Assessment (III)

  Murmurs erupted from within a dimly lit space.

  As soon as his vision had adjusted itself, Cyril looked around to find that they were in a spacious cavern—or at least a structure resembling one. The high arched ceiling hung drearily overhead, pulsing from the dim blue lights sparkling like little lanterns. It wasn’t just the ceiling either, the entire cavern seemed to be glowing from the tiny blue specks embedded in the walls, floor and ceiling. The musty smell of damp earth lingered in the air, giving the space a sort of detached feel to it.

  There were a few towering pillars here and there—still flickering with a luminescent glow— that shot up from the ground and merged with the ceiling to act as a natural support mechanism, but aside from that there wasn’t much else to be seen within the dimly lit space. The only thing left to do now was follow the wide path stretching into the darkness and howling with the sound of shrill cries.

  With no apparent branch points, the path seemed to beckon them onward. The shadows cast by the liminal figures appeared to invite them forward, deepening as the dark tunnel stretched ahead. The shadows danced on the walls, almost urging them on with an unspoken command: move forward.

  Needless to say, they obliged.

  A cacophony of footsteps sounded through the cavern, accompanied by a series of dull clanks, metallic rustles and the occasional screeching of armor plates. Holding his sword by the scabbard, Cyril moved cautiously within the neatly organized formation, heart slamming against his chest faster by the second —half out of excitement, and half out of apprehension.

  Then all of the sudden he felt something tug on his forearm. After scrolling his eyes around they stopped on a familiar pair of blue Irises that were practically glinting in the dark.

  “Wha- Angelica?”

  “Shhh...not so loud, I snuck away from Yelena for a bit~.”

  What is she thinking at a time like this? Cyril thought to himself, however that was before he recalled the results of her recent evaluation, which meant that at least on paper, she was about as strong as their current captain.

  “I can see that.” He sent sarcastically, making her pout.

  He decided to embrace the well-deserved chuckle before continuing.

  “So, is there something you wanted to talk about?”

  “Actually, there is. I want to know why you and Marcel are on such bad terms, I’ve been trying to keep a cool head but it's been bugging me this whole time. Please, just tell me that and I’ll be gone in a heartbeat.” Angelica murmured softly, clasping her hands together in a silent attempt to strengthen the weight of her shallow plea.

  Sighing a little, Cyril contemplated his answer for a few seconds before utterly giving in. It was pretty much impossible for him to say no now that she was practically begging him like this.

  Slowly, Cyril’s lips parted as he got ready to begin but then, someone else had spoken up in his place.

  “Cyril Severin—sixteen years old. Current evaluation: D, Class: Striker, excluding the S ranks, he possesses one of the highest reaction times in the entire hunter association. One year ago, on the night of the incursion incident, you engaged in a brawl with Marcel Phoenix who was already a hunter at the time. The fight ended with the intervention of your guardian, but by that time Marcel had already scarred the right side of your face with third degree burns and in return you amputated his right arm. Thanks to your connections with chairman Wilhelm, the issue was resolved in your favor and Marcel was temporarily stripped of his rank, however because your guardian Alice Severin has passed away, the terms of your previous agreement with the Phoenix clan has been invalidated.”

  The sharp snap of a thick-spined book closing echoed at the same moment the recap concluded.

  “Ohh, nice going Percy. Cyril, looks like someone’s done a background check on you.” Angelica, who was undoubtedly pleased by that unsettling stream of information applauded contentedly.

  She turned to Cyril, half expecting him to clap back with some kind of brusque remark, but instead her eyes met a pale-faced soul who’d gone slack-jawed a while ago.

  “W-what?” Percy probed nervously, giving a nudge to his thick framed glasses.

  “How-How did you figure all of that out so quickly? We haven’t even spoken to each other yet-wait! Have you been spying on me?” Cyril exclaimed anxiously, his face losing a bit more of its color.

  “Of course not.” Percy shot back, stifling the urge to shout. “Your info’s been all over the dark net for over a year now because you decided to play hero during the incursion incident a year ago. I simply recalled what I’d read after seeing you, that's all.”

  “O-Oh... I see, that’s all it was then.”

  “Wait...the dark net, doesn’t that mean-” Angelica’s voice seemed to slacken as she mulled over the implication.

  “It means he’s famous in a very bad way. The people he got involved with were from Cocytus—a literal terrorist organization.” Percy finished in Angelica’s place, keeping his gaze level. “If I were you, I’d try to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention to myself, you have no idea how dangerous those guys really are.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.” Cyril responded brusquely, sounding like he’d heard it all before.

  “Milady, you’d best get ready, something’s up ahead.”

  The voice came from behind, sending a sudden jolt through Angelica’s body.

  “Y-Yelena? Since when did you get behind us?”

  “Since you started talking to these people.” She replied flatly, tone still sounding cold and indifferent. “For the sake of your well-being I really don’t recommend sneaking off like that.”

  “R-right, I suppose I did get a little carried away.” She mused quietly, seeming a bit disheartened for some reason.

  Meanwhile Cyril—who had been trying his best not to turn around—felt a cold gaze scanning him from behind.

  This is exactly what I was trying to avoid....

  “Hold formation!!”

  The bold command resounded from the front, bouncing off the high walls and immediately stopping their otherwise lackluster procession dead in its tracks.

  Their progress was halted in an area that opened up to a large field marked by a collection of withered oak trees and a bed of brittle, golden grass that whispered underfoot with every hesitant step. The arched ceiling looming above made the air feel unnaturally heavy, as though the field itself held its breath, waiting. Scattered among the roots of the ancient oaks were countless jagged stones—some no taller than a hand, others jutting from the earth like weathered teeth—each carved with symbols that time had begun to erase.

  The ground was uneven, pocked with shallow depressions that could have been old graves or remnants of something far older.

  It didn’t take long for Cyril and everyone else to discern the reasoning behind their captain's abrupt order, because just up ahead lurked a large gathering of inhuman creatures prowling and weaving through what little cover the cavern’s chamber had to offer.

  That was the case for all but one.

  Each of its steps sent a dull thud through the ground as it approached, muscles bulging and armor plates rattling. The monster in question had a humanoid frame with thick green skin, and riddled abdominals. There were pieces of worn-down armor fitted to its body here and there, seeming to cover the more vital places and hefted across its shoulder was a giant war axe.

  “Gwooooah!” The monster gave a roar

  As if on command, a number of smaller minions came crawling out the works. Leaping down the withered oak trees, surfacing from beneath the shallow depressions in the barren soil and jumping out from behind aged stones. All mirroring the same rag-tag appearances of their irrefutable leader from the rusted armor down to the edentate leers.

  The axe wielded by their growling leader was littered with chinks and chips, making the weapon itself seem crudely thrown together but the thick bloody smear that dyed its blade just went to show that it could still get the job done regardless.

  “T-that’s a h-hobgoblin! It’s a tribe!”

  A shaky cry came from the front, sending a wave of anxiety through the assembly. Some were trembling, some stood frozen still, while others scrambled to prepare their respective countermeasures.

  Cyril took note of his uncertain teammates one last time before sighing solemnly.

  Not out of shame but disappointment.

  The majority of those gathered in his party seemed to be rookies fresh out of some deviant training academy scattered across the city. While they were certainly taught how to best utilize their powers in those institutions, applying that knowledge in real combat was an entirely different matter. There were various programs aimed at teaching deviants how to use the powers of their respective classes in combat and even special events that allowed them to go up against low-level monsters, but this and that were two different things.

  No matter what the results of their practical examinations said, there would always be a divide between ‘knowledge’ and ‘application’. Unless one had grown used to these types of high-stake situations, sweaty hands and stiff shoulders were typical for first time reactions.

  It was like asking someone how to drive a car. Most people wouldn’t be able to give an answer other than “You just drive it.”

  “Prepare for combat!” Ralph shouted, his voice shaking the heavy space.

  “Form up your squads just like you were taught at the academy, support classes at the back, vanguards at the front. Do not engage any enemy that outclasses you and don’t try to be a hero, you’ll need a team to take down the hob. My support is limited but I will not allow any of you to die, the rest is up to you!”

  The assembly of trainees rapidly began splitting into smaller units after calling upon their general knowledge. Magicians and enchanters scrambled for their designated posts with robotic precision.

  Cyril on the other hand had been keeping his eyes firm the entire time, scanning their inhuman foes with an obsessive interest until — clik-clik-clik

  An odd clattering sound rattled in his ears, inciting him to spare a glance over his shoulder. There he saw a young man donning a loose plated armor set over his leather gear struggling to steady the hand that was trembling above the pommel of his short sword.

  “A striker...?”

  Clear as day, panic was plastered on the youngster's face, sweat dripping like a river down his temples. There was an odd rattling sound coming from him, but since he wasn’t moving the sound couldn’t have been coming from his armor.

  Finally, Cyril looked up to see that it had been the young man's teeth making that sound the entire time.

  Ah...I should probably give him some advice. He thought to himself offhandedly.

  “Control your breathing and widen your stance. Find a magician to cover and hold your position at the vanguard, you don’t have to charge in. Some of the smaller ones are likely to get past the first wave thanks to their numbers but I think you can manage that.”

  “Eh? A-are you talking to me?” The shaky swordsman asked, eyes still wide.

  “Well yes, since you’re practically oozing anxiety. If you don't know what to do then just hold your position, you’re a D-rank striker aren’t you?”

  “I am. Thank you for the advice but what will you do? Aren’t you a D-rank striker too?” he asked reflexively, sounding more composed. He must have been paying keen attention to the confrontation with Marcel earlier.

  “Me?” Responded Cyril, unsheathing his sword with a face full of mischief.

  “I’m going for the hob!”

  Like clockwork; a horde of goblins came charging in waves as if responding to his declaration.

  They didn’t need to go very far because it only took a few seconds for an elemental assault to respond in kind. A cacophony of indecipherable wails and shrieks echoed through the cavernous space.

  The advancing green minions could hardly put up any resistance when confronted with bolts of lightning, blasts of fire, jagged earthen spears and all manner of elemental devastation being hurled their way.

  Blood splattered across the arid walls and organs were torn asunder, quickly replacing the cavern’s quiet lull with the thunderous symphony of a chaotic battlefield, lit by flashes of every hue imaginable.

  Cyril glanced around again looking for any signs of a struggling unit, but surprisingly they all seemed to be holding their own. After confirming that the swordsman from earlier had found his place among them, he broke into a dash for his target. A single swing of the sword in his hand was enough to slice through the thick clouds of conjured dust and shattered rocks, clearing his path forward with theatrical precision.

  His objective wasn’t far—about fifty meters ahead — but apparently someone else had bested him.

  Cyril’s eyes went wide.

  He saw the figure of a familiar girl in his path, moving at a speed he simply couldn’t match. Crouching low, Angelica unsheathed the rapier at her hip with a metallic ring, the blade flashed like lightning as it cleaved through a goblin’s jugular. The decapitation was swift, to the point where the creatures head seemed to hang in the air for a moment before gliding off its shoulders.

  And yet, she still wasn’t done.

  Before the severed head could crash into the dirt, she sent it flying with a powerful low kick. It slammed into an oncoming mob at a ruthless speed, causing them to tumble over from the blow like bowling pins. With a dash her silhouette flickered out of sight, materializing once she had snuck into the blind spot of an unsuspecting trio.

  The rapier shimmered with a gem-yellow hue, soaking up her aura like a sponge. It flashed bright yellow from the force of her swing, scorching flesh and severing limbs along the blazing arc.

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  Magna Arts huh? She’s better than I thought.

  Even though he was witnessing a massacre, Cyril couldn’t seem to find the right words to describe the encounter. Was it right to label this scene as beautiful? He wondered to himself mid movement.

  Grrracckk!!!

  A dissonant symphony of guttural cries erupted from all around him, they wouldn’t allow the boy to have any idle thoughts at a time like this. The closest foe in sight was a limping goblin that must have lost an arm to Angelica’s attack earlier. Even with the strange blue liquid sputtering from its shoulder joint the monster was still determined to wreak havoc. Since it obviously couldn’t kill Angelica the next best thing to do was switch targets.

  Tumbling into range the armless goblin leapt several feet into the air, then it transitioned into a dive whilst hurling back the arm desperately clutching the hilt of a rusted short sword. A wicked sneer split the creatures' lips as it snarled mid-flight, ready to close in for the kill. Before it could even connect the strike however, the bright glimmer of a silver blade had rendered it motionless, slicing through its torso along a clean arc and cleaving its body in two.

  Much like Angelica, Cyril’s aura had enveloped his blade in a thin veil, but unlike her rapier which had been set ablaze, his weapon could do no such thing. The straight edged sword was a little over a hundred centimeters long but the only thing unusual about it were the arcane runes carved into its pommel.

  The inscriptions pulsed with a faint glow rhythmically, as if responding to its owner's power.

  Flicking the viscous smear from his blade, Cyril quickly shifted his posture and took a step back just in time to evade the thrust of an old knife attempting to pierce him from behind. He opted to leverage the difference in height and delivered a knee to the goblin’s chin. Its body—which was unusually light—sprang off the ground but was abruptly slammed back into the dirt after being harpooned by a sharp thrust from his blade.

  There was no time to register the high-pitched squeal that came next, he had no choice but to hurriedly pluck his blade and launch himself further into enemy territory. Ducking under projectiles, dodging frantic charges and leaping over malevolent midgets, Cyril weaved his way towards the biggest threat on the battlefield, occasionally being forced to swing his sword solely for the sake of clearing a path.

  He was certainly skilled for a D rank striker, but physical ability could only get him so far in the world of magical combat. In that sense, Angelica was his superior in every sense of the word.

  What took him a more than minute to accomplish she did in around twenty seconds.

  Depending on their rank, Cyril had no trouble dealing with two or even three monsters at a time, but any more than that and he would have to be a bit more careful. Getting swarmed was also out of the question given the way these creatures operated. One of the first things deviants were taught at his academy was to beware of horde type monsters, especially goblins. After spending so much time with a certain woman, a particular line had been repeated to him so many times he felt as if it had been manually stitched into his brain.

  Goblins are stupid, not foolish. Given the chance, they can and will take you by surprise.

  After recalling that memory, his expression hardened upon seeing the mob of minions readying their weapons at him. He was intending to weave around their poor excuse for a blockade when a voice suddenly called out to him.

  “Cyril get clear, I’ll cover you!”

  A quick glance over his shoulder projected the image of Arden Shaw, muscles bulging and form brimming with power.

  Trusting the man’s words, Cyril did as he was told and dashed along a wide arc, opening up a direct path between Arden and his targets.

  The large war hammer had already been slung over Arden’s shoulder. The aura shrouding the weapon surged and flared from the sheer force after being slammed into the ground.

  The impact sent a dull tremor rippling through the surroundings, and in response to the small quake, a jagged sphere of debris erupted into the air. It lingered in the air for a moment, tumbling over itself until -

  “ROOAA!!!”

  Arden launched the small boulder with a furious swing. It bolted off like a rocket and crashed into the small gathering of evil with the force of a cannonball.

  The attack wasn’t exactly geared towards concussive force since the ball of debris splintered into a myriad of fragments shortly after being launched, but that was good enough. The storm of fragmented stone daggers tore apart goblin flesh with a sickening ease. To no avail, they shrieked, cried and groaned from the barrage of debris. It was already much too late for them.

  “Thanks!” Shouted Cyril, still pressing on.

  Seconds later he was in range but Angelica was already engaged in the harrows of combat. Upon his arrival, he wasn’t surprised to see that the hobgoblin had been dealt several blows, oozing blood here and there from the numerous gashes scattered all over its body.

  However, it hadn’t gone down yet, they were going to need more than a few slashes to finish such a creature.

  GROOAH!!!

  The monster’s roar preceded a wild swing of its war axe. The weapon was almost twice Angelica's size and yet she didn’t seem very concerned with any evasive maneuvers.

  Straightening her stance, Angelica waited until the last moment before bending her body backwards, allowing the Axe to swing past her face with a violent whoosh.

  Then, from that same low angle, she traced another burning arc with the rapier’s blade. This time, slicing the monster's wrist clean off.

  The severed appendage fell to the ground with a sickening thud, forcing the large goblin into submission from the sheer agony. It plopped down on all fours and clawed at the ground with its remaining fingers.

  Whether by chance or by luck, the hobgoblin had assumed a posture perfectly fit for its own decapitation.

  “Cyril go for it!”

  “On the way!”

  After building up a bit of speed Cyril took flight with a blatantly inhuman leap. Gravity brought his body down along an arc, one that was perfectly aligned with the crouched monster’s body. All that was left to do now was unleash the vertical swing he was intent on holding back until the last second. Given the width of the hobgoblins neck he was going to need all the force he could muster to sever its nape in one go.

  Cyril's body stiffened as he prepared to unleash the swing, he felt a simultaneous contraction from every muscle in his upper body, however something happened before he got the chance to put all that kinetic energy to use.

  “Burn it to ash — Ignis Iacta!”

  A swirl of flames condensed exploded across the battlefield before ultimately assuming the shape of a burning vortex. The flames—hot enough to torch the ground itself — had a peculiar trajectory to say the least.

  Not because of its coiled appearance but rather, because it was perfectly positioned to toast the airborne Cyril and the downed goblin at the same time.

  “Crap!”

  Cyril quickly abandoned his sword form mid-swing and instead twisted his body at a freakishly unnatural angle. His hips creaked from the sudden shift but it was just enough to get him out of harms way.

  His body crashed into the uneven ground a few times—right before the burning vortex of doom connected with the groaning monster.

  It shot up from the pain and thrashed about, seeming like it wanted to scream but that was no longer possible. All the moisture in its throat had been evaporated almost instantly and the intense heat from the blast had melded its windpipe shut in short order. Thus, the towering monster could do nothing but crash into the floor and surrender itself to the agony of its own demise. The pyre of flames raged on with a series of cackling sounds, each on churning up the thick, acrid smoke that filled the air like a suffocating veil.

  “It’s over...”

  The anticlimactic end to her struggle had sapped quite a bit of Angelica’s vigor. She flicked her weapon and sheathed the blade with a look of disinterest before turning away from the flaming carcass.

  “Are you okay, Cyril?”

  “For the most part, yeah. That was a little too close at the end though, who cast that spell?”

  Dusting himself off, Cyril rose to see a conflicted expression on Angelica’s face. Without matching his gaze, she pointed in an eastward direction—to the remnants of enemy forces that were either still going for a desperate breakthrough or had just given up entirely and decided to make a run for it.

  There, upon a protruding rock formation, was a young teenage magician with fiery red hair and an open grimoire in one hand. A wisp of smoke lazily wafted from his palm as he met their gazes with a confident smirk, clearly pleased by what his spell had accomplished.

  “Marcel, what was that just now?! You almost roasted Cyril alive!”

  Angelica shouted, her voice seeming to fade against the distant sounds of battle.

  “I knew he would dodge.” Replied the flame magician, indifferent in his tone. “He’s D rank trash but his motor skills, if nothing else are up to par. Besides, you can handle a little fire, right, Cyril?”

  He asked that question in a casual tone; yet, its delivery hard countered the amicable nature he was pretending to convey.

  “You can’t just-”

  “All you did was throw out a spell from far away, but it did get us results so I'm not complaining.”

  Cyril interjected dismissively. He turned towards the remaining goblin forces and scanned the surroundings in a bid to distract himself.

  He’s stronger now, his spells weren’t that powerful before Cyril paused, his fists still clenched in frustration as he pondered.

  “Angelica I’m going to see if there’s any unit that needs help. I’ll take the ones on my right and you can have the others.”

  “O-okay...” said Angelica, giving a terse nod. That was all she could do since Cyril hadn’t spent much time waiting for a response. By the end of her gesture, he was already sprinting off somewhere, intending to unleash hell upon an oblivious foe.

  “This concludes your first in field combat assessment. I was keeping a keen eye on things and from what I saw it appears that the lot of you aren’t half bad. Granted, most of what you did was heavily reinforced in your academies but its good to see that you’ve at least got the basics down. There’s still much work to be done but overall, you did good.”

  Ralph gave the announcement with a palpable sense of satisfaction in his voice. His tonality resonated with the assembly of trainees, inciting a series of cheers among them as a result.

  “Hold the celebrations.” Said the commander, calming the uproar. “We’re not done here yet; we still have to tend to the injured before moving on but first....” Ralph paused to scan the see of mostly young faces. His expression hardened upon meeting the gaze of a certain young man.

  “....Marcel, what was that at the end there? You fired off a spell without even alerting your comrades. What if they weren’t resourceful enough to avoid it in time?”

  “My apologies captain, it seems I’ve gotten sloppy during my brief absence from the field. In the past the party of hunters I dived with required no verbal cues when I was casting spells. I must have unconsciously acted on that habit a little while ago.”

  Marcels tone was calm but his eyes were fierce. The two indications gave completely different meanings when applied to the context of his apology. It was fairly hard to prove a correlation between such things, therefore, Ralph decided to abandon any hope of dissecting their deeper meanings.

  Cheeky brat....

  “That may be so, young Phoenix however I’d like you to keep in mind that unlike you the deviants in this party are actual trainees with hardly experience as a hunter.”

  “I’ll try my best to be more cautious from now on, captain.” Marcel swiftly remarked, accepting the admonition with a shallow bow.

  “Do bear in mind that your little stunt will also be taken into consideration.” Ralph worded through a taut expression, still looking displeased.

  “By the way, Severin, are you okay?”

  “Yes captain. The blast grazed me a bit but I’m fine otherwise.”

  “Good to know. As a precaution I want you and Angelica have an enchanter examine you before we go any further. The two of you were going pretty wild out there.”

  “A-Ahahaha okay I’ll do that.”

  The captain took a moment to scroll his eyes around the scene, then slammed his shield on the ground to refocus their attention.

  “Alright everyone fifteen minutes! We don’t have anyone that's critically injured so form up in your squads and have the enchanters look at the more serious injuries first. This isn’t a safe zone so we don’t have a lot of time here, more monsters could come springing out at us any second now!”

  The command was well received, and the captain earned a response of his own in the form of a coordinated “Yes sir!”

  Bodies scrambled and heels clattered throughout the cavern from the fervor that had suddenly been imparted upon the assembly of trainees. The enchanters spread out to form a horizontal line, each one having their own assortment of single file patients to tend to.

  The lines weren’t long and moved quickly. A side effect of not having any major injuries to deal with.

  “We’re lucky it was just some goblins...” Cyril murmured softly; his eyes glazed in a daze from the rapid flashes of light from the healing spells.

  “Nice going kid! Getting props from the commander and all!”

  After analyzing the force from that slap across his back a while ago, Cyril formed a thin smile and shook his head. He didn’t need anything else to confirm the identity of its owner.

  “Arden, even if I’m a deviant you know that still hurts right?” he asked, his voice sounding weak.

  “Sorry, I get a bit careless sometimes. I guess I’m just a bit excited to be here is all.”

  “How long has it been since you awakened?”

  “Well...to tell you the truth I was a D rank until a few months back but I managed to rank up recently after moving to this city. Climbing up to C rank gave me a little bit more confidence in myself y’know, so I thought I’d try my hand at this whole hunter thing.” Arden explained enthusiastically, sounding as if he’d been longing to share the news.

  “Well congratulations on that. Hope you enjoy your time here in this low-rank dungeon!” Cyril said playfully, giving the man a smug look over his shoulder and moving up a few steps.

  “Looks like you’ve also got a strange sense of humor, didn’t see that coming.” Arden responded wittingly with a shrug. He gave a dry cough to clear his throat before speaking again.

  “By the way, Cyril how can you fight like that? You’re a D-rank striker, aren’t you? I certainly couldn’t do anything like that when I was still a D-rank and I’ve never seen any other D-rank move like that either.”

  “I get that a lot. It’s really nothing special you know, I’ve just had a lot of practical training that’s all. I mostly took on the combat courses at my academy so I could clear the curriculum faster.”

  “Pffft!!! Y-you what? Cleared the curriculum early? For which academy?” Arden sputtered in disbelief. His outburst had drawn quite a bit of attention to them in the process but he didn’t seem to mind.

  “Newgate Academy. It’s in school district nine.”

  “O-Oi, isn’t that the academy founded by a Saint and run by an S-Rank Hunter? I thought only A-listers got in.”

  “That's true, its not exactly an easy place to get into. There was a strong foundation for combat courses there so I got to go up against captured monsters a lot more often.”

  “Then does that mean you’re planning to join a guild already? Aren’t you like eighteen?” Arden probed with a look of lingering disbelief still plastered on his face. " His evaluation of Cyril had jumped by a hundred points in the last sixty seconds, and his brain was struggling to keep up with the sudden shift."

  “I’m sixteen, the same age as Angelica.” Cyril responded pridefully, though he was admittedly trying to mask it. “I finished my curriculum ahead of schedule to qualify for the assessment, now that I’ve just reached the minimum age to become a hunter. It's not as great as it sounds though, I’m only eligible for the provisional license and they even have to funnel my paychecks through someone else since I'm not eighteen yet.”

  “That I can believe. At least something about you is normal.” Arden reflexively retorted, seeming to have calmed down some.

  That kind of reaction was natural when the typical age for a trainee hunter was taken into consideration. Eighteen was the predominant threshold but certain liberties could be taken as long as the individual had a proven track record.

  Both Cyril and Angelica were irregularities in that regard since they were probably the youngest ones here.

  “Looks like I was right after all, hunters are some really interesting people. I’m glad I decided to try it out even though I’m a little late.”

  “You’ve got time.” Cyril assured him with a smirk. “Ragnarok was over a century ago, and humanity has only managed to clear five of Ziggurat’s Genesis Gates—including the one cleared by Babylon’s Hunter Association a year ago. There could be way more but we’ll just have to see how it plays out over time, if we survive that is.”

  “You and that dark sense of humor again....” He couldn’t help but shudder after witnessing Cyril casually toss those words into the wind with a pleasant smile on his face.

  “What a weird kid.”