Ryker Lios sat at his desk, buried under a mountain of paperwork that felt as endless as the battles his guild fought. His office, situated in the heart of the Crimson Lions' headquarters, was both imposing and refined, filled with trophies and relics from hunts and battles over the years. The walls were lined with weapon racks displaying a collection of swords, axes, and spears—each one a prize from a fallen foe or a gift from a powerful ally. A large map of the surrounding regions hung behind his desk, marked with red pins denoting portal gates, known monster dens, and active quests. Across from his desk, a massive banner emblazoned with the Crimson Lions' crest—a fierce lion's head with eyes that seemed to follow you—hung from ceiling to floor, framed by armor stands bearing sets of scarred, battle-worn gear.
Ryker himself was a man whose very presence seemed to embody the strength and authority of the Crimson Lions. His powerful build and broad shoulders had earned him a reputation as a fierce warrior in his youth, and even now, in his late thirties, he retained a ruggedness that made his enemies wary. His hair was brilliant crimson red with streaks of gray that did little to diminish his aura of strength; if anything, they only made him seem more seasoned, like the scars across his forearms and jaw that marked his years in battle. His hands, though thick and calloused, moved deftly as he scrawled his signature across mission reports, each stroke deliberate, a mark of both strength and efficiency.
The paperwork was mundane but essential—recent field reports, supply requisitions, territory assessments, and letters from hanger guilds under the Crimson Lions' protection, smaller guilds like the Red Wolfgang, which helped handle minor quests in remote towns. Ryker was working through the logistics of upcoming assignments, his brows knitted as he reviewed complaints from a distant village about frequent monster appearances, when a soft knock echoed through the room.
"Come in," he called, not looking up.
The door opened, and his secretary entered—a young woman named Lena, sharp-eyed and meticulously organized, with a calm presence that balanced out the constant chaos of guild life. Her attire was neat and practical, a simple dark tunic with a leather-bound ledger under one arm, and she moved with the efficiency of someone who understood both the importance of precision and the need for haste in their line of work.
"Guild Master Lios," she began, her voice steady but carrying a note of urgency. She approached the desk and held out a stack of papers, her expression grave. "I thought you should see this right away."
Ryker looked up, noticing her expression and setting down his pen, his keen gaze immediately sharpening. He reached out and took the papers, skimming over the top page. The header bore the unmistakable emblem of the Red Wolfgang. His brow furrowed as he read further, his grip tightening as his eyes scanned the report.
Lena continued, her tone professional but carrying a hint of sympathy. "The Red Wolfgang guild suffered severe losses. Nearly their entire team was… petrified in Crisanto Forest. Only one member survived—Kalum, their thief. The town healer reports he barely escaped."
Ryker's jaw tightened, his face a mask of barely contained fury as he read the details. "Petrified," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Basilisks."
Lena nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes, sir. The villagers reported unnatural fog and aggressive wildlife around Crisanto Forest. It was thought to be a minor issue, and Red Wolfgang took on the quest. But… it seems there was more than just a single basilisk."
Ryker set the papers down, his fingers drumming against the desk as he absorbed the news. Rowan, Alys, Erin, and Oliver—petrified, gone forever, if the report was accurate. His mind raced through the implications. Basilisks were rare, and two of them inhabiting the same forest, creating such a dense fog of corrupted mana, hinted at something far more sinister than an isolated incident. He was no stranger to the loss of comrades, to lives cut short in service to the guild's mission, but this was different. The entire Red Wolfgang, a guild he had personally mentored and helped form, had been nearly wiped out in an ambush none of them could have anticipated.
"Kalum's condition?" he asked, his tone softened by a rare flicker of concern.
Lena gave a small nod. "He's stable but… deeply shaken. The healer reported that he hasn't spoken much since he woke. They're keeping him under close watch."
Ryker exhaled slowly, a shadow crossing his face as he processed the report. He remembered Rowan's first mission, the young warrior's fiery spirit, the resilience he had admired in him, and the potential he saw in Alys, Oliver, Erin… They had been loyal, brave, and dedicated Hunters, and the Crimson Lions had placed their trust in them. This loss was personal, a blow to everything Ryker had strived to build.
He looked back at Lena, his voice steady but with a dangerous edge. "Prepare a notice to the rest of the guild. I want our best Hunters ready. The Crimson Lions will handle Crisanto Forest personally." He paused, his gaze hardening as he weighed his next words, his mind racing through the tactical implications of this encounter. "And contact the Pestilence Sovereign for me. We might need an expert in acid and miasma to help deal with this."
Lena blinked, surprise flickering across her composed expression. The Pestilence Sovereign was no ordinary Hunter; she was a solitary figure, known for her deadly skill in handling toxic and spectral creatures, a formidable alchemist whose powers and knowledge in decay and venomous arts were unmatched. She had the kind of expertise few dared to dabble in—a legend whose name alone could instill both respect and trepidation.
"Understood, sir," Lena replied, nodding briskly. "I'll reach out to her contacts immediately."
Ryker's expression remained unreadable, his mind calculating the implications. If anyone knew how to handle a creature with corrosive properties or the tainted mana suffusing Crisanto Forest, it would be her. And if there was any chance that the Pestilence Sovereign—infamous for her isolation and unwillingness to meddle in guild politics—agreed to join the hunt, then the Crimson Lions would have a weapon as potent as any they carried.
"Good," Ryker said, his tone final. "Let her know that she can have all the ingredients from the basilisks. I'm sure that would entice the crazy woman to join in helping us."
Lena's lips quirked with a hint of wry amusement, though her eyes held a flicker of hesitation. "That's likely to catch her interest. Visha Torinth isn't exactly known for turning down rare alchemical components… especially when they're as potent as basilisk venom and scales."
Ryker leaned back, crossing his arms thoughtfully. "True, but getting her here might be another matter. The Pestilence Sovereign works on her own terms, and we both know she's notoriously difficult to reach. She's spent years burying herself in those dark labs of hers, emerging only when it suits her." His gaze turned distant, recalling tales of Visha Torinth's work—the creations she concocted with her twisted expertise in miasma and toxins.
"She's as much legend as fact," Lena agreed, shaking her head. "Most people wouldn't dare approach her, given her… reputation. The woman's unsettlingly brilliant with poison. And there are rumors she's delved into experiments that blur the lines of what most consider… humane."
"Humane or not," Ryker replied, a shadow of a smile crossing his face, "we need someone like her in this fight. If anyone understands the intricacies of corrosive acid and miasma better than the basilisks themselves, it's her. And besides," he added with a glint in his eye, "I have a feeling she'll enjoy the challenge, even if it's just for the sake of harvesting those basilisks."
Lena nodded, still looking a bit unsettled. "It's a risk, sir, but if there's anyone equipped to handle a basilisk or two, it's the Pestilence Sovereign. I'll send out a notice to her contacts immediately and make sure she knows the full extent of the resources and rare components she can expect."
Ryker gave a curt nod, his expression unwavering. "Good. I'm just not looking forward to Visha meeting her. I fear having those two crazies in the same room would bring a chaos I'm unsure I'm ready to deal with."
He sighed, rubbing his temples as a dull ache began to creep in. The very idea of putting the Pestilence Sovereign and the Death's Handmaiden under one roof was enough to make any sane man shudder. These weren't just notorious Hunters—they were two of the most fearsome, beautiful, and dangerously eccentric women he'd ever had the misfortune to cross paths with.
And that included his ex-wife.
Ryker shivered at the thought, and Lena stifled a grin, sensing his discomfort.
The Pestilence Sovereign, Visha Torinth, was known for her dark alchemical prowess and her experiments that often bordered on the horrific. She thrived in shadows, manipulating toxins and corrosive substances with a finesse that was almost disturbing. Her aloofness and preference for solitude only added to her mystique, and Ryker knew from firsthand experience that she could turn even the simplest mission into an exercise in controlled chaos. But if Visha was a storm of twisted poison, then Dabria Abdul—the Death's Handmaiden—was an enigma cut from a similarly deadly cloth. Cold, calculating, and fierce, she wielded death and void arts with terrifying precision, leaving nothing but silence in her wake.
Ryker could already picture the scene: Visha, with her deadly composure, and Dabria, with her chaotic, almost gleeful disregard for normalcy. The two had their methods, but their personalities would clash like acid on steel, and Ryker had no interest in playing referee between two women who could turn an entire battlefield to ruin if given half a reason.
"I'll do my best to keep them on task, sir," Lena offered, a note of sympathy in her tone. "But with their… personalities, I can't promise there won't be fireworks."
Ryker groaned, his headache worsening as he considered the potential catastrophe that could unfold. "Just make sure the mission's briefed, the terms are set, and that neither of them gets it in their head to turn the forest into their personal playground. The last thing we need is one of them deciding to experiment mid-battle."
Lena nodded, her expression equal parts respectful and amused. "Of course, sir. I'll make sure everything is arranged. And I'll keep a low profile. If anyone asks, I was never in that room."
Ryker's lips twitched. "Smart woman." He sat back, still dreading the inevitable encounter. Two women of lethal beauty, unmatched skill, and just enough madness to keep even the bravest on edge. What could possibly go wrong?