Farvin Sentry Tower.
Days of gloom bled into nights. Within a cramped ward, a young man in patient's garb lay upon a sterile white bed. He appeared no older than fifteen or sixteen. Seraph sat anchored to a chair beside him, a silent sentinel in the quiet room.
The patient's body was swathed in bandages, yet strangely, his limbs were bound fast to the bedframe.
Suddenly, the young man's eyelids twitched. His eyes snapped open, his face instantly contorting into a mask of absolute terror. He unleashed a visceral scream that tore through the silence of the ward.
"Vongo... you're safe. Calm yourself," Seraph said, reaching out to brush the boy's arm with a light, steadying touch.
Upon feeling the warmth of a human presence, Vongo gradually relaxed, his cries fading to a low, jagged whimper.
"Am I... am I truly safe?" Vongo asked, his voice drifting like a sleepwalker's.
"You are. No one can harm you here," Seraph offered in consolation.
"Who are you? Where is this? —" Vongo faltered, then his eyes darted to his wrists. "Wait! Why am I tied down?"
"Vongo... I need to ask you something," Seraph said, his expression remaining inscrutable. "Were you the one who sent the plea for aid?"
"You? I… yes! It was me! I sent the plea to the central army… but the goblins, they took us first! They crept in under the cover of night!—The screams!! Everyone in the tower! My sister! What of Mimi?! Is she safe? She's safe, isn't she?" Vongo's voice fractured into a panicked staccato.
Seraph offered no reply. His eyes remained hollow—an emotionless void that refused to let any soul peer within. Only a slight hitch in his breath betrayed a momentary lapse in his composure.
"Vongo… if you were capable of something as vital as dispatching a letter," Seraph began, his voice low and steady, "why didn't you change the signal crystal to violet or red? Did you not know that red signifies a defensive threshold? Or that violet means a city is under siege? Had the tower projected a distress light, the surrounding garrisons would have grasped your plight and marched to your aid far sooner—"
Seraph paused, his gaze boring into the boy. "But with the crystal dark, Vespass was severed from the entire network. Why commit such a rudimentary error?"
"Mimi…? I—I know nothing of that. The Tower Master alone handles the mageia crystals. The rest of us only tended to menial chores…" Vongo replied, his certainty crumbling. "And my sister? She's safe? Tell me she's safe!"
Vongo pleaded, the question looping in a desperate, broken cycle.
His breath snagged. Vongo's heart constricted under the tightening grip of a foul premonition. He'd received no answer, yet for reasons he couldn't name, tears began to track down his face, spilling forth before he even realised he was weeping.
"Vongo... I've stood exactly where you are now. From this moment forth, you must remain resolute." Seraph rose, his hand brushing the boy's shoulder with a ghostly, fleeting touch.
The young magis strode away without further word.
"Wait! My Lord! What of my sister?! WHERE IS MIMI?!!!" Vongo's shriek pierced the air through a veil of tears.
The stranger's words offered no clarity—and perhaps, in truth, Vongo didn't wish to understand them at all.
The infirmary door clicked shut, muffling the raw, jagged wailing from within. As Seraph emerged into the corridor, a commanding officer was already waiting. Maldrin fell into step beside him as they navigated the sterile halls.
"Lord Seraph... how fares the boy?" Maldrin inquired.
"He's suffered a severe psychological rupture. I believe the survivors are untainted; there's no evidence of a traitor within Vespass," Seraph stated flatly.
"Sigh... I knew them well. Good men, all of them. They were merely unfortunate," Maldrin said, his features etched with a shallow grief.
"The assault succeeded because Vespass was derelict in its watch-posts," Seraph replied, his voice laced with frost. "Furthermore, the Tower Master failed to observe the correct protocols for wartime defence. I trust your tower won't repeat such a fatal lapse."
Seraph cut a sharp, icy glance toward Maldrin—a silent, lethal warning to the master of Farvin.
"I'll be vigilant, naturally. And regarding the Vespass tower?" Maldrin pressed, his tone shifting.
"Regarding that matter, I've dispatched missives to both Arkflame and Sanctus. They acknowledge the necessity and will deploy additional sentry units for support. We oversee your domain; I won't permit the lands surrounding your tower to fall into peril! Should you require aid, notify the military immediately, or submit a mission scroll directly to Sanctus. We possess mageia beasts; we can travel with absolute haste. As for the restoration of the Vespass Tower—that remains your burden!"
"Er... would it be permissible to specifically request your name, Magister Seraph, when seeking assistance?" Maldrin asked, his voice wavering with uncertainty.
Hearing this, Seraph regarded Maldrin with a look of surprise. He hadn't anticipated such a request.
Maldrin served as the head of the Farvin Sentry Tower. Although Farvin occupied a position of strategic importance equal to Vespass, both were situated within vital sectors and already possessed the right to requisition aid from the Arkflame military.
Commissioning a mission through the Sanctus Sanctum would undoubtedly incur additional costs. It was by no means free—it was exorbitant! Naturally, the employer would have to shoulder every coin of those surplus expenses.
This differed from requests channelled through the central administration. When the military or the Arkflame court received a plea for aid, they might deploy sentry units or elite warriors to assist. However, should the mission prove too perilous or specific, they might subcontract the task to the Sanctus Sanctum. This multi-layered delegation was the very reason the request from Vespass took over a week to reach Sanctus—by which time, all was nearly lost.
Had Seraph arrived but a few days sooner, the devastation might not have been so absolute.
Sentry towers positioned at the vital intersections of the main arteries possessed a steady stream of revenue from transit tolls. They could easily afford to commission elite mercenaries or magis far more senior than a young man like Seraph.
Yet, Maldrin had made his intent manifest: he desired Magister Seraph to be the one to answer their cry for help when peril next struck.
"Should you call... I'll be here," Seraph replied, his tone relaxed yet etched with sincerity.
"My profound thanks, Magister Seraph!" Maldrin answered with a broad grin.
The Arkflame sentries from various divisions had witnessed the battlefield where Seraph had clashed with the swarm. To call it a massacre would be a gross understatement. Each demon was formidable, possessing its own savage individuality; most were far more potent than any mere beast.
If one were to compare a goblin to a warthog, the goblin was a warthog that stood on two legs, brandishing a tusked mace and executing calculated tactics. Yet, the magis before them had annihilated a horde of over two hundred. Even now, the acrid stench of charred demon flesh clung to the air.
Though the carcasses had been scorched into blackened lumps, the flesh within remained fresh. With the proper technique to dissipate the demonic fel, the meat was even marketable. Even the bones and tusks that had turned coal posed no issue; given their durability, some even preferred them over standard ivory.