Nuallis City, Armeman Region
The horses' hooves clattered over the brick-paved streets, burdened by the wagon's weight—each step falling into a steady rhythm. The Tudor Revival houses leaned inward, their gables etched against the golden, warm sky—yielding to the wagon with quiet dignity.
Everyone had finally returned.
"Great job finishing the quest," Alistare said, his voice firm, eyes flicking to Kisatsu and Astafa—his gaze unreadable. "Well done making it out alive, you two."
Kisatsu and Astafa's expressions didn't shift. Their eyes stayed far-off, piercing—as if something cold had gripped their spines, the air thick with silence.
Footsteps approached, each movement calculated and deliberate.
"You wouldn't happen to be the infamous Alistare I keep hearing about from the Camesarian Guild, would you?" Elzhask remarked. "Sounds like you've been putting the greenhorns through the wringer, huh?"
Alistare turned to face him, a subtle shift flickering across his countenance.
"Aha! And you are?" he replied, voice lighter.
"Elzhask Callighurr of the Seirai Guild. It's an honor to meet you," Elzhask said. "Are you, by any chance, the mentor guiding these quest takers?"
He recounted the entire quest to Alistare in a stern voice.
"I understand. That certainly sounds like a serious disaster," Alistare responded, his voice level. "Very well, I'll oversee their ascension for this quest."
* * *
Austrad and Mwvyck had been reprimanded but were promoted to the Sixty-Sixth Section nonetheless. Kisatsu's wounds were currently being treated at the guild medical center.
"Astafa, please forgive me for what transpired during the quest. I could not have anticipated the actions they took against their questmates," Alistare stated, his voice gentle and even. "However, the past cannot be changed; the dead are gone. Regarding your ascension, you and Kisatsu will be placed in the Eightieth Section."
"E-Eightieth Section?" Astafa repeated, surprise registering on his face. "Isn't that jumping the gun a bit?"
"No. In truth, that's the lowest possible rank I can assign you. Those two were among the most formidable knights the guild has seen. The fact that you survived an encounter with them merits a rank not far below theirs," Alistare explained firmly. "Still, rest assured—I won't elevate you so far that it endangers your lives. However, should you wish to step away from knighthood for a time, I fully understand. It's highly irregular to encounter higher-division members on a first quest—this may well be the first instance of such an event."
Given their feats, they could very well have earned a place in the Seventieth Section, he thought, eyes narrowing slightly.
* * *
Kisatsu lay on a gurney, his injuries bound in thick gauze, a medical pad, and a firm wrap—just enough to make him feel like the damage wasn't there. But the fatigue in his eyes lingered, heavy and steeped in vengefulness.
"How long until I fully recover?" he asked, a trace of urgency in his voice.
"Without the aid of Rage healing, the wound should close in approximately two weeks," the nurse responded, her voice measured and grounded. "Do you possess regenerative abilites or, at minimum, some form of accelerated recovery, sir?"
"I had regenerated once... but I forgot how," Kisatsu answered quietly. "Can you teach me how to do it again?"
"I can't regenerate myself. Can you recall what it felt like when you were able to do it?"
* * *
Astafa stood in front of the bulletin board, his eyes resting on Gnovic and Frouc's quest permits pinned to it. The frame—a silent reminder edging on the dead—fastened them with a sense of irreversibility, thumbstacks like blades that had pierced them to their demise.
Frouc. Gnovic. It's been a pleasure knowing you these past few months. I hope you both find peace now.
One last glance hovered. Then he pivoted, squared himself, and departed—collected, unhurried. The air rippled like a ship carving through still waters, dense and weighted. The final before another beginning.
Still, I can't stop now. I'm a knight—and I'll keep taking quests nonstop until I reach you, Older Sister.
* * *
"I'm sorry, but there are no available quests suited to your current rank as a solo. The lowest-ranked one right now is a D-rank, which—like your previous quest—requires you to assist higher-division members," Quavle explained. "The quest details haven't been released yet, but you might find more options at another guild in Vinhurd City."
"Got it. I'll look into it. Thanks, Quavle," Astafa responded before leaving. But before he could steady himself, a recognizable silhouette emerged at the edge of his vision. Despite all attempts to ignore it, he couldn't resist the urge to throw a single glance—gaze laden with guarded intent.
Austrad? he muttered under his breath, brows knitting with doubt. Don't tell me he's aiming for the D-rank quest too?
* * *
Astafa entered the ward, his steps fading into the silence before the pieces aligned. The sterile smell of disinfectants clung to his senses—a quiet testament to those who had brushed death now lay still. The fluorescent glow above blinked now and then, swaying like a lullaby meant only for the resting.
His eyes found Kisatsu, at rest, as if sleep could mend both flesh and the weight pressing inward. Astafa's gaze softened at the sight, the hush brimming with a breath of fragility he had once felt when the world still held its shape... only, it was more fragile this time.
"I'm going alone, Kisatsu. You still need time to recover," he whispered, voice barely audible. "Besides... we don't always have to take quests together. You can wait until something more fitting for a solo shows up."
A pause. The silence held a weight that gentled his gaze. Then with a quieter voice:
"I'm really sorry I couldn't save them... even when they believed I could. I feel like a fraud—and maybe I always will, even if I do find my sister," he added, guilt flickering beneath his voice.
Silence unfolded, laden with unsaid things... from both.
Then—before anything could shift:
"No... I'll go," Kisatsu murmured, his voice ragged, thin as breath—eyes closed. "My wound'll heal soon enough."
"Completely?"
"Just enough that the next stab won't kill me outright," he murmured wryly, a ghost of a smirk flickering over his lips. "And what are you even saying? You should be apologizing to them. I never expected you to save my ass anyway... but still, thanks. You did what you could."
A breath.
"That fight was unwinnable. The least you could've done was survive. For them," he finished, tone firm but quiet, threaded with finality.
Astafa then spoke of the D-rank quest.
"So, we've got to head to Vinhurd?" Kisatsu inquired. "All the more reason for me to go—I've been meaning to check that place out."
"Hm? What for?"
"It's a metropolis. They've probably got aircraft I can hitch a ride on back to my homeland."
"Blutenheim?" Astafa asked, as though the name bore gravity, a crease of concern forming on his visage. "Are you even aware of what's going on there right now?"
A beat. Kisatsu's breath caught.
"What's... going on there?" he whispered, voice trailing off, tinged with uncertainty.
"Only knights are in the loop. Most citizens have no idea what's actually happening," Astafa said. "The reason higher-division members rarely show up is because they've been deployed across every county in Blutenheim."
"Is there... a quest for it?"
"There is. But it's classified as Outer-rank."
"Outer-rank...?" Kisatsu echoed, uncertainty passing over his expression. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"There are two ranks above S-rank—Complex and Outer, with Outer being the highest. Complex-rank quests are the kind even autarches take on—usually involving the divine or anything tied to it," Astafa explained. "Outer-rank quests, though... those deal with threats from beyond the barriers. Only one Outer-rank threat has ever occurred in the past, and a Complex-rank one followed not long after."
It's definitely those damn priests! Kisatsu mused, his brows drawing together in rising ire.
"What? Still planning to go back?" Astafa asked, his voice level. "I've got no right to stop you. But if you do make it there safely—there's no guarantee you'll make it back here."
Kisatsu paused before replying. He clenched his teeth in silence, staring into nowhere. Then, in a low voice:
"I'll get stronger. Then I'll go back."
Upon hearing him, a faint smile brushed Astafa's lips—an unexpected balm, but one he'd longed to hear.
"Need a hand when that time comes?"
* * *
Austrad faced the guild receptionist. Something about the phial he'd come across earlier gnawed at him—a weight he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried.
It wasn't the first time he'd laid eyes on a phial like it.
He had been only nine, when screams—of both children and women—split the air. His village had been razed, and he hadn't learned why until years later. One of the raiders had let slip a phial with a similar crimson fluid amid shoving some of the women—not quite blood, but near enough to stir the memory of it.
The case felt like a riddle left to rot... or a truth long buried.
A dulcet voice drifting through the air drew him back. The stillness ushered him into the present once more, the air seeming to ease—just barely.
"Unfortunately, there are currently no quests involving the village at the Tyvan Coast, sir," Quavle remarked. "However, an available errand could take you near the area. According to the details, your task would be to fill a wagon-sized crate with lingonberries. The errand ends once someone completes it first. The reward is fifty-thousand pounds. The forest near the Tyvan Coast is said to be teeming with lingonberries—though wild animals often prove to be a hurdle."
"I'll take it," Austrad replied, his voice clipped.
* * *
The moon loomed high in the star-swept heavens, spilling long, pale blue ribbons across the path. The trees were stippled in ghostly silver, murmuring secrets like pryful neighbors. The sound of hooves padding softly over the gravel-strewn path unfolded in the night's hush, its rhythm whisked away by the wind before it could settle.
Austrad perched on the driver's seat, shoulders squared, gaze riveted on the illuminated path—calm, unreadable, lost in thought. The wind tugged gently at his kilt, just as it had the night before their previous quest began. The silence sang mellifluously, the air soft and light as the trees swayed elegantly.
The horses halted at the village's heart. Austrad pivoted toward the same house as before, eyes sharp with resolve. Each step was measured and deliberate, the sound resonating quietly in the stillness.
As he stepped into the abode, the phial hovered in the moonlight streaming through the crack in the ceiling, glowing with eerie exactness. He reached down to retrieve it, eyes searching and weighing.
It's just the same as before... he mused, slipping the phial into his pouch with deliberate care. Afterward, he made his way toward the neighboring forest to scout for lingonberries.
As he passed through the familiar, shattered homes, his eyes fell upon something he was certain memory hadn't overlooked. The large groove cut crosswise before him, continuing even beyond several sundered homes.
Come to think of it—he didn't use Rage Pressure, he contemplated, a faint furrow lining his brow. Was it because he couldn't... or just didn't know how to?
With one last glance, he drew himself upright and set off toward the forest. The air was draped in silence—no crow's cry, no frog's croak, just a hush settling deep into the hour.
His gaze roved across the foliage, searching for the faintest hint or fragrance of lingonberries—yet nothing surfaced.
Looks like I'll be looking for them all night, huh?
A lone crow's cry broke the hush, piercing the silence—his gaze froze on something so vile, even the stillness seemed to recoil. A ravaged corpse lay crumpled beneath the tree's shadow, its eye torn clean from the socket, with barely a trace of blood.
He stared. Just stared. And for the first time, his cold veneer gave way.
"Corranwell... what have they done to you?!"
* * *
Vinhurd City, Caerloch Region
The scent of stew and fire-roasted game wove into their breaths as they strode through the guild hall, gliding past half-familiar figures, had they lingered a moment more. The vaulted ceiling arched inward, cloistering the space in quiet grandeur, as though the very act of looking bent perception itself.
Then, as they drifted through the hall, a Partian knight—an unseen, unimagined figure to their knowing—passed by them with reverent grace.
"No way—a Partian knight? And not even a feral one?" Astafa murmured, awe momentarily eclipsing his composure.
"Is that unheard of?" Kisatsu asked, eyes drawn to the Partian—subtle, but admiring.
"No... Usually, most Partians within the barriers act wild—that's what I've heard. Supposedly, they're the result of failed experiments."
Experiments... That's right, Austrad mentioned something about that, Kisatsu pondered.
"Feral Partians are classified as Impure," Astafa said. "Pure ones, on the other hand, are Partians by birth—each and every last one of them born beyond the barriers."
"So Impure Partians... they used to be human?"
"That's right. Not all of them lose their sanity, though. It all comes down to their blood."
A fleeting hesitation shadowed Kisatsu's face, now touched by quiet realization.
"Astafa... are you an Impure Partian?" he asked, voice even. "The things you can do... they feel too Partian-like. Even your regeneration."
"Yes," Astafa answered, his voice level. "But the power I have is different. It holds me as a vessel—and anyone who bears it won't lose control."
A pause. His gaze lifted to the vaulted heights above.
"One night, I just... had it. It surged through me. Even now, I don't know where it came from."
His words hung heavy in the silence as they arrived at the guild reception. Astafa inquired about the D-rank quest.
"May I see your knight licenses?" the guild clerk asked, eyes scanning their cards. "Eightieth Section... Are you certain you want to accept this quest? The minimum recommended rank is Sixth Division. There's no guarantee your higher-division questmates can keep you safe from the D-rank threats involved. Please think this through."
Sixth Division? That means not even someone like Austrad or Mwvyck would be considered suited for this quest, Astafa mused, glancing sidelong at Kisatsu. And he's still not fully healed.
A breath.
But this is the lowest-ranked quest available right now. Once something easier shows up, it won't even take a full minute before someone else claims it.
"We're aware," Kisatsu uttered. "But at the moment, there are no lower-ranked quests available. Is there any way we can still be allowed to take this one?"
The guild clerk paused in contemplation, weighing his thoughts before making a final decision.
They're still young and lusty. I'd have more faith in them if their rank were just a little higher... he thought. But hey, it's not like I'm stopping them from chasing what they want.
"Understood," he finally spoke, voice even. "The quest has already been claimed by a Fourth Division member and is currently awaiting a full party. You will be assigned to assist them in transporting a Partian specimen to Verdetierra, via the Sea of Tirreu."
Another land? The thought crossed both Kisatsu and Astafa's minds simultaneously.
"Fine," Astafa said. "We'll talk about it"