Chapter 13: Bounty
Chapter 13: Bounty
As the first rays of morning light brushed the world, a sense of tranquility enveloped the surroundings. The gentle chirping of birds and the refreshing morning breeze combined to create a serene and pleasant ambiance. However, amidst this natural beauty, the Ministry of Wizards and Witches found themselves facing a weightier matter.
Their attention was drawn to the Law Chapel, a grand edifice constructed in ancient times that had stood the test of time through the enchantment of preservation magic. The building was a masterpiece of artistry and history, with intricately sculpted figures adorning its stone walls. Situated almost at the heart of the bustling city of Opunascus, the area around the chapel was usually abuzz with activity. Yet on this occasion, the bustle was heightened as wizards and witches hurried towards the chapel, summoned by a pressing matter.
Drapped in an array of coats, robes, cloaks, and magical attire, a gathering of around three hundred wizards had already assembled. They filed through the open gates of the chapel, their identities meticulously verified by the watchful guards stationed there. A contingent of about ten guards stood before the majestic entrance, which soared over twenty meters in height, though it was still only half the towering height of the chapel itself.
Amidst the gathering, an aged wizard emerged, distinguished not only by his advanced years but also by his dual role as a newspaper correspondent. His name: Willy Mortis.
Sporting a black eyepatch that concealed his left eye, Willy Mortis made his way through the gathering, his prominent double chin and the fat beneath it jiggling slightly with each step. His neck seemed almost swallowed by his appearance, which was further accentuated as he cast his gaze around, taking in the grandeur of the chapel and the vigilant guards stationed ahead.
"Sir Mortis, what could be the reason for the urgent summon?" a youthful, boyish voice piped up from behind his substantial figure.
As Willy turned, the source of the voice came into view. A young boy, donning a similar brown robe as Willy's, stood before him. A pair of round-framed spectacles rested over the boy's eyes, and his slightly protruding chin and diminutive stature gave him the semblance of a dwarf.
"Not sure. But the summon is apparently by the Elders" Willy responded succinctly, his words laced with a sense of intrigue.
"Oh," Kes, the young boy, acknowledged with a nod, his curiosity piqued. He was eager to learn more, but before he could delve further, a sudden force pushed from behind.
"What are peasants doing here?" The voice, laced with disdain, resonated through the air. The source of the interruption was a man garbed in a black robe, embellished with silvery white threads forming an emblem of a Pegasus on his chest. His words were accompanied by a tone that dripped with condescension.
This man, known as Persus, was a member of the noble Pegasus family, notorious for their high prejudices and profound disdain for commoners. Despite the ample space available and the request for everyone to maintain distance, Persus seemed intent on pushing his way through the crowd.
Kes bristled with anger at Persus's arrogance, ready to retort, when Mortis extended his hand, halting him with a gesture. Understanding the unspoken message, Kes held his tongue, deferring to Mortis's wisdom.
"I'm sorry," Mortis interjected calmly, his tone measured as he redirected his attention forward.
Kes' desire engage in a fight was cut short further as it was their turn to step forward and be identified by the guards at the entrance of the chapel. Willy led the way, producing an identity card bearing his picture and name.
"Willy Mortis?" the guard muttered, his gaze swiftly rising to meet the man before him.
"Sir Willy!?" The guard's surprise was palpable, his features a mix of astonishment and a smile. Before him stood Willy Mortis, the head of the esteemed Warden Newspaper.
What made Willy stand out?
He wasn't just the leader of a renowned newspaper known for its accuracy in reporting; he held the distinction of being the 11th-ranked in the global rankings, a Grand Wizard. This fact alone made him an imposing figure, one that would deter any commoner from even considering protesting against his publication.
The young guard stumbled over his words, stuttering, "T-this way, sir."
As the guard directed Willy, the other guards watched in silence, their eyes flitting between him and each other.
Those who had initially paid him little heed, especially other wizards, were now unable to tear their gaze away, realizing the significance of being ranked 11th on the global list – a position that commanded respect and attention.
Persus and his companions, having arrogantly pushed their way through and mockingly referred to the others as peasants, were met with astonishment.
"S-sir Mortis?!" Persus exclaimed, his voice wavering as realization dawned upon him. He understood the gravity of his actions and the audacity of addressing Willy Mortis in such a manner.
Mortis, however, paid little heed to Persus's attempt at summoning his attention. With an air of nonchalance, he continued forward, stepping into the chapel as if undisturbed by the commotion he had caused. Kes, who had momentarily turned to witness the unfolding scene, responded in his own way. Raising his right hand, he subtly drew his thumb across his neck in a cutting motion, then pointed directly at Persus.
Entering the chapel, Mortis walked straight with long strides. There were placed many wooden benches on both the sides, in the middle a straight path which Mortis followed.
He then walked over and settled onto one of the benches, Kes following suit and mimicking his actions. The others in the vicinity also took their places on the benches, ensuring a respectful distance between themselves and the imposing figure of Mortis, who sat before them. Despite their eagerness to engage with him, a stern glance from Kes served as an unspoken deterrent, keeping them at a cautious distance.
Moments ticked by, and as they did, the large gate situated to their left began to creak open slowly, revealing a passage beyond. The guards stationed at the gate worked in unison to pull it apart, revealing a figure stepping out – a young man whose fame outshone even Willy himself.
"I thank you all for gathering here today," his commanding voice echoed through the area, immediately capturing the attention of everyone present.
Though a few whispered conversations persisted despite the gate's opening, they too quieted down as all eyes turned to focus on the central figure, Genor, the young man who stood there.
"I am here to convey Master Magos' words."
"Sir Magos?" A few of them straightened their postures upon hearing the name. Some even closed their eyes momentarily, as if making a silent gesture of reverence. Why? Well, why not?
After all, it was none other than the great Wizard Supreme they spoke of – Damian Veror Magos, a name that held monumental weight. Ranked first globally, his renown far transcended his human form. Damian Magos had become a figure of near-deific proportions among the commonfolk, and even within the esteemed ranks of the wizards, he was held in the highest regard.
Needless to say, he was one of the mightiest beings in the world, a formidable obstacle in the path of the Devil's resurrection.
Whispers among the assembly of wizards and witches filled the air, but the murmurs soon subsided as a hushed anticipation spread. The attention was firmly fixed on Genor, hanging on his every word.
"Kindly wait for about ten more minutes," Genor declared.
"The Elders will join us shortly and provide insight into the matter at hand."
While the attendees had hoped for a glimpse of Magos himself, they understood that this was a request merely to be conveyed. The true details would be presented by the Elders themselves.
Now, who were these Elders?
They were Special Wizards and witches, individuals who had retired from active duty but continued to wield significant influence within society. Evidently, Magos had entrusted them with the task of apprehending Lucifer and overseeing the matters concerning him.
After Genor's words had settled in, a patient anticipation filled the air. Conversations naturally arose among the assembly, the soft murmur of their exchanges echoing throughout the space.
As the ten-minute wait drew to a close, the very gate through which Genor had emerged began to quiver. Almost instantly, everyone rose to their feet, including Willy and Kes. Genor, who had remained standing all along, simply turned his gaze to the right. The gate swung open fully, revealing the arrival of about fifteen elderly individuals, each showing the unmistakable signs of age. Some were bald, their faces etched with deep wrinkles – clear markers of the passage of time.
True, their skin hung in folds, a testament to their retired status, but this in no way diminished their fame or significance. The assembled crowd immediately recognized them, their fingers pointing almost in unison.
"He! He is-"
"Master Brenforth! The former Headmaster of Grencraft!" exclaimed a man, directing attention toward a rather slender figure. Frail and almost twig-like, Master Brenforth appeared as though he might snap at any moment, his remaining teeth scarce and weathered.
Master Brenforth walked forward, his steps somewhat unsteady, hinting at his limited energy. Observing this, Genor swiftly withdrew his wand, gesturing with a practiced swing towards a cluster of empty wooden benches situated to the left. Responding to his command, the benches transformed into chairs, lifting into the air before him and gently descending to the ground. In an instant, fifteen seats materialized, arranged neatly.
"Please, do take a seat, esteemed sirs and madams," Genor's voice carried a warm smile as he extended the invitation.
"Good lad," a woman responded, her figure slightly more rounded compared to the others, an air of maturity about her.
"Haha, Madam Puffins," Genor chuckled as he courteously assisted her to her seat, holding the chair as she settled.
In a synchronized fashion, the rest of the Elders took their places, with Master Brenforth occupying the second seat from the left, drawing many curious gazes. Yet, among the distinguished individuals present, one figure garnered the majority of attention from the gathered wizards and witches. Even Willy Mortis leaned over to Kes, pointing out the individual of interest.
"See her, Kes? The one seated sixth from the left?" Mortis whispered.
"Yes, Sir?" Kes responded, his gaze fixated on the woman who exuded an air of fragility.
Differing from her peers, she wore a pointed hat, round-framed spectacles akin to Kes' perched on her nose, and vintage earrings adorning her ears.
"Do you recognize her by any chance?" Mortis inquired.
"Um, not really, sir. Who is she?" Kes questioned, his chin tapping in contemplation as he struggled to place the name.
"She is Emiana Rogers, the first woman to ever hold the title of Grand Witch."
At the utterance of that name, Kes' eyes sparkled with recognition. While he had heard the renowned name before, this was the first instance he had come face to face with her.
"The previous second seat!?" Kes inquired, his gaze still fixed on her.
"Aye. Many believe she was even mightier than Sir Magos in her prime. However, societal biases at the time prevented her from ascending to the coveted first seat. Thus, she held the second position during that era…"
"But as Sir Magos' power continued to grow, he rightfully claimed the number one position. Today, he stands as one of the most potent wizards in history, undisputedly," Mortis explained, his words laden with a sense of reverence.
"I—" "I see," Kes responded, gently adjusting his glasses as they threatened to slip, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on Emiana.
Naturally, Emiana could feel the weight of his gaze upon her. She turned her attention in Kes' direction, a smile gracing her lips as their eyes met.
"Miss," Kes offered a respectful bow of his head, a gesture mirrored by Mortis.
Emiana acknowledged their show of respect with a nod, her attention shifting momentarily before settling back on Genor.
Raising her voice, she addressed him, "Genor, would you kindly read this aloud for us?"
"Certainly, Madam," Genor agreed, accepting the paper from her hand and giving it a cursory glance before turning towards the assembled crowd.
"According to the directive received from Master Magos and Master Myumaska," Genor began, his voice carrying through the air, "the criminal known as Lucifer will now have his bounty officially proclaimed."
"Lucifer…?" A murmur of surprise rippled through the witches and wizards, exchanged glances revealing that the name was indeed familiar. After all, his initial bounty, a mere pittance of Zero coins, had been announced not too long ago.
"His new bounty will be set at One Hundred Thousand Gold coins," Genor continued, his words prompting puzzled expressions and whispers. Many questioned the seemingly low figure, considering that Jack, the Reaper, had a bounty of 1 Million Gold coins.
"Do not be deceived, for Sir Myumaska has pledged to bestow a Boon upon whoever apprehends him," Genor announced, his words instantly silencing any dissenting thoughts. The potential of a Boon from someone as influential as Myumaska held far greater allure than any amount of gold.
Reporters belonging to Mortis' faction hastily jotted down this revelation, even Mortis himself taken aback by the unexpected twist.
Returning the paper to the elders, Genor locked eyes with Emiana, and she, along with her companions, rose to their feet. Emiana took charge once again, her voice resonating with authority as she continued, "The fifteen of us, the elders, unanimously vote in favor of this proposition. We implore all of you to join us in seeking out this individual. For Lucifer now stands as the gravest threat."
"Yes!" The response was fervent.
"We declare…"
And then, in unison, each elder voiced their agreement, the words spoken with perfect synchronization, "Lucifer as the most wanted criminal of our time!"
"…"