The morning light poured over the obsidian walls of the castle as Renji slipped out into the town. For the first time since the duel in the arena, he felt the weight of freedom on his steps — no guards, no watchful eyes, just the breath of the streets.
But something was different. His gaze shifted instinctively, and suddenly, he saw them.
Figures moving in shadows.
Faces hidden, yet present.
The assassins of Yara's order.
It struck him like a sudden truth: only those who knew of their existence could perceive them. Commoners walked past as though the assassins were nothing but drifting air, but Renji — armed with knowledge from the castle's library — saw every flicker of their blades, every shift of cloth against the wind.
"They work in silence," he muttered to himself, "but books make them visible to me."
Curiosity pulled him further. He wandered past the sprawling districts of the clans, each reflecting their essence.
The Vasto quarter stretched like a rugged grassland — rows of houses built with simple symmetry, earthy and raw. Shops brimmed with butchered meats, the scent of iron and blood saturating the air. Everything here felt practical, survival-born.
The Hawk quarter was
the opposite — colossal trees rose into the sky, and homes were built under their protective branches. The air carried the smell of bark and wildflowers. Shops balanced in harmony: vegetables, fruits, and meat alike, all nestled in the marketplace.
Then came Andros' quarter — polished, regal, every home resembling a miniature stronghold. Markets overflowed with goods: silks, weapons, food from across lands. Authority dripped from every carved stone and every merchant's polished smile.
Renji returned to the castle with thoughts buzzing in his head. The Old Man awaited him in the study, his wrinkled hands stroking parchment.
"Tell me about the scrolls," Renji asked abruptly. "How do they work?"
The Old Man adjusted his spectacles, then spoke slowly:
"Each scroll is but a vessel. Ancient symbols must be drawn onto it, infused with the wielder's healing energy. The scroll then awakens, its magic shaped by the strength of the one who empowers it. Divine scrolls, for instance, can summon guardians of
light — divine creatures bound to justice."
Renji leaned forward, lowering his voice. "And what about the black ones? The manuscripts with red lines?"
The Old Man froze. His face drained, as if Renji had spoken a forbidden name. "Where did you see them?"
"In the Vasto quarter," Renji admitted. "A man carried one."
The Old Man shut his eyes, his voice trembling.
"Those are not scrolls of the Monarch… they are the manuscripts of the Dark General. The black speaks of shadow magic,
the red — of blood. Such scrolls demand sacrifice. Their power is fed by blood drawn into their runes. With them, one may summon beasts of curse and shadow."
Renji's breath caught. "Then the Vasto… are they plotting something?"
The Old Man shook his head gravely. "No. Unlike divine scrolls, the dark scrolls are many, yet weak. Most are powerless
echoes — bloodlines without teeth. But…" He hesitated, his eyes narrowing. "There exist darker ones, rare and unrecorded. Scrolls said to surpass even the divine. Only the warriors of shadow — the Dark General's chosen — can command them."
Renji clenched his fists. "So dangerous, and yet—"
"It is already known to the Monarch," the Old Man interrupted, his tone final. "Do not trouble yourself. Some truths are guarded because they can devour those who seek them."
The weight of those words lingered as Renji stepped into the corridor.
That's when he saw her.
Yara.
Her cloak brushed against the stone floor as she moved swiftly, her steps purposeful, her gaze fixed on something unseen.
"Yara!" Renji called out, quickening his pace.
She turned, surprised but not startled.
"Where are you going?"
Her dark eyes softened, though her voice stayed guarded.
"I have to go. I'll see you later