A black jet soared through the skies but its engine sounds were muffled, painted steel left not a single shadow on the land below. Just as people were oblivious to the tall monolithic building that floated above the ground, they were not privy to the air traffic that meandered just above their homes.
Graham left New Lidway City in haste and he wished to return just as quickly. Unfortunately, that would largely depend on how long his business at the North Merrivian Headquarters would take.
Located just above Merriva's capital city, the ebony tower stood watchful of the happenings below, monitoring and collecting information about the supernatural activities across the continent.
With roughly one hundred stories in height, its pointed peak broke the upper edges of the troposphere. Shiny obsidian windows line its sides shimmered the scales of a giant serpentine dragon. A holy barrier pulsed around the entire towering structure, riveting sacred energy across the sky to ward off any encroaching evil beings.
The North Merrivian Headquarters was the Saint of Shield's proudest feat, for he was its head guardian and ensured its oppressive grandeur. Of all the saints that still walked the land, the Saint of Shields was Graham's least favorite to deal with.
Which was why he wanted to get this meeting over with quickly. Storming down busy halls with too-tall ceilings, Graham made a break for the assigned meeting room, uncaring about making pleasantries with passing officials. They knew to not earn his ire, for Graham was more than just a decorated soldier or championed warrior, he was no short of a living, breathing, walking legend. Even among the saints, his reputation was considered exceptional.
Doors upon doors clicked open, each requiring a different card key or some form of scan; from fingerprints to scleras and even spiritual auras. It was a hassle, really. And Graham couldn't understand the mastermind behind the network of 'security' implemented within the building's halls.
It mattered little to him in the end, he had seen countless fortresses as such, in equal measures grand and impressive, come to being and crumble to waste. The meeting room was just like any other to him. Its sky-reaching walls reminded him of a cathedral with stained glass inlaid but the embodied personality was one of authority and dread rather than faith and hope.
There was a round table at the center but its shape was only a mockery of its design. The seats were arranged so that one person occupied about half the table's circumference and the others were crammed on the opposite end. The New United Merriva emblem was mounted on the wall behind, its presence looming and overbearing.
The one who took the center was of course the Saint of Shields, greeting them with his ever-present smile that pulled his eyes into permanent crescents. He was donned in white from head to toe, his attire pure, stiff and almost imitating the garbs of a priest.
What the angels saw in this fool to bless him was lost to Graham. But he didn't know what they saw in him either.
"Welcome, welcome! Ah. No need to be so stiff, we are all friends here, are we not? Mind I forgo your titles? Yes, good, that makes things much simpler. In fact, let's forget about formalities entirely." Miguel Ramirez, the Saint of Shields, flashed his pearly whites. No one dared to contest him, for, unlike Graham, he was a saint that had involved himself deeper in politics, with roots set within the depth of the Board's heart.
Graham paid him little mind and scanned the room, noting the five present other than himself. Marie-Josianne waved at him, her red ponytail bouncing as she mouthed something along the lines of 'you bastard' that matched her playful but accusatory smirk on her lips. Graham gave her a stiff nod in greeting, "Ms. Lanoise."
She rolled her eyes at him, which he chose to ignore.
His attention drifted over to the others present. They were all high-ranking hunters that Graham had at least met briefly and likely worked together before… It was a pity that their names escaped him, but he knew all their ranks and preferred positions.
The tall eastern woman with arms crossed, waist-length hair: exorcist, S-rank.
The blond man, average height with a grey blazer, grey slacks, and mismatching socks: another exorcist, A-rank.
The man with dreadlocks, tight silver chains around his dark neck, wrists, and silver rings on his fingers: vanguard, A-rank.
The large man, auburn hair with a leather jacket and tattoos that curled up his throat and hugged his jawline: sentinel, A-rank.
Along with Marie-Josianne, a skilled A-rank scout, and himself who preferred the position of paladin, they had a very impressive team on hand.
Tension stirred in the air, everyone quiet and eager for the Saint of Shields to elaborate. It wasn't often a team of this scale is called. But the Saint of Shields was silent, smiling and basking in the brewing anticipation. No one dared prompt him, no one except the Saint of Eternity.
"Mr. Ramirez. Why is it that we are called?"
Miguel blinked slowly at him, "Why are you still so formal with me after all these years? We are both fellow Saints, can't you just call me Miguel?" If possible, his smile stretched even wider.
"…Mr. Ramirez," Graham repeated, "Some of us here are on a strict schedule."
A soft melodic laugh, "Ah, I've heard that you've acquired quite an interesting hobby. You must tell me about it when you've the time. It's been years since we last had a chance to catch up—"
"Sir Saint Miguel," it was the eastern woman who finally spoke up, her dark eyes piercing and thin lip pulled to a tight straight line. "Please excuse my bluntness but Saint Graham is right."
"…Seoyun," Miguel turned his gaze to her slowly, "I understand. I kind of hoped for our meeting to be a bit less stiff and awkward, we are all comrades here. Ahem, was that too off-topic? Then have my apologies. Since you are all dying to know, then I may as well cut to the chase; a higher demon has been summoned to our realm and we have reason to believe it's a prince of wrath."
If possible, the tension grew even thicker, the hunters standing on attention for more information. Miguel's smile grew stiff, understanding the anxiety that swelled. "It'll only be a matter of time before the beast brings with it, its army."
…
With the meeting adjourned, they were allowed to return to their previous affairs for now. The details of the higher demon's location were still being worked on and they were given instructions to await the call and prepare for the impending mission.
Graham waited at the air docks for his flight to arrive. It was told it wouldn't take more than five minutes but had already waited for ten. Why the Association banned him from calling forth his Sacred Stead was lost on Graham but he decided to adhere to the rule for now.
"So what do you think?" Marie-Josianne found herself at his side, standing close to speak over billowing winds. The air was thin so high up, and blistering cold but neither of them seemed to mind. "How much time do you think we'll have until they call us in?"
"It matters not. Should they call, I will answer."
Marie-Josianne smirked, "Really? I heard you gave Sir Walker an earful when he tried to phone you in. You've really taken it up with Ruyan's kid, huh? There are rumors that you two are even living together now! How scandalous."
"…" Graham glared at her. "Where did you hear that? Stop listening to absurd rumors. They hold little credence."
"Hey at least I'm honest about it. And if you had been paying attention, you would have noticed that I have ears in all sorts of places. But more importantly, Sir Walker is my uncle. He complains to my mom about all sorts of things."
"He is not very sensible when it comes to sensitive information. That does not bode well for his position on the Board."
"Tell that to him, not me." Marie-Josianne shrugged as though it did not concern her in the slightest.
"Noted."
Graham's phone vibrated and for a moment there was a strange sense of eagerness that passed him as he fished the dive out of his pocket. Marie-Josianne watched him with an equally strange eagerness on her face.
But his eagerness turned to an annoyance-tinged concern, seeing the caller was none other than the Megtorlas Clan servant.
"Hello, Sir Franz von Hatzfeld."
A sigh came in from the other side, "Lord Astley, I just want to confirm something. From the Association files corresponding to case file VAC04324 it says that you are…the operator of said commission?"
"That is correct."
"Oh." Silence, and then some paper shuffling on the other side. "That's…interesting. But I digress. As you are the official register operator then I shall divulge this information. There's been an update on case VAC04324. We've reason to believe that your corrupted blood is responsible for the death of a local sorcerer. If this holds candle then the case rating would raise to at least C+. Is your client okay with that?"
"…" A corrupted blood gorged on sorcerer blood could pose an issue, Graham did not particularly feel comfortable with letting Han Li handle such a thing alone. He would have to assemble a team, or just take of the creature with his own power.
After all, he couldn't cancel the contract either, not with Jonathan Walker still breathing down his neck. That would look bad on Han Li's record. "It is fine. My client will handle the case."
"…Alright, you have my due confidence. Good luck and have a nice evening, Lord Astley."
"Goodbye, Sir Franz von Hatzfeld." Now he just had to ensure that Han Li stayed put until Graham returned to New Lidway.
"What was that all about?" Marie-Josianne leaned in closer.
Graham stared at her, his expression blank. "It was about my scandalous affairs in New Lidway."
"…"
"…"
Marie-Josianne blinked, "Was that…supposed to be a joke?"
To that, Graham said nothing.