The ride back to the estate was a sad, quiet line of hurt people. Garrick's face was pale and covered in sweat, even though the air in the mountains was cool. He fought against the Void-taint that was spreading from the two cuts on his arms. His Master-level Aura was a constant, draining barrier against the poison. Rolan had to be strapped to his saddle because he was in so much pain from his infected leg wound. My shoulder hurt in a strange, cold way that my draconic healing had a hard time getting rid of. We had made it through, but it felt like a bitter loss. We had been tested, measured, and found lacking.
We bypassed the main gates, using a lesser-used postern near the kennels, the guards there blanching at the sight of us. Word spread like wildfire, and Seraphina met us in the lower infirmary, her face a pale mask of anxiety. Her Life Sense, I realized with a jolt, must have felt our pained, corrupted Auras approaching from miles away, a dissonant scream against the natural harmony she was beginning to perceive.
Her hands, when she began tending to Garrick's wounds, glowed with a faint, steady green light, her touch gentle but imbued with a surprising firmness of will. The pure, vibrant Life Energy she channeled met the sluggish, decaying Void-taint, and I could almost *see* the invisible war playing out. It wasn't an easy counter; it was a grueling battle of attrition.
The dark, corrupted veins pulsed, resisting her influence, feeding on the life force around them. But Seraphina didn't waver. Slowly, painstakingly, her pure energy began to win, forcing the darkness to recede inch by painful inch. Garrick let out a low, shuddering sigh of profound relief as the burning cold lessened its grip. Her burgeoning power, once a quiet curiosity nurtured in her garden, was now an essential, irreplaceable asset.
While she worked, applying poultices infused with Silverwood-enhanced herbs that seemed to soothe the very Aether around the wounds, I convened the emergency war council. The atmosphere in my father's study was thick with unspoken fear, heavier than I had ever felt it, even during the Valerius crisis.
I laid out the events plainly, my voice low and grim: the ambush, the Void Acolytes, their unnatural abilities, their chilling coordination, and the undeniable confirmation that they were not just killers, but intelligence gatherers. I described how my Rhythmic Infusions were less effective, how their stealth and Void Arts nearly overwhelmed my Senses, how Garrick, a Master, had been wounded twice by their poisoned blades.
It seemed like the layers of Ashworth pride and tradition finally gave way to the truth of the threat. Damian stood still next to the map, his hand gripping and loosening the hilt of his sword. His face was a mask of cold rage. Elias, who had been called away from his administrative duties, looked genuinely shaken. He had forgotten about his political concerns in the face of this real, life-threatening danger.
"This changes everything," my father said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "This is an infestation. Here. On our lands."
"We must strengthen the fortress," Elias urged, his voice tight with anxiety, falling back on a traditional, defensive posture. "Recall the outer patrols. Consolidate. We cannot fight an enemy we cannot see in the wilderness."
"And surrender the entire territory?" Damian countered. "We must strike back. Send a legion into the Serpent's Pass. Find their nest. Burn them out."
"Strike what back, Damian?" I asked, my voice cutting through their argument, heavy with the weariness of our near-fatal encounter. The image of the Acolytes melting into the trees flashed in my mind. "Burn who out? They fight like smoke. A legion would find nothing but empty woods, traps, and another ambush that bleeds us further, just like Gamma-7."
I looked down at my own hands, still trembling slightly from the adrenaline and the lingering poison. I had faced death in the tournament, yes, an honorable combat bound by rules. This was different. This was the kind of death that came from shadows, that left no glory, just… absence. And I was volunteering to hunt the creatures responsible.
The memory surfaced, sharp and clear, dredged up by sheer desperation. Leo. The Unseen Blade. Master tracker, infiltrator, spy-hunter. A specialist in dismantling secret societies. Operating out of Port Varrick. Killed by the Cult for getting too close.
"There may be another way," I said slowly, testing the idea as I spoke it. "An old legend, perhaps, more than fact. A story whispered among mercenaries who've traveled the Free Ports." I carefully framed it as hearsay, a desperate long shot. "They speak of a man… an assassin hunter. Someone who specialized in dismantling hidden organizations, cults, spy rings operating outside the law. They called him the 'Unseen Blade'." I elaborated slightly, adding details I "recalled" hearing. "They say he possessed an almost unnatural ability to see through deception, to track trails colder than winter ice. His base of operations, the stories claimed, was Port Varrick. If such a man exists… if he could be found… his skills are what we lack. He might be the only one who knows how to track this enemy, how to fight them on their own terms, how to even identify them."
Damian seemed interested; the strategist in him saw the possible value. Elias frowned, torn between doubt and the fact that traditional methods had failed. "Relying on tavern tales?" he muttered, but instead of the usual scorn, he sounded tired and practical. "Mercenaries? Is it that bad? He looked at me, and I could see not only doubt but also a flash of the fear he had seen in Lord Sterling. "How would we even find such a ghost, if he even exists?"
"That is the risk," I acknowledged. "But consider the alternative. We continue to fight blind. We send out patrols only to have them vanish. We fortify our walls while the poison spreads unchecked through our lands and isolates us from our allies." I looked directly at my father. "This enemy fights with stealth, poison, and likely infiltration. We need someone who speaks their language. If this 'Unseen Blade' is real, his skills are precisely what we lack. He might be the only one who knows how to track this enemy, how to fight them on their own terms, how to even identify them."
My father considered it, his gaze piercing, weighing the immense risk against the certainty of slow defeat. The Void Cult operating on his borders, poisoning his allies, slaughtering his men… it was an intolerable threat that demanded a radical new strategy.
"Find him," the Count commanded finally, his voice leaving no room for doubt. He looked directly at me. The mission was mine. "Take what resources you need – gold, letters of credit, whatever is required. Take your most trusted men." He glanced briefly towards the infirmary wing where Garrick was recovering. "Travel to Port Varrick. Discretion is paramount. Ascertain if this 'Unseen Blade' is more than just a legend. If he is real, if he possesses the skills you describe… *hire* him. At any cost. Bring me the weapon we need to fight this war in the shadows."
It was a staggering display of trust, a formal sanctioning of a desperate quest based on little more than a whispered legend and my own conviction. He was placing the fate of his House in my hands.
Damian gave a curt nod. "A necessary risk. May your hunt be swift, Lancelot."
Elias remained silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he spoke, his voice tight but clear. "Go carefully, brother," he said, the word startlingly genuine. "Port Varrick… it eats outsiders alive. Don't let your capital victory make you careless." It wasn't warmth, not exactly, but it was a warning born of pragmatism, perhaps even a grudging concern. A complex, fragile truce seemed to have settled between us, forged in the face of a common enemy.
The war council concluded. As I left the study, the weight of the mission settled upon me. Find a ghost in a city of shadows. Convince him to fight a war he likely wanted no part of. All while avoiding the attention of the Cult and the political enemies I'd made. I thought of the long road ahead, the dangers unknown. I thought of Elara's challenge – become a Master. This treacherous path, this hunt in the darkness, felt like the first, necessary step. I had been given a sword I was still learning to wield, a power mismatched to the enemy, and a legend as my only guide. Somehow, it would have to be enough.