Aedran could hardly believe what he was seeing: five freshly forged blackstone weapons. He knew that Velkhar, Platea’s homeland, possessed substantial reserves of the material, but there was only a single forge in all human territory capable of producing blackstone arms. He could not even imagine how she had managed to convince those stubborn master smiths to craft five different weapons, each tailored to a specific member of the group.

  The team rushed to claim them, barely containing their excitement. Aedran’s intimidating presence vanished entirely; after all, wielding the most resilient material known was the dream of any warrior.

  Lyara chose a slender thrusting sword, long and elegant, with a crescent-shaped golden hilt—an unmistakable gift from Platea to her favorite apprentice.

  Thaelen, meanwhile, lifted a spear whose blade was far larger than that of any common weapon. The shaft was made of druidwood, from which small roots sprouted and coiled around it.

  “That’s why they asked me for some of the wood I brought,” Thaelen murmured. Platea nodded, her smile less arrogant than usual. “It makes sense. There is no wood more durable than druidwood.”

  “I wish you’d given me more,” Platea grumbled, “so I could’ve used it on all of them—like on the idiot’s sword.”

  Aedran lowered his gaze to his own blade at his side. The polished wood of its hilt was easy to overlook, yet he had never managed to leave so much as a scratch on it, despite the sword having passed through countless generations before him.

  Marreck stepped forward and picked up a one-handed axe. Aoi followed suit, choosing a spear similar to the one she already owned, though this version was less curved and featured several barbs along the back.

  Platea muttered something about blackstone being impossible to bend enough to faithfully replicate kenary weapons—this was the closest they had been able to achieve. Finally, she handed Elryn a pair of elongated blades. Aedran watched her with curiosity; only now did it occur to him that he had never wondered what kind of weapons she used.

  Everyone admired their new arms in awe, testing their weight and balance with care. Suddenly, Aedran stood and snatched Lyara’s sword from her hands. She growled and tried to grab it back, but he placed a firm hand on her head, keeping her at arm’s length. He studied the blade closely until something made his skin prickle. At first glance, the characteristic sheen concealed it, but small protrusions ran along the edge.

  Frowning, he returned the sword to Lyara. They had been forged in haste. They would still be as hard as diamond, but not a the same level than his sword. Aedran sighed without a word and sat back down. Lyara stared at him, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes, but eventually returned to the others, who were still marveling at their weapons.

  “At least now you truly are mage hunters,” Platea said with a satisfied smile. The others nodded eagerly. “I assume you all know why these are the preferred weapons against them.”

  “Blackstone nullifies magic,” Thaelen explained. “If you wound a mage deeply enough, you can completely seal their magical channels. Most die from blood loss, or a few years later from being unable to use magic, so it’s hard to know whether recovery is even possible.”

  For a moment, the drynari forgot about his injured ears. Even for the other races, wielding such a material was a dream come true—especially for a druid warrior.

  “I hate to spoil the mood,” Platea announced, “but we need to discuss the incident from five days ago.”

  The others nodded and took their seats. Thaelen sat at the front, tilting his head slightly so he could hear better despite the bandages wrapped around it. Platea turned toward Aedran, who looked up, puzzled.

  “Shouldn’t the unit leader be giving the report?”

  “We’ve known each other for ten years,” Aedran replied warily. “What do you think I’d do?”

  Platea sighed and turned back to the group.

  “You’re lucky this is important,” she muttered under her breath, low enough that only Aedran could hear. “Otherwise, I’d force you to do it.”

  He grimaced in exasperation.

  Platea pulled from the folds of her garments the paper they had found at the scene of the knights’ deaths. Her pale hand stood out starkly against the red of the document.

  “This symbol has appeared in at least five mage-related incidents, in addition to the one you just experienced. Two of them were handled by Aedran; one by the Church of the White Child.”

  Aedran let out a low groan at the mention of the church. Lyara glanced at him with curiosity. Platea ignored the reaction, clearly used to it, and continued.

  “The other two occurred in Velkhar.”

  “In your country?” Marreck asked, raising a hand.

  “That’s right. However, since most of the incidents have taken place here, and the two in Velkhar happened near the border with the Kingdom of Veltraxia, we believe their base of operations is in this country—most likely near Veltraxis.”

  “Their base?” Aoi asked, sounding confused.

  Platea clicked her tongue, annoyed at herself for not having explained things more clearly from the start.

  “Yes. We believe this is a terrorist group supplying red camellium to the mages of Veltraxis. As far as we know, when they discover a mage before the guard does, they try to persuade them to join by offering red camellium as a gesture of goodwill.”

  The group exchanged uneasy glances. Aedran frowned and dug his nails into the wooden surface of the desk, leaving shallow marks behind.

  “From what we’ve been able to uncover, the group emerged after the Year of Absolution. And they are clearly dissatisfied with how mages have been treated ever since.”

  “Well… it’s not hard to see why,” Lyara murmured to herself, never taking her eyes off her sword.

  “We don’t know their true objectives,” Platea continued, “but those we’ve captured so far appear to be recent recruits. In contrast, during the operation five days ago, you encountered an experienced mage.”

  “The polycamelic mage…” Aedran muttered.

  Platea turned toward him.

  “Were you able to confirm it?”

  “He used seal magic and entropy magic, at the very least.”

  “Seals can’t be written in midair,” Platea countered.

  Aedran nodded grimly.

  “Unless they weren’t truly in the air.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  “The problem with polycamelic mages is that we don’t always understand how they control their magic. From what we saw, he could have used entropy to conceal the seals from sight. And he didn’t seem particularly skilled with it… or he would have killed us all instantly.”

  “He didn’t strike me as that inexperienced,” Thaelen muttered, rubbing the tips of his ears with visible irritation.

  “If he was able to completely obscure the medium he was using, then he’s category 2.8—possibly 3.2 if he can wield additional types of magic,” Platea deduced.

  Aedran nodded, clearly troubled.

  As Platea prepared to continue, Elryn slowly raised her hand. Everyone seemed surprised to see her take the initiative—herself included. She trembled simply from doing so. Platea gave her permission with a gesture.

  “I feel like I should already know this, but… what exactly is a polycamelic mage?” Elryn asked nervously.

  Aedran blinked, taken aback. He had always assumed most members of the guard had studied at least the basics of mage theory.

  “A polycamelic mage…” he began. Elryn shivered when she realized he was the one answering. “As you know, there are at least twelve known types of magic: elemental, entropic, seals, barriers, among others. Every mage is born with a form of magic engraved into their body, and with few exceptions, that means they can only cast that single type. That’s why seal and barrier mages are born already fluent in runic language, as if it were etched directly into their minds.”

  He paused briefly before continuing.

  “However, it’s not uncommon for some mages—especially those above category 2.5—to be born with two or more magics engraved into them.”

  “I’ve been wondering about something,” Aoi interrupted.

  Aedran looked at her with curiosity. She still seemed hesitant to address him directly, but was slowly coming to terms with the fact that he remained the division’s leader.

  “You seem like someone who isn’t worried about much most of the time… but when it comes to magic, it feels like you know almost everything.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “I suppose that’s true,” Aedran replied.

  He pulled out the hardcover book Kaeldric had left on the table days earlier.

  “I’ve studied mages using every scrap of information we have. The best way to kill a mage isn’t blackstone. Having the right weapon is meaningless if you can’t get close. The real key is knowing them better than they know themselves.”

  The response was blunt and final. The entire group seemed to grasp its weight. Platea glanced at him sideways, slightly surprised by how seriously Aedran was taking the matter. However, he leaned back in his chair almost immediately, making it clear he had no intention of answering further questions.

  “In short,” Platea continued, “we have no way of knowing how powerful the mages operating in this area truly are. But if a polycamelic of that level is moving around so freely, we can assume there are others of comparable strength within their ranks.”

  Marreck raised his hand.

  “Isn’t it possible that one was the leader? He’s the strongest mage we’ve seen in at least three years, as far as I know.”

  “No,” Platea replied without hesitation. “Both of them mentioned a superior. That means we’re likely dealing with someone of at least category 3.5… or—”

  She didn’t finish the sentence, but the question hung heavily in the air: what if they were facing a category 4?

  Aedran lowered his gaze to the technocamellium armor. Lysette had taken it away to adjust a few details. Then his eyes drifted to the paper bearing the symbol. It vaguely reminded him of the Red Hand—though inverted. He wondered whether there might be a direct connection between this new group and those responsible for the destruction of the City of the New Dawn.

  There was little time left to dwell on it. The meeting was interrupted by the entrance of a student.

  Aedran flinched when he saw him. The boy seemed to recognize him as well, because he stood there for a few seconds, staring. Lyara examined him closely: brown hair, blue eyes. There was nothing particularly remarkable about him.

  They regarded each other in silence until the young man shook his head and walked over to Platea. He murmured something the apprentices couldn’t hear. Platea nodded, then turned back toward the team as the student withdrew, casting one last glance at Aedran. They exchanged a subtle nod before the boy disappeared through the door.

  “Well,” Platea said with resignation, “it seems we won’t have time to get bored.”

  She paused briefly.

  “We have a mission.”

  Lyara was surprised to find herself once again in the neighborhoods of the Third Circle. Too many incidents seemed to be happening in that part of the city. They hadn’t yet confirmed whether a mage was responsible, but if so, the pattern was beginning to look disturbingly clear.

  The house was fairly large, even by Third Circle standards. Aedran surveyed the property with evident irritation. Lyara noticed that, for once, he wasn’t carving his usual marks; he was wearing his armor again, though he didn’t seem particularly eager to use it.

  Platea had remained at headquarters. A noble of her standing couldn’t involve herself directly without risking a scandal—especially if the monarch of Velkhar were to find out.

  The group entered the residence. The forensics team had already completed their preliminary sweep: no traces of camellium, no clear signs of magic outside. Even so, given the nature of the report, further investigation was required. According to the file, the property emanated a strange energy, and the division had been asked to examine it before ruling out the presence of red camellium entirely—and thus gain authorization to search the house on their own.

  They’re just letting us go in so they don’t have to take the risk themselves, Lyara thought as they began to explore.

  The residence was surprisingly cozy. A fire crackled softly in the fireplace, bathing the living room in warm light, and the steady sound of the flames was the only thing breaking the silence.

  The construction appeared recent. It showed in the furniture, which looked nearly fresh from the workshop, and in the pristine walls. Lyara guessed it belonged to a family that had recently risen from the Fourth Circle.

  “Is it common for people to move up in class in this city?” Thaelen asked, puzzled, as he browsed the library.

  Lyara looked up, thoughtful for a moment.

  “It depends on the era, but it’s not that unusual for a family to move from one circle to another if they manage to accumulate enough wealth,” she explained, pulling out a book and skimming its contents. It was an extensive collection of recipes. “In Veltraxis, the only rank determined by birth is the nobility—and even then, it’s limited to the Lord’s counselors, who are chosen from within the guard itself. Even so, it’s not easy. Many families take up to five generations just to rise a single circle, and reaching the bourgeoisie through labor alone is extremely difficult. My family managed it by developing the most important trade routes in Veltraxis. I suppose that as long as it isn’t impossible, it’s not so bad.”

  “I don’t fully understand it,” Thaelen admitted.

  “What do you mean?”

  “In the Dryanri Forest, our rank is determined at birth,” he explained. “It depends on both our parents and our development during the first five years of life, and it’s the rank you die with. It’s an elegant system—stable in the long term. The fact that yours depends solely on money—a subjective concept even for your own race—makes me think many incompetents rise thanks to advantages they never earned themselves.”

  “I suppose,” Lyara replied calmly. “I won’t deny there are plenty of rich idiots who have no idea where they’re standing. But yours seems far too arbitrary to me. Defining an entire life by an infant’s performance and lineage may suit your people, but it’s also why you’ve been stagnant for two thousand years.”

  She smiled faintly. After all, she was a bourgeois born into a gilded cradle… and yet she had still been able to reject noble obligations.

  “Being satisfied with our society isn’t the same as being stagnant,” Thaelen growled, visibly irritated.

  “If you’re so satisfied,” Lyara asked, “then why are you in Veltraxis?”

  Thaelen fell silent for a few seconds before answering.

  “Because my father is an idiot and committed the crime of impregnating a human… and because I’m an idiot too, for being overly sentimental. I abandoned my post to look for my brother. A half-blood. That alone proves they’re right—I carry the same foolish blood as my father.”

  Lyara noticed his hands trembling as he clutched the books, his gaze rigid, clearly longing for the druid forest.

  “I don’t think you’re an idiot for doing that,” she said without lifting her eyes from the page. “I actually think it’s something beautiful. To me, the idiots are them—for forcing you to choose between your position and your brother.”

  Lyara looked up and offered him a broad smile. Thaelen blushed instantly and lowered his gaze.

  “You… have no idea what you’re talking about,” he muttered, trying to hide the redness in his cheeks.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Lyara admitted, stepping closer and giving him a light tap on the chest. “Introduce me to your brother someday. If he’s even half as kind as you, then there’s nothing wrong with your blood.”

  She stepped away before he could reply. Thaelen stood frozen for a few seconds before shaking his head and refocusing on examining the house.

  “It doesn’t look like there’s anything strange here,” Marreck said to Elryn as they explored the second floor, moving from room to room.

  The house was completely dark. All the windows seemed to be covered with planks or thick curtains; they weren’t sure why. At first glance, everything looked normal and orderly, though for some reason the smell of alcohol was overwhelming.

  “I asked some of the neighbors,” Marreck continued. “According to them, it was a normal family—pleasant, even. But over the past few weeks they started acting strangely: first withdrawn, then erratic, and this last week… aggressive.”

  “Sounds like a horror story. Did a demon come and steal their souls?” Elryn joked, pointing the oil flashlight at herself and exaggerating a creepy expression.

  Marreck let out a small laugh before continuing his inspection.

  “That’s the first joke I’ve heard you make.”

  “Well, Aedran isn’t around,” she replied with a shrug. “He’s so terrifying I can’t even think straight when he’s nearby.”

  Marreck nodded with an understanding smile.

  “And I’ve always liked horror stories,” Elryn added. “My father used to tell them to me before bed when I was little.”

  “Mine too,” Marreck said. “But I always ended up having nightmares about ghosts and demons, so my mother eventually forbade him after scolding him.”

  They both laughed softly.

  They entered one of the rooms. It was a child’s bedroom, filled with toys and brightly colored clothes. The stench hit them immediately.

  They spun around in shock when they saw the corpse of an urban lemur in an advanced state of decay, abandoned on the play table. They looked at each other for a second, visibly disturbed, then left the room without a word, carefully closing the door to keep the smell from spreading through the house.

  Only two doors remained.

  Every step made the wooden floor creak as if it might give way at any moment. They moved down the hallway to the second-to-last door. Marreck took a deep breath, hoping not to find another corpse, and turned the handle.

  They shone their light inside and both let out a sigh of relief: it was a storage room packed with liquor bottles stacked on shelves.

  Some bottles lay shattered on the floor, their contents seeping between the floorboards.

  “No wonder it smelled so strongly of alcohol,” Marreck muttered. He dipped a finger into the liquid and tasted it. “That’s pretty strong.”

  “Don’t tell Aedran,” Elryn whispered, “or he might drink the evidence.”

  Marreck burst into laughter, quickly stifling it.

  “That was a good one,” he admitted.

  Elryn smiled faintly to herself.

  They left the storage room and stopped in front of the final door. They exchanged nervous glances, bracing themselves for the possibility of something even worse. With a shared nod, they grabbed the handle and opened it.

  It led to a narrow staircase going up.

  “An attic? That’s unusual,” Marreck said as they began to climb.

  A faint light filtered through the door at the top of the stairs.

  Lyara entered the main hall, the room where guests would most likely gather. Thaelen had stayed behind in the library, claiming he wanted to keep checking the books. Lyara suspected he actually intended to steal a couple, but she didn’t mind.

  So far, they still hadn’t found a single trace of the house’s owners.

  She explored the room calmly until the beam of her flashlight swept across one of the walls—and stopped dead.

  Aedran was standing beside it, completely motionless.

  Lyara stepped closer, intrigued.

  “Hey, lone hunter, I know investigating isn’t exactly your thing, but you don’t need to inspect every single brick,” she teased.

  Aedran didn’t respond. He kept staring at the wall, his red eyes gleaming with restrained irritation.

  Lyara followed his gaze and aimed her flashlight at the spot he was watching.

  Her eyes widened.

  A crimson stain stretched across the stone, forming an uneven message that still gleamed in the firelight.

  “‘There is no hope,’” Lyara read aloud, a chill crawling up her spine.

  “A pretty subtle message, don’t you think?” Aedran remarked. He ran a hand along the wall, and some of the red substance clung to his fingers. “It’s still fresh.”

  “Is that… real blood?” Lyara asked nervously.

  Aedran extended his hand toward her.

  “Want to taste it?”

  Lyara stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

  Aedran chuckled and pointed toward a corner of the floor. Lyara immediately lowered her flashlight. There, right where the blood trail began, lay a gutted boar. Understanding dawned on her at once, and she let out a tense breath. Aedran kept laughing under his breath.

  She punched him in the side. He didn’t even bother pretending it hurt.

  “You’re a piece of shit. You nearly scared me to death.”

  “I didn’t think a bourgeois girl swore that much.”

  “That’s your fault!”

  Aedran was still laughing to himself when both of them suddenly froze.

  A sharp scream echoed from the second floor.

  “Was that…?”

  “Elryn’s voice.”

  They took off running immediately. Thaelen caught up to them on the stairs. They shot down the hallway like bullets, burst through the last door, and rushed into the attic without a second thought.

  Marreck stood frozen at the entrance.

  Aedran passed him and his eyes flew open.

  The attic was a wide room, covered in dozens of lit candles for no apparent reason. Liquor bottles were scattered everywhere. In the center, drops of blood fell rhythmically onto the wooden floor. Near several overturned chairs, Elryn was trembling on the ground.

  Lyara entered behind Aedran and stifled a scream, clapping her hands over her mouth. Her legs began to shake.

  Both of them felt their skin prickle, as if lightning had just struck beside them.

  Suspended above the chairs were five people, lifted off the ground. Their faces were bluish, and blood mixed with foam dripped from their bitten lips.

  Aedran stepped closer. What had happened was obvious—but he needed to be sure.

  His eyes narrowed into an unreadable expression—fear, rage, revulsion—as he took in the ropes tightened around their necks.

  End of Chapter 12.

  Patreon: 14 chapters in advance