In a dim, oppressive chamber illuminated only by the faint moonlight filtering through a solitary window, Emelia was shackled to a wooden pillar, her mouth gagged with a coarse cloth to stifle any cries. She was not awake—no, she was unconscious, her mind adrift in a void of darkness.
As time crept by, Emelia’s eyelids fluttered open, her vision blurred and her senses disoriented. She struggled to piece together her surroundings, her heart pounding as the grim reality dawned upon her: her hands were bound, her mouth silenced, and she was trapped in an unfamiliar, foreboding place.
Panic surged through her veins, her breath coming in ragged gasps. A sharp pain radiated from her abdomen, forcing her to curl her legs inward, seeking solace in the fetal position as she tried to steady her breathing. Her gaze drifted upward to the cracked ceiling, and fragments of memory began to resurface.
She had been in Miller’s house, in her modest laboratory, engrossed in her work. Jaxith had entrusted her with a task, and she had finally succeeded.
“Finally! This gland proved to be a formidable challenge, but as I anticipated, a volatile liquid pressurized in a small vial is the optimal solution. It’s already in liquid form upon excretion, but the moment this creature expels it, it transforms into gas—a testament to its extreme volatility. It took considerable effort, but the knowledge gained was invaluable,” Emelia murmured with a satisfied smile, cradling the delicate glass vial in her hand.
“Now, all that remains is to prepare the antiserum,” she declared, placing the vial into her satchel alongside two smaller containers. Her eyes then fell upon the faintly glowing blue stones resting on a nearby shelf—the guiding stones Jaxith had given her. She approached them with a sense of reverence and retrieved them.
“How could I forget about you?” she quipped sarcastically, her spirits high. She was elated to have been of assistance to Jaxith, who had shown such unwavering dedication to helping Irene. It was a noble endeavor, one that transcended the boundaries of race or origin. Even Miller, who disapproved of Jaxith’s methods, held a grudging respect for him.
Emelia was preparing to depart, her satchel slung over her shoulder, when she paused before a mirror to adjust her appearance. Her hand drifted to her lower abdomen, where a subtle yet unmistakable bulge hinted at her pregnancy—she was in the late stages of her third trimester.
Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door interrupted her reverie. She hastily smoothed her hair and straightened her attire before answering. Standing before her was a burly man—Shisk!
“Pardon the intrusion, young lady. I apologize for the disturbance,” Shisk said with feigned politeness.
“No disturbance at all. I was just about to leave,” Emelia replied courteously.
“It seems my timing is unfortunate. I’m not from these parts, but I’ve heard you’re the finest alchemist in the region. I was hoping to discuss a potential business venture, but it appears I’ve arrived too late,” Shisk remarked, his tone deceptively amiable.
“Oh, I understand. However, this isn’t my shop—my establishment is in Bernia. You’re welcome to visit me there, but I regret I have nothing to show you here,” Emelia explained, stepping outside and closing the door behind her.
“It matters little. You’ve already fulfilled your role,” Shisk replied with a chilling smile.
“What do you mean by my—?” Emelia began, but her words were cut short as a brutal blow to the back of her head sent her crumpling into Shisk’s arms.
“Quickly, load her into the carriage. We can’t afford any witnesses,” Shisk commanded the guard who had struck her. They swiftly carried her away, leaving no trace of their presence.
Now, as Emelia lay bound in the dimly lit room, the memories of her abduction flooded back. She had no inkling of who her captors were or what they sought from her, but fear gripped her heart like a vice.
As her breathing steadied, she became aware of another presence in the room. Turning her head, she glimpsed a figure similarly bound—a petite girl with short red hair and pale skin. It was Irene, unconscious and vulnerable!
“Mmmph!” Emelia attempted to rouse Irene with muffled cries, but her efforts were futile. Irene appeared to be heavily sedated, her breathing slow and shallow.
Meanwhile, outside the room, John was meticulously examining Jaxith’s sword, his fascination evident.
“Remarkable. The craftsmanship of this blade is unparalleled,” John marveled.
“Why the admiration? It emits no energy—it’s little more than a cumbersome, impractical weapon,” Edward remarked dismissively.
“That’s precisely the point. The blade’s sharpness, combined with its unparalleled rigidity and the wielder’s mastery of the negative abyss, renders it lethally efficient. It requires no divine energy source from the metal—its power lies in sheer force. But that’s not all. I believe this sword harbors a secret,” John mused, his fingers tracing the intricate golden insignia near the hilt.
“I wasn’t aware you had such an obsession with weaponry. Enlighten me, then—what’s this secret?” Edward quipped sarcastically.
“Observe this mark,” John instructed, pointing to the insignia.
“Yes, I see it. An emblem, perhaps? Likely the blacksmith’s signature,” Edward speculated.
“No, it’s not engraved. It’s something far more intricate,” John explained, his fingers brushing over the subtle indentation surrounding the insignia.
“What do you mean? If it’s not engraved, then what is it?” Edward pressed.
“This circular area is slightly recessed. You can feel it if you run your fingers over it. It’s a mechanical feature, one crafted by only a handful of blacksmiths in Legnica. And the metal—it’s not from Vidin. It’s a rare alloy, found only in the deepest mines,” John elaborated, his tone brimming with intrigue.
“Legnica? Are you suggesting the hunter hails from there?” Edward asked, his surprise evident.
“Perhaps. That’s what I aim to uncover. Why would Lord Blamore himself warn us about him? I’ve already neutralized him, but why the caution? Why not act swiftly?” John pondered aloud.
“What method did you employ, by the way?” Edward inquired.
“A poison of my own creation, concocted during my alchemical studies in Reldret. Its components were fused through dark incantations, rendering it lethally potent. Once the victim succumbs, even their corpse becomes toxic to anyone who touches it. A truly formidable weapon,” John explained with a hint of pride.
“Hence your instruction to Shisk to avoid contact with the body,” Edward deduced.
“Precisely,” John affirmed.
“But why did you insist on retrieving the sword?” Edward pressed.
“I sought to glean more about his origins. The sword may hold clues to his past and his connection to the girl. There may be other adversaries at play. That’s why I need you to investigate any links between the negative abyss and Legnica. To my knowledge, Vidin has no ties to such forbidden arts. It was Lord Blamore who first brought it to my attention, but I lacked the time to delve deeper. Perhaps your extensive collection of cultural texts may yield some insight,” John suggested.
“Though it may be inconsequential now, I’ll see what I can uncover,” Edward conceded.
“Thank you, Edward,” John acknowledged.
“I must admit, John, you continue to impress me. Truly, the prodigy of Mr. Alphonse. I can already envision the accolades you’ll receive. You took a calculated risk and executed it flawlessly. Kidnapping the innkeeper’s daughter to coerce him into poisoning the hunter and drugging the hybrid was a masterstroke. Risky, yes, but you pulled it off,” Edward praised.
“He trusted the innkeeper implicitly. After the events in Orstone, he sought refuge here, and his trust in the man was absolute. That’s why I chose to exploit him—he was the perfect pawn to eliminate the hunter without direct confrontation,” John explained with calculated precision.
“I never doubted you, John. Look at what you’ve accomplished. You’ve captured the girl whom even the most formidable dark caster feared the man accompanying her. I was concerned you might falter, but those fears are now laid to rest. You’ve orchestrated everything seamlessly,” Edward commended.
“Speaking of which, summon Shisk. He was to report on the disposition of the witnesses,” John instructed.
“I’ll fetch him,” Edward replied before exiting the room.
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John turned his attention to Emelia’s satchel, which lay on a nearby table. He opened it with deliberate care, his eyes scanning its contents. Among the mundane items, he found the vial of volatile liquid, the guiding stones, and the two smaller containers. He examined them closely, intrigued by the black liquid’s peculiar properties.
As he pondered their significance, Edward returned with Shisk in tow.
“Have your men dealt with the farmer and the lumberjacks?” John inquired sternly.
“Yes, Mr. John. They’ve been neutralized, and no trace of them remains,” Shisk confirmed.
“Excellent. Now, proceed to the inn and dispose of the innkeeper. Ensure all bodies are removed. The external effects of the poison should have dissipated from the hunter’s corpse by now. Be discreet,” John commanded.
“Of course, Mr. John,” Shisk replied before departing with a contingent of guards.
“What now?” Edward asked.
“Inform my father, then investigate the leads I provided regarding the hunter,” John instructed.
“Very well. But you’re overlooking one detail—there’s still one individual who requires attention,” Edward remarked, gesturing toward the door at the room’s far end.
“I’m aware. I’ll handle her personally. Focus on uncovering any useful information about the hunter,” John replied.
“As you wish. If you find yourself unable to proceed, simply delegate the task to a guard,” Edward suggested.
“No,” John asserted, retrieving a dagger from a drawer in his desk.
“This is something I must do myself,” he declared with grim determination.
“Very well. I’ll take my leave. We must depart tonight before suspicions arise and to reach Mr. Alphonse before he grows concerned for your safety,” Edward said before exiting.
John’s thoughts turned inward as he clutched the dagger.
“I’m returning home, Father, but this time, I return victorious. I bring the honor you always doubted I could achieve,” he thought, his resolve hardening.
He approached the table where Emelia’s satchel lay, retrieving it before making his way to the door. As he entered the room, the dim light revealed Emelia’s terrified expression. Her muffled cries grew more frantic as she noticed the dagger in his hand.
John knelt before her, his demeanor calm yet menacing. He opened the satchel and retrieved the vial and the two smaller containers.
“Four years at the Fienberg Academy, the pinnacle of alchemical study across the continent, yet this vial has captured my curiosity,” John remarked, holding the vial aloft.
“I know you’re afraid, but if you refuse to cooperate, I see no reason to spare your life,” he threatened, his voice cold and unyielding.
“I’ll remove the gag, and if you value your life, you’ll answer my questions,” John stated before untying the cloth from her mouth.
Emelia took a shuddering breath, her mind racing. She knew screaming would be futile—she was likely far from any help.
“Now, tell me—what are these?” John demanded, his gaze piercing.
“Where’s my father? Irene is here—what’s happening?” Emelia stammered, her fear overwhelming her.
“Focus on my question,” John snapped, his patience wearing thin.
“You’re the ones after her, aren’t you?” Emelia whispered, her voice trembling.
“It seems the hunter divulged more than he should have. You were creating these for him, weren’t you?” John pressed, his smile devoid of warmth.
“Please, we were only helping a friend in need. At least tell me my father is safe,” Emelia pleaded, tears welling in her eyes.
“He’s alive—for now. You should be more concerned about your own fate,” John retorted.
Emelia, desperate to buy time, decided to divulge some information. She clung to the hope that Jaxith might still be out there, searching for a way to rescue them.
“It’s an Onohly hallucinogenic bomb. I extracted the substance from the gland that produces its mist, then stabilized it before it could vaporize,” Emelia explained.
“Because it’s volatile—the same substance that creates the infamous dreaming mist of those rare creatures. Ingenious. And these vials must contain the antiserum, allowing him to use it without succumbing to its effects,” John deduced.
Emelia nodded, her gaze fixed on the ground.
“What purpose does he have for such a device?” John inquired.
“I don’t know. He only asked me to create something useful from the gland to aid him in dire situations while helping Irene,” Emelia replied.
“I see. The poor hunter never had the chance to witness your handiwork,” John remarked with a sinister smile. Emelia looked at him in fear.
“He’s done.” John added while bearing the same sinister smile.
Emelia’s heart sank as the weight of his words struck her. Jaxith was dead. The one person who could have saved them was gone. Her breathing grew labored, her vision blurred by tears. She cared deeply for Jaxith, and she knew Miller would be devastated. Irene, too, would be shattered by the news.
As Emelia’s mind spiraled into despair, she failed to notice John retrieving the dagger and positioning it at her throat.
“No, please,” she begged, her voice barely a whisper.
“You know too much. I have no choice,” John stated, his voice devoid of emotion.
“I’m begging you—spare me. I won’t tell anyone. Leave my father and Irene alone. They don’t deserve this. Please, have mercy,” Emelia pleaded, her tears streaming down her face.
John hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind.
“You’re too feeble for a man, my son isn’t meant to be that fragile. You bear my name but possess none of my strength,” John recalled, his father’s venomous words echoing in his mind as he sat on a bench, his face and clothes smeared with blood—though not his own. It had been two or three years since that moment, but the memory was seared into his soul. His father had berated him mercilessly, indifferent to John’s state of shock, his voice dripping with disdain.
“You couldn’t even complete your ritual correctly, a pitiful excuse for a follower of our cause,” Alphonse spat, his rage palpable. Edward stood nearby, attempting to intervene.
“Mr. Alphonse, I understand your anger, but John is clearly in shock. Perhaps a gentler approach—” Edward began, but Alphonse cut him off with a snarl.
“Of course he’s in shock. Only a true man can endure such trials. Weaklings like my son crumble like children when their toys are taken away,” Alphonse sneered before storming off, leaving John to his torment.
Now, as John gripped the dagger, the memory of that day surged through him, fueling his resolve. No more hesitation. No more fear. He would finish this, and it would all be over. The blade pressed against Emelia’s throat, a thin line of blood trickling down. One swift motion to the left, and her life would be extinguished.
“Please, I’m pregnant. Stop,” Emelia pleaded, her voice trembling with desperation, tears streaming down her face. John froze, his hand trembling as he moved it to her lower abdomen, feeling the faint swell beneath his fingers.
“You’re… you’re really pregnant,” John stammered, his voice laced with dread. Emelia nodded weakly, her eyes filled with despair. In that moment, John was thrust into a trance, a flood of unwanted memories crashing over him.
“I’m pregnant, John. That was my gift to you,” a woman’s voice echoed in his mind. She was bound to a bed, the floor around her glowing with an ominous red light. John stood at the edge of the circle, clad in the same bloodstained clothes from the day his father had scorned him. The woman’s tear-streaked face turned to him, her eyes filled with regret as the glow Intensified, accompanied by horrifying, otherworldly sounds.
“No, no, no!” John cried out, his voice breaking as he lunged into the circle, desperate to stop what was unfolding. The room erupted with deafening roars, and the memory consumed him.
Back in the present, John dropped the dagger, stumbling backward, his eyes wide with terror as he stared at Emelia. She watched him, bewildered, as he snatched the blade from the floor and bolted from the room, his mind a tempest of guilt, fear, and unresolved anguish.
Back at the inn, Shisk and three guards loitered outside, their presence menacing, while two others stood inside, looming over Miller like vultures circling their prey.
“Where’s my daughter? You promised you’d bring her back. Jaxith is surely dead by now,” Miller spat, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and despair. Before he could utter another word, one of the guards drew his sword with a cold, calculated precision and plunged it into Miller’s chest.
“AHHHHH!” Miller’s agonized scream tore through the air as he crumpled against the counter, blood seeping through his fingers as he clutched the wound.
“Sorry, old man. This isn’t a game for the naïve,” the guard sneered, his voice dripping with contempt as he withdrew the blade.
“The old one thought it’s a fairy tale, although friends don’t poison each other in fairy tales,” the second guard added with a cruel chuckle, the two of them reveling in their treachery. Miller’s eyes widened in horror as the weight of his betrayal crashed down on him. He had condemned the man who once saved his daughter, and now he was paying the ultimate price.
“Wait a minute,” the first guard muttered, his tone shifting to suspicion. “Wasn’t the hunter supposed to be at the front of this room?”
“You’re imagining things. He was further inside. You wouldn’t see him from here,” the second guard replied dismissively. “I’ll call Shisk to clean up this mess.” He strode toward the exit, leaving his companion to investigate the room where Jaxith’s body presumably lay.
“I’m sorry, Jaxith,” Miller whispered, his voice barely audible as his eyes fluttered shut, his strength fading with each labored breath.
Outside, the second guard approached Shisk. “We’re done inside. Time to move the bodies,” he announced, his tone casual, as if discussing nothing more than disposing of trash.
“Keep your eyes sharp. Warn us if anyone approaches,” Shisk barked at one of the three guards stationed outside.
“Understood,” the guard replied, his voice steady but his eyes darting nervously.
“Good. You two, follow me inside,” Shisk commanded, turning toward the inn. But as he did, his gaze fell upon the darkened windows. The lamps inside, which had been burning moments ago, were now extinguished, casting the inn into an eerie, impenetrable blackness.
“Who turned off the lamps?” Shisk demanded, his voice sharp with suspicion. The guard who had just exited the inn turned, his face paling as he noticed the sudden darkness.
“That bastard must be playing games again,” the guard muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. Shisk’s eyes narrowed as he peered into the void, his instincts screaming that something was terribly wrong.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered as one of the side windows exploded outward, glass shards scattering like shrapnel. A heavy object was hurled through the broken pane, landing with a sickening thud on the ground outside. The guards turned, their eyes widening in horror as they recognized the headless corpse of their comrade—the guard who had stayed behind to check on Jaxith!
“What the fuck?!” one of the guards exclaimed, his voice cracking under the weight of his terror. Before they could process the gruesome sight, something rolled out from the entrance of the inn. It was the severed head of their fallen companion, its lifeless eyes staring up at them as it came to a halt at their feet.
The guards stumbled back, their swords drawn but their hands trembling. Shisk’s breath hitched as he stared into the abyss of the inn’s darkened interior. The sound of calm, deliberate footsteps echoed from within, growing louder with each passing second. Then, a silhouette emerged from the shadows, its features gradually coming into view.
Silver hair and beard glinted in the faint moonlight, and piercing scarlet eyes burned with an otherworldly intensity. The dark-blue coat he wore was stained with blood, and his face was smeared with the crimson evidence of his wrath. Jaxith stood at the entrance of the inn, his presence radiating an aura of cold, unrelenting fury.
“By the gods! What is this?!” the guard who had been inside stammered, his voice barely a whisper. The others stood paralyzed, their courage crumbling like sand beneath their feet. Shisk’s mind reeled, refusing to accept what his eyes were telling him. The hunter—the man they had left for dead—was standing before them, resurrected and radiating vengeance!
Jaxith’s gaze swept over them, his expression unreadable but his eyes blazing with a promise of retribution. The air grew heavy, suffused with the stench of blood and fear. The guards, once confident in their cruelty, now stood on the precipice of their own doom, their fate sealed by the return of the man they had underestimated.