The silence that followed President Jun's words was broken by a man seated a short distance from Alvern.
His name was elegantly engraved on the golden nameplate displayed in front of him on the table:
[ Kaelen Nitrap – Captain of the Guild "Lethal Pack" ]
Beside him sat his son, a boy with sharper features but an equally fiery gaze:
[ Qart Nitrap – Vice-Captain of the Guild "Lethal Pack" ]
Their presence in the hall was an eyesore against the sober elegance of the other members, a brutal reminder of the wild nature that cared nothing for city protocols.
Kaelen wore a heavy band of dark leather on his head, from which towered imposing, branching antlers of a stag—a trophy that seemed intent on challenging the height of the decorated ceiling. His torso, muscular and marked by old scars, was bound by a harness of crossed straps and shoulder pads edged with thick brown fur.
At his side, Qart displayed similar but streamlined attire, with braided leather bracers that climbed up to his biceps.
After Jun had opened the meeting, Kaelen wasted no time and leaned forward; the leather of his high embossed corset creaked under the strain. He raised a calloused hand to draw everyone's attention before giving voice to the doubts that hung in the air.
"What kind of threat are we talking about, sir?" he asked in a voice that scraped the air like flint.
The President remained unfazed by that direct tone. He laced his fingers on the table, studying the feral-looking Captain before shifting his gaze to Mirac and Carmen.
"To answer that question," Jun started, accompanying the words with a slow gesture of his hand toward the two guests at his side, "I will first let those who have met them in person speak…"
Every gaze shifted to the masked boy and the red-haired woman.
Mirac did not hesitate.
He rose slowly, adjusting his coat with a measured gesture, and let his eyes travel along the table before opening his mouth.
"Four days ago," Mirac began, adopting that detached, professional tone inherited from his years at court, "my companion and I came across three creatures in the woods outside Raerno while they were pursuing a young explorer of the Association. We confronted and defeated them."
He paused briefly, as if carefully choosing his next words.
"Two days ago, under the command of Vice-Captain Alvern Forh, we took part in an expedition into the Carameo Mine. The purpose of the mission was to investigate the disappearance of the weekly iron shipment and of the first reconnaissance team. At a certain point during the exploration, our unit found itself surrounded by a horde of those same three creatures. But this time there were thirty-one of them, and they were armed. They did not wield crude tools, but proper human weapons, forged to fit their physiology."
He stopped again, this time longer.
"The creatures in question…" he said, lowering his voice slightly, "match in every detail the descriptions recorded in the Seven Holy Gospels under the name of… Rogthars."
The word dropped into the hall, and for a second silence fell, before it was shattered by a feverish murmur that spread along the table:
"Rogthars?"
"What is he talking about?"
"Never heard of them…"
"That name sounds familiar, but I can't quite place it…"
"Rogthars, you said?!" a booming voice exclaimed, cutting off the speculation.
The speaker was a stocky man with a shaved head and a scar that ran from top to bottom across his left eyebrow.
The golden nameplate in front of him gleamed under the chandelier's light:
[ Goran Veld – Captain of the Guild "Night Predators" ]
"If memory serves, the ancient texts speak of them as an infernal plague, a powerful demonic race endowed with unmatched ferocity," Goran explained, addressing the assembly to refresh his colleagues' memories. Then he fixed his steely gaze on Mirac. "But the Rogthars were declared extinct more than a thousand years ago, after the Great Extermination wiped out every trace of them… And now you're saying they've returned? Are you absolutely certain?"
Several Captains exchanged perplexed glances; some shook their heads in silence, as if Goran's words had just given voice to a doubt they all shared.
"Let us all calm down," President Jun began. His voice did not rise in volume, yet it filled the room, saturating every corner and imposing instant silence. "I understand your skepticism. At first I didn't believe it either, but unfortunately it is the truth…"
His gaze then shifted to the man seated at the far end of the table.
He was a man in his fifties, lean of build, with short-cropped gray hair and pale eyes that seemed constantly intent on analyzing everything around them.
He wore an impeccably tailored uniform adorned with sober decorations. On the lapel stood out a small silver pin bearing the engraved emblem of the Association. His hands, resting on the table with an almost unnatural composure, gripped a dark leather folder.
The golden nameplate in front of him left no doubt about his authority:
[ Hejik Miklaw – Vice-President of the Association ]
Jun gave him an almost imperceptible nod.
Without delay, Hejik rose to his feet, opened the folder, and extracted a series of identical bound dossiers, which he began distributing along the table with measured movements, placing one in front of each delegate.
"Vice-President Hejik," Jun announced as the dossiers passed from hand to hand, "personally coordinated the analyses conducted on the biological specimens recovered at Carameo and from what appears to be the Rogthars' Dungeon. We analyzed fragments of skin, claws, fangs, organs, various tissues, and even the severed head of the horde's leader."
A rustle of opening pages filled the hall.
Hejik remained standing with his arms crossed, observing those present with a neutral expression.
"As you can read for yourselves in the dossiers I have just handed you, the results of our laboratory analyses confirm the masked boy's hypothesis," the Vice-President explained in a level voice, that of one who lets the facts speak for themselves. "The samples belong to an archaic demonic lineage, biologically incompatible with any monstrous species currently catalogued in our bestiaries. Bone density is roughly four times that of a human. The muscular structure presents fibers of a type never observed before, with an anomalous contractile capacity that explains the superhuman strength detected during the encounters. Finally, the morphology of their bodies matches in every detail the iconographic representations and the few anatomical descriptions recorded in the Seven Holy Gospels. Consequently, there is no doubt: the creatures in question are precisely the Rogthars."
Goran Veld slumped against the back of his chair, the dossier still clutched in his fingers, while around him the other Captains seemed to have turned to stone where they sat.
In the face of that revelation, silence fell. A silence different from all those that had come before.
President Jun turned once more to Mirac with a nod of his head.
"Please, go on."
The masked boy nodded.
"During our clash," Mirac resumed, "we discovered what Vice-President Hejik's analyses later confirmed in the laboratory: namely, that the Rogthars regenerate. Any wound to the body—cuts, fractures, punctures—heals within a few seconds. The only way to eliminate them permanently is to compromise the nervous system, through decapitation or a combustion intense enough to permanently damage the brain before it regenerates."
He paused briefly, letting that information settle.
"At the end of the battle, while carefully examining the scene and the bodies of the fallen Rogthars, we found something that completely changes the scale of this threat. It concerns the garments worn by these monsters…"
The room remained motionless.
"Their primitive loincloths were nothing more than the miners' uniforms, crumpled to fit their physique. But under close analysis, the rips clearly show that the fabric exploded outward, as if the cloth had yielded under internal pressure, swelling until it burst. Taking all this into account, the most plausible conclusion—contrary to what we had initially hypothesized—is that those creatures did not appropriate the miners' uniforms after killing them…" Mirac stopped once more, just a second before the major revelation. "The miners themselves, together with the rest of the operational staff, underwent a metamorphosis that transformed them into Rogthars!"
For several seconds no one spoke.
The rustle of the newly opened pages died almost at once, as if even the dossiers had suddenly lost all importance.
Someone remained with their fingers still suspended over the lines they had just read, unable to continue. Others stared blankly into space, as if searching for a logical foothold that never came.
The word "metamorphosis" seemed to have erased everything else.
It was into that void that one of the Captains leaned forward, visibly disturbed and incredulous.
On the golden nameplate in front of him could be read:
[ Orlan Dresh – Captain of the Guild "Twilight Lances" ]
Even before he spoke, his elegant bearing seemed on the verge of cracking.
"One moment, one moment…!" he exclaimed, raising a hand, his eyes wide. "Are you seriously telling us we should believe such an absurd theory based solely on some torn rags? Are you kidding me?! That strikes me as a ridiculous leap in logic, if not outright insane!"
A subdued chorus of "Exactly!" and "He's right!", along with other similar comments, rose from several points around the table, as if Orlan had simply voiced aloud what everyone was thinking.
Mirac remained unfazed. Beneath the black mask, his green eyes stayed cold and imperturbable as he nodded slowly, as though he had thoroughly calculated and anticipated that reaction.
"I fully understand your astonishment," he replied sincerely. "When I first formulated this hypothesis right after the battle, I too found it almost inconceivable. I based it primarily on my instincts and on what we had seen at the scene. However… that conclusion was later irrefutably confirmed."
He gave a respectful nod toward Vice-President Hejik.
The latter, without saying a word, rose and took from under the table a long, narrow bundle wrapped in red cloth. He placed it on the table with measured movements and slowly unwrapped it, as if revealing a sacred object.
A magnificent-looking sword appeared, its blade slightly curved.
"This is the weapon wielded by the leader of the horde we faced in the Carameo Mine: it is an Artifact capable of unleashing intense flames simply by infusing it with Magical Energy," Mirac explained. "At first glance it might seem like an ordinary Elemental Artifact. Normally, in fact, objects of this type are made by forging the weapon first and only afterward engraving the Magical Runes on its surface. But this sword is different…"
He paused briefly, just long enough for everyone to take another look at the sword.
"From the experts' analyses it emerged that the Fire Runes are not engraved on the surface of the blade, but rather inside it, fused with its very structure. This implies that they were imprinted directly into the metal during the forging process, while the material was still being worked."
Several of those present stiffened.
"A technique of that kind enormously increases the Artifact's efficiency and the amount of Mana it can channel. But above all, it requires a mastery of forging far beyond the ordinary. When we examined this weapon, we all reached the same conclusion: whoever crafted it must have been a master blacksmith of exceptional skill!"
The masked boy paused briefly, his voice lowering slightly.
"And in fact, a further detail of this weapon ended up confirming that hypothesis…"
Mirac turned toward Hejik, who approached the sword and tilted it slightly, revealing the hilt to those present.
Right at the base of the guard, engraved with incomparable mastery, stood out a seal familiar to everyone: a wide-open dragon's mouth, sharp fangs framing a stylized hammer in the act of striking an anvil, wrapped in flickering flames that seemed alive.
It was the same symbol engraved on the Association's weapons.
"That is the mark of the workshop of Derek, the legendary blacksmith of Raerno, who disappeared months ago during his return journey from the capital, Magam," Mirac concluded, his voice grave. "But this sword does not appear in the records of the weapons he forged. It is therefore plausible to believe that this sword was forged during the three months he has been missing. And by analyzing the other weapons recovered in Carameo after the horde's defeat, we noticed that the same seal appears on them. Consequently, and since we found no message asking for help or rescue engraved on any of these weapons, the most reasonable hypothesis is that Derek has by now become a Rogthar in the service of his own kind!"
At those words, a stunned, almost paralyzing silence fell for a moment over the meeting hall.
"W-What?!" stammered Captain Orlan Dresh, eyes wide. "The blacksmith Derek… transformed into one of those monsters?!"
As might be expected of such a revelation, the reaction of those present was immediate.
An agitated buzz spread rapidly along the table, while the Captains and Vice-Captains exchanged looks of horror and disbelief.
None of those present seemed willing to believe that the fate of the greatest blacksmith of Raerno—and perhaps of the entire kingdom of Ardorya—had been to transform into one of those monsters.
Mirac himself felt a tightness in his stomach as he voiced that conclusion aloud.
When President Jun had shown him the sword and revealed the discovery the day before, in private, both he and Carmen had been left speechless.
Derek was not merely a legendary blacksmith. From what they had by now understood, he had also been an important father figure during Blake's childhood.
For that reason, Jun, Mirac, and Carmen had made a joint and painful decision: to reveal nothing to either Blake or Thomas, Derek's son.
Or at least, not for now.
Both were still grappling with the grief of their old man's disappearance. Moreover, considering Blake's fragile emotional state after his recent nervous breakdown at the mine, revealing a truth of that kind to them at this moment would have been a blow too hard to bear…
"Unfortunately, all the evidence points to this conclusion," Mirac confirmed, his voice cold as the steel of the sword on the table. "And this carries an implication even more alarming than it appears…"
The masked boy let his gaze travel along the table, meeting the increasingly tense eyes of those present.
"As you well know," he resumed, weighing every syllable, "Demons, by their very nature, are incapable of developing an Elemental Syntony. But if Derek was able to forge weapons of such caliber and imprint Fire Runes into one of them even after the mutation, it means that the transformation into a Rogthar did not erase his original magical affinity! In other words: it may be that the transformed subjects retain their Elemental Syntonies, their powers, and the technical skills they had as humans, all intact! Therefore, regardless of how any of this is possible, it would mean that out there we will not be dealing merely with monsters of brute strength and superhuman regeneration, but with demonic creatures capable of casting spells and unleashing elemental abilities!"
Faced with that threatening prospect, the heavy shadow of a danger that went far beyond imagination settled over the faces of those present.
Several Captains had their eyes wide with shock.
Someone let a curse slip under their breath. Another nervously ran a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe away what he had just heard.
"I-Impossible!"
"Are we really supposed to believe something like that?!"
"He must be raving!"
"The weapons he's talking about could simply belong to a private collection of Derek's that accidentally ended up in the wrong hands."
"Yeah, that makes perfect sense!"
Without warning, a thin but firm voice cut through the murmurs, interrupting them abruptly:
"If I may…"
Every gaze shifted in unison toward the source of that voice.
It was a young woman of unusual, almost supernatural beauty: emerald-green hair that fell over her shoulders with an artfully tousled grace, pointed ears barely visible among the locks, porcelain-pale skin, and eyes of a darker green than her hair, deep and watchful.
She wore dark, elegantly cut clothes that highlighted the contrast with her fair complexion. Around her neck hung a necklace of pure white pearls, which echoed at her wrists like a touch of light amid the darkness of her attire and the hall.
The golden nameplate in front of her read:
[ Hanaë Evaine – Captain of the Guild "Daisy Veil" ]
"A metamorphosis that turns a living being into something demonic…" said Hanaë, in a calm and measured voice, "is not a phenomenon as impossible as it might seem. Nor is it entirely new."
Orlan Dresh stared at her with an expression halfway between surprise and skepticism. "What do you mean?"
Hanaë laced her fingers on the table, carefully choosing her words before answering.
"About two years ago," she began, "I took part in a Raid in a Dungeon located on a volcanic island. I am not permitted to reveal the more sensitive details of that mission, but I can tell you this: during the Raid, the Dungeon Boss underwent a sudden and entirely unexpected transformation. In the middle of the battle, its features changed. It was not an ordinary enhancement. It was something more radical, more profound, more violent. The creature we found ourselves facing at the end of that metamorphosis was no longer the same as before: it had become a monstrous hybrid. Partly beast, and the other half… a Demon."
A couple of Captains stiffened in their seats, while others exchanged sidelong glances, as if they were mentally reconnecting pieces that had long remained scattered.
"At the time we could not explain how it was possible," Hanaë continued. "We attributed what had happened to a peculiarity of the specimen we faced, to an isolated anomaly, and preferred not to dig deeper. But now, listening to what the masked boy has just laid out…"
Her gaze shifted to Mirac, a look that held something more than simple curiosity.
"…I cannot help but wonder whether those two events are somehow connected."