Wraith stared brazenly into Slade's eyes, grinning indignantly as though directly challenging him.
"Look at these symbols. Do you recall what they are, Slade?" Wraith asked rhetorically.
"Well, yes. As a matter of fact, I do," Slade replied calmly.
"These are the Six Orthodoxs of Exorcism. Each Orthodox bears a unique gem required for the release of Argall—the Lord of the Underworld. These Orthodoxs are:
The Primordial Gems:
Aetherion
Voidstone
Astralite
Netherite
Eclipsium
Celestite
Each of these stones has a designated place on this gateway. Individually, they grant only a limited amount of time before the gateway closes. However, with the power of that outcast, Sai Takka, the gateway will remain open for as long as the user desires. All thanks to the power of Anti-Magic. In exchange..."
Slade paused briefly.
"Sai Takka will lose his life."
His deep bass voice echoed throughout the cathedral.
"That is, in fact, correct, Slade. Well done. Quite the retentive memory you've got there—I must applaud you," Wraith commended, his mischievous smirk never leaving his face.
"As you all should be aware, Zorel Academia will be hosting a tournament at Zorel's Fighting Arena no less than two weeks from now. As we all know, participants from other schools will be attending as well. However, the tournament is specifically for first-years—"
"What exactly are you getting at, Wraith?" Nagumo interrupted casually, his deep voice cutting through the room.
Wraith's grin widened.
"Sai Takka will most definitely participate in the tournament. And as we all know, all the Guild Masters will be there, alongside many of the kingdom's strongest mages. Therefore, the security stationed throughout the rest of Zorel will most likely be limited."
"Most likely?!" Rudo cut in rudely.
"How the hell can you say something you're not even sure about?!"
"Trust me, Rudo. We have nothing to worry about. Surely you can handle a few meager ants crawling out of the gutters," Wraith replied, referring to the Grade One and Grade Two mages.
His eyes narrowed.
"Or... can't you?"
His tone was dark, high and mighty.
Rudo immediately gritted his teeth.
"Why, you—!"
"RUDO!"
Slade's voice cracked through the cathedral like thunder.
Rudo's fury vanished almost instantly, like a guard dog commanded to heel by its master.
"I... of course I can," Rudo finally answered, his lips quivering with restrained frustration.
"Then I suppose that's settled," Wraith said with a satisfied smirk.
"During the tournament, Nagumo and Cetrion will retrieve the Aetherion from the Abyssal Rift."
"And where exactly might that be?" Nagumo asked curiously.
Cetrion, meanwhile, remained motionless with his head lowered, as though he had not been listening to the conversation at all.
"Well, the Aetherion is formed from condensed dark energy, and the only place where such a thing can be acquired is..."
Wraith trailed off.
"The Abyssal Rift! Located near the kingdom's border!" Nagumo exclaimed.
"Yes!"
Wraith pointed at him enthusiastically.
"Yes, Nagumo! Yes! Now you're catching on!"
His grin remained firmly planted on his face as a familiar hunger stirred within his heart.
A hunger for excitement.
For thrill.
For pleasure.
"However, I hope you're aware that the Abyssal Chasm is where crystals formed from dark mana naturally emerge. While they are similar to the Aetherion, the Aetherion itself consists of pure, highly condensed dark mana.
"So it shouldn't be too difficult to find."
"What about that old geezer? You know... the arca... ca... whatever-his-name-is," the ash-haired young man suggested lazily.
"The Arcane Stage Mage," Rudo corrected.
"He's got a point, Wraith. You know what happened the last time we tried to ambush him, right?"
Wraith's face immediately turned pale.
The mischievous grin vanished entirely.
Flashes of an elderly man with long gray hair surged through his memory.
Dark-purple eyes glowed beneath half-moon spectacles.
A wand slowly rose into the air.
Then came the downward swing.
A brilliant violet light erupted from its tip.
Wraith's eyelids twitched.
His lips quivered.
His hands trembled.
"Wraith."
Slade's voice shattered the memory and dragged him back to reality.
Slade released a weary sigh.
"The Death Stalkers are highly skilled in both Magic and Dark Magic. However, we have our limits, and that Arcane Mage is one of them. The only person among our ranks capable of standing against him is Lord Varn."
"True, but look on the bright side," Rudo added casually.
"Uriel will be attending the tournament as a representative of his guild. That should be a relief for us because I sincerely doubt even Lord Varn could take him down."
"Y-yes..." Wraith muttered, regaining his composure.
"As much as I hate to admit it, the Arcane Mage's abilities far surpass our own. Everything Slade has said is true. However, he hasn't been seen for quite some time now, so I sincerely doubt he'll be present to interfere with our plans."
Then there was Uriel...
Wraith gulped.
His eyes shut momentarily.
Even he made Wraith uneasy.
"He's every bit as monstrous and chaotic as the Arcane Mage himself. However, he too will be occupied during the tournament, so I sincerely doubt either of them will interfere with our little quest."
"You make a good point, Wraith," Slade agreed.
"Nagumo. Cetrion. I trust the two of you can handle any sorcerer foolish enough to oppose you."
Nagumo smirked.
"I assure you, I will crush any sorcerer or mage who dares stand against me."
"That's the spirit," Slade commended.
Wraith slowly rose from his seat.
"The world has slept long enough."
His voice became darker.
Colder.
"AND WE SHALL CLEANSE IT WITH FIRE AND BLOOD!"
The Death Stalkers roared in unison.
But behind it all, Von remained silent.
His face was hidden beneath the shadow of his hood.
His expression was bitter.
Unsupportive.
He scoffed lightly through gritted teeth.
At that moment, only one person occupied his thoughts.
Miss Bramble.
— — —
Ashen Caldera
Volcanic basins stretched endlessly across the landscape.
Some erupted violently.
Others lay dormant, marked only by lava-filled cracks running across the charcoal-black earth.
The ground trembled continuously beneath the force of impending eruptions.
The Ashen Caldera was chaotic.
Destructive.
Unbearably hot.
Dark clouds swirled overhead alongside violent thunderstorms.
Yet no rain fell.
No sunlight pierced the heavens.
Only darkness.
Only ash.
Only heat.
At the center of it all stood Ryan.
Magic-infused chains bound him tightly against the side of a dormant volcano.
Bundles of dry twigs had been fastened around his body.
Sweat and tears streamed down his blindfolded face.
His upper body was bare, while black leather trousers and boots covered the lower half.
"Please, brother!"
Ryan's voice trembled desperately.
"I'm not impervious to fire yet!"
His body shook as another violent tremor rippled through the Caldera.
"I'LL DIE!"
The desperate scream echoed through the volcanic wasteland.
A voice emerged from the shadows.
Calm.
Composed.
Cold.
"As a Sparta, if your body can't even withstand fire, then you're as good as worthless."
The figure stepped forward slightly.
Small Strands of blood-red hair concealed a fraction of his eyes.
Besides...
"You can heal."
His visible eye narrowed.
"A feat even Grade One mages struggle to achieve. You have me to thank for that."
A brief silence followed.
"And even if you die..."
Ryan froze.
Uriel's gaze remained indifferent.
"Then you die."
"I... I'm sorry, Uriel," Ryan muttered, his voice more submissive than ever.
"Keep your apologies to yourself."
Uriel raised a hand.
A burst of flame ignited nearby.
"And burn."