Having settled in Damon and Henry, Vincent retreated to his room. Within seconds, he detected a subtle trace of spiritual energy from the bedside table.
Puzzled, he walked towards the bedside table with caution before tugging on the drawer handle. Pulling it open, his eyes landed on a fountain pen and some paper.
" Mr Junnan really thought of everything." Vincent shook his head, grabbing the pen and a sheet of paper, he took a seat at the study desk by the window, then began writing.
"Dearest Mother"
"We've arrived safely in Augustine as expected. I plan on meeting Mr Junnan tomorrow to begin the investigation."
"Damon and Henry are doing okay, but Henry is worried about Cassie's case. Is there any news from Xiuying?"
After drafting the letter, Vincent clasped his hands together, creating a barrier of spiritual energy around him. With the preparation completed, he placed the letter and his badge under the moonlight; there was no better medium for summoning his mother's messenger and directing the incantation.
Vincent stood up, focusing his intent, and muttered a chant.
Soon, a gale of wind swirled within the barrier.
Switching to the native tongue of the Snobor, Selyrian, he continued, ["I summon by my will: A spirit that wanders beyond the boundary, a creature sworn to the Redhills, a messenger that belongs to the Scarlet Visionary."] His words echoed for a moment as if to be heard by an unseen force.
"Ja evoqe par ja volen: En psyche vandra bez limen, en bestia sworn do Rudhila, en messagero do Visionaire Skarleta."
As the wind howled, the badge shimmered, and after a few seconds of silence, the letter on the desk floated in the air.
Calmly waiting, Vincent witnessed the gale of wind form into gentle mist, the shape of a white "dove". Perched atop the desk, it clutched the letter within its beak before giving Vincent a slight nod of acknowledgment.
With that, the "dove" vanished along with the letter.
"I wonder when I'll get my own messenger", Vincnet muttered, ending the summoning. He grabbed his badge off the desk and grasped it tightly.
He gazed at the empty desk as a feeling of fatigue washed over him. Removing the barrier, he relaxed his muscles slightly, trying to keep his eyelids from closing.
Completely disregarding the open drawer at his bedside, he fell asleep immediately after he lay down.
…...
Groan! Groan!
Damon was woken by the unmistakable sounds of a rumbling stomach. His eyes snapped open, gazing over at Henry, who sat up, rubbing his eyes under the intense sunlight that shone through the windows.
"Didn't you have enough to eat last night?" he muttered.
Henry groaned in response," It's.. morning."
"Morning? That's your excuse?"Damon teased, only for a faint, embarrassing growl to echo from his own midsection.
Henry raised an eyebrow. "Did you just—?"
"You're imagining things," He waved his hand, brushing it off, and sat up. "If you're that hungry, we should have some breakfast. I won't be sharing this time, though."
Quickly showering up in the washroom, Damon felt rejuvenated. He straightened a white shirt from his hidden inventory and threw on his coat before opening the door. Stepping out, they made their way to the first floor.
The warmth of morning light, golden rays spilled through the tall front windows, cutting across tables where guests lingered over half-eaten breakfasts and steaming mugs. The smell of toasted bread and spiced tea mingled in the air. Quiet conversations rose and fell like gentle tides, blending with the clinking of cutlery and the occasional rustle of newspapers.
As Damon and Henry stepped in, they saw a man kneeling before Jetavii's counter and a handful of guests cheering him on.
["Ah, my beautiful star of dawn!"] The man bellowed in thickly accented Selyrian, drawing startled glances from nearby tables.
["Do you not see how your smile outshines the heavens themselves?"]
The man causing the ruckus was around his forties, slender but not frail, his build speaking more of disciplined vanity than strength. He had slightly disheveled blond hair, falling over his forehead, framing a face clean-shaven but flushed deep with alcohol. The top buttons of his wrinkly white shirt were undone, revealing a surprisingly sculpted chest complemented by his black trousers and leather shoes. On his left hand, a silver band glinted faintly around his ring finger; its shine reflected in the light.
Henry blinked. "Isn't it a bit too early for all this commotion?"
Damon remained silent for a moment, carefully watching the scene in thought. 'Maybe I should try that thing, it seems like the perfect opportunity to'
Henry stifled a laugh. "Think she's gonna throw him out?"
"Either way," Damon murmured, " he's gonna regret drinking so much later."Disinterested in the man's nonsense, he turned to Henry.
"Find us a seat," he said flatly. "I'll handle this."
Henry paused for a couple of seconds, pondering what his brother was planning to do. Shrugging, he wandered off towards a window table while Damon stepped toward the counter.
The drunken man was still rambling on, waving a hand dramatically in Jetavii's direction, his words spilling like cheap wine. Jetavii looked unimpressed, her hand resting on her hip, gaze cold as polished glass.
Damon stopped just behind the man, his expression calm but his mind already turning. 'Let's try something. '
He drew a faint breath, channeling a thin current of spiritual energy through his left hand until it shimmered beneath the skin, veins pulsing with soft light. Straightening his hand, he struck the side of the man's neck in one precise motion.
A tremor ran through the man's body. His words broke off mid-sentence as his eyes rolled back, and he slumped.
Damon caught him before he hit the floor, steadying the body with a practiced motion before guiding him gently into the nearest chair. The man's head drooped forward, breathing steady but deep, like a man lost in heavy sleep.
The room had gone still. A few guests stared, half in confusion, half in alarm. Damon looked up, meeting their eyes with a calm stare.
"He's fine, just asleep," he said simply.
Satisfied, he turned his gaze back to the unconscious drunkard, slumped over the table. The faint hum of spiritual energy still tingled in his fingertips.
'Huh. That worked better than I thought.'
With a faint frown, he flexed his hand once, watching the light fade. 'First try, and I actually disrupted his neural flow. If I'd misjudged the pulse, I could've triggered a seizure instead. No wonder Henry's technique is so damned dangerous.'
["Quite the simple trick once you've experienced it, but your brother has much more Careful or he might surpass you,"] said Tomoe
'I know'
"Thanks for the assist, young man," Jetavii's voice broke through his thoughts. Her tone was softer now, but still touched with composure. Unlike the other guest, he wasn't able to discern any surprise or fear from her.
Damon blinked, meeting her eyes for a moment before nodding slightly. "Don't mention it. He was ruining my appetite."
"Could I have the breakfast menu?"
Handing him a neatly folded Menu, she leaned forward and whispered, "I advise you not to casually use your energy against mundane civilians."
'I kept most of my energy restrained. How did she sense it? .'
Confused, Damon stared into her eyes for a moment before replying with a slight nod, "Got it."
As he walked back toward Henry, a low wave of murmurs began to flow to his ears. The commotion with the drunk had died down, but curiosity now filled the space it left behind.
"Did you see that?" one of the guests whispered. "Dropped the man like a sack of flour. Kid's got training, no doubt."
Another voice scoffed. "At that age? Maybe they're from the Academy."
"The Shuang Academy?" a third asked. "I thought it shut down for the summer."
"Exactly," came the reply. "When school's out, the special ones get sent north to Resburg. That's where the real work happens."
A brief silence followed before someone muttered, "You mean the place with the beasts following in from the northern border? That's suicide."
A woman's voice, older, trembled slightly. "They're still children. It's cruel, sending them out there."
"Cruel?" another man snorted. "You saying no one else would do it? Folks like us wouldn't last a day. The ones born with the "Gift"... whatever it is, they're made for it. That's what the priests always said."
He leaned back, voice dropping lower. "Be thankful we weren't. I've heard most of them don't come back the same."
The murmurs dwindled again, replaced by the soft clink of cutlery and the aroma of toasted bread and bitter tea. Damon said nothing, but his eyes flicked toward the window, expression still, yet distant.
He reached Henry's table and sat across from him. Henry tilted his head, noticing the subtle tension in Damon's shoulders.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing," Damon said quietly, eyes on the passing street outside. "Just people talking."