----------------------------------------
After Siegfried’s departure from Pelladia, the collaborative effort between Alchemist Corp and Hunter Guild kicked off the first phase of the Hunter Guild Tourney: nominations and voting.
Hunters flocked to alchemist workshops scattered across the continent, stepping into bustling halls to cast their nominations. Each hunter could distribute four votes among their peers—other mana weapon wielders—but self-nominations were strictly prohibited. This week-long process would determine the eight most-voted hunters from each region, who would advance to the tournament.
Despite the lukewarm reception of the previous tournament three years ago, Renn’s meteoric rise had reignited excitement.
Her recent triumph over the monstrous Balehorn four months ago had not only secured her reputation as a rising star in the hunter community but also as the last surviving heir to Veledot’s royal bloodline. Her name echoed far and wide, crossing regional borders and sparking whispers of anticipation.
The Mainland was abuzz with talk of a potential showdown: Renn, the young prodigy, versus Siegfried, the reigning champion. Yet the public weren’t the only ones eagerly awaiting the event.
----------------------------------------
Far to the south, in a sprawling desert city, a hooded figure navigated the sun-bleached streets, his cloak billowing lightly in the dry breeze. He moved purposefully, the bustling market sounds fading as he entered the local alchemist workshop. Without hesitation, he approached the receptionist at the counter.
The young woman looked up, offering a practiced smile. “Hello, sir! How can I assist you?”
The man pulled a badge from his cloak, its familiar markings gleaming faintly. Placing it on the counter, he smiled faintly. “I need access to the telecommunication device.”
Her eyes widened as she recognized the insignia of an alchemist badge. Yet something about the man—the roughness of his voice, the way his presence commanded unease—didn’t match the refined image of an alchemist. Nevertheless, protocol demanded compliance. She nodded, gesturing him towards the staircase.
On the second floor, an attendant set up the device in a dimly lit room. Once the machine flickered to life, the man was left alone with the glowing screen.
Two faces soon materialized on the display. One was a blond man with neatly combed hair and glasses, his white coat pristine. The other belonged to a woman dressed in a sleek purple gown, her dark curly hair swept into a high ponytail. She held a fur fan in one hand, exuding an air of composed authority.
“Late as always, Martim,” the woman said, her voice clipped with disapproval.
Martim pulled back his hood, revealing his rugged features and weathered brown hair. “You know damn well why I’m late, Merlina,” he snapped. “Prince Howl’s sniffing around my cult. Cleaning up that mess took time.”
“Perhaps your men shouldn’t have been so sloppy,” the blond man interjected with a smirk, adjusting his glasses. “Their failure reflects on their leader, wouldn’t you agree?”
Martim shot him a glare. “Leclarc, don’t act like you’re above this. If I’m exposed, it’ll lead straight back to your cult. A little support wouldn’t hurt.”
Leclarc rested his chin on his interlaced fingers, his hazel eyes gleaming behind the lenses. “I didn’t summon this meeting to discuss your incompetence. We need to focus on our next move. With the Hunter Guild Tourney starting, the hunters are finally distracted—except for Howl Cladun, of course.”
Martim raised a skeptical brow. “What are you planning now? With hunters and alchemists breathing down our necks, it’s not exactly easy to—”
“Martim,” Merlina interrupted sharply, her pink eyes narrowing as she leaned closer to the screen. “What’s that behind you? On the floor.”
“What?” He turned quickly, his expression shifting from irritation to confusion. Dark purple fog crept along the ground, thickening with each passing second.
“Wh-what the…” Martim’s voice faltered as the sinister mist began to coil upwards.
“Is that normal down south? Evil smoke randomly forming indoors?” Merlina asked, fanning herself lightly. Though her question carried a playful tone, there was an edge of unease in her voice.
Leclarc remained silent, his eyes fixed on the screen. Unlike Merlina, he wasn’t concerned about Martim’s well-being. Instead, he seemed... intrigued by the fog’s unusual behavior.
Before either could comment further, the fog surged upward, spreading through the room like a living force. Within seconds, it became so thick that Martim’s figure was reduced to a faint silhouette on the screen.
“Martim?!” Merlina leaned closer, her eyes narrowing.
Martim flailed within the dense mist, his breathing becoming labored as the room’s oxygen seemed to dwindle. Panic set in as he staggered blindly, searching for an escape. The fog carried no scent, but every breath felt heavier than the last.
“What the hell is this—?!” he started to shout.
Suddenly, a smaller silhouette emerged from the haze and launched itself at him. Martim stumbled back as a flurry of blows landed, one after another. Each strike was precise and relentless, leaving him groaning in pain and disoriented.
From the screen, Merlina and Leclarc watched the assault unfold, their expressions unreadable. The sound of fists meeting flesh echoed through the connection, accompanied by Martim’s pained grunts.
Finally, with a heavy thud, Martim collapsed to the ground. The smaller figure stood over him, unmoving as the fog began to dissipate, revealing the room once more.
“You’re tougher than I thought,” came a cheerful voice, cutting through the silence. “Or maybe I just held back too much, trying not to kill you with my bare hands.”
As the mist cleared, the figure stepped into view—a young man with golden hair and fiery red eyes. He grinned, his striking appearance marred only by the hint of menace in his gaze.
“You are…” Leclarc muttered, his brow furrowing as he stared at the newcomer on the screen.
The young man smirked, casually gesturing to Martim’s battered form on the metallic floor. “Weren’t you talking about me earlier? We can continue your meeting—I’ll be listening in his place.”
Merlina’s eyes lit up with recognition, a sly smile curling her lips. “Oooh, so you’re the famous Howl Cladun,” she purred, her voice dripping with amusement. “You’re even cuter than I thought.”
“How…” Martim rasped, struggling to lift his head. “I got rid of everything—every trace. How did you find me?!”
“Typical Martim,” Leclarc remarked with a dismissive wave. “Failing the one task he was given. Honestly, I’m not surprised.”
“Shut up, Leclarc!” Martim snapped, though his voice was weak and trembling.
Howl shifted his attention to the screen, crossing his arms. His red eyes glinted with a mixture of annoyance and challenge. “You two seem awfully calm for people who just watched your so-called ally get taken down. Aren’t you worried he’ll rat you out once we start torturing him?”
“Torture?!” Martim’s voice cracked in terror.
“Ally?” Merlina giggled, hiding her mouth behind her fan. “Oh, sweetie, he’s just a business partner. And a bad one at that.”
Leclarc adjusted his glasses, his sharp gaze cutting through the tension. “Whatever information you get from him is irrelevant. Do you really think you’re making progress? That you can stop what’s coming?”
Howl’s eyes narrowed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Merlina leaned in, her pink eyes sparkling with amusement. “As if we’d tell you, you cute dummy!”
Leclarc’s tone grew colder. “The prophecy is immutable. The ancient beasts will rise, their power unmatched. That’s why we serve them—to bask in their mercy and strength.”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
His voice dropped lower, laced with menace. “And to crush anyone foolish enough to stand in their way.”
“Oh yeah?” Howl smirked, his defiance cutting through the room like a blade. “After I’m done with Vulferos’s cult, I’m coming for you two next.”
Leclarc gave a rare smile, the gesture as chilling as it was amused. “We’ll be waiting. In the meantime, enjoy the show we have planned for you.”
With that, the transmission cut off, leaving the room in silence.
Howl clicked his tongue in irritation, glancing down at Martim. The cult leaders’ calmness unnerved him—they were either bluffing or far more prepared than he’d anticipated.
Exiting the workshop, Howl effortlessly hoisted Martim’s unconscious body over his shoulder, his enhanced strength bolstered by Edgar’s Mana coursing through him. The golden gleam of his scimitar shimmered faintly, its enhancement core subtly amplifying his abilities.
Waiting outside, Bellena stood at attention, her dancer-like attire catching the desert breeze. A small entourage of Cladun’s soldiers, handpicked by Howl for their loyalty, knelt as he approached.
“Your Highness,” Bellena said with a graceful bow, her voice smooth yet carrying an undercurrent of admiration. “Congratulations on another mission well done.”
The soldiers echoed her sentiment with a resounding, “Your Highness!” as they rose from their positions.
Howl reached them and unceremoniously dropped Martim onto the ground with a dull thud. “Thanks,” he said, brushing sand off his hands. “But don’t get too comfortable. This is just the beginning. Take this man back to Cladun and throw him into the dungeons. I’ll catch up later.”
“Yes, sir!” the soldiers replied in unison before quickly securing Martim and marching away.
As their figures disappeared into the distance, Bellena stepped closer. Her tone softened, though her professionalism remained intact. “What are your next orders, Your Highness?”
“We’re heading to Cladun’s alchemist workshop,” Howl said, his usual confident grin dimming slightly. “There’s someone I need to talk to.”
----------------------------------------
Back in Cladun, Howl strode through the bustling workshop, his presence turning heads as hunters gathered on the first floor to cast their votes for the upcoming Hunter Guild Tourney. Bellena stayed below, her posture poised yet relaxed, blending seamlessly with the crowd.
Howl wasted no time ascending to the second floor, where a stationed alchemist was already preparing the telecommunication device for him. The hum of mana-powered machinery filled the room as the screen flickered to life, and Velle’s sharp gaze locked onto him through the display.
“Privacy,” Howl ordered curtly, his tone leaving no room for debate. The alchemist bowed and stepped out, shutting the door behind them.
Howl leaned against the desk, his usual swagger absent. Without preamble, he launched into a detailed account of his recent mission: Martim’s capture, the cult leader’s unsettling calm, and, most importantly, the discovery that the cultists carried alchemist badges granting them access to restricted workshop areas. His voice tightened as he reached the heart of the matter.
“…Did you know Alchemist Corp was involved with them?” he demanded, his words heavy with suspicion. The faint glow from the screen illuminated the tension etched across his face.
Velle’s expression didn’t falter. She maintained her composure, her voice steady. “No. This is the first I’ve heard of the cult leaders. You’re saying they had alchemist badges and could access our upper floors?”
“Exactly,” Howl confirmed, his gaze unyielding. “You told me staff follow protocol if someone presents a badge. That means they didn’t know who they were dealing with. But someone with access—someone like you—must’ve known.”
Velle’s brows furrowed, her neutral mask slipping slightly. “Are you accusing me of betraying the Corp? Of working with them?”
He shrugged, his tone laced with frustration. “I don’t know. You tell me. The cult leaders didn’t even flinch when I took one of them down. It’s like they knew I was coming or already had backup plans in motion.”
Velle’s gaze lowered, her usually sharp demeanor momentarily giving way to contemplation. After a beat of silence, she spoke, her voice steady but tinged with concern. “A few days ago, Coby—the former king of Veledot—escaped from prison while Renn was away. The timing’s suspicious. I think we have a spy among us.”
“Of course you do,” Howl scoffed, his words dripping with sarcasm. “You’re always the one coming up with something, aren’t you? Maybe a bit too often.”
Her head snapped up, her brows furrowing. “Howl, are you serious?”
“Can you blame me for asking?” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “You’re the one tied to headquarters, the one with all the inside connections, the one who always decides what we do next. So tell me—how many people did you inform about my plan to hit Vulferos’ cult?”
“That—” Velle began, but her words faltered. She glanced away, her brows knitting together in thought. Her hesitation only stoked Howl’s frustration.
“They mentioned the Hunter Guild Tourney,” he continued, straightening up. “I’ll probably qualify and head there. But until these cult leaders are dealt with—or until you find the spy—this is our last meeting.”
“Howl, I—”
He reached for the device to sever the connection, but Velle’s sudden plea stopped him. There was something raw, almost unguarded, in her voice—a vulnerability he wasn’t used to hearing from her.
“I don’t think you’re the traitor, Velle,” Howl said quietly, his tone softening despite himself. He kept his eyes fixed on the desk. “But we can’t afford to screw this up. Not when everything’s on the line.” He hesitated, then added, “Find the spy. Then we’ll talk.”
Finally, Howl met her gaze. Velle nodded—a small, almost imperceptible motion, but enough to convey her unspoken resolve. With a heavy sigh, Howl ended the transmission, the faint hum of the device lingering as he stood in silence for a moment. His thoughts weighed heavily on him, but he shook them off, heading down to the ground floor of the workshop.
As soon as he stepped into the bustling hall, the attention shifted to him. He barely had time to process the sudden swarm of hunters before one of them called out.
“Your Highness!” A woman reached him first, followed by several others.
“You’ve got the highest votes so far among all southern hunters! You’ll join the tourney, right?”
Howl blinked, momentarily taken aback by their enthusiasm. His gaze flicked to the board on the other side of the hall, where a growing crowd of hunters gathered to check the latest votes. Then, back to the hopeful faces around him.
“Of course,” he replied, his lips curling into a small, confident smile. “I’ll do my best. No promises, though.”
It had been five years since he became a monster hunter, but he’d missed the previous Hunter Guild Tourney by a year. This time, it was different—his first chance to compete against other hunters, not for survival, but to entertain the masses.
His hand tightened into a fist, the leather of his new custom glove creaking slightly. On the back of the glove, a light blue mana core glimmered faintly, its intricate design a testament to the craftsmanship of the Alchemist Corp. Howl had commissioned the gear specifically to push his limits.
Hunting cultists hadn’t given him the challenge he craved. None of them had pushed him to go all out. The upcoming tournament would change that. It was his chance to test both his abilities and the results of his grueling four months of training.
With only two days left until the nomination and voting phase closed, his path was clear. The top eight hunters from each region would converge at the Hunter Tower, situated in the small unclaimed territory between the four regions. A stage for legends awaited.
----------------------------------------
After her brief meeting with Howl, Velle left Veledot’s alchemist workshop, her frustration barely contained. The possibility of a spy among them was unsettling enough, but the discovery that the cult leaders had alchemist badges complicated matters further, raising more questions than answers.
At first, she suspected the spy might be someone in Veledot, but that theory began to crumble. No one here should have known about Howl’s plans to strike Vulferos’ cult. The leak had to originate elsewhere—or worse, there were multiple spies working in tandem.
Her first lead brought her to Edward, the one overseeing Veledot’s underground arena.
During her previous visit, she’d gathered intel on his past dealings. Edward had been involved with Theodore, hosting illegal matches for underground hunters using unauthorized mana weapons. He claimed to have severed ties with Theodore, but Velle wasn’t convinced.
Entering the walls of Veledot’s royal palace, she noted the recently completed reconstruction following Balehorn’s attack. Extra guards patrolled the grounds, their presence a reminder of the city’s fragile recovery.
After a brief exchange with the palace guards, Velle was granted entry and directed to Willo’s office.
It took her a few minutes to navigate the corridors. When she swung the door open, she found Willo seated at a desk, poring over stacks of documents and books.
“Hm?” Willo looked up, recognition lighting his face. “Ah, you’re Renn’s friend, aren’t you?”
“You’ve been working hard,” Velle remarked, her tone flat as she stepped inside and glanced around.
Willo chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Haha, it’s not so bad. I do miss monster hunting, though. But I’m not exactly in my prime—”
“Where’s Edward?” Velle’s abrupt question cut through his words like a blade.
The sudden seriousness in her tone caught Willo off guard. His smile faltered, replaced by a look of mild concern. “He’s probably downstairs. Said he was grabbing something to eat. Is something wrong?”
“I see. Nothing much, just need to check something.” Without waiting for a response, Velle turned around and strode out, leaving Willo watching her retreat with a furrowed brow.
Back on the ground floor, Velle moved through the palace corridors, her focus sharpening with each step. Every second she wasted felt like an opportunity for the spy—or spies—to stay ahead of her.
When she turned down a hall leading to the dining area, her steps faltered. There he was—Edward. But he wasn’t alone. Standing with him was a tall, muscular man whose broad back faced her, an axe strapped across it like a casual accessory. Edward, on the other hand, seemed unusually cheerful, his face lit up with uncharacteristic joy.
Velle’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t recognize the man, but the high volume of Mana radiating from him was unmistakable. It wasn’t monstrous, but far beyond what any human should naturally have. Suspicion tightened her chest.
Edward noticed her first. “Ah, Miss Velle! It’s been a while. How have you been?” His warm greeting contrasted sharply with the cold calculation in her gaze.
Her voice came out firm and cold, cutting through his pleasantries. “Edward, who is that?”
Edward hesitated for a fraction of a second, then stepped forward, gesturing to the man as he turned to face her. “Oh, right! I don’t think you’ve met before.” He smiled, oblivious to her growing unease. “Velle, this is my older brother, Leo. Leo, this is Velle, a friend of Renn, the queen of Veledot.”
The man—Leo—smirked, his piercing blue eyes locking onto her with unnerving ease. “A friend of royalty, huh? Didn’t expect someone so young. Nice to meet you.” His voice was low and confident as he extended a hand.
Velle didn’t move. Her sharp stare stayed on him, her body tense with the awareness of his unusual Mana. Something was definitely wrong.
Leo’s smirk faltered as he noticed her lack of response, glancing briefly at Edward, who looked increasingly uncomfortable.
Velle finally shifted her gaze to Edward, her tone heavy with unspoken accusation. “We need to talk.”
----------------------------------------