The grasslands stretched wide outside Loran, a sea of green swaying under a lazy wind, blades bending in slow, hypnotic waves.
Satoru and Marcille had wrapped their first gig; collecting herbs for some alchemist too lazy to do it themselves, and Satoru was bored out of his skull.
He slouched against a lone tree, arms crossed, sunglasses glinting as he watched Marcille dart around like a kid in a candy store.
"Why the hell did we pick this?" he muttered, kicking a pebble into the grass. "I'm dying out here; picking weeds like some damn farmer."
Marcille didn't hear him, too busy humming as she waved her hand over a patch of silverleaf, Mana pulsing faintly from her fingertips.
The plants glowed, a soft shimmer marking their locations, and she plucked them with surgical glee, stuffing them into her subspace.
Satoru's Eyes tracked every move, dissecting her magic like a scientist with a new toy. Mana still eluded him; he couldn't grab it, couldn't bend it to his will; but he was piecing it together, bit by bit.
Her spatial trick from the morning had stuck with him, that staff vanishing and reappearing like a shadow summon. It wasn't just cool; it was a window cracking open in his head.
Teleportation was one of his bread and butter. Currently it was near-instant, no chants, no hand signs, a flex he'd honed to a razor's edge.
But there was a catch: the delay. Fractions of a second to calculate distance and vector, a blink of mental math before each warp.
It was a chump change to most, but to him? A flaw. Consecutive jumps drained him more than spamming Purple ever did, and he hated it.
Marcille's spell; subspace, clean and fluid, flipped a switch. He could feel the fix forming, a model to axe that weakness: instantaneous, seamless warps with zero lag, back-to-back like breathing.
They'd finished the haul; herbs bagged, quest done, and were about to trek back when Satoru straightened, a spark in his grin.
"Hey, kid," he called, catching her mid-step. She turned, golden hair whipping in the breeze, confusion creasing her brow. "Thanks."
Marcille blinked, tilting her head. "For… what?"
He smirked, tapping his temple. "That spell you showed me this morning; your little vanishing act. Helped me figure something out. New trick up my sleeve."
Her eyes went wide, excitement bubbling up like a geyser. "A new spell? Really? Show me, show me!" She bounced on her toes, practically vibrating, and Satoru couldn't help but laugh; low, rough, but genuine.
"Alright, chill and stand over there," he said, pointing a few meters off. "Grab a stone, toss it up when I say. Don't screw it up." She nodded, scampering over and snagging a smooth pebble from the grass.
Satoru picked up two of his own; one in each hand, rolling them between his fingers. He paced back, giving himself space, and ran the plan through his head.
Three warps, no delay, synced to the stones' fall. If he nailed it, perfection. If he fucked it? Well, he'd be diced into three bloody chunks.
Spatial physics didn't mess around. He glanced at Marcille; those big green eyes, wide with innocent hype, and decided, 'nah, not telling her that.'
No need to spook the kid when she looked like she'd burst from joy. "Ready," he said, nodding. "Throw it."
She hurled the stone skyward, a clean arc, and Satoru lobbed his two in opposite directions; left and right, high and fast. "Don't blink," he warned, voice sharp, and the second all three peaked, he moved.
He vanished, reappearing under the left stone, snagging it mid-fall. Right side, second stone in hand and center, plucking Marcille's toss from the air.
To her, it was but a single moment in time; three Satorus flickering into existence at once, stones caught, then gone. He warped again, landing beside her with a casual lean, holding all three. "Cool, right?"
Marcille blinked, jaw slack, processing. Then it clicked; she got it. "You… you were in three places! At the same time!" she squeaked, lunging forward and wrapping her arms around his waist in a hug that nearly toppled him.
"That's amazing! How'd you do it? Tell me, tell me!" Her voice was a barrage, questions spilling out, her face buried in his jacket.
Satoru froze for a split second; caught off guard by the tackle; then smirked, ruffling her hair. "Trade secret, kid.
Gotta keep some mystery, ya know?" She pulled back, cheeks puffed in a mock pout, cute as hell instead of pissed. "Not fair!" she huffed, but her eyes still sparkled, thrilled for him.
He chuckled, tossing a stone up and catching it. Truth was; her spatial magic had cracked it open. Mana's flow, the way it bent space, clicked with his own technique.
He'd stripped the delay, synced the warps to intent alone, no math, no lag, just go. Consecutive jumps felt like flexing a muscle now, smooth and instinctive.
He wouldn't say it, but watching her; elf-blood genius, bubbling with life, had lit the fuse, and fuck if he'd admit how much he cared about that little spark.
Arrogant prick as he may be, those wide eyes had wormed their way in.
They rested a bit, sprawled in the grass, wind tugging at their clothes. Marcille chattered about the herbs; moonwort for potions, silverleaf for healing, while Satoru half-listened, letting the breeze cool him off.
"Alright, enough lounging," he said, standing and brushing off his pants. "Let's cash this in." Marcille hopped up, subspace filled with their haul, and they trekked back to Loran, the city's walls rising against the horizon.
The grasslands faded behind them, Satoru's new trick buzzing in his veins, Marcille's excitement trailing like a comet.
First job done, Marcille's first spell cracked; day one of this adventurer gig was in the books, and he was already itching for more.
Satoru and Marcille strolled back into Loran, herb haul cashed in, the sun still high and sharp overhead. The day wasn't done, and Satoru wasn't about to waste it lounging; plus, those 5 silveros burned a hole in his pride.
They hit the Adventurer's Guild again, scanning the board for something juicier. An escort gig caught his eye; two doctors heading to a nearby village hit by some mystery sickness.
The path there was crawling with twin-headed boars and frost spiders; big, nasty magic beasts the size of buffalo.
Satoru grinned, picturing some badass boar with two snarling heads, wondering if it'd match the cartoonish image in his brain.
Marcille zeroed in on the payout; 2 seros and 7 silveros. Her green eyes glinting with that money-hungry spark.
Plus, she'd get real combat chops; ever since she'd blasted Elna to bits, her aim was locked on fighting for keeps. They signed up with no hesitation.
The docs met them at the city gate; two guys in their forties, draped in blue-and-white priest garbs from the church.
One had dark-brown hair, a thick beard and mustache framing a weathered face; the other sported dark-green hair, clean-shaven, with a lean, tired look.
"Name's Torin," the bearded one said, shaking Satoru's hand with a firm grip. "And this is Gavyn," he nodded to his partner.
"We're grateful that you took the job. The road there's a bit rough, and the village needs us urgently." Satoru waved it off, "Yeah, yeah, just don't slow us down."
Marcille bowed politely, and they piled into a horse-drawn cart. Satoru and Marcille up front, docs in the back, wheels rattling as they rolled out.
The travel was a snooze, no creatures, no attacks. The cart trundled along a dirt path, fields stretching wide, the docs muttering about symptoms.
Coughing blood, gut rot; some nasty stuff. "Could be bad water," Torin said, stroking his beard. "Or poison. I just hope it's not some bastard's plot," Gavyn added, voice low.
Satoru smirked, half-listening. 'Big dark conspiracy, huh? Watch it be that cliché.' He tuned out, Eyes scanning the horizon for boars or spiders, itching for something to punch.
Marcille sat quiet, knees tucked, watching the grass sway; ready, but calm. Nothing happened throughout the journey, much to Satoru's unvoiced disappointment.
Then they hit the village's edge, and Satoru's smirk died. Chaos spilled out; people doubled over, hacking red into the dirt, others leaking from both ends, groans and cries cutting the air.
The docs bolted from the cart, rushing to the worst cases, leaving Satoru and Marcille at the outskirts. He sighed, hands in his pockets, Eyes locking onto the well at the village center.
Dark magic pulsed from it, thick and sour, like a neon sign screaming trouble. "Isn't this too fucking cliché?" he muttered, rubbing his neck.
"I just wanted a damn boar fight, not another cult-lite mess." Marcille frowned beside him, catching the vibe, her nose wrinkling at the stench of sickness and rot.
Footsteps crunched ahead of them; Millicent and Lysa, already here, armor glinting in the fading light. Millicent's scarlet hair flared against her golden-gray plating, her aura a blazing sun even now.
Lysa's dark-blue hair peeked from her helm, her sword hand twitching.
"You two," Millicent greeted, voice cool but edged. "We had been suspicious of this outbreak; I've been investigating the reason for a while."
Lysa cut in, sharp. "Loran built that well months back. It was our public welfare project. And only one person I know, has got the balls to do this, make us look like fools."
Millicent raised a hand, silencing her. "Not yet. No names until we fix this, then we hunt for the culprit." Her golden eyes flicked to Satoru, waiting.
He sighed, bored and disappointed. "Already clocked it," he said, strolling to the well like it was a chore. Dark magic oozed up, practically waving at him.
He thrust a hand over the opening, Blue flaring, and a totem shot into his grip; straw twisted with metal pins, dripping with dark magic; so, curse-like, so obvious it hurt.
"Witch's totem," Millicent said. Satoru tossed it to Millicent like trash. She caught it, staring as golden light erupted from her palm, disintegrating the thing into ash.
Her aura flared, bright, furious, a supernova barely leashed; but her face stayed ice-cold, a mask of control Satoru almost admired. Almost.
The docs were knee-deep in patients, Torin barking orders, Gavyn healing a kid puking blood. Villagers staggered around, chaos reigning, and Millicent turned to plan, until Satoru cut in.
"I can help, ya know. Track this whoever it is and end it. But we're adventurers, don't work for free."
She didn't blink. "Find the culprit, and I'll pay double what you got before." His grin flashed, all teeth.
"Deal." He spun to grab Marcille, but- 'where'd she go?' His Eyes pinged her instantly. She was darting through the crowd, staff out, helping the docs with a focus that screamed Hero.
Hauling water, steadying a trembling woman, even casting a faint glow to ease a kid's pain; full-on MC mode.
Millicent's brow lifted, Lysa's jaw twitched, both caught off guard. Satoru smirked, hands back in his pockets. "Yeah, she's like that. Can't sit still when shit's hitting the fan."
He'd seen it coming; Marcille's heart was too big for her own good, same fire that'd torched Elna now driving her here.
Millicent nodded, a flicker of respect breaking her stoic wall. "Impressive, for her age." Lysa just grunted, eyes narrowing, still wary of Satoru, probably replaying that death-vision from the market.
He stretched, cracking his neck. "Alright, Red, gimme a sec and I'll sniff out your witch. Twin-headed boars can wait. Also, do look out for my sidekick.
Guess I'm stuck with curses again." The village groaned around them, a mess of blood and despair, but Satoru was already plotting.
This Dark Magic had left trails; sloppy ones, and his Eyes could follow it like a bloodhound. Marcille's hustle hummed in the background, a bright spot in the shitstorm.
Millicent watched him, golden aura simmering, waiting for his move.
Another payday, another mess; same old, same old, just with better cash.
The village simmered down as evening draped over it, the chaos of blood and sickness finally choking out under a tense calm.
Hours had bled away since Satoru peeled off to hunt the one responsible; whatever asshole dropped that totem; and the rest dug in to contain the mess.
Millicent, Lysa, Marcille, and the two docs; Torin and Gavyn; worked like a grim machine. Lives slipped through their fingers, too far gone to save, faces frozen in agony as dark magic chewed them hollow.
But by dusk, the spread stalled; Millicent's holy magic flared golden, a tide of light washing over the infected, purging the curse from their veins.
The docs healed and soothed, Marcille darted between them, her own spells easing pain with a soft glow. They couldn't save everyone; some corpses lined the outskirts, a silent tally, but the living clung on, coughing less, bleeding stopped.
Millicent stood at the tent's center, a temporary hub of canvas and stakes, her scarlet hair stark against her golden-gray plating.
She'd blessed every survivor, exorcising the last wisps of dark magic with a precision that left no room for doubt.
Her aura still blazed, untarnished, not a flicker of strain on her face. She looked like she could've done it twice over without breaking a sweat.
Meanwhile, Lysa slumped against a crate, dark-blue hair plastered to her forehead, her sword propped beside her, chest heaving.
Marcille was sprawled next to her, golden locks splayed, staff clutched loose; out cold, exhaustion claiming her hard.
Torin and Gavyn mirrored her, slumped in a corner, priest garbs stained with sweat and blood, snoring through the aftermath.
Millicent's golden eyes swept the tent, steady, unyielding, then snapped to the flap as a presence pinged her senses.
Lysa jolted awake, knight instincts kicking in like a shot. She lunged in front of Millicent, sword drawn, tip forward, steel flashing in the lantern glow.
"Who's there?" she barked, voice hoarse but sharp. The flap parted, and Satoru sauntered in, dragging a bulky bald guy by the scruff like a sack of trash.
Mid-thirties, decked in gaudy gold ornaments; rings, chains, a walking stereotype of a sleazy merchant.
His face was pale, eyes wild, sweat beading down his shaved dome. Satoru dumped him in the center, hands in his pockets, sunglasses glinting. "Found your guy," he said, voice lazy but edged.
Millicent's gaze locked on the man, recognition sparking. "Miguel?" She said, flat and cold. "One of Loran's big-shot merchants."
The guy; Miguel, scrambled towards her on his knees, hands clawing at the dirt. "Please, take me away from him!" he wailed, voice cracking, tears streaking his pudgy cheeks.
"He's a monster; get me out!" Millicent didn't flinch, just flicked her eyes to Satoru, waiting. He tilted his head toward Miguel, chill as ever.
"That's your culprit. Caught him slinking around the woods; thought he'd lie, but…" He grinned, stepping behind Miguel, voice dropping to a sing-song tease.
"Go on, buddy, come clean, or I'll do it again."
Miguel froze, a whimper escaping him, and Satoru's grin widened. What he'd done? Simple; crushed the guy's arms and legs, bones snapping like twigs, then healed them with Reverse Cursed Technique, good as new.
Rinse, repeat, a little game of break-and-fix 'til Miguel cracked and spilled. No need to brag about it, though; the guy's terror did the talking.
"Okay, okay!" Miguel sobbed, hands up. "I'll tell you! Someone, he was anonymous, I swear. He tipped me off. Said to drop that totem in the well to ruin the Guild's shiny new project.
Paid me in… in Concentrated Unicorn's Blood." Lysa's face twisted, a snarl breaking through her exhaustion. "Unicorn's Blood? You piece of shit-" Millicent stopped her advance.
Satoru arched a brow, confused, and Lysa snapped an explanation, hand still tight on her blade's handle. "Unicorns. They're sacred and pure beings but nearly extinct.
A whole natural reserve; their habitat, is under Astartes, Protected by the Guild Master himself. Killing one's a loathed crime. Trading their blood? Worse."
Her voice shook, fury boiling, while Millicent stayed ice-cold, golden eyes narrowing. Satoru whistled low. "Damn, that's some high-stakes contraband. Guy's got balls."
Miguel groveled harder, babbling. "I'll-…. I'll surrender! Tell you everything, just don't let him near me!"
Lysa clicked her tongue; they had to take this through the legal proceedings, she'd prefer to end this miserable fuck here, but that wasn't up to her. Millicent's sigh cut through, cold and sharp.
Satoru opened his mouth, ready to push, thinking that the bastard would get off easily, but Millicent moved first, to his surprise.
She glanced at Lysa, a silent signal, and the knight nodded, sheathing her sword. Then, quick as a blink, Lysa drew a dagger from her thigh strap; thin, wicked, and sliced a shallow cut across her own leg.
Blood welled, red against her pale skin, and she flicked the blade toward Miguel with a casual toss. He caught it reflexively, fumbling, "Eh-?!" And that was his last word.
The dagger split, a clean crack down its center, and Miguel's head followed. Top half slid off from his mouth up, a wet thunk as it hit the dirt, eyes still wide in shock.
His body slumped, bottom jaw dangling, the broken knife clutched in his dead hand.
Millicent stood over him, a curved blade of golden light fading from her grip, her aura flaring bright and lethal and her golden eyes glinted down, cold, unyielding, an eerie contrast to the warmth of her power.
Satoru's grin crept back, slow and real. 'Well, damn,' he thought, 'that's style.' No hesitation, no sermon; just judgment, swift and brutal.
He vibed with it; Millicent was his kind of ruthless, the type who'd laugh over drinks after slitting a throat. "Nice one, Red," he said, voice light. "Didn't see that coming."
The tent was dead quiet. Torin and Gavyn, awake now, peeked through slitted eyes, faces pale, breaths held; they'd caught the tail end and knew better than to admit it.
Smart move; they'd play dumb 'til the grave. Marcille, though, was out like a light, curled up in her corner, dreaming of herbs or whatever; blissfully clueless, a little hero too tired to stir.
Millicent stepped back, brushing her hands like she'd swatted a fly, and Lysa sheathed her dagger, wiping the blood on her pant.
Lysa muttered something about the bastard being sent off too easily, half to herself. Millicent didn't respond, just stared at the corpse, aura settling, a golden storm gone still.
Satoru rocked on his heels, hands in his pockets. "So, about that pay…" he started, smirking. Millicent shot him a look; stoic, but a flicker of dry humor broke through.
"You'll get it. Double, as promised. Help clean this up first." He groaned, theatrical, but nodded. "Fine, fine; hero work's never done."
Miguel's blood pooled, the totem's curse was ash, and the village breathed easier; but the real player, the anonymous tipper, was still out there.
Satoru didn't care much; he'd get paid, crack some skulls, and call it a day. Millicent, though? That golden edge said she wasn't done hunting.
He liked that about her.
Night had settled over Loran, the Guild Hall quiet, save for the faint hum of the magical communicator on Millicent's desk.
She stood alone in her office, scarlet hair catching the lantern glow, her golden-gray plating glinting as she faced the orb.
The report was done; clean, official, pinned on Miguel's corpse: merchant, saboteur, executed. No mention of Satoru's bone-crushing interrogation or her own golden blade splitting the bastard's skull.
The orb pulsed, and a voice crackled through; deep, steady, carrying an authority that didn't need a face to command respect.
The Guild Master, the one at the top of Astartes' chain, spoke from the capital far east.
"Swift work with Miguel," the voice said, a hint of grim satisfaction threading through. "Better he's dead than rotting in a cell, bleeding public coin to keep him fed. Bastards like that don't deserve the air."
Millicent nodded, silent, her golden eyes fixed on the orb. No words needed; her agreement was in the set of her jaw, the way she stood ramrod straight.
The voice rolled on. "Keep an eye out for more Unicorn Blood trades. I'll handle it from here; shake some trees, see what falls.
Mobilize a unit too; builders, soldiers or knights, whatever it takes to rehab that village. They've suffered enough."
Another nod, crisp and wordless. Her respect for the man on the other side was a quiet thing, etched in her posture; unspoken, internal, a loyalty that didn't need fanfare.
She'd seen his orders turn chaos to order before; this was no different. The voice shifted, curious now. "What about those two; Satoru and Marcille?"
Millicent paused, gathering her thoughts, then spoke, voice even but laced with something real. "Satoru's a wild horse; unpredictable, a joker who'd flirt with a brick wall if it stood still.
But he's manageable. Point him right, pay him well, and he's less trouble than most. Power is off the charts. I still can't feel a speck of mana from him, though. And he did crush that previous mess single-handedly."
She glanced out the window, Loran's lights flickering below. "Marcille… she's the opposite of every elf I've known. No arrogance, no sneering down her nose; just pure heart, raw and open.
She's Been through hell; her village betrayed her, mother murdered, years of manipulation; and she still runs headfirst to help anyone who needs it.
What she did out there, easing pain, working 'til she dropped? That's not normal for a kid; ten, maybe eleven.
She is green, got harsh truths to face, maybe more than she already has. But the potential…" Millicent's voice softened, rare and fleeting. "It's staggering."
The Guild Master hummed, a low sound through the orb. "And Eldoria? Their reply?" Millicent's lips thinned. "Nothing. Sent the report, the transmission was instant, no delays. But we've got no letters back, no messengers. Like it vanished into the ether."
A beat of silence, then the voice pressed, knowing. "You've got a hunch who's behind that dark magic, don't you?" She stiffened; jaw tight. "No proof," she said, clipped. "Not yet."
The voice chuckled, dry and sharp. "Smart; keep it that way. No rash moves 'til you've got something solid. But if you find one shred; just one solid proof; I'll back you.
Do what you want then; I'll clean up the mess." She nodded again, firm, and the orb dimmed, connection severed, leaving her in the quiet.
Minutes later, the door swung open, and Satoru strutted in, Marcille trailing behind. He didn't miss a beat, grin flashing. "Well, well, Red; miss me already? Office looks cozier with us in it, huh?"
He leaned against the desk, sunglasses glinting, and tossed in a tease. "You ever smile, or is that golden glow all you flirt with? C'mon, one for the hero?"
Millicent's stoic mask cracked; just a hair; a small, reluctant smile tugging her lips, a chuckle slipping out, soft but real. Satoru blinked, caught off guard. "Holy shit, I'm good," he muttered, smirking wider.
She straightened, sliding a pouch across the desk; coins clinking, double the 1000 seros from before, as promised. "Your payment," she said, then pulled a card from her drawer; bronze, etched with runes.
She handed it to Marcille. "And this. Apprentice healer certification for you. With it, you're welcome at the church's healing sessions, anytime.
I can arrange offensive magic tutors too, if you want." Marcille's eyes went wide, jaw dropping, then snapped shut as she clutched the card, beaming.
"Really? I-… I'd love that! Thank you!" Her voice trembled, joy spilling over, and she hugged the card to her chest like a lifeline.
Satoru's Eyes caught it; a flicker in Millicent's aura, gold dimming with a thread of guilt as she watched Marcille.
He got it then; she blamed herself, at least a little. A kid like Marcille, neglected and fucked over for years, right under her nose in Loran's territory; it stung her, deep.
That offer wasn't just kindness; it was amends, quiet and personal. He smirked, leaning back. 'Yeah, Red's growing on me too.' Cold as steel, warm as gold, his kind of contradiction.
Marcille bounced on her toes, still gushing. "Healing sessions! And magic lessons; I can't wait!" Satoru ruffled her hair, cutting in.
"Easy, kid, you'll pop a vein. Save some hype for the next gig." She swatted his hand, grinning, and Millicent watched them, that small smile lingering.
"You've got promise, Marcille," she said, voice steady again. "Keep at it." The guilt was there, buried, but her resolve overpowered it; Satoru could feel it, her aura flaring back to full blaze.
He scooped the pouch, tossing it to Marcille; her subspace swallowed it whole. "Guess we're set," he said, stretching.
"What's next, Red? Another village imploding?" Millicent's smile faded, stoic mask sliding back. "Not yet. Focus on your Guild work; I'll call if I need you."
He shrugged, chill as ever. "Your loss. C'mon, kid; let's bounce." Marcille waved at Millicent, still clutching her card, and they headed out, leaving the office quiet again.
Millicent sat, staring at the orb, the Guild Master's words echoing. Eldoria's silence gnawed at her; no reply meant something.
And then that Dark Magic bullshit, she still had no proof, though; not a scrap. Her hand rested on her desk, fingers drumming once, then stilling.
If she found it; one thread, one whisper, she'd burn that trail to the ground, and the Guild Master would have her back.
For now, she'd wait, watch, and let Satoru and Marcille grow. The wild horse and the pure heart; trouble and hope in one messy package.
She almost smirked again, alone in the dark.
Outside, Satoru and Marcille hit the streets, the night cool and buzzing. "Healing, huh?" he said, hands in his pockets. "Gonna be a big shot, kid?"
She nodded, fierce. "I want to help, and fight. Like today." He grinned, sunglasses catching the moonlight.
"That's my MC. Let's rack up some cash while you're at it." She giggled, and they vanished into Loran's glow.
... To be continued!!!
A/N: Here you go, two chapters today.... A gift for all the readers, thanks for the support until now. Drop some comments and thoughts on what you feel and drop power stones if you can, though, I'm all happy that you guys just read this... See you tomorrow... BYE!!!