As evening fell upon the slums beyond the Nordland duchy in the Secas Empire, two uninvited guests made their appearance.
The man leading the way appeared to be in his thirties, clad in tight-fitting leather armor, a longsword hanging at his waist. His golden hair cascaded down his back, an incongruous sight amidst the squalor and decay of the slums, naturally drawing countless hostile glances.
The starving mob and lurking thieves skulked in the shadows, their eyes like sharp blades as they scrutinized the two men.
But upon spotting the emblem of the Holy Light on their garments, those prying gazes swiftly retreated.
In the Secas Empire, one might not recognize the imperial banner, but no one was ignorant of the emblem of the Holy Light...
It was the symbol of a divine messenger!
Apart from the clergy clad in the robes of the sacred temple, only the Witch Hunters bore this mark!
It was said that every Witch Hunter was blessed by the gods, possessing abilities far beyond ordinary men, and no one wished to provoke such formidable foes.
Noticing the shadowy figures retreat into the darkness, Andre sneered, though the faint stench wafting from the dilapidated alleys soon had him wrinkling his nose.
"Indeed, Bishop Anvilk was right—these sorcerers are like rats, always hiding in dark and foul corners," Andre remarked, eyeing the lingering stains and filth in the street's murky recesses, his hand instinctively covering his nose as he complained.
"We should remain vigilant, Andre. This time, we're not dealing with some ordinary foe," the man leading them chided, displeased with Andre's brash demeanor.
A few days prior, a significant incident had occurred in the Nordland Duchy—a sorcerer named Koru had attempted to bewitch the Duke's second daughter. Fortunately, vigilant guards discovered the plot in time, sparing the Duke's young daughter from the demon's influence.
The brutal scene of that battle still lingered in memory.
In pursuit of the audacious sorcerer, the Duke of Nordland dispatched two full squads of guards. Even so, the losses were heavy, and if not for the timely arrival of the church's bishop, the Duke would have faced utter humiliation!
Now, their target was the sorcerer's apprentice—another practitioner of dark arts.
"Don't worry, Blayne," Andre scoffed. "We're only dealing with an apprentice who's barely studied magic for a few months. These types usually know just one or two minor tricks. Trust me, a farmer wielding a pitchfork would be more trouble than they are."
Having been part of the Witch Hunters for over half a year, Andre had participated in several hunts against sorcerers.
At first, he was deeply fearful of these sorcerers, who were rumored to be in communion with demons.
But after confronting them, Andre realized they weren't nearly as terrifying as he'd imagined. Most posed little threat—their magic was often limited, and some spells were even less reliable than a crossbow or longsword.
As for the novices still struggling with their craft, they were nothing but fodder. Distracted for even a moment, they couldn't cast their spells in battle and would be easy prey.
What pleased Andre most was the high bounty for capturing these sorcerers. The Duke of Nordland was especially generous—alive, an apprentice was worth six Secas gold coins, enough for them to live lavishly for a while!
Of course, killing them would only fetch half the price.
Blayne glanced at Andre without comment, though his wariness remained.
In his experience, those Witch Hunters who trusted too much in their intelligence often didn't live long…
The slums beyond the Nordland duchy were small, with little traffic. It took only a slight threat from Andre, invoking their Witch Hunter status, to extract the hiding place of their target from a vagrant.
The building in question could barely be called a house—its red-brick walls were riddled with potholes, overgrown with green vines, and the door seemed ready to collapse at a touch.
Their target was close, but neither man made a move immediately.
Andre glanced at his partner, cursed silently, and then stepped forward to press his hand against the door. His calloused fingers gripped the latch firmly, but the door, despite its frail appearance, did not budge. It was evidently barricaded from within.
With a grim resolve, Andre kicked the door violently.
The door burst open with a resounding crash, revealing the interior of the room.
The narrow space inside was disheveled and neglected, with piles of garbage stacked in the corners.
On a nearby wooden table, a candle flickered, disturbed by the sudden gust from the shattered door, and after wavering for a moment, it extinguished, plunging the room into dimness. Only a faint light filtered through the open window, just enough to see the tattered blanket trailing from the bed to the floor, stretching toward the window.
Blayne, who had followed Andre inside, scanned the room, quickly noticing a crumpled piece of paper on the floor.
Andre, who had entered first, noticed it as well. He bent down, picked up the note, and after reading its contents, his expression darkened.
"Damn it, looks like we're too late. The kid has already joined up with the other apprentices!" Andre spat, piecing together the scene from the clues in the room.
Their target, the sorcerer's apprentice, must have been alerted to their arrival and fled in haste, leaving everything behind.
But judging by the still-warm bed and the recently snuffed candle, he couldn't have gone far.
With this in mind, Andre was anxious and eager to give chase. This was six Secas gold coins—they couldn't let him slip away!
If the apprentice joined the other sorcerers, capturing him would be far more difficult. But more pressing for Andre was the fear that another bounty hunter might get to him first.
"Wait…"
Just as Andre was about to climb through the window in pursuit, Blayne stopped him, pointing to the desk.
Andre turned to look. Besides the extinguished candle, there were several copper coins and sheets of paper covered with strange symbols and diagrams scattered across the table.
After a moment's thought, Andre quickly grasped his partner's meaning. If the sorcerer's apprentice had fled after receiving a warning, he wouldn't have left behind easily portable coins, let alone these "precious" magical manuscripts.
Andre, with his experience in hunting sorcerers, knew that most sorcerers would rather die than part with what they called their research notes.
This meant the apprentice might still be hiding in this very room…
Andre smirked. The dragged blanket, the open window, and the discarded note all suggested the apprentice had fled.
Clearly, this apprentice had tried to trick them, luring them away with a clever ruse. It might even be a trap—he had almost fallen for it.
At this moment, Lynn, hidden in the darkness, was drenched in cold sweat, his senses heightened to the extreme by the life-threatening danger. His mental energy, amplified by magic, radiated outward, even affecting the air currents to snuff out the candle, allowing him to breathe without making a sound. This was how he had managed to evade the Witch Hunters under their very noses.
Blayne ignored Andre's sudden realization, his gaze sweeping the room before settling on a dark red cabinet beside the window.
The cabinet was only shoulder-high, covered in dust, and positioned close to the open window. In this dilapidated, drafty room, it was unremarkable, yet just large enough to conceal a crouching adult male…