Scions

A few hours before meeting the self-proclaimed heir of the underworld, the Soul Maker…

"Finally! I can breathe again." Red exhaled, ripping off his disguise as they reached a secluded corner of the city.

"The security in the city might be lax compared to the gates, but you shouldn't underestimate them," Mellios warned.

"Calm down. As long as I don't take off this hair dye, we'll be safe," Red replied confidently, his usual swagger returning.

They walked in silence until they reached a teahouse. Upon entering, they were greeted by a serene atmosphere. The soft fragrance of flowers filled the room, mingling with the subtle notes of tea. The furniture was pristine and perfectly arranged, while a soothing tune played from a distant flute, adding to the ambiance.

"Wow," Mellios whispered in quiet admiration.

"Honestly, I'm impressed," Red admitted, a rare, relaxed smile spreading across his lips.

They sat down at a table, and a sudden, brief wave of unease swept over Red, though it was quickly masked by the intoxicating scent of the tea placed before them. Relishing the peaceful view and the gentle melody, they sipped their tea, only to slowly slump against the table as sleep overcame them.

When Red regained consciousness, everything felt off. He was blindfolded and tied up, his muscles tense with the weight of confinement. He instinctively tried to manipulate his Est, but it was futile, something was suppressing it, as if a heavy blanket had been thrown over his power. His mind raced, struggling to recall what had led to this. The last clear memory was the teahouse...

"Damn. We've been had," Red muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth as he tried to break free using brute strength.

"It's no use," came Mellios' voice from somewhere nearby. "If they set a trap this elaborate to catch us, you can bet they've taken every precaution to keep us restrained."

"Thought so, but there's no harm in trying," Red replied. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the dim room, growing louder with every step.

"Someone's coming. About five of them," Red whispered.

The footsteps stopped a short distance away.

"Remove their blindfolds!" a thundering voice shouted.

"Is that the Soul Eater?" Red whispered.

"More like the loudmouth," Mellios replied, composed.

The blindfolds were removed, and Red's eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, revealing the figures before them. A woman sat confidently, flanked by a eight foot tall man.

"Oh. I believed the Soul Eater was a man, but what do we have here?" Red said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The woman smirked. "That's because I'm not him," she replied, her smile widening. "I'm the heir to the dark throne, the Soul Maker."

"The heir?" Red pondered. "I've heard of one, but to think it'd be a woman. Could also be a lie, though the probability of that is low since the Soul Eater's name was used to make the request."

The woman chuckled mockingly. "The Red Devil? More like the red chick." Her eyes glinted with amusement. "Seems we've wasted our time and money, Flo." She glanced at her silent companion, the hulking man with a cold glare. Her gaze shifted to Mellios. "And he even brought baggage."

Mellios scoffed. "Who are you calling baggage, you fake?"

The woman's expression hardened. "Fake? What do you mean by that?" she asked, her voice thick with irritation.

Mellios smiled, enjoying himself. "You are not the Soul Maker."

Her temple twitched, anger boiling just beneath the surface. "You'd better have a good reason for that accusation, if not..." her face darkened, voice low and threatening.

Mellios' grin widened. "If you were really the Soul Maker, why would you need to use the Soul Eater's name to hire a Hound? The heir is the future king of the underworld. Getting on his good side is more beneficial than cozying up to the present king. Thanks to that, the Soul Maker's name has more pull outside the underworld than the Soul Eater's."

The fake heir's face slowly shifted from anger to calm composure. "So, who am I then?" she asked coolly.

Mellios didn't miss a beat. "I would have thought you were just another of the Soul Eater's children, but judging by your lack of subordinates, this oppressive desire to prove yourself, and your need for deception , I've concluded that you're an illegitimate child of the Soul Eater, looking to gain recognition in the underworld." His confidence radiated as he added, "Something big must be happening in Adel, and you plan to take this chance to shine, right?"

Both Red and the fake heir were stunned by how much Mellios had deduced from the few clues he had.

The fake heir clapped slowly, her expression shifting to amusement. "That's impressive. I guess the camel was the real baggage," she mocked, directing her insult toward Red.

Red's face darkened. A sudden clank echoed as a surge of red aura exploded from him, sending a shockwave that pushed everything and everyone away, including Mellios.

Flo immediately jumped in front of the fake heir, releasing a green Est aura that clashed against Red's, countering the force.

Unfazed by the display of power, the fake heir spoke, "How did you get those restraints off? Even a first-stage Weaver would struggle against them."

Standing tall, Red casually dusted off his clothes. "Guess I'm just built differently," he smirked.

It wasn't that Red couldn't manipulate his Est, but as soon as he generated it, it would vanish. His solution? Keep generating it until he built up enough to break the bindings. It was a feat beyond a second-stage Weaver like Red, but the fact that he succeeded hinted at his massive Est reserves.

"Crazy bastard, you blew me away too," Mellios groaned, standing up from the dust. His restraints had been undone by the force of Red's outburst.

The fake heir smiled, stepping down from her throne. "I made the right choice selecting you for the mission." She moved closer to Red, extending her hand. "I'm Tanra. You're hired."

Red's smirk widened. "Call me whatever you like," he said, accepting the handshake.

"Are you going to be alright? Lucas is a genius, even among the Roucliers. His graduating skills are by far the highest in Exust to date," Ale said, concern lacing her voice as she glanced at Ryan.

Exust is the most prestigious Weaver academy in Arth, producing the best of the best—experts who become high-ranking officials or excel in their respective fields. Royals and nobles send their children there in the hopes of graduation. Ale herself was sent to Exust under Roy's recommendation.

"Don't worry. It's a light spar—we'll only use augment. And besides, there's no way I'm running from a challenge," Ryan replied confidently, giving her a reassuring pat on the head.

He picked up his weapons, two short iron poles, and headed toward the stage where Lucas waited.

"Sir Roy always boasts about your talent every chance he gets. It's good that I can finally test that myself," Lucas said, his expression stoic as he removed his suit jacket and unsheathed his sword.

"I'm just glad we can settle this misunderstanding with a spar," Ryan replied, taking his stance.

"Since you've only been training with Est for two years, I'll give you three moves at the start," Lucas said, his sword tip raised, his left hand behind his back in a relaxed yet poised manner.

Owen, observing from his seat, scoffed and stood. Raising his hand high, he signaled the start of the match with a sharp drop. "Start!" he shouted.

"I'll take those three moves then," Ryan said as he charged forward with swift determination.

He swung his right pole downward at Lucas, who dodged effortlessly. But Ryan anticipated it, spinning swiftly to follow with a horizontal strike from the left pole. Lucas leapt back just in time, evading the blow. Without giving Lucas a moment to rest, Ryan charged again, this time bringing both poles down in a parallel strike, tearing through the air with sheer force.

Lucas, sensing the intensity, grabbed his sword with both hands and blocked the attack. The clash sent sparks flying, and the sheer force drove Lucas's legs into the stage, creating a web of cracks beneath his feet.

"It's heavy," Lucas thought, his grip tightening on the sword as he strained under the weight of Ryan's blows. He attempted to push Ryan back, but Ryan held firm, refusing to yield. "Seems I've underestimated you," Lucas muttered, his voice tense under the pressure.

With a burst of violet Est aura, Lucas finally managed to push Ryan back, signaling that he had decided to get serious. Ryan, unfazed, settled back into position, his own grey aura swirling around him in response.

"It's my turn now," Lucas declared, charging forward with renewed vigor. Their weapons clashed with even greater intensity, both fighters pushing their limits. The exchange was fast and relentless, but after several back-and-forth blows, Lucas eventually gained the upper hand.

Breathing heavily, sweat rolling down his face, Lucas extended his hand to help Ryan up. "I should be ready to lose an arm if we fought for real," he admitted.

Ryan, equally winded, accepted his hand. "Likewise," he replied, using Lucas's arm to pull himself to his feet.

Lucas turned to Owen, bowing slightly. "I would like to apologize for any rudeness towards the royal family on his behalf. His skills will undoubtedly be of great value to your cause," he said respectfully.

Owen's hardened expression softened slightly, though the disgust was still evident. "I'll forgive you this once, on Lucas's account," Owen said coldly. His sharp gaze landed on Chrome, who returned it without flinching, before turning to leave the training room. "You'd better work hard to overcome the poor first impression you've made," Owen added, his tone icy as he walked out.

Lucas grabbed his jacket and followed closely behind, leaving Ryan and the others to reflect on the battle.

"You know. you could have warned us that we'll be dealing with Royals." Ryan said, casting a sharp glance at Hunt.

My bad," Hunt replied, taking a swig from his bottle. "Wasn't expecting them to come here first. But hey, what do they say? All's well that ends well."

"It seems I won't be going with you for this mission," Chrome said, his face dark.

Ryan, wiping sweat off his brow with a towel, glanced over. "Understood. You can sit this one out if that's your choice."

The team, along with Hunt, Owen, and Sir Lucas, gathered in a room to discuss strategy. Hunt unrolled a map of the site, placing it at the center of the table.

"For the past two months, the Roucliers have banned all activities around the Deep. Only now are they allowing select individuals to explore. We know why, but not why it took them two whole months to act," he began, pausing to ensure everyone followed.

He continued, "Truth is, they sent scouts to investigate, but none returned alive. The only one we found was a knight, dead in his boat with a strange mark on his forehead. We're taking it as a warning from whatever's down there."

The room grew tense as the weight of Hunt's words settled on them. It was clear this mission would be far from simple treasure-hunting.

"That's what they get for trespassing," Owen scoffed.

"But here's the real issue," Hunt continued. "The king made a deal with nearby nations to allow their exploration teams. They're allowed two teams of up to ten people each. They also have to pay 1,000 royal gold for each normal person and 10,000 for each Weaver, multiplying by ten for each stage. They also have to give up 10% of their gains when they leave."

"How is that a problem? Those costs would drive most nations away, and Arth can send as many people as they want," Ryan said.

"It's not that simple," Lucas interjected. "Other nations set conditions: Arth can't send more than five teams, and no Weaver above the second stage is allowed.

"I see. The third prince wants to take this chance to solidify his position as the heir. That means other princes will be involved." Ryan thought. "And that's why you need us." Ryan said out loud.

Ryan stood and walked over to Owen, his tone firm. "So, what's our cut in all this?"

Owen sneered. "Take all the gold you want, but if you think about touching our treasures..."

Ryan interrupted. "We'll take payment for each of us, according to the conditions stated."

The room fell silent as everyone stared at him, surprised. They'd expected Ryan to negotiate for more, not to settle for money alone.

Ryan raised an eyebrow at their expressions. "What? Do you know how hard it is to support our group?"

Owen's scowl twisted into a smirk. "I knew it. Trash should stay in its place." He stood and faced Ryan. "Fine. You'll get your gold. Just remember to follow orders."

Ryan responded with a smirk of his own. "I won't let you down, Your Highness."

After Owen's carriage disappeared into the distance, Chrome turned to Ryan, clearly puzzled. "Did you really mean what you said back there?" Everyone else looked at Ryan with the same question in their eyes.

Ryan didn't respond immediately. He walked to the door before pausing. "Sorry, I can't disclose anything to someone who dropped out of the mission."

Chrome bristled, but didn't back down. "I'd rather die than help royals. If they get the Eye, they'll only cause more suffering."

Ryan glanced back, his face cold with disdain. "You fools. I never said I was giving them the Eye."

The realization slowly dawned on the group. Chrome's eyes brightened, and he moved toward Ryan. "I get it now. I'm in! I won't miss—"

But the door slammed shut in his face before he could finish.

Ryan sighed and turned down the hall, where Ciare leaned casually against the wall. "Take me to him," he demanded, his voice calm but firm.

"No need to rush," she replied, smiling. "He'll be among those going to the Deep."

"I see." Ryan clenched his fists.

In the prince's carriage, Lucas sat opposite to Owen. "You shouldn't trust him, Your Highness. He won't back down easily."

Owen nodded. "I know. He tried hard to hide it, but I could see something deep in him. Still, he'll be useful, for now."