The Vice wiped sweat from his brow with his lone hand. "Still murky, Lord Paramount," he rasped, voice tight with tension. "Darkburg's gone radioactive. Sunset Dominion's Royal Court is in full panic mode. The Emperor himself mobilized his inner circle, locked down every data stream out of that hellhole. Even the Thieves' Guild's contacts are hitting walls. Dead ends. We have to wait for the intel to trickle out."
The shadowed figure known only as the Lord Paramount didn't stir. "And the Hades's whelp? Any trace?"
The Vice flinched. "Sir… we've flooded the zone – our people, the Thieves' Guild rats – everyone. But the kid? Vanished. Poof. Like smoke. Not a whisper." His stump ached in phantom memory. Failure meant more than demotion; it meant *ending*. The Mingwang Sword promised unlimited leverage, power beyond imagining. He *needed* that blade.
A glacial silence settled over the room. "Incompetence," the Lord Paramount finally hissed, the words sharp enough to draw blood. "The brat's irrelevant. That *sword*… the power it holds. Think of the contracts, the influence, the *gold* it could buy us. Find. That. Weapon. Dust every corner. I want a confirmed sighting, alive *or* carved. Make it yesterday."
"Y-yes, Lord Paramount!" Sweat cascaded down the Vice's neck. Survival hinged on delivering the impossible.
* * *
**Did the Thieves Guild truly know nothing of Darkburg?**
**Of course not.**
In her secure chamber within the Guild's labyrinthine stronghold, Phoenixbane crushed the intel scroll in her fist. Two days ago, when the first coded whispers reached her, cold fury had crystallized into lethal purpose. The report detailed desiccated husks among the Darkburg dead. Corpses drained of life, parched into grotesque mummies.
Her Fourth Uncle, six months gone, had died exactly like that.
The Mingwang Sword.
Her lips peeled back in a silent snarl. *Six months.* Six months of dead ends and frustration, and now the killer surfaced in the belly of the Sunset Dominion? Revenge, long-simmering, bubbled over. She knew the Killer Ninja' Guild hunted him too. So, she'd lied. Fed her father, the Guildmaster, sanitized fragments – 'Sunset Empire clamped down hard.' The brutal specifics? Buried. Let the assassins chase shadows. This kill… this catharsis… was hers alone.
Pulverizing the scroll with a surge of raw Qi, the fragments drifted like ash. "Hiding won't save you, murderer," she whispered, the words venomous in the silent room. "Your blade killed Fourth Uncle. Now, I return the favor. His spirit *will* be avenged."
* * *
**Within the Hall of Radiance, heart of the Clerical Order…**
Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Mystic Mystic Night and his father-in-law, Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Nayan, pored over the encoded intercepts from the Sunset Dominion. The Order lived on faith and… the heavy donations flowing from the Sunset Dominion's Imperial coffers. Millions in gold annually. The other kingdoms combined couldn't match it. That reliance bought tolerance, even as Sunset's underbelly rotted with corruption. The Clerical Order turned a sanctimonious blind eye. 'The rot poses no threat to *us*,' was the cold calculus.
Nayan stroked his chin, worry etching deep lines. "Golden divine radiance… in *Darkburg*? Preposterous. We, the Chosen closest to the Heavens, have never witnessed such. An omen? A celestial rebuke?"
Mystic Mystic Night scowled. He despised the Sunset Dominion and its slippery Emperor, Spring, who'd brazenly lied to his face about the captured elves. "Radiant sign? Doubtful. Our sensors would've spiked. A hundred square blocks vaporized? Sounds like a combined offensive by our senior Blood Skeleton Monk Priests and the acolyte choruses to me. Maybe the Dominion *earned* divine retribution." Frustration gnawed at him. But something darker soured his gut. Desiccated corpses… Only one thing matched that signature. *Dunce.* The fool had taken the moniker 'Reaper'. '*If you misuse the Demon Sword, Mystic Mystic Night,*' he remembered snarling at the boy, '*even the Sky-Reaver can't shield you.*'
Nayan's eyes widened. "You know the perpetrator?"
Mystic Mystic Night nodded sharply. "Father Nayan, I need clearance for Sunset. This lands in my portfolio."
Nayan frowned. "Such magnitude… surely we brief the Pope Mystic first?"
Mystic Mystic Night paused, fire cooling. *Luna's voice echoed in his memory: 'Dunce is the Chosen One.' Prophecy or delusion? Confronting the boy now… without the Pope Mystic's blessing… especially with Luna locked away in her intensive training, blossoming under the Pope Mystic's direct tutelage… it was political suicide.* An idea sparked. "Delay the Sunset op for now. Our network there needs steadying public unrest." He met Nayan's gaze. "I need the Inquisitorium."
Nayan blanched. "Azure Abyss? Have you forgotten the man is… *difficult*?"
*Had he?* Mystic Mystic Night suppressed a shudder. "He's still my uncle. And this is Order business." The Holy Arbiters reported only to the Pope Mystic… and the Master Inquisitor himself. Pope Mystic was unreachable. That left only *him*.
Mystic Far. The Master Inquisitor. Pope Mystic's estranged brother. Vanished at three, reappearing decades later to seize the Inquisitorium by sheer, terrifying power. Mystic Mystic Night would rather fight an army of demons than endure one of Mystic Far's moods. The man was a glacier of malice and martial obsession, emerging only for cataclysms. The Inquisitorium ran via its two Vice Masters; he hibernated in seclusion, honing his impossible strength. Rumored power? Some whispered he was second only to the legendary Sky-Reaver in the mortal world. Fear was a constant companion.
"Just try not to get frostbite," Nayan said dryly.
* * *
Beyond the Order's bustling districts, deep within the austere, fortified complex of the Inquisitorium, Mystic Mystic Night navigated grim hallways. Hope sparked as he recognized a familiar figure.
"Azure Mystic Night? Storm bring you to our somber halls?" Vice Inquisitor Chief Ba Blunt grinned, clasping Mystic Mystic Night's forearm in a warrior's grip. Ba Blunt, though shorter and seemingly ordinary, radiated controlled lethality. His specialty? A blindingly fast light-energy dagger. They'd trained together as youths. "Still owe you that rematch after the last ale-off."
Mystic Mystic Night managed a smile. "Responsibilities buried me. Just like you, after the Vice promotion."
Ba Blunt waved a dismissive hand. "Paperwork. His Grimness leaves it all to Blunt Edge and Wind Master." He led the way deeper into the complex. "So… what drags you into the lion's den? Visiting *him*?" He jerked his chin towards the stark, isolated structure nestled at the complex's rear – a small, windowless block of hardened stone.
Mystic Mystic Night grimaced. "Order business. Need intel from the Master."
Ba Blunt whistled low. "Brave soul. Tandor't say I didn't warn you." They stopped a respectful distance away. "Good luck. I'll watch from… *over here*."
Mystic Mystic Night approached, the oppressive energy radiating from the stone hut intensifying with each step. Ten meters away, he stopped, gathering his holy energies as a shield. "Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Azure Mystic Night seeks audience with the Master Inquisitor!" His voice, amplified by Light-forged resonance, pierced the silence.
The energy flow inside snapped taut, then abruptly ceased. Silence stretched, thick and hostile.
"Disturbance is… unwise." The voice was low, flat, resonating from the stones themselves like a seismic tremor. Utterly devoid of warmth, acknowledging no familial bond.
Mystic Mystic Night braced. "Urgent Order matters compel me, Master Inquisitor."
"Speak." The single word dripped ice. "Justify the intrusion."
Mystic Mystic Night spoke fast, concise. "Six months past, the Pope Mystic dispatched four Celial Arbiters. Target: the inheritor of the Sky-Reaver's legacy. Darkburg's massacre… the desiccated victims point to *him*. I request their last known coordinates."
A beat of frozen silence. "Darkburg rats deserved extinction. Irrelevant." A palpable wave of concussive force slammed outwards, invisible but crushing. Mystic Mystic Night gasped, hurled backwards like a leaf in a typhoon, landing beside Ba Blunt. His protective barrier strained, breath rasping. He'd hit the wall of indifference.
Ba Blunt muffled a snicker.
Desperation clawed. Mystic Mystic Night sucked in air, shouted towards the sealed structure, voice raw. "I dueled the Sky-Reaver! Witnessed his power! I'll share the details!"
The effect was instant.
The door shattered open. Not opened – *ceased to exist*. A figure stood before Mystic Mystic Night, materialized like an afterimage. White robes, unkempt grey hair framing an ageless face etched with glacial intensity. Eyes like shards of obsidian locked onto him. The pressure spiked, pinning Mystic Mystic Night like a specimen.
"The Sky-Reaver. Describe him." Mystic Far's demand was a blade drawn.
Mystic Mystic Night fought the crushing aura. "Months ago… before the Arbiters… I sought him on Sky-Fury Peak. He looked… young. White hair, ageless vigor. His power…" Mystic Mystic Night shuddered at the memory. "He gathered mountain mist like tangible force. Pierced distant peaks. I… lost. Instantly. Couldn't chant. He is… apex. Pope Mystic believes none can match him one-on-one."
The pressure vanished abruptly. Mystic Far stood motionless, gaze distant, unreadable shadows flickering in his eyes. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaped him. "The gulf… remains vast."
Seizing the crack in the glacier, Mystic Mystic Night pressed. "Pope Mystic dispatched Arbiters to watch the Sky-Reaver's heir… who bears the Hades's Blade. Darkburg's carnage… we must understand."
Mystic Far's eyes snapped back. "The dead were condemned. The quarry remains in the Sunset Dominion." He paused, the faintest hint of something other than disdain touching his tone. "Reported strengths… surprising. Even without the cursed blade, his martial essence rivals an Arbiter's. Arcane capabilities… confirmed. Dual-summoning."
Mystic Mystic Night froze. "Summoning? *Dragons?* That lore is lost! No records exist!"
"Facts are facts, Blood Skeleton Monk Priest. A silver beast of molten gold eyes… and a creature of bleached bone. The radiant devastation that leveled Darkburg… likely their combined doing." He paused again. "Extracting oneself from such a Dominion encirclement… was… noteworthy." *The detail of the Holy Arbiters nearly dying within the golden devour stayed unspoken – a secret locked within the Inquisitorium.*
Mystic Mystic Night's blood ran cold. *Luna's prophecy echoed louder. Chosen One. Summoning mythical beasts.* The impossible pact with the Sky-Reaver felt frail. "Master Inquisitor… I must inform the Pope Mystic—"
He never finished.
**A figure cloaked in serene, blinding radiance appeared beside Mystic Far as if formed from light itself.** "Peace, Azure Mystic Night. We are already informed." Pope Mystic's voice calmed the charged air.
Both Mystic Mystic Night and Ba Blunt snapped to attention. "Pope Mystic!"
A gentle wave dismissed the formality. "This is a matter of the grand weave. My granddaughter's foresight… seems validated. Dunce's purge, however violent, cleansed a festering wound within Sunset, not its vital core." His gaze, ancient and wise, held Mystic Mystic Night's. "The Sunset Dominion's gold fills our coffers, yes. But we do not sanctify the shadows they harbor. For the Chosen One… divine design unfolds best without our steering. Leave him to his path."
Mystic Mystic Night bowed low, mind reeling. "It will be done, Pope Mystic."
"Instruct our Sunset network to aid the locals in restoring calm." Pope Mystic turned his luminous gaze towards the Master Inquisitor. "Leave us, my sons. We have… much to discuss." The hint of steel beneath the serenity was unmistakable.
Ba Blunt tugged Mystic Mystic Night's sleeve. They retreated swiftly, leaving the two most powerful figures in the Order amidst the oppressive quiet.
Mystic Far didn't watch them leave. "My pursuit remains," he stated, voice flat once more. "The Swords are the summit. The Sky-Reaver is the challenge."
Pope Mystic sighed, a sound like wind through ancient stones. "You already stand shoulder-to-shoulder with three of the four. The gap with the Sky-Reaver endures. Why risk the precipice?"
"His apex… is my goal." The reply was absolute. "What he achieved, I *will* attain."
Another sigh, heavier. "Leave this cage, brother. Travel. Does the 'Chosen One'… not intrigue you?" A spark lit in the Pope Mystic's eyes. "Perhaps… he holds the key to the challenge you truly seek."
Mystic Far went perfectly still. The glacial eyes sharpened, piercing. "Permission granted?" The question was a loaded weapon.
"Long solitude breeds rust." Pope Mystic's answer held the weight of permission… and warning. "Seek the world's fires. But remember: the Chosen One may embody the crucible that forges your *own* strength. Return alive. Your duel with the Sky-Reaver awaits… *your* true readiness. His death wastes a whetstone." He faded as silently as he arrived.
Alone once more, Mystic Far turned his gaze north and west… towards the sprawling, treacherous lands of the Sunset Dominion. The path shimmered with lethal promise. The Sky-Reaver's heir… and perhaps, his own ultimate trial.