The collective refusal to take over Rohtas's task was hardly surprising. A mission's failure, or the vanishing of an elite investigator, signaled a profound anomaly. To step into that void was to invite whatever darkness had already claimed a master of the craft.
Perhaps the mission's lethality had spiraled beyond its rank.
Perhaps the operative had made a fatal blunder, mutating a simple task into a high-tier catastrophe.
Perhaps they had stumbled into something that should have remained buried.
Or perhaps the client had lied—intentionally hiding the truth or remaining blissfully ignorant of the rot beneath the surface.
Whatever the cause, a severed Covenant Spell was a siren of extreme peril. Normally, it required a Warlock or an elite Magis to stabilize the wreckage and bring back the lost soul. Cleaning up a fractured mission was twice as treacherous as starting a fresh one; even a low-rank job, stripped of its data, could lead a practitioner blindly into a lethal snare.
"If no one else is stepping up, I'll do it," Seraph said, his voice cutting through the noise.
"What? What did you just say?!" Sadir bellowed, recoiling as if his ears had betrayed him.
"I asked if you need me to track Rohtas and finish what he started," Seraph repeated, his face a mask of grim gravity.
"You?! This started as a Rank-C job, but by protocol, a failure like this bumps the danger threshold up a tier. Rohtas's mission is now a Rank-B nightmare! And that's not counting the rescue mission I have to issue for a missing Magis—another Rank-B objective! Do you honestly think you can shoulder two lethal burdens at once?" Sadir demanded, convinced the young man was courting his own demise.
(** The missions of the Sanctus Sanctum are divided into twelve distinct ranks, culminating in the zenith known as Rank SSS. There exists but one mission of the SSS rank: the total eradication of the Prime Demon. This entity stands as the absolute pinnacle of the Demon Legion, surpassing even the annihilation of the entire legion itself, which is classified as the subordinate Rank SS. Indeed, neither of these two monumental tasks has ever been achieved, not even by the legendary Archwarlocks of antiquity.
The most basic assignment begins at Rank I. The distinction between a high and low rank does not always correlate with mageia power. For instance, the assistant curator role is designated as a Rank D mission—a middle-tier task that yields high mission credits and demands specific qualifications.
The reason is simple: not every magis or random individual can ascend to the role of curator or librarian. To serve as a curator, one must possess profound expertise in high-rank mageia theory. Furthermore, one must harbor the iron patience required to endure the repetitive and grueling monotony within the Labyrinthine Basilica of Tomes, day after day, for years on end. **)
"In that case," Seraph said, his voice laced with a biting edge, "do you actually have anyone else to turn to?"
"I... well..." Sadir's words died in his throat.
He was trapped. He scanned the Mission Hall, but it was utterly desolate. Seraph was his solitary beacon of hope, and they both knew it.
The mess with Rohtas was Sadir's cross to bear. If he couldn't clean up the wreckage now, he'd be forced to go crawling to the higher-ups for help. Doing so would mean a scathing reprimand and a permanent stain on his record—a public admission that he'd lost control of a disaster of his own making.
Sadir's only other option was to go after Rohtas himself. But he was a support magis, not a warlock. He had some mageia, sure, but he was no stronger than Rohtas or Kambion. Heading out alone would be a suicide mission—there was zero guarantee he could salvage a situation that had already spiraled out of control.
"This won't be easy..." Sadir swallowed hard, his voice trembling with dread. "Are you... are you really sure you can pull this off? I don't want to be sending out a distress call for the warlocks to drag two idiots back to the Sanctus! If it comes to that, I'm looking at more than just a slap on the wrist—I'll be kicked out of my post for good!"
He was a nervous wreck, torn between seeing Seraph as his savior or his executioner.
"Don't sweat it," Seraph said, his tone laced with a calm assurance. "Have you forgotten? My real talent is in the art of the escape. If I run into something that's out of my league, I'll be gone before it can blink. No shame in a fast retreat."
"Just don't vanish like the others. I can't handle any more dead weight on my conscience," Sadir muttered, his heart heavy.
"Can you authorize the mission? I need to move. Now."
"Fine! I'm on it!" Sadir snapped, his energy turning frantic as he ducked under the counter to grab the scrolls and the mageia crystal.
The mission scroll was a mageia artefact forged by the mission masters. These masters would take vacant scrolls, weaving incantations upon them to create the vessel; however, once established, Sadir—in his capacity as a mission officer—possessed the authority to alter them. It fell within his jurisdiction to issue tasks and rectify any complications that arose.
To facilitate this, the officer required a mageia crystal as a medium to etch mageia glyphs onto the parchment. While some magis wielded these crystals as mageia weapons, they were more commonly utilized for support mageia.
Sadir hoisted the mageia crystal, tracing a spell above the scroll.
[Sparkle!]
A luminous radiance descended upon the parchment unfurled across the counter. As the light touched the surface, mageia glyphs manifested, shimmering brilliantly amidst the frantic beating of their hearts. The glowing script gradually revealed the intricate details of the rescue operation.
Sadir tailored this mission specifically for Seraph, embedding every known detail regarding Rohtas's disappearance and the preceding objective.
Before long, Sadir completed the inscription. The rapid expenditure of mageia power left him drained, his face slick with perspiration. He hurriedly produced a second scroll—the original mission assigned to Rohtas—and handed it over. This time, however, both tasks had been ascended to Rank B rescue missions.
While they mirrored the original objectives, the specifics had shifted. Crucially, they were now marked as urgent, tripling the designated mission rewards.
"I'm heading out," Seraph declared, turning on his heel. "I'll collect the bounty for the Desden undead when I get back."
"Just don't die!" Sadir bellowed after him. "I'm not in the mood to write another god-damned report!"
✧ . ✶ . ✡ . ✶ . ✧
The young magis strode from the Mission Hall without looking back. At this moment, the life of Rohtas hung in a precarious balance; every heartbeat was a precious commodity, every second a tether to survival.
"Ventus Aura!"
"Ventus Windwalker!"
[Whirr!]
Seraph invoked the incantations with urgent precision. A violent gale erupted around him, hoisting his frame into the air. As his boots struck the stone, he surged past the gates of the Sanctus Sanctum like a localized hurricane. Onlookers felt only the buffeting wake of a sudden storm, catching nothing but the fleeting silhouette of a grey cloak.
[Whoosh!]
Seraph tore through the outskirts, cleaving the air as the world around him dissolved into a blur. The aesthetic grandeur of the metropolis was lost to the speed of his passage.