[Clink!]
The poisoned daggers spun in their gnarled grips, edges gleaming with a lethal light. From three distinct vectors, the blades whistled through the air, their movements so perfectly synchronized they seemed guided by a single, malevolent mind.
Seraph had no luxury for hesitation. He unleashed a violent surge of mageia, the incantation ripping from his throat with desperate speed.
"Ventus Galebreeze!"
[Voom!]
A cyclonic blast erupted with the young magis at its epicenter. A miniature tempest tore through the timberland, forcing the canopy to heave and sway like a turbulent emerald sea.
The frigid gale slammed into the three Mirkcaps, frost instantly crystallizing across their pelts. The poisoned daggers aimed at Seraph's face were wrenched from their grips, sent spinning into the dark. The demons were hammered back by the freezing pressure, propelled through the air until they collided violently with the ancient trunks, coughing up mouthfuls of dull green gore.
Seraph felt not a shred of pity. Unbound by the suffocating walls of the Desden caves, he channeled his power at full threshold. With a sharp flourish of his staff, he began weaving a relentless chain of offensive arts.
"Ventus Spiculus!"
[Fwip! Fwip! Fwip!]
Dozens of needle-like darts manifested around him and streaked toward the Mirkcaps while they were still reeling. The jade projectiles tore through the air at high velocity, piercing eyes and skulls with surgical precision.
Ventus mageia was notoriously difficult to master, yet Seraph commanded it with lethal intent. His darts were as swift and clandestine as true hidden blades. Within heartbeats, the faces of the three Mirkcaps were riddled with jade needles, transforming them into grotesque, macabre urchins.
The spark of life vanished instantly. They fell like tattered onyx shrouds, their forms crashing heavily onto the forest floor.
[Thud!]
Their venomous blades plummeted nearby, sinking into the soft earth. A moment later, the mageia darts vanished into thin air, and the rime of frost dissolved with them. The punctures were so minute they nearly sealed themselves, leaving the prized pelts unstained by demonic blood.
"Ventus Exploria!" Seraph cast, a pulse of emerald radiance scouring the perimeter.
The ring of light swallowed the trees, but it found nothing. No more Mirkcaps, no anomalies—just the silence of the woods.
"So... no more rats in the walls," Seraph muttered, finally letting the tension drain from his lungs.
"A coincidence? Hardly," he whispered, his voice as cold as a winter gale. "But how did three Mirkcaps slip into Arkpolis without a single sentry noticing? I can only assume the entire legion decided to take a winter sabbatical together. Or perhaps they all just went blind at the exact same moment."
He was already back within the Capital's borders. The Forest of Gems was supposed to be a safe zone, under constant surveillance by the Arkflame legions. Any stragglers should have been hunted down long ago.
Yet, the three corpses at his feet told a different story—a grim testament to a fractured security. The truth was chilling: the Capital was no longer the sanctuary he believed it to be. Even here, in the very heart of Arkpolis, the shadows could still strike.
If he hadn't had the reflexes to counter or the presence of mind to snap a shield into existence, it would be his blood staining the grass today.
"No matter. These three look far too sleepy to answer me now. Still... their corpses..." Seraph leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he studied the remains.
"Ventus Levitatis!"
[Whirr!]
Under his command, the Mirkcap corpses and their poisoned blades rose from the dirt, tethered by invisible bonds. Without a moment's delay, Seraph sprinted toward Jewel Hill, the floating trophies trailing in his wake like a macabre parade.
It was not long before the young man reached the outer perimeter of Sanctus. Yet, Seraph did not steer his course toward the main gates; instead, he veered toward the periphery.
The exterior of the Sanctus walls was no barren wasteland. Rather, it was flanked by a dense array of storefronts, forming a sprawling commercial hub. Since the majority of the magis cast held vast troves of wealth, they were considered premier patrons for any enterprise. However, the magis harbored a distaste for venturing far beyond Jewel Hill for their acquisitions. This prompted several major merchant guilds to establish their boutiques directly before the threshold of Sanctus.
This central market boasted dozens of grand emporiums, ranging from vendors of mageia artefacts to stables for mageia beasts. Within the Sanctus Sanctum itself, there was no division for the keeping of beasts; had he accepted the warhorse from Horolf, he would have been forced to lease a stall and entrust the creature to one of these external infirmaries for mounts.
Though the market hub of Sanctus could not rival the sheer number of stalls found in the heart of Arkpolis, the merchants here traded in artefacts and mageia goods of the highest tier. Consequently, this hub remained perpetually crowded, teeming with sea of thousands who circulated through the district daily.
Some came to enter the Sanctus Sanctum to issue a mandate, ensuring Jewel Hill remained vibrant year-round. Often, warlocks from distant lands journeyed here to procure mageia artefacts; thus, the throngs browsing the stalls consisted largely of outsiders rather than the resident magis of Sanctus.
The moment Seraph stepped into the square, every eye followed him as if drawn by a singular tether. A Mirkcap Cloak wasn't a rare sight in itself—many had seen or owned one—but the sight of a pristine Mirkcap corpse was an altogether different story.
An intact demon corpse commanded a much higher price than mangled remains. Beyond the cloaks, which clients were already eager to bid on, the internal anatomy of a demon held a myriad of secrets and latent powers just waiting to be harvested.
Demon hunters and diverse guilds harbored an insatiable hunger for intact demonic remains. Primordially, a pristine corpse was the sole medium through which they could dissect the strengths, vulnerabilities, and innate attributes of the demonic breed. Furthermore, the raw power of a demon remained a coveted subject of study for certain clandestine circles of scholars.
On rare occasions, a demon might harbor an energia core within its breast, a discovery that would cause its value to ascend to a staggering echelon. Thus, the chasm in price between mere butchered parts and a complete specimen was insurmountable. Coupled with the perceived safety of Arkpolis—where demons were thought to be non-existent—the auction of a whole demonic corpse would incite a bidding war in the black markets.
As the gathered throng regained their senses, a clamor of intense interest erupted. Many surged toward the young magis, clamoring to purchase the three Mirkcaps.
"By the Goddess... a Mirkcap? Three of them? Look at those pelts, they're pristine!"
"Step aside! Hey, you in the grey cloak! Three gold coins for the lot! I'll take them right now, no questions asked!"
"Don't listen to that thief! I'll give you four! Just tell me—where did you find them? Are there more in the Forest of Gems? Is the perimeter compromised?"
"Five gold… NO! Ten gold! And a seat at the Merchants' Guild dinner! Lord Magis, please, let's talk business!"
"Look at the entry wounds... there's hardly a scratch on the fur. Who is this kid? To take down a trio of shadow-assassins with such precision..."
"Wait, don't go into the main shop! My shop is just around the corner, I'll pay double the market rate in raw gems!"