a mistake," he hissed. "The nobles let us do this. You think anyone'll care what happens to a few whores?"

Sebas stepped forward.

The man pulled out a dagger.

Sebas did not slow.

He slapped the dagger aside like an annoying insect and struck once—an open palm to the chest.

WHUMP.

The leader flew backward and slammed into the brick wall. Hard. Then slumped to the ground like a sack of laundry.

Still breathing. Barely.

Sebas adjusted his coat.

Behind him, the girl stood frozen.

He looked back at her, voice gentle again.

"I apologize. That was unpleasant."

Her mouth opened. No words came out.

"…You're not human, are you?"

"No," Sebas said. "But I remember how to be."

And with that, he offered her his hand again.

This time, she took it without hesitation.

*********

The storm had passed.

In its place, silence.

Sebas pushed open the inn's worn wooden door with one hand, cradling the girl with the other. The scent of old wood and burning tallow greeted them, faintly masking the mildew buried in the walls.

Inside, the keeper looked up—a balding man with watery eyes and a permanent slouch. He opened his mouth to speak, but then his gaze locked on Sebas.

And he shut it.

Not in fear.

In instinct.

Sebas did not ask for a room.

He merely glanced upward.

The man slid a brass key across the counter.

"Second floor. End of the hall."

Sebas nodded.

When they reached the room, it was as humble as expected. Faded linens. A chipped basin. A bed too narrow for comfort. Yet the air was dry, the walls solid, and the lock serviceable.

He set her down gently on the bed.

The girl hadn't spoken since the alley.

She watched him move—quietly, efficiently—lighting the small lamp, checking the corners, placing a small coin on the nightstand.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked at last, her voice hoarse. "You don't even know my name."

Sebas sat across from her, the chair creaking under his controlled weight.

"You may tell me when you are ready," he replied. "Not before."

Her lip quivered again. This time, not from fear—but confusion.

"You're… not like the others."

"No."

"Are you a priest? A paladin?"

"No."

"Then why?"

Sebas considered the question, gazing at the flame.

"I was not created to save others," he said. "But I have chosen to do so."

Her brows furrowed faintly. " Created? You speak like… someone who wasn't given a choice before."

Sebas met her eyes.

For a moment, the butler of Nazarick vanished.

And something else—older, colder, forged of battlefields and blood—looked back.

"I was a weapon," he said quietly. "I served a will greater than mine. I still do. But now… I also serve a different one."

He stood and walked to the door.

"Rest. There is food on the table. I will return shortly with medicine and clean garments."

Her voice stopped him just as he touched the handle.

"My name is Tuare."

Sebas looked back. He gave a small, respectful bow.

"Sebas Tian. At your service."

A strange sound escaped her—a laugh, ragged and half-broken, but real. The first in perhaps years.

"That's too fancy for the slums," she muttered, wiping her eyes.

"And yet," he said, stepping into the hallway, "so are you."

**********

The gang's base was just as the coward had described: a converted warehouse behind the rope bridge, dimly lit and reeking of liquor and unwashed bodies.

Sebas stood alone in the moonlight.

Not out of arrogance.

But judgment.

A shadow detached itself from the darkness—a lookout. Half-awake, scratching at the tattoo on his neck.

Then he saw Sebas.

He didn't even have time to call out.

By the time his body hit the ground, Sebas was already inside.

The door didn't creak. It folded inward.

The men inside barely registered the noise.

"Who the hell—"

They didn't finish.

Sebas descended on them like the night itself.

No wasted movements. No cruelty. Only precision.

Flesh met stone.

Bones met floor.

One tried to cast a spell.

Sebas silenced it with a blow so clean, it left only breathless sleep behind.

In under a minute, the entire room was silent—except for the ragged breathing of the last conscious man, pinned to the wall by the collar.

"Your name," Sebas asked, not cold—dispassionate.

"M-Marella! I'm just a handler, I don't call shots!"

"Who does?"

"I-It's Cocco Doll! He runs this end of the network—he's connected to the nobles, the Six Arms, the big buyers—"

Sebas's hand tightened.

Cocco Doll.

A name worth remembering.

"What do you do with the girls?"

"I don't—" Marella winced as his collar pressed tighter. "Sold! Some are taken to the Empire, some to the border! Depends on who pays—please! I don't want to die!"

Sebas stared at him for a long moment.

Then, without a word, he let him drop.

"Leave this city," he said again.

And with that, he turned and walked into the night.

***********

Location: Hidden Inn, Just Before Dawn

Sebas returned to find the lamp still burning.

Tuare sat curled beneath the blanket, the fresh tunic draped over her frame. She looked up as he entered—and this time, she smiled.

Not wide.

Not fully trusting.

But enough.

"Will they come after me?" she asked softly.

"No," Sebas replied. "They are… preoccupied."

A pause.

"I don't know how to live like this," she admitted. "Free."

"You will learn."

"…How?"

Sebas reached into his coat and pulled out a silver pendant. A simple thing. Elegant.

"Tomorrow," he said, "we go shopping."

Tuare blinked. "…What?"

"You need a proper dress," he said, eyes scanning her frame in a professional, butler-like manner. "Shoes. A bath. A comb. Perhaps a ribbon."

"You're serious."

Sebas gave the faintest smile.

"I am always serious."

She stared at him.

Then, for the first time since her nightmare began…

She laughed.

" My name is Tuare... sorry if i didnt tell me your name before" 

" i am.... Sebas Tian"