TRANSLATION (ENGLISH):
There are many places you might wish to visit in Camalia.
Some say that every corner there tells a story, and almost all of them involve stubborn people, debunked legends, and the occasional conveniently forgotten disaster.
On the Coast of Nordenha to the west, for instance, the sea is so lazy that the waves seem to nap before touching the sand. It's there that local fairs stretch out amid the smell of salt and spices, selling everything from shell-made necklaces to sculptures that swear they ward off bad luck—though they mostly attract gullible tourists and persistent flies. It's a wonderful place to visit, provided you buy something.
Farther southeast lies the Village of Owls, a curious haven where the birds are treated with the reverence of saints and symbols of good fortune. Owls appear on crests, doors, rugs, and even church bells. The sound of wings at night is constant, and they say no important decision is made there without an owl's approval—which, depending on your point of view, explains a lot.
And then there is Minecia to the east, the "Land of Romantic Awakening," a title that seems to have been coined by a drunk poet and accepted by the whole city ever since. At its center lies a labyrinth of hedges and stone paths where couples enter hand in hand and, if they're lucky, leave the same way. Tradition dictates that lovers must get lost and find each other again to prove their love—despite the fact that the labyrinth is also the leading cause of early divorces in the region.
But Arion? That is the last place you want to go.
It's not that the southern city is ugly, violent, or morally bankrupt—none of that. It's simply the kind of place that seems destined for misfortune, an area prone to Colossals in the same way that Montreal to the north is prone to Zalmas and Breaches. And sending someone to Arion is a polite way of wishing them a distant, well-documented death.
Leo knew this. She prepared to speak several times, only to realize that her mouth was beginning to tingle—which, given the situation, felt like an appropriate metaphor.
To avoid giving anything away, she merely nodded, as if to say go on.
Meanwhile, she pondered the usefulness of being sent there. Perhaps they wanted her as support in the medical center, since she had learned to patch up human bodies with more skill than killing Zalmas—creatures she had only seen once in person.
Leo had once considered that a mediocre skill, but where she came from, any knowledge capable of keeping someone alive for more than a week was worthy of respect.
Or perhaps she would be demoted to some minor post in the Department of Abnormal Research and Analysis.
Carmelius, the owner of the rare talent of always seeming two thoughts ahead, watched her with that familiar look of someone who had already decided another person's fate—the same look that had brought her here. Without ceremony, he announced:
"You will take the test to join the Order of Inquisitors."
No, thank you. What's next?
It took everything she had not to let those words slip from her lips. Instead of snapping back, she tried to project a serious yet dissatisfied posture, knowing that no matter which path she chose, the final decision would not be hers.
The Inquisitors were the Third Order of Defense of the Empire, after the Heralds and the Paladins. They were responsible for medium-sized Colossals and for incidents involving non-Audreans in areas farther from the Capital. Sometimes they imprisoned, executed, and investigated—tasks that should have fallen to the Paladins or the Royal Knights, who could barely be bothered to leave the Capital.
Another important point: Inquisitors hated Heralds more than anything else.
They say many who failed the early trials to become Heralds converted into Inquisitors, and like the Royal Knights, they did not hold the Silver Heralds in particularly high regard.
Leo composed herself, adopting a serious stance, though clearly dissatisfied. She knew that, regardless of her reaction, the decision was already out of her hands.
On the one hand, Arion was better than having her head chopped off or her body torn apart.
Not that such macabre customs had ever taken hold in Montreal—generally, the city offered such a "peaceful" life that the underground prisons sometimes seemed pointless.
She straightened her posture, folding her hands in her lap, trying to suppress the urge to drum her fingers. The ticking of clocks and the aroma of freshly brewed tea gave the conversation an air far too civilized for something that sounded, at its core, like a sentence.
"Why do you want me to go to Arion?" she asked. Though Leonia rarely voiced her thoughts, it was clear that the punishment struck her as deeply strange.
How could someone kept from most external training missions, restricted because of a curse, be sent to a place where experienced mercenaries had died?
"I don't know if you've noticed, but more and more Breaches have been appearing there," Alphonse replied, his tone almost didactic. He sounded as if he were stating an obvious fact, but there was a quiet concern beneath his words. "Controlling Colossal creatures falls to the Inquisitors, mercenaries, and even hunters. Breaches, however, are still our responsibility. And their number, along with the number of Zalmas that have emerged, has increased to the point that even with all our Heralds, we can't cover the entire territory."
"And what was decided?"
"The Inquisitors will now also take on the capture of Zalmas, just as they already do with Colossals."
The explanation was plausible. There were about two hundred Heralds under Carmelius's command and more than ten bases scattered across Camalia, yet it was still impossible to be everywhere. That was why hunting Colossals had become the responsibility of Count Zarkat.
Yes, that show-off from the newspapers who had announced to the entire world his interest in marrying the Monteiro family's heiress.
The same man who bore the title of Prince of Mercenaries and who had gathered ten men from his guild to venture into the Immaculate Mountains in search of the largest and most dangerous specimens of that race.
Including two dragons.
Something that, in theory, only a Herald could face.
To keep that mad bastard under control, King Lucian Severus had granted Zarkat the title of count and the lands of Arion as a reward for his deeds—making him responsible for exterminating those creatures as well.
Even so, it was common knowledge that guilds like the Hunters' Guild and the Adventurers' Guild maintained a tacit agreement: when demand grew too high for the Inquisitors, the task was passed on. The work was advertised so that ordinary Audreans could hunt lower-level Colossals, accept missions, and risk the Immaculate Mountains in exchange for rewards.
In part, these groups operated for the materials extracted from such creatures, sold for the crafting of weapons, garments, and, in more unexpected cases, for consumption at banquets.
Believe it or not, many nobles paid for that, considering it a delicacy.
Parts of Colossals were extremely valuable on the market; when slain, their remains were taken to guilds and research departments, where they were analyzed and, depending on the findings, could be profitable enough to become items of interest to merchants—many of them sold even to other regions.
For something like this to be proposed meant things were not going well, even with the training of new Heralds.
One of them could have been her.
Swallowing her bitterness, she kept her eyes fixed on the teacup.
"The difference is that Zalmas are volatile," Alphonse explained. "They are unique beings, with abilities as unpredictable as the appearance of Breaches themselves. Colossals, on the other hand, have fixed habitats: Stirges dominate the mountains of Parnique, hydras inhabit the Sea of Gildon, and Quibungos roam the forests of Soprano and Calázio."
Leo rested her chin in her hands, sarcasm slipping out before prudence could stop it.
"Really? I had no idea. That's exactly why I took the test to become a Herald—to deal with volatile creatures." She returned his gaze with a clearly serious do go on, as if she might also be unaware of what Demerians were and where they lived.
He ignored her indulgence and continued:
"But you didn't become one, Candidate Bellius."
The remark hung in the air like a thin blade. Before she could respond, Carmelius intervened, his voice falling over the room with the precision of someone accustomed to command.
"And that is why Count Regis Zarkat and I are forming a joint force. We want to test some skilled Audreans to create a new Order of Inquisitors to hunt Zalmas and find a way to eliminate them once and for all."
Leo raised her eyebrows and leaned forward.
"That part I understand. What I don't understand is how." She made a vague gesture with her hand. "Is this some new kind of collective sacrifice? Not even a Demerian survives long near a Breach—let alone facing a Zalma."
Instinctively, the story everyone knew surfaced.
Three years earlier, when Brukk, her orc friend, had been the only one to face a Zalma and protect fifteen novice candidates from being slaughtered during an external training class. There had been only two veteran Heralds responsible for the group; one was gravely injured, and the other was cut in half without a chance to react.
"Only Brukk faced a Zalma head-on without being a Herald. And it was a unique case. The creature cracked a portion of Montreal's barrier, and he was nearly torn apart." She looked at Alphonse. "He would have died if you hadn't arrived in time."
Alphonse averted his gaze, modest, choosing not to dwell on the subject.
With the confirmation that Regis—a mere Audrean without Herald training—had killed two dragons alone over the course of two years, the possibility of strengthening and transforming even the most vulnerable into something stronger came to light.
"And why wasn't this tested before?" she pressed.
Alphonse let out a sigh that seemed to weigh centuries.
"We already tested it. And everyone died."
The silence that followed was almost reverent. Even Carmelius seemed to contemplate his own reasoning before continuing:
"What changes now is what we have. We are creating weapons from a material that Regis found in the Immaculate Mountains—something that can wound a Zalma directly."
Leo frowned.
"We also have a dwarven blacksmith, so why aren't these weapons being distributed for large-scale production?"
She had a point.
"For someone who was dissatisfied, you have quite a few obvious clarifications for us," Alphonse shot back without moving or bothering to look at her.
"Besides being a new and poorly tested material, it is rare. Extremely rare. So far we haven't been able to replicate it, let alone find a new mine. And to top it off, it's extremely difficult to handle. That's why only a few selected individuals can test it," Carmelius explained.
Leo raised an eyebrow, wearing the expression of someone who had expected far more creative and dangerous threats.
"You seem to forget that I have no interest whatsoever in joining the Inquisitors," she said, her voice heavy with boredom. "I'm better than all of them combined. Or is that supposed to make me feel special? One of the 'chosen'? What an honor."
At times, it seemed that the woman simply ignored the position she was in, as if she had some real right to argue—or worse, as if she didn't care about appearing defiant.
"Really?" the leader of the Heralds prodded, the corner of his mouth curling in disdain. "I've yet to see you kill a single Zalma."
Leo shrugged, indifferent.
"Hard to kill anything when you yourselves created a restraining order so I can't cross the walls of Montreal." She shrugged again. The same condition imposed on her was also what prevented her—she knew part of them feared her curse would activate again in the field and compromise the group.
But how was she supposed to do anything?
Carmelius stepped forward, his voice too firm to be casual.
"Then see this as an opportunity. Isn't that what you wanted? To prove you can kill one on your own?"
Framed that way, Carmelius made her sound like a petulant child wanting a toy, not a woman merely seeking the same freedom others had.
Leo tilted her head, assessing him.
"No. That answer still doesn't satisfy me," she shot back, savoring the act of poking at the Archduke's patience. It was hard to draw any sign of irritation from him—but she tried anyway.
"This is not a choice. It's your punishment," Carmelius said, bored, as if announcing the weather.
Leo stared at him, a slow smile spreading across her lips, loaded with sarcasm and ill promises.
"You know I could simply disappear along the way, don't you?" she said casually. "Change my name, my face… live as just another nobody."
She hadn't taken her oath yet, so she wouldn't be bound by the Monteiro contract.
"You can wander from guild to guild, Leonia Bellius. But I know you. And I know none of them would be enough for what you want to be. So let me rephrase: if you want to be recognized as a Herald, you will face the training of Commander Zarkat. And you will be the best. If you succeed, I myself will make you a Herald—and I won't need your Aura for that."
The man's voice seemed to seep into her, echoing through every part of her as if it could recognize her entirely, from the inside out.
They stood in different positions, yet shared something essential: ambitions too great to fit anywhere. Carmelius wanted to contain everything that threatened Camalia; Leo wanted to prove she was superior to everyone—especially the Monteiro descendants.
She blinked, surprised. Then she laughed—not a short laugh, but something between irony and challenge. So that was it. He wasn't humiliating her. He was provoking her. Opening an abyss before her and asking if she had the courage to jump.
Leo straightened her posture, letting pride drip into every word.
"Considering that, I accept."
Without further delay, Alphonse brought a document, a pen, and handed over her knife.
In summary, the document contained more information about the proposal, the terms, the date of the first test—nothing that caught her eye, except for the final lines:
Should the bearer of the name herein inscribed renounce the sealed offer, may this parchment burn to ashes, and with it extinguish from their mind all memories of this proposition.
It also stated when the first test would take place: July 20. Considering the time she had been imprisoned, she had between two and three days left before the first mission—which would only be disclosed upon arrival at the location.
For a moment, Leo was surprised by the spells placed on the paper. It was so rare to find a spellcaster; they had disappeared from Demeria so many years ago that this felt more like a lost artifact than a document.
Without hesitating another second, she took the pen and signed. She pricked her finger, as requested, and pressed the blood onto the indicated line.
Alphonse rolled up the parchment and then handed her… two pills.
She eyed him suspiciously.
"Do I need to be drugged? What is this? Part of the process, or do you plan to sacrifice me at the end? Because, as you can see, I'm quite resilient," she mused.
"Not everything is about you, Leonia. This is part of the test. All participants will take it," Alphonse replied curtly.
"How kind of you. That really comforts me—I feel even more motivated to take them," she said, swallowing both pills and eating a few biscuits afterward.
She had already done a resistance test using such medicines, so they weren't affecting her as much as whatever was in the adulterated biscuits before her. What was it? Castor oil? Lily of the valley?
"Oleander," Alphonse confirmed, answering her unspoken question.
Clever.
The tea she drank had a sweet, almost almond-like taste. Then came the tingling, creeping from her mouth to her jaw. Heat spread across her temples, heavy. Drowsiness followed softly, like a blanket pulled over her shoulders.
She felt her initial irritation toward the duke slowly dissipate—until she looked into his eyes one last time and realized something important:
Carmelius Monteiro was not diminishing what she had done.
He was throwing down a challenge.
A challenge for her to awaken like the Monteiro ancestors.
An invitation to prove everyone wrong about her.
Leo lifted her chin, trying to keep her eyes open, insolent.
"I'll be back in a few days, don't worry. But if I take too long, it'll be purely out of spite," she said, turning her head toward the owner of those lands. "And Archduke? Mark my words—I will prove, once and for all, that I am the best. That my Aura is more powerful than that of any Monteiro descendant, including you."
By then, she could no longer clearly distinguish the figures before her. The edges of the world rippled like fresh paint, distorting faces and silhouettes under the poison's effect.
Her scornful smile remained, growing sharper than the blade of the sword Alphonse carried.
The Archduke showed no anger, disbelief, or even irritation. He merely accepted her silent promise, as one acknowledges a storm that has already decided where it will fall.
Leo blinked more slowly. The floor seemed to drift away.
With the same elegance with which she had challenged one of the most powerful men in Camalia, Leo blacked out.
Nothing in her yielded.
Nothing in her doubted.
And she fell, with the same certainty that when she awoke, Arion would have to follow her.