"That's odd," a tentative, low voice said.
Mage Bek of the Council of Manas looked to the side, at the source of the voice. Beside him was a thin man, young, and had a timid temperament. In the eyes of a relatively experienced Mage like him, the man looked like a hatchling waiting for his mother to help him at the slightest sign of trouble.
Despite that, he could also see vague resolution in the man's eyes. It was faint and fading, but nevertheless existent. He admired that about the timid man.
Keeping his face impassive and calm, he asked. "Is it trouble?"
As an experienced Mage, he made sure to be sufficiently wary. As he wasn't trained for direct combat, he was specially cautious of sudden and immediate signs of combat, ready to hide; or in the case of unavoidable scenarios, make ample preparations in advance.
To know this, he needed somebody with great perception skills—magical, artificial, or otherwise. He needed somebody like Edsin, the young man beside him.
The young Adorned—the lowest rank of the Council of Manas—frowned and grumbled.
"No, not exactly. Just… odd."
Beside him, a different Mage eyed the young man warily, then looked forward, his eyes sharpening like steel.
Mage Sekiro had the traits of a Hamahan man, albeit one that looked older than his current supposed age. He had sharp features and a lithe build, slightly short, and had thin limbs with tightly-knit muscles rolling across them.
In his hand was a tome of exaggerated proportions. He was holding this preciously, as if it was a family treasure held for generations. His sharp eyes were looking straight at the passing crowd of people, his hand never once leaving his book, as if scared that it would be thieved.
"He's right. Something is, indeed, off," Mage Sekiro said, his gaze falling down, then back up. His voice was a deep baritone.
Although not as much as Adorned Bek, Mage Sekiro was quite the perceptive one, as well.
Mage Bek was thankful for that. Blessed, in fact. Nodding to the two, he led the Adorned and fellow Mage to a relatively secluded alleyway, did a preliminary search, concluded the safety of the space, and finally asked for details regarding the young man's sudden apparent epiphany.
"It's safe here, I think. Now, tell us of this odd thing you noticed. If even Mage Sekiro feels the same thing, then perhaps there might be credibility to your words, after all," Bek reconfirmed, crossing his arms and giving a passing slum-dweller the stink eye, completely contrary to the scholarly image of a member of the Council of Manas.
Edsin nodded, then sighed in relief when he realized that his words and ideas hadn't been disregarded as useless rabble. After a quick respite, he explained:
"My list of spells leans toward spatial awareness and divination. Through a combination of those attributes, I can instinctively feel clues to cases I'm currently handling, as well as the occasional revelations of certain hidden matters.
"Using this ability, I 'felt' something below us, far down and extremely secure, as well as various people… all having been influenced by something vile and cruel. I suspect this to be a massive slave trafficking ring. The slums have been known to dabble in the least moral activities, after all. Something of this caliber would not be below the worst of the worst of them."
Bek nodded, confirming his junior's guess, then looked at Sekiro and raised a probing question.
"What about you? What did you feel?" he asked, eager for information.
If there was one thing a member of the Council of Manas did not shy away from, it was information. To them, it made and break the world, as taught to all members by their respective teachers. Initial recruitment in the Council started with a master-apprentice relationship, leading up to a recommendation, then finally a written and practical test. Of course, there were also other methods for very special circumstances.
Holding the tome preciously in one hand, Mage Sekiro looked down with a slight frown, then met Bek's gaze and said:
"I, too, sensed something below, just like Adorned Edsin here. Except mine pointed more to various focal points of concentrated magic. From what my limited perception can tell me, there seems to be a secure area, most likely in the shape of a dungeon or a labyrinth, deep below the slums. My senses tell me that the various focal of points of concentrated magic have an affinity for protection and security. Most likely to keep people out rather than in," he explained, then turned away and watched the dwellers of the slum pass by, going about their daily lives, clueless as to the structure below their very land.
"I—" Bek began, but was suddenly interrupted.
Just then, a mad shriek tore the air above and sent shivers running down all three of their spines. Looking up, they saw a massive shadow seemingly cover the entire world, only to be thrown away by a flash of light, pushed back to another corner of the slums.
When the titanic beast, classified as a Special S-class monster, flew in a ruined form, several wounds carved into its pristine body, was pushed back by the flash of light, it tore through several buildings, destroying it entirely. The unstable and ramshackle buildings were no match for the titanic beast and powerful Knights, Mages, city guards, and Samaritan mercenaries fighting it.
After a tense moment of wordless silence, Bek muttered expressed his approval, a deep grimace evident on his face.
"Understood. Following Paladin Sezukumu's orders, we'll investigate this location, then quickly report back should we find anything dangerous."
They both nodded at him, approving. Even with a higher rank, Bek and Sekiro were no expert in combat. They were experienced, sure, but not masters. Fighting was not their forte.
Looking away, Bek led the two of them into the alleyway, then walked around for a bit, combing the terrible layout of the slum's buildings, and used Adorned Edsin's perception skills and Mage Sekiro's magic-sensing abilities to pinpoint a potential entrance to the supposed hideout for slave trafficking. Bek made sure to ask some people as well, and with a few coins paid, he found a couple of clues to reinforce their investigation.
…After a long while, they found themselves standing in front of a particular building. It was inconspicuous and ramshackle, just like all the other buildings around it.
The sun has very close to setting.
"This is it. This is where my senses tell me the entrance to the hideout is," Edsin said, his voice low as his eyes darted from each passing individual, wary and tense.
Following his gaze, Mage Sekiro held his exaggerated tome tight. The people, unlike all the other slum dwellers, were somewhat healthy, although most of them had scars, injuries, and sharp weapons of all sizes.
'How… flashy.'
It was almost like the leader of the place didn't even try to hide his hideout.
"Get ready," he warned to the two.
His companions nodded, moving far away from his figure. They still kept a steady eye on him from the back, though, lest they find themselves in dire trouble.
Bek was thankful for that.
Holding his breath, Mage Bek held his hands to his chest and exhaled deeply, muttered a lengthy aria, and felt his body lighten, his consciousness fading. Calling for another power, he dispelled the drowsiness, struggled heavily to stabilize his two spells, then closed his eyes. When he opened them, a deep fog suddenly enveloped his figure. Calling for a third power, he pushed this fog outwards, casting it all around him.
And then, a sudden thump resounded.
'First one… down," he mused inwardly, then focused back on keeping the three spells stable. Concentration was key to keeping spells active and functional.
It was going to take a while, but he intended on knocking down all the goons scattered around the building before they even knew what hit them.
◇◆◇◆◇
Entering the ramshackle house, Harita and Bian eyed the inside warily. The inside of the place was like a bar, almost, if one's standards were low enough. There was a long counter on the left side of the place, a supposed bartender with a huge build wiping a glass with a listless expression. And yet, his eyes darted from on patron to the other, wary.
Where the bartender looked, several circular tables with six or more seats were laid out for patrons to sit on, converse, and perhaps drink their sorrows away. That, or to make jolly merry. Though, judging from the sunken and crestfallen attitudes and the heavy, palpable atmosphere, the latter seemed to be very, very unlikely. There was a set if stairs that led to a higher floor: a room with barred windows.
Harita did not find the two Adorned he noticed from the outside.
'Had they gone away?' he mused, concerned. 'Did they notice mine or Bian's presence?'
If so, then that was one more reason to keep on his toes. Fixing a sunken expression on his face, he knitted his brows together and looked to Bian.
"Come on," she beckoned, walking ahead. From the way she held herself, it seemed as if she was a regular here.
Harita followed obediently, making sure to not attract much attention from the crowded patrons.
Taking a seat on a tall wooden stool, Bian leaned forward on the countertop and raised her hand.
"One brandy, old man. The good stuff," she said, her voice rough and free of all unnecessary pleasantries.
Giving her the stink eye, the burly bartender lingered for a second, then turned around and adeptly produced a brown bottle. She took it quickly.
'Is she really planning on drinking in the middle of work? How unprofessional!' Harita quipped, narrowing his gaze.
Uncorking the stopper, Bian took a generous swig and sighed, tasting warmth down her throat. Meanwhile, the bartender looked to him and said:
"You?" His voice was rough and gravely, as if being grinded.
Tearing his judging gaze away from her, Harita lowered his pitch and looked to the burly bartender.
"I'll have the same," he said, his voice low. A minute later, he, too, had the sane drink in his hand. He leaned over to Bian and whispered in a subdued tone:
"So, where's this informant of yours? The Culler…" He took a sip of the stuff, feeling his thoughts slur. In all his time living in this world, alcohol was one of the few things he never grew accustomed to.
Rubbing the brown bottle full of alcohol, Bian lingered for second, then glanced to the burly bartender. Eyeing the other patrons in the bar warily, he walked over to her, still wiping a glass cup.
"Old man, is Quill here? Got some business to take care of," she whispered, then took a swig.
Harita made sure to stayed hushed, minding his own business. 'The Culler's real name is Quill. This old guy must be his intermediary.'
Not looking at her, the burly bartender said, "He's at the usual. Upstairs. Though, I advice you not to go. He's been in a stormy mood lately. Wait until he cools off in a week or two."
She shook her head and stood up, taking the drink with her.
"Sorry, can't. My business is quite urgent, you see," Bian said, walking over to the staircase, urging Harita to do the same.
As the two walked, several patrons shifted their gaze to them—mostly at their clothes. They were clearly a grade higher in quality, unlike everything else the slum dwellers wore.
'It's a good thing I don't wear my badge all the time,' Harita mused, still keeping his head down. Staying inconspicuous now would prove fruitless, but caution goes a long way.
He did not want any trouble.
Taking the stairs, they arrived at a wooden door. Bian knocked in a specific rhythm, and with a creak, the door swung open.
Harita's gasped in shock when he saw the room. Reflected in his eyes was a scene of utter carnage, one that went beyond the usual depravities of the slums.
Corpses lay about across the bloody floor, and several others more in a stinking corner of the room, forgotten and abandoned. There were men, women, children, adults, infants, and more. Some were cut, others had various organs lost, while most were simply beheaded.
Nobody was spared.
Standing in front of a rueful pile of sawn-off body parts, holding a bloody butcher's knife, was a tall man with deep black hair and red eyes.
"Oh, hello there, Black Sparrow," he said, a grin carving the side of his face.
When The Culler spoke, Bian visibly shuddered.