Two Underdogs and the Watchdog

QUINTON & GOLDOH

In a nutshell, the Lawless City is one massive, overflowing slum.

It’s a cesspool of loitering vagrants and rows of shanty huts, all marinating in a stench of rot that hits you like a physical wall.

But that’s not all there is to the place. You see, the Lawless City also has a skyline—three massive skyscrapers that tower over the filth.

"So that’s the Queen of Blood’s castle... the Crimson Tower."

The man looking up at the blood-red spire as it pierced the sunset looked less like a protagonist and more like a heel from a pro-wrestling circuit.

"What’s the matter, Quinton? Don't tell me you’ve got cold feet?"

The man poking fun at Quinton was a handsome, blond-haired youth.

"It ain't cold feet, Goldoh. I’ve just never seen a building this damn tall before."

"Hmph. I’ve fought my way across the globe, but I’ll admit, it’s an impressive sight. Probably take a whole day just to climb the thing."

The two of them shared a sigh as they gazed up at the tower. It spiraled into the heavens like a helix of dried blood. They couldn't even begin to fathom the kind of architectural nightmare required to build it.

"Just because the tower looks fancy doesn't mean the people inside are actually strong. Let's move."

"Yeah. At the end of the day, it's just a den of hoodlums. We're gonna take the Queen of Blood's head and call it a day."

Quinton and Goldoh were opposites in every visual sense, but they’d hit it off almost immediately after meeting. Maybe it was the shared trauma of losing to the exact same guy, but whatever the reason, they’d been inseparable since the Bushin Festival.

The duo trekked through the city at dusk. As they pushed toward the center, the scenery shifted from a desolate slum into a chaotic, multi-cultural melting pot.

"I'll be damned..."

"Yeah... Stay sharp."

You couldn't grasp the true nature of the Lawless City just by looking at it from the outside. The buildings weren't the only things that had changed; the residents weren't just hungry vagrants anymore. They were predators, watching the two of them with gleaming, hungry eyes.

There wasn't a single "small fry" in sight.

Quinton and Goldoh sensed it immediately. They kept their hands near their hilts, advancing with a heavy sense of caution until the chaotic streets took on a certain gloomy uniformity.

They had crossed the line into the Queen of Blood's territory.

"It’s close."

The streets were strangely empty now, but they could feel something wriggling behind the closed doors of the houses. The Crimson Tower loomed directly ahead.

Steeling themselves, they finally reached the base of the spire.

"So this is the entrance...!"

Quinton approached the massive gates. They were covered in delicate, disturbing carvings of things that definitely weren't human.

"Let’s go."

The moment Quinton reached for the door—

"Heh... hehe... wait your turn..."

A voice called out. It was raspy, thin, and grated against the ears.

They froze, scanning the area until they spotted a pile of filthy rags slumped by the side of the door. Looking closer, the rags were moving. There was a person inside them.

"You lot... don't have the right to open that door..."

The heap of rags stood up.

It was an emaciated man. He was tall—tall enough to look Quinton in the eye—but his cheeks were hollow, his eyes were sunken pits, and he was little more than skin and bones. His dingy, matted white hair hung down to his shoulders.

A living corpse. That was the only way to describe him.

"We don't have the right, huh?"

"The only ones allowed through are servants, guests... or the strong..."

"Hah! Well, we definitely aren't servants or guests. But we're more than strong enough to hunt the Queen of Blood."

Quinton looked up at the white-haired man and let out a cocky grin.

The man’s bulging eyes narrowed as he looked down at Quinton. Then, he started to cackle.

"Hehe... hehehe... heh... heh... heh..."

"What’s so funny!?"

"Heh... I always thought I was the world's biggest fool... but seeing an even bigger one is always a treat..."

"The hell did you say!?"

"Hehe... know your place... once you end up like this, it's too late..."

The white-haired man peeled back a section of his rags. He revealed the right side of his body—or rather, what was left of it. His right arm was gone from the shoulder down.

"This is the end of the fool who challenged the Queen of Blood four years ago... Now that fool is just a 'Watchdog,' kept on a leash because he's too pathetic to kill..."

A heavy, iron collar was bolted around his neck, connected to the wall by a chain.

"Give me a break. I’m Quinton, a top contender from the Bushin Festival. And this guy is Goldoh, the 'Ever-Victorious Golden Dragon.' We’re not some nameless trash like you!"

"Hehe... never heard of you. I make it a point not to remember the names of people weaker than me..."

"Oh? Then who the hell were you supposed to be?"

"Hehe... I’m just a Watchdog now... but a long time ago... I think some people called me the 'White Demon'..."

"The White Demon? Never heard of it. Goldoh, you know this guy?"

Quinton glanced back at his partner.

"The name sounds familiar, but... sorry, I can't place it."

Goldoh shook his head, but his eyes never left the Watchdog. He was vibrating with tension.

"Hear that? You're a nobody, old man."

"Hehe... that's fine. It's better if a fool's name is forgotten..."

"Anyway, we're going through."

"I’m the Watchdog... and I can’t exactly let a couple of weaklings pass..."

"...Fine. Don't go crying when you're dead."

Quinton glared at the man and drew his greatsword. The Watchdog responded by drawing a long, slender, single-edged blade with his left hand. It was a beautiful katana, longer than the man was tall.

"Be careful... Quinton," Goldoh warned, drawing his own sword.

"Careful? Of what?"

"That man... I can't sense the bottom of his pool."

"Please. He's a one-armed bag of bones! Watch this!"

Quinton ignored the advice and swung. The greatsword’s edge flashed in the dying light—and a moment later, the air was filled with a spray of crimson.

"...Eh?"

The greatsword had been snapped clean in half. It hit the pavement with a dull, hollow metallic clank.

"Q-QUINTON!!"

Goldoh’s scream echoed just as Quinton collapsed, his torso slashed wide open.

"Now... are you next...?"

The Watchdog stood there, drenched in the fresh spray of blood, blocking Goldoh's path.

"Y-You monster!"

Goldoh hadn't even seen the strike. There was no movement, no flash of a blade—only the sudden spray of blood and the sight of a broken sword.

The skill involved was terrifying. Goldoh realized right then that even with one arm and a body ravaged by time, this Watchdog was operating on a level he couldn't even imagine.

But Goldoh didn't drop his sword. He and Quinton hadn't known each other long, but they were comrades—two men who had tasted bitter defeat and were trying to climb their way back up together.

"Relax... he isn't dead. He's no use to the tower if he's dead..." the Watchdog sneered.

"How dare you do that to Quinton!!"

Goldoh funneled every drop of magic power he had into his blade, preparing his ultimate technique.

"EVIL GOD—INSTANT KILL—GOLDEN DRAGON SWORD!!"

As he lunged, his eyes met the Watchdog’s. He saw those ghastly, bloodshot black pupils—unfathomable and cold. Suddenly, a memory clicked. He remembered the legend of the White Demon.

"N-No way... you're that—"

The Watchdog’s lips curled into a smile.

If this one-armed freak really was the White Demon—then this wasn't a fight. It was an execution.

Goldoh realized the hopeless gap between them and, at the last possible microsecond, slammed his attack into the ground instead of the man.

"Hmm...?"

A massive explosion of dust and grit obscured the street.

"QUINTON!! I'll come back for you! I swear on my life, I'll save you!!"

Goldoh’s voice faded rapidly along with the sound of his sprinting footsteps.

"He ran, huh...? Well, I won't chase him... I am just the Watchdog, after all..."

With a single, effortless flick of his blade, the Watchdog cleared the dust cloud and watched Goldoh’s retreating figure.

"Hehe... but I wonder... can you actually make it out alive?"

Beyond the Watchdog’s line of sight, the doors of the surrounding houses began to creak open. They were coming out. They were lunging for Goldoh.

"Heh... hehe... hyahyahaha...!"

The Watchdog looked back up at the skyscrapers.

Three towers. Three Rulers. This was the world's dumping ground—the Lawless City. It was a place where evil, wealth, and power from every corner of the globe gathered to rot.

Kings, knights, monsters—no one held any authority here.

In the Lawless City, might is the only law.