Nuallis City — Armeman Region, Akasa
The Day Before the Quest
The four arrived, each in their own fashion. The city bustled with noise and activity—no different from Hamburn. Without delay, they made their way to the guild hall, nestled beside the municipality building.
"Hmmm... what kind of quest do you think it'll be?" Gnovic asked, his gaze meandering around the hall, flicking from person to person. "G-rank, right? Sounds like we'll have to kill a Partian or something."
A resigned sigh slipped from his chest.
"If the trial nearly killed us..." he muttered, trailing off, a creeping sense of dread beginning to settle in.
"What are you so on edge about? Seriously, you're not the only one getting deployed in this quest," Frouc snapped, smacking Gnovic's back with an open palm. A loud slap followed.
"Get off your high horse—we're all in the same boat."
He threw a glance over his shoulder at Astafa, who trailed behind them.
"Besides, we've got this guy to carry your ass," he added with a teasing grin, a chuckle slipping from his lips.
They're upbeat, huh? Must be nice to have them as teammates through future ascensions, Kisatsu thought, a subtle smile ghosting across his lips.
"Quest board's gotta be around here somewhere..." Frouc muttered, his eyes scanning the guild hall.
"Hey Astafa," Gnovic called, "how strong do you think they'll be?"
"Who?"
"Them. Our higher division teammates."
Astafa hesitated for a moment, weighing his thoughts before responding, though he didn't linger on it for long.
"Who knows? Maybe they could take us out in one punch?"
"Hmmm," Gnovic hummed, tapping his chin. "I think the puppet's still scarier, though."
No... they're much stronger, Kisatsu mused, as though he had seen their true strength with his very eyes—or something far greater than theirs. His eyes dropped to the ground as they walked, half-lidded.
Then, two men passed by as they walked. Kisatsu immediately felt something—not just the pressure bearing down on him, but a fleeting sense of menace.
He halted in his tracks and turned fully to see who exuded it. His eyes landed on two men sauntering with an insouciant gait, the one on the left resting his right elbow on the other's shoulder. For a moment, he caught the man on the right glancing back. A subtle smirk tugged at his lips—barely noticeable, yet it didn't escape Kisatsu's eyes.
Seems like an underhandedprick, he muttered to himself.
"Kisatsu?" Astafa called, his gaze momentarily drifting toward the two men in the distance, though nothing about them seemed suspicious to him. "Is something the matter?"
Kisatsu stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes still on the men before finally shifting to Astafa.
"Nothing," he said, giving a gentle shake of the head.
"Hm?" Frouc murmured, turning to them. "Ah, Kisatsu! You seem like a taciturn guy—why not come over and touch base with us?"
Kisatsu quickened his pace slightly until he caught up with them.
"Did you guys feel anything?" he asked.
"Anything? Now that you've mentioned it, I kind of felt something pressing down on me earlier. Was it just me?" Gnovic responded, turning fully to Kisatsu as they walked.
"You felt it too? What do you think it was?" Frouc asked, confusion tinging his voice.
"I honestly didn't feel anything at all," Astafa replied.
I see... they can sense it without knowing where it camefrom, Kisatsu thought, his gaze flicking toward Astafa. As for him, he's just physically more durable than any of us—durable enough to feel nothing at all.
* * *
"He noticed," Austrad muttered, glancing over his shoulder at Kisatsu, who was still looking back.
"Who?" Mwvyck asked, following his gaze. "The white-haired, wimp-looking wuss?"
"Hmph. They're a cut above," Austrad scoffed, facing forward again—his voice tinged with interest. "Could've been worse, this year's lineup."
"Austrad. Mwvyck," Alistare called from the distance. "Head to the quest board—your questmates are waiting."
"Yeah, yeah, professor," Mwvyck replied, indifferent. "Already saw them. Doesn't look like a total motley crew this time."
Austrad's eyes narrowed slightly. "What's the name of the white-haired kid?" he asked, a thread of intrigue woven into his voice.
Alistare was momentarily taken aback by Austrad's question, pausing in thought before responding.
"Kisatsu Vurgemond," he said at last, his tone firm. "Out of all of them, he holds the most potential."
He turned his gaze toward Kisatsu, eyes sharpening with resolve.
"He's one of the few I've seen who possess Rage Pressure."
His words budged Austrad—and for a moment, a sudden thrill surged through him.
"Hmmm, that says it," he grunted, licking his lips like a maniac freshly stirred from sleep. "Ascension's going to be arousing this year."
* * *
"Astafa," Kisatsu mumbled, his voice hushed, "why did you become a knight?"
Astafa turned to him, slightly caught off-guard by the question. He sifted through his thoughts—he had never really prepared an answer for something like this.
"My family's kind of chaotic," he said, turning his gaze forward again—though this time, his eyes dropped to the ground. "I guess I just wanted to see if becoming a knight would change anything... or pull me out of it, at least."
Kind of chaotic, huh?
"And I have a sister waiting for me a world away. It'd be a shame to see her again after all this time without fulfilling my promise to become a knight."
A pause.
"After all, she's the one who inspired me to become a knight."
"You mean—she's a knight too?" Kisatsu asked, curiosity piqued. "What's her rank?"
Astafa let out a soft chuckle—a little sheepish.
"She works in the medical field. Right now, she's placed in the Special Division."
Special Division?! Kisatsu's eyes widened in astonishment, tinged with a hint of incredulity. There's something even higher than the First Division?
Astafa noticed the glaring bewilderment etched on Kisatsu's face, prompting another chuckle from him.
"Now, don't be so surprised. Special Divison members are rare, sure—but that doesn't mean you'll never come across one during your knighthood," he said, bouncy, his voice laced with reassurance—and perhaps, just a hint of hubris.
That explains it. Among the four of us, you're the most advanced member, Kisatsu mused, and a subtle, condescending smirk curled on his lips—though this time, it went unnoticed. But even with that... your stupidity still managed to drag you down to our level.
"Welcome to the Knight's Registry! How may I assist you today?" the guild receptionist greeted, her voice peppy as she glanced between the knights—until her eyes landed on Alistare. "Ah—the G-rank quest. Just a moment!"
Kisatsu, standing to the right, glanced past Alistare—toward the two men from earlier.
So it's them?
"At the northernmost part of the Caerloch Region—the Tyvan Coast—lies a deserted village near the edge of the shore," the guild receptionist explained. "According to reports from a few eighth division members, the area is steeped in an ominous Rage presence. Its intensity matches that of a G-rank threat."
Her gaze drifted toward the group. With a quiet glance, she assessed the weight of their Rage, silently gauging if they were fit for the task.
Then, she spoke, hesitation edging her words:
"A-Are you sure about this, Sir Alistare? I mean... just those two might already be enough," she said, her gaze briefly flicking to Austrad and Mwvyck before shifting toward the other four. "But the rest... this quest might be far too much for them."
Well, since it's you, Alistare, I shouldn't be surprised. This is exactly what you'd do once your students have miraculously passed that merciless trial of yours, she thought, as if she had already gone through the same ordeal—knowing, experienced.
"There's no need for alarm, Quavle," Alistared reassured, though the slight, almost imperceptible twitch at the corners of his eyes betrayed his calm. "They'll only serve as patrols along the borders of the quest location. These two," he nodded toward Austrad and Mwvyck, "will be the ones taking point."
Quavle gave him a quiet, understanding nod before responding.
"Understood," she said, her expression unreadable as she retrieved the quest permits from the shelves with practiced grace. "Kindly imprint your thumb in the center for RIT."
"RIT?" Astafa asked.
"Rage Idenification Transfer," she explained, her voice velvety with a light lilt. "Apologies for not clarifying. It's a method where knights confer their Rageprint. Think of it like a password—so no one else can steal your permit."
Quavle handed the permits to Alistare, who then distributed them to the group. The permit was wrought from transparent glass, gleaming like a perfume bottle—satiny, sturdy. As it rested on Kisatsu's open palm, it felt light—conveniently so.
Without hesitation, he stamped his right thumb onto the center, and a fleeting sting shot through it like an electric bolt. A silent wheeze—raw, unrestrained—spilled from his chest, his expression crumpling for a moment, almost imperceptibly.
Ouch! Just this amount of pain... and my whole body jolted from it?!
"The permit will serve as your license on the battlefield and will remain valid until the quest is completed—until you return alive," Quavle noted, a rueful smile ghosting over her lips—slow, steady. "However, if the permit is returned by your questmates without your presence, you'll automatically be marked as deceased for the quest."
A pause. Her gaze shifted to Kisatsu's group.
"If you wish to quit the quest, simply relinquish the permit," she said. "But your Rageprint will remain, as it will for any other quests you take."
Astafa turned to his group, nodding to them as if they had just sealed their fate. Then, his gaze flitted to Alistare—determination stamped across his face like a contract signed in silence.
"We're going," he said—calm, resolved.
Alistared didn't turn to face him. His arms remained crossed—not in a leisurely fold, but with the weight of firm acknowledgement. A breath curled from his nose, threaded with grounded principles... and fulfilled hopes.
"Village surrounded by an ominous Rage presence, huh?" Frouc muttered, hands clasped behind his head as he ambled through the guild hall.
"Maybe a Partian cut loose? What do you think?" Gnovic replied, chomping on a corndog mounted on a slender skewer, twirling it lazily in the air. "Oh—by the way, did you hear about the Partian that rampaged through Hamburn City just a month ago?"
"Nope. First time hearing about it. Was it strong?"
"Beats me," Gnovic muttered, voice flat—casual, unbothered—as he flicked the greasy, sauce-smeared skewer into a nearby bin. "Word is, something crushed it into thin air."
"Must've been someone from the first division, huh?" Frouc murmured, gaze tilting upward with a collected stillness. "Gnovic... have you ever seen a Partian before?" His tone dropped—low, deliberate.
"Haven't. Never want to." Gnovic's voice dipped—restrained, but honest in its core. "They're scary... aggressive. Most Partians I've heard about were out of control—savage..." He paused. "But the scariest part? Some can talk. Deceive. Just like us."
Frouc's gaze drifted toward him—measured, still, deliberate. His hands now slipped from behind his head, falling loosely to his sides with a soft rustle.
"Then, what makes them scarier than us humans?" he asked, voice steady as stone, letting his words sit for a moment.
The words struck Gnovic, weighted by something he couldn't name. But he didn't flinch—didn't let it show. He turned to Frouc at last—slow, deliberate—before answering with a superficial reply, not the deeper one he had hoped to give.
"Maybe... because we know more about our own kind than we do about Partians?" he said—uncertain, but candid.
Frouc didn't respond right away. For a moment, a ghost of a smile played on his lips—unbidden. He didn't need to ask for more. He didn't need to agree. Because even to him, the things he couldn't trust were always the ones to fear most.
A soft breath slipped from his nose. Then—
"I guess we're still the same when it comes down to it," he chuckled.
Kisatsu stood before a glass-covered bulletin board mounted on the wall, his gaze fixed on the quest permits pinned to it. Names—of knights who were never seen again—were engraved, their memories wreathing the board like august ornaments.
So these are the people who never returned from this quest? He glanced up at the quest notice. E-rank, huh?
In the corner of his eye, another, larger bulletin board hovered caught his attention. His gaze flicked toward it, a faint shade of surprise lingering behind his eyes as he moved toward it with measured intent.
This is...
Tacked to the board were legions of quest permits—most evidently shattered, some still besmirched with caked, dark blood. Kisatsu's gaze crept up to the notice—slow, deliberate, tense.
S-rank?! he gasped. And it's still ongoing?!