The Grandmaster's voice rolled over the square like thunder:
"The first trial tested your knowledge. The second will test your cunning, unity, and endurance."
A murmur spread among the gathered initiates. Aurelius raised his hand, silencing them.
"You will form teams of four. You have thirty minutes. Then, for one month, you will travel across the lands of Italy. In each city you reach, tasks and feats await—hunts, exorcisms, trials of wit and will. Your performance will be judged. Each team will be assigned a Warden to oversee your progress. At the end of the month, only the highest scoring teams will advance."
The crowd erupted in whispers, initiates instantly eyeing one another, weighing alliances.
Azazel felt his chest tighten under the mask. Teams of four… The plan came together almost instinctively. Juan was obvious. But to round out the group—he needed power, someone trained under a Warden.
And he knew just the one.
Ino. Basil's disciple.
[Actually that's a good plan…]
"Hey! Stop peeking at my thoughts!"
The boy had a reputation for being prideful, hungry for recognition. Easier to trick him than Basil himself—Azazel didn't dare face the master's gaze, not in disguise. Azazel was sure that they won't allow Basil to oversee a team where his own disciple is.
He moved quickly through the milling aspirants. Juan trailed behind, trying not to grin.
"Excuse me," Azazel called in his newly assumed tone—measured, confident, but with an edge of flattery. "I felt your presence, your strength. You're exactly the kind of hunter I want at my side."
Ino turned, his sharp features half-bored, half-curious. "Hmph. Is that so?"
"You're powerful," Azazel pressed, his mask hiding the sweat at his brow. "I could tell the moment you entered the hall. My name is Lucien, I'm Grandmaster's disciple. With you, Juan, and myself—we'd make a formidable team."
Juan coughed into his sleeve to hide a laugh.
Flattering Ino? Smooth, Lucien. Real smooth.
Ino tilted his head, clearly enjoying the attention.
"Fine. I'll join you. But I don't tolerate weakness. My name's Ino."
Azazel said smoothly, masking the relief in his chest.
That left one more.
They didn't have to search long. In the corner of the square, adjusting the string of a bow taller than himself, stood a lean figure with sharp eyes. His longbow was unlike any Azazel had seen—etched with foreign runes, its wood a pale ash.
"You there," Juan called. "Ever shoot a something at fifty paces?"
The archer smirked. "Closer to a hundred."
That was good enough. He gave his name as Matteo, a free-hunter from Naples.
By the time Aurelius returned, their team stood ready. One by one, the groups filed to register. Thirty teams in total, each of four young hunters.
When the list was finalized, the Grandmaster announced:
"Each group will be assigned a Warden to travel with you, to spectate and record your deeds."
Azazel's heart stopped for an instant when he saw Basil across the plaza. He braced for the worst—
But fortune spared him. Their Warden was a tall, broad-shouldered woman draped in the scarlet cloak of the Barcelona branch. Her eyes burned with fire, and her voice carried authority as she introduced herself:
"I am Warden Isabella de Alarcón. For the next month, I will walk at your side, and I will see what worth you hold."
Azazel breathed out slowly in relief. Basil would not be watching him.
But at his side, Juan's expression darkened, almost disappointed. He muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Azazel to hear.
"…huh?."