The applause was a deafening roar that vibrated through the hull. The whistles and boisterous cheers that followed ignited an atmosphere growing more feverish by the second. The biting chill of the high altitude was slowly purged by the heat radiating from their hearts; every demon hunter present was seized by the thrill of the coming slaughter. Dant's rallying cries had set their pulses thrumming like war drums.
Each challenger stood as if already perched atop a mountain of demon carcasses, utterly convinced the first rank was theirs to claim and that they'd emerge from this year's Bloody Hunting unscathed.
Few among them possessed the unvarnished truth. In Laurasia, intelligence seldom travelled with haste, and the various kingdoms conspired to shroud the staggering mortality rates of the hunters.
On occasion, the authorities went so far as to champion the image of a single fortunate soul who'd ascended from the gutter to achieve grand success, using them as a puppet for recruitment to lure fresh meat into the fold year after year.
While the assembly's eyes kindled with the fever-dream of a future yet unmade, the young magis watched from the hall's penumbra, his gaze glacial and utterly unmoved by such seductive rhetoric.
"Every hunter among you must be eager for the particulars of this year's Bloody Hunting and the nature of the quarry... therefore, I'll waste no further breath on trifles—" Mordant paused, the silence heavy.
The festive atmosphere vanished the instant Mordant touched upon the hunt. Every demon hunter sharpened their focus, a thousand pairs of eyes tightening with grim intensity. Most had already danced with death; they were the elite of the mercenary guilds and the demon-hunting associations across Arkflame. Not a soul among them was a novice or green to the ways of the world.
"The Bloody Hunting is a chain-linked operation!" Mordant began his exposition. "Each mission is partitioned into numerous phases... some years a single trial, others ten! The quarry for any given year is dictated solely by the species and the myriad of demons manifesting during the season. There is no pre-ordained script, no certainty. I myself have only just received the intelligence regarding the entities breaching the Arkflame borders—which serve as your objective this year..."
The revelation that the threat shifted without pattern cast a pall of tension over the room. Information brokers had long sought to predict the targets of the Bloody Hunting, yet records showed that no two years had ever mirrored one another. It meant they were to go in blind, striking into the dark with nothing but their instincts to guide them.
"The opening phase of this year's Bloody Hunting... comes directly from High Command!" Mordant fell silent, as if granting them a fleeting moment to steel their resolve.
Almost to a man, the challengers held their breath.
[Click!]
The Captain Mordant's finger brushed a massive observation crystal; a map manifested within the glass, depicting a forest so dense it resembled a lightless, black sea.
"The coordinates are... the Darkwood of the Southwestern frontier! The Legions have detected a massive disappearance within the deep timber bordering the southwest. The inhabitants of the sylvan villages surrounding the Darkwood have vanished without a trace!" Mordant continued.
A low murmur rippled through the ranks. While skirmishes with beasts or demons were common, the term 'massive disappearance' was a rarity, even to those who'd weathered countless hunts. It carried a scent of peril they couldn't quite name.
Captain Mordant scanned the assembly, his voice dropping—yet it bore a weight that pressed upon every soul present.
"Of the various scouting units we dispatched into the Darkwood... only a solitary man succeeded in relaying a clandestine missive. That scout scrawled but a single word in blood: 'Raffbloom!'" Mordant spoke with a glacial edge.
The moment the word passed his lips, the blood-stained letter appeared upon the crystal. It caused the entire room, Seraph included, to knit their brows in utter bewilderment. The name conjured images of man-eating flora or demonic vegetation.
However, it was a truth known to Seraph and every veteran alike... that a 'tree-type demon' had never once manifested upon Laurasia throughout the century-long war.
Laurasia played host to a staggering array of flora, and many a beast proved as savage and formidable as any demon. Yet, upon this great continent, a tree-type demon had never once manifested. Or, if such an entity existed, it had certainly eluded discovery for an age.
What, then, was this 'Raffbloom' of which Mordant spoke? Did it truly draw breath? Was it a mere beast, or a true demon? Or was the entire affair nothing more than the garbled delusion of a broken scout? A torrent of questions surged through the assembly.
"The scout was likely out of his wits..."
"Is there a record of his mental infirmity?"
"Did you dispatch a second unit to verify this madness?"
"Perhaps his memory simply failed him..."
"It could be nothing but a locust-type demon—"
Several demon hunters began to confer, their voices rising in a cacophony that ignored Captain Mordant's darkening expression.
"Silence!" Mordant bellowed, his voice echoing through the hall.
The room fell deathly still. The atmosphere grew increasingly taut, heavy with a suffocating pressure. Mordant continued, his words measured yet grim.
"We don't know what transpired within the Darkwood... we don't know if this creature truly exists or if it's merely the fever-dream of a dying man. We're ignorant of its prowess... ignorant of its frailties... ignorant of its very nature. We cannot verify a single shred of this intelligence! Our data is effectively non-existent. The only thing my final scout secured was that solitary word: Raffbloom," Mordant spoke, his features set in a mask of severity.
His tone was laden with a crushing weight. The fact that an entire scouting division had failed to extract any meaningful data—that not a single soul had emerged alive from those enigmatic timber—only served to multiply the perceived malice and peril of the foe tenfold.
"The solitary truth we possess is that this enigmatic foe is expanding its domain with predatory haste, devouring the entirety of the Darkwood. I've received intelligence from settlements bordering the southwestern frontier—sylvan villages are falling silent, one by one, with each passing day. If this mystery breaches our borders... the surrounding towns and hamlets will be laid to waste without a prayer of resistance!" Mordant declared, his countenance etched with dread.
As he spoke, he gestured toward the southwestern horizon. Though the airships remained nearly a sennight's journey from the Darkwood, the sheer magnitude of the timber—stretching as vast as several metropolises combined—rendered its oppressive onyx silhouette visible even from this immense distance.
"Your primary objective for this opening phase is..."
He faltered for a heartbeat, as if weighing the gravity of his words before casting them into the air.
"Unearth its true nature and purge every demon within the Darkwood unto extinction. Regardless of the cost!" Mordant commanded with chilling finality.
Within the Great Hall, the temperature seemed to plummet into a glacial shiver.
Some demon hunters clenched their fists in silent resolve.
Some swallowed hard against the rising bile of fear.
Some began to waver, their courage flickering.
Some were gripped by a raw, naked terror.
Some maintained a predatory focus, convinced the first rank was already within their grasp.
Some turned once more to their cabals, whispering frantic contingencies.