"Are you dreaming, you great oaf?!" Sophia shrieked, her face flushed crimson as she delivered a stinging blow to Arthus's chest.
By some stroke of luck, Arthus had foregone his steel plate this morning; otherwise, Sophia's hand would surely have suffered for her temper. In the heartbeat that followed, the pair descended into a private squall, as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
"Sigh..." Seraph exhaled a weary breath, accepting that he could rely on neither of them.
Since they seldom heeded a word he uttered, the young magis turned his gaze toward the surrounding airships, hoping the spectacle might soothe the rising trepidation in his heart.
The Arkpolis aerodrome served as a premier international skydock—a hive of constant motion where vessels made their ascent and berth in staggering numbers. Surrounding the port, vast caravans laboured through both day and night, ferrying a ceaseless tide of commerce in and out of the capital.
An airship was a colossal mageia artefact, a dual-purpose vessel of the skies and the seas. Capable of both flight and maritime navigation, it stood as the pinnacle of engineering in Laurasia. The fuel for such sublime craft was the rare mageia ore, a resource found in scant quantities across Arkflame.
For these reasons, the airship remained one of the most exorbitant artefacts—and inventions—upon the face of Laurasia. Furthermore, the costs of fuel and perpetual maintenance were no less daunting than the initial price of manufacture.
Hundreds of such vessels lay moored about the skydock, with others taking wing or making port every second. There were always mercantile guilds and merchant lords possessing wealth enough to commission and sustain the production of such grand mageia structures.
The mageia airship remained one of the few primary conduits ensuring communication between the Seven Kingdoms, weaving them together through a commerce that never ceased its frantic pulse.
Throughout the hour, these vessels ascended and descended in a ceaseless tide. Above the heads of the gathered hundreds of thousands, the titanic machines soared, their passage casting long shadows and whipping hats into the air. The chaotic aerial traffic conjured a thunderous roar; yet, the sight of humanity defying the earth's pull to roam the firmament remained a spectacle of enchanting allure.
At this moment, ten thousand challengers stood within the Arkflame Skydock, joined by hundreds of thousands of kinsmen and citizens who had come to see them off. The collective din was a stifling, ubiquitous presence. Around every corner, one could hear the tearful partings of lovers, their voices thick with fragile hope.
'My heart's racing... I suppose it's because I'm still only a man,' Seraph mused, his hand instinctively clutching his chest. The sight of so many souls caused him to dwell upon a certain someone he'd left behind.
Before long, the tolling of a mageia bell resonated across the expanse. The voice of a female herald amplified throughout the skydock, formally announcing the commencement of the Bloody Hunting.
The herald began to recount the chronicles of the mission—from its origins over a century ago to the specific objectives, the nature of the quarry, and the promised bounties. Finally, she declared that the first-rank victor would be granted Highborn status within Arkflame without condition. Furthermore, that hunter would be commissioned as a Vice-Commander within the Legions.
Even should a challenger hail from beyond Arkflame's borders, they would be granted every reward with impartial equality. Those who failed to claim a titled rank would still receive a bounty commensurate with the number of demons slain, alongside a portion of the raw spoils harvested from their quarry.
It was a lure of immense potency. Gold itself was a secondary concern; most veteran demon hunters could amass a fortune simply by raiding in well-coordinated bands. The true prize, the singular obsession that drove them, was elevation to the Highborn peerage.
Many hunters possessed staggering strength and wealth, yet they remained, almost without exception, mere commoners. It was this promise of noble standing that compelled so many to effectively sell their souls, risking their lives in the Bloody Hunting year after year.
The challengers numbered approximately ten thousand, necessitating their distribution across a fleet of ten colossal airships. This massive vanguard now loomed, suspended in a preternatural stillness just above the flagstones. Long gangplanks were lowered from the hulls to facilitate the boarding. A turbulent gale whipped across the aerodrome as the engines of all ten vessels began to churn in unison.
Before long, the herald's voice commanded the challengers to board. Their Sanctus Scrolls served as their passage; every detail regarding their assigned vessel was inscribed within the parchment.
"I must depart... do look after yourselves," Seraph said, turning to offer his farewell.
"Fret not over our next duel! I will dedicate myself to my training until you return!" Arthus declared with his customary thunder.
The young prince clapped Seraph firmly upon the shoulder; the weight of the heavy gauntlet nearly buckled the young magis's knees. Yet, with his mind adrift, Seraph allowed the blow to pass without retort.
"Quite..." Seraph replied, his voice trailing off with weary resignation.
"Seraph..." Sophia whispered, her voice fractured by a sudden, sharp tremor of anxiety.
Being a celebrated actress didn't mean her life was a perpetual performance. In truth, Sophia's temperament was remarkably sincere; it was merely the burden of the Loveless Theatre and the souls upon her shoulders that compelled her to play a part. Yet, in this fleeting moment, she couldn't suppress a flicker of genuine frailty.
"I go merely to hunt demons—not to meet my end. I'll be back before long, provided the stars don't turn a cruel face toward me," Seraph ventured, forcing a note of optimism into his tone.
Sophia threw herself into his embrace, weeping soft, muffled sobs. Her tears darkened the gold-trimmed hem of his white cloak; her trepidation was entirely devoid of artifice.
"I don't know why... but I'm possessed by a terrible fear. I've suffered nightmares for nights without reprieve... I have a grim premonition," Sophia sobbed, her voice trembling.
"Nothing but a nightmare," Seraph murmured, gently brushing the tears from her cheeks. "Everything will be fine presently."
"But—"
"Everything will be set right. I'm going to see this Bloody Hunting to its swift conclusion and hasten back to you! Do have faith in me," Seraph declared with feigned certainty.
"Very well... because it's you... I'll believe," Sophia replied, a small measure of peace finally touching her features.
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The mageia engines thundered against the vault of heaven, the airships shuddering under the colossal torque of their internal drives. Luminous plumes of mana trailed the iron behemoths as they tore themselves from the earth's embrace.
One by one, the ten vessels of the Bloody Hunting ascended, carving a majestic formation into the sky. They climbed... from the dust of the soil to the velvet of the clouds; from the winding streams to the nascent stars. The dreams and desperate hopes of Arkflame were stowed within those ten hulls, carried by ten thousand hunters into the unknown.
As the airships gained altitude, Seraph watched the throngs below dwindle into insignificance. Thousands of hands waved; hats and handkerchiefs were tossed into the gale. The collective roar of a hundred thousand voices surged upward—a wall of sound that vibrated through the very foundations of Arkpolis. Beneath the cheers, the fractured sobs of those left behind bit deep into the spirit.
The young man stood alone at the stern, his gaze fixed upon the distant, shimmering peaks of Jewel Hill.
"Argovus..."
[VROOM!]
A tectonic ripple of mageia detonated in the open air! A brilliant, solar aura erupted from the young magis, the resulting atmospheric turbulence causing the massive airship to lurch and sway without warning.
Within the bridge, the frantic shouts of the crew rose in a panicked chorus. Engineers bellowed that the energia drives remained stable; the Captain, his voice taut with alarm, demanded an immediate audit of every circuit—once, twice, and a dozen times over!
Upon the young man's brow, a third eye manifested, burning with a divine, golden radiance. The world contracted; the distant heights of the Mageia Sentry Towers leaped forward, appearing as though they stood mere inches from his face.
Before he'd departed the Sanctus Sanctum, Seraph had already offered his final farewells to the two girls.
In stark contrast to her habitual buoyancy, Evelyn had been hauntingly still this morning. She'd clung to him for an eternity, as though her grip were the only thing tethering him to the earth. Her skin was unnaturally frigid, and a sombre, chilling aura emanated from her—a darkness he'd never before witnessed.
Meanwhile, Marina sat in the lightless corner of her chamber, knees drawn to her chest in hollow silence. The atmosphere was more oppressive than the shadows themselves; her wordless tears flooded the young man's heart until he felt he might drown in her silent grief. Seraph had implored her to utter but a single word, addressing her as 'Riri' time and again. Yet, as she remained entombed in her silence, he could do nothing but stroke her tresses with a lingering touch before turning to depart.
Now, through the divine clarity of his third eye, Seraph beheld the two girls atop the spires of two separate basilicas. He could discern their crystalline tears, snatched away and scattered by the high-altitude winds.
The pair stood as celestial opposites—one of water, one of fire—positioned upon the peaks of towers that pierced the firmament. Yet, their gaze was singular, anchored with agonizing depth upon one specific vessel in the fleet. They watched the silver-haired magis until he was but a speck against the blue.
The final airship surged through the towering cumulus, leaving ten white scars of mana-vapour etched across the heavens. The thunder of the Mageia engines faded into the distance, carrying with it the flickering light of hope and leaving behind a yearning that knew no promise of return.
But within the encroaching shadows nearby, a figure stood.
It tracked the tenth vessel with unblinking, predatory focus. Its entire form—most notably its eyes—pulsed with a cryptic, emerald light that radiated terrifying malice. As the tenth airship vanished into the virginal white of the clouds, the creature's mouth tore into a haunting, ear-to-ear smile. A malicious, shrill cackle broke free, sounding like sandpaper grating over splintering bone.
"Nyee-hee-hee!"
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