Chapter 60: Calm before the storm (1)
"To go up against an upper A-ranked warrior and still win... You’re really something, Clark Thompson."
A dark figure carefully picked up a charred body, whose legs and arms were almost nonexistent, and calmly walked out of the destroyed vicinity.
A few minutes passed, and six figures clothed in dark attire ran toward the scene with urgency in their movements.
"What happened here?!" one of them asked.
"I don’t know, we came here at the same time!" the other replied exasperatedly, as he inspected the destroyed grounds.
"Did S-ranks fight here?" a female voice rang out.
"Maybe? The damage is too devastating to be anything less than that," another answered.
A low voice spoke, "I know who’s responsible for this."
All of the individuals’ backs straightened as they heard the voice, and they formed a path for him to pass through.
The man calmly walked through, crouched at a particular point in the extensive damage site, and swiped his hand against the wet soil.
’This is blood...’ he analyzed. ’And this mana... It’s far too similar for it to be called a coincidence. Most of the S-rankers left the empire a few Zynths ago for the demon subjugation mission, and the ones left are in different parts of Belvedan, so it’s not possible that it was any S-ranker we know of.’
’And there were no recorded breakthroughs for the past Zynth, so that’s out of the question.’
’This leaves me with only one answer. But it’s too absurd to even think about.’
The man stood up and sat on a protruding piece of a building with a pensive expression, much to the surprise of his subordinates.
’That shell of a man is an S-rank? But his aura—! ’
He immediately shot up from the place he was sitting, vigilance and respect written over his face, as someone appeared right in front of him with a neutral expression.
"Starek," the person spoke flatly, "who is responsible for this?"
"Who is that?" one of the Regulators whispered. "To make the boss have such a reaction... He’s definitely not your average Regulator."
"Could he be an Enforcer?" one asked. "They rarely come out except for serious cases, though."
A female Regulator hit the boy’s head and whispered quickly, "Isn’t this a serious case?"
Easing the pain by rubbing his head, he answered, "Well, I guess?"
"Be quiet," Starek ordered coldly. "Go back to headquarters and tell all the low- to mid-ranked Enforcers to be on the lookout for any badly injured man, and find out the whereabouts of Clark Thompson."
"Clark? That person we brought in earlier today?" one of them asked.
"Do I need to repeat myself?"
The six of them shivered noticeably before running in the direction of their headquarters.
On their way there, one of them spoke, "Say, Veloras, you’re oddly silent today."
"Is it because you think you offended whoever caused that catastrophic destruction?" he added with a hidden smile.
Veloras, on the other hand, showed no signs of amusement as he replied, "Who said I was afraid, huh? I’m just wondering how a battle of that scale didn’t wake any of the civilians or warriors from their sleep."
The female answered, "Don’t be a dummy. They taught us all of this in the academy. It’s obviously a dimensional warping artifact."
Veloras turned to her as they jumped on a building and replied, "I know that. But to be able to withstand a battle of that scale, and hide it so well that even the S-ranks nearby didn’t sense anything? That’s just poop berries."
"Who says ’poop berries’?" another spoke.
"I do," Veloras defended. "And I’m pretty sure Elaine does too."
The female, Elaine, smacked the back of his head as she countered, "Don’t use me to mask your nervousness. You only say weird phrases when you’re nervous, and I think Eldorwyn is right—you’re afraid of that Clark guy."
"I am not!" Veloras defended stubbornly, as they reached the large gate of their headquarters.
"Whatever. Handle the announcements—Eldorwyn and I will handle the weapon distribution. Mel, Pilba, and Valeria will handle the accounting and legal procedures involved. Is that okay?"
The three of them nodded in agreement, and they went to the different departments, each with different expressions on their faces as they prepared for what could be the battle of their lives.
Back at the damage site, Starek stood in front of a man who sat on a protruding piece of rock with his head bowed.
"You’re telling me an F-rank caused all this?" he spoke.
"Enforcer Biktriv, you have to believe me on this one," Starek pleaded. "That man isn’t your average F-rank. We brought him into custody earlier today over the destruction of one of the rooms and surrounding areas of Vossier Inn."
"A measly damage to an inn can’t be compared to... this!" He gestured.
Starek countered, "The damage recorded couldn’t be compared to that of an F-rank! It was at least D-rank level. That man has secrets, and I don’t think the world is ready for them."
A small moment of silence ensued before Biktriv spoke. "Do you recognize this mana signature?"
Starek nodded.
"Are you sure it belongs to that man? Clark Thompson?"
"Yes. Although we’re yet to ascertain who he was fighting against, I’m sure if we bring him in for questioning, he’ll talk," Starek explained.
Biktriv went silent once more, and only the cold wind and growing stench of blood accompanied them.
"Tell Fryn to see me when we get back to headquarters."
Jumping to his feet, he added, "And call the Night Walkers. Tell them to cast a distortion spell on this area and make sure that no one—and I mean absolutely no one—hears of this matter. Understood?"
Starek nodded stiffly.
As he walked past Starek, Biktriv spoke as he placed his hand on his shoulder, "And keep those younglings of yours in check. Or I will."
Without giving him a chance to respond, Biktriv disappeared from the location, a low gust of wind accompanying him.
Immediately after he left, Starek fell to his knees, beads of sweat forming on his face, as he muttered to himself, "Haaa... haaa... haa... To think an S-rank’s presence alone is making me feel this way."
Eventually catching his breath, Starek sat on the bare floor and stared at the dark sky with a contemplative expression. "Will we be able to handle whatever we’re trying to find?"
Starek eventually stood up and ran in the direction of their headquarters, unbeknownst to him that the person they were summoning a literal army for was no different from a dead man.
In the cover of the night, two figures could be made out—one swung over the shoulder of the other, as one of them walked leisurely.
"I knew you were strong, but an F-rank going against someone of that level is simply unheard of. And to think you won! That’s just crazy!"
There was no response except for the low chirping sounds of the tiny insects that lit the night sky with their green glow.
The dull light illuminated the figures to a small degree, and part of their features could be made out: an ash-brown-haired man with a leisure smile on his face, and half a man on his shoulder.
"I wanted to go home and ask Father what happened between you two, but he was unusually silent. He didn’t even laugh like he used to when I came back! I was so sad.
"I tried talking to Mother too, but she was unusually silent as well. She even looked like she was going to cry if I pressed on further, so I backed away.
"I wanted to give up and probably find you tomorrow, but the tracker I placed on you suddenly lost its connection to me, and I had no choice but to investigate the matter."
Densdor’s face turned sad as he continued, "I would’ve helped if I had run a little faster, but the Regulators’ headquarters area is quite a distance from Vossier, so I couldn’t make it in time. Sorry~
"So, I’m going to heal you up and you’ll tell me everything you know, okay?"
If anybody saw this scene, they would have called the psychiatric center to capture the man who was speaking to a corpse.
But alas, such luck couldn’t be given to Clark.
Densdor just hummed lightly as he walked for quite a distance to the illuminated streets that led to Kurt’s home.
"I wonder if they’ll be mad or excited that I brought you.... Hmm... I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. It’s not like you’re in any trouble or anything."
Oh dear.
Approaching the large gate to Densdor’s home and Clark’s former resting place, the gates automatically opened as soon as it scanned their mana signatures.
A low creak emanated from the gate as it opened. Densdor carried Clark inside the compound and knocked unhurriedly on the door, the leisure smile never leaving his face.
The door clicked open, and Kurt pulled Densdor into the parlor with panic in his eyes. "Where did you go?! And why—"
His words came to a halt as he noticed the body of a man who once called him uncle swung over the shoulder of the one he called son.
"I—is that Clark?"