The crimson moon hung low as it counted the days of change in the lower abyss. The once monotonous life in Raksha Town experienced tumultuous changes in the recent five years as the aftermath of Skysplit began to surface.
Fifteen years of change, and with the nourishment of the ever-flowing currents of source energy brought about through the revitalized abyss, more and more people began to explore the mystical path dubbed as commanding nature.
Nonetheless, although this brought unexpected shuffling to the social structure throughout Raksha Town, the seats of power remained in the firm grasp of the twelve Rakshas.
These were people who enjoyed systematic training in open-field combat. Anyone can carry a knife, but not everyone can master the craft of killing and the art within.
Some people tested their luck. Blind arrogance and a heavy dose of misplaced ego set these ignorant ruffians on a path of no remorse and no return.
As for Aza'zel, after receiving the batch of seven children from Frederick, he practically ghosted the events taking place in the town at large.
In the small courtyard isolated from the public eye, he practiced the thirty-six forms of three stances all year round, and five years later, he consolidated his practice of the third stance together with achieving the third level for the first transformation.
The constant stressing of his muscles and blood energy as he practiced the forms brought his physique waves of natural tempering, and despite the lack of source energy, he found his level elevating naturally.
Furthermore, the intermittent discharge of purified source energy from his body inadvertently brought about noticeable changes to the bodies of the seven children who joined him in his practice over the last five years.
Although he didn't understand the principles behind these changes, he wasn't particularly concerned with the developments either. However, none of the seven could practice beyond the twelve forms of the first stance.
As the days went by, Aza'zel delegated his tasks into segments: nourishments, practice, meditation, literature, and active sparring rotations with the seven at the end of the day. Like so, his gains from combating the blood puppet were engraved into the seven children.
Though Aza'zel couldn't read, and for obvious reasons, he still learned how to write by memorizing the shapes and format of letters as Rebecca held his hand and wrote.
The only thing stopping Aza'zel from teaching them the four arte was the lack of suitable instruments. In five years, he poured everything he could into nurturing these seven.
No one except for Aza'zel knew how capable these seven children were, despite them being a group of fifteen-year-old girls.
The group just finished their routine sparring session for the day under Aza'zel's supervision.
"Assemble."
This one word from Aza'zel brought the girls to attention. Seven petite figures, barely a hint of flesh and fat on their slender bodies, allowing the defined muscles representing years of effort to surface.
Raksha Town didn't enjoy the luxury of fabric, much less clothing. Thus, they wrapped their figures with whatever makeshift of patched shorts and straps of cloth to conceal their private parts.
With light and practiced footwork, the seven girls of dark eyes and darker short hair lined up before Aza'zel and shouted their greeting, "Lord Watcher!"
Aza'zel could only differentiate between the girls through the tones and cadences of their voices.
Moments like these when their voices mingled into a unified shout, Aza'zel couldn't tell them apart.
"It's been hard on you girls," Aza'zel started with a hint of compassionate warmth in his voice. "You did great."
The girls didn't reply, but if Aza'zel could see, he would have spotted the fervent determination and worship in their dark eyes. This person changed their lives, and literally, with the flip of a hand.
No one understood better than them how precious this opportunity is.
"I have prepared something for you all," said Aza'zel, and as though on time, Frederick coughed from outside the courtyard and walked in.
It has been nearly five years since he last stepped into this courtyard, and as he stepped lightly, he kept his head down not daring to glimpse at the seven young girls, though it was unknown why he wouldn't.
He held a few gray raincoats and a gray, leather-tailored trench coat with a furry collar and deep hoodie in his arms. As he bowed to rest them on the ground, the eyes of the seven girls immediately snapped over, captivated.
They immediately noticed their lord's signature gray raincoat in the pile of clothes, and if it weren't for their discipline and respect, they'd have long since rushed over to grab them.
Frederick conscientiously stepped back and turned his slouched body around with a cough, and as Aza'zel permitted them to move, the group of seven stepped in a uniform motion, but they suddenly paused.
They exchanged competitive glares while eyeing the stylish trench coat that stood out in the pile. Obviously, they'd decided to compete on the rights of helping their lord drape the coat over.
As usual, their war was silent, glares intensifying, as they didn't wish for their lord to become aware of their pitiful competitions. However, even as they glared at one another, Aza'zel had somehow bypassed the group and was already picking up his coat.
The development called for an abrupt cease-fire between the seven, and the next thing Aza'zel knew, numerous deft hands were all over his young body, helping him with the coat.
Moments later, and Aza'zel frowned.
Even as a blind person, if he were to wear it by himself, it wouldn't have taken just as long as it took with their immediate help.
The seven young girls seemed to have noticed that their lord has reached the limits of his patience, and in a split second, all of them retreated, each with a gray coat in hand.
"Your movements seem awfully stiff," Aza'zel said in a light tone. "Keep training mock combat for three hours."
Aza'zel was aware of their exhaustion, even if he couldn't see their sleek skin doused in glistening sweat, as he could smell the natural scent it induced.
Some of it lingered on his coat, even. They seemed to have taken liberties with his body, but then again, and while he basked in ignorance, these seven were brought up in a breeding farm for better or worse.
They weren't as ignorant of the matters between the two sexes.
Their movements weren't stiff at all—it was all deliberate—yet they'd never admit to it.
Aza'zel left the girls to their training and left the isolated courtyard. In five years, this would be his first time leaving the limited confines of this dark corner.
Frederick was waiting by the entrance to the courtyard in his usual humble, slouchy stance.
Aza'zel fixed his coat until it fit comfortably on his person before reaching out his palms. As though he had been waiting for this, Frederick handed two custom-optimized long-barrel revolvers.
Frederick spoke softly, "I'm afraid to say we've spent our entire five years of savings to afford this pair of revolvers and that coat, Lord Watcher."
"They're satisfactory enough," Aza'zel replied in an evenly soft tone. "Anything worthy of note happened while we were training?"
Frederick's expression darkened, and his tone grew heavy as he said, "Many things happened, my lord… Evil things."