By The Blood

Aurelian remained silent, overwhelmed by a mix of confusion, astonishment, and even a sense of reverence for the situation. Of course, the Pure White would illuminate the truth behind my actions, he thought. But to make me pretend to serve the boy? And then become a hunter? What does that even mean?

The Bishop smiled, sensing Aurelian’s inner turmoil. "As a hunter, you will be tasked with eliminating potential threats to both the Ministry and the empire, particularly those that may hide within the city. For now, your mission will be to eliminate Windsor, a member of an evil faction known as the Nightstalkers. We believe this group is responsible for the murders of noble families—or at least, for adopting their identities." The Bishop reached beneath his desk, retrieving a small box. "The bodies of these nobles haven’t been found yet. We suspect the Nightstalkers may be targeting the Twelve High Lords, and we cannot allow that to happen to the empire."

With a soft click, the Bishop opened the box, revealing several glass bottles filled with strange, shimmering liquids.

Before Aurelian could respond, the Bishop continued, "You must do this. Otherwise, we will have no choice but to apprehend you for your treason. However, should you accept this task, you might also find a path to fulfilling your revenge."

That’s only fair, Aurelian thought.

_______________

Aurelian sat on one of the rare pews scattered across the city. He had no idea where he was at the moment. In fact, he hadn’t paid much attention to where he was going and had stumbled upon this spot by chance. He was blindfolded, after all. As for who brought him here, he did not know, nor had he seen them. The white sun still shone weakly through the red sky, swirling with dark clouds. Dust continued to fall, though now at a milder rate compared to the ferocity that had come down earlier in the day.

In his hands, he clutched a black bag with a side opening. The potions inside jostled with each movement. These potions had been given to him by the Ministry, intended for the assassination of a man. Yes, if the Pure asked for it, the man must be an enemy—a heretic. But why had the Ministry assigned him this task? He hadn’t had the chance to ask these things, nor why he should even serve the boy.

The Pure White God endorsing assassination? Aurelian questioned himself, letting out a deep breath. He knew, of course, that many times the Ministry took care of certain troublesome fellows; he wasn’t a child, after all. But...

Even now, passersby didn’t notice him, as he had activated his powers. As for why he kept them active, perhaps he was seeking the pain that mana caused. I’ve killed more people in these last few days than I did during a week of war. And still, the Ministry wants me to keep going? To keep staining my hands with blood? He wanted to sigh. But maybe this is my penance. Even if the boy isn’t a saint, the Ministry still tasked me with keeping an eye on him. Could he truly be a vessel for an evil god’s descent? This was one of the possibilities the bishop had given him about the boy's nature. He glanced at the Pure White statue towering over the city. This is for the Pure—for the Light—and for my redemption. Maybe through this, I can become an invigilator, perhaps using that authority to get my revenge on Putray. And thankfully, they haven’t mentioned any mutations, which means I’m not a mutant, even after entering the Astra. This must be God’s grace. Aurelian silently praised.

Eventually, he stood up, consulting the map given to him to find Windsor, and made his way to the slums.

Worn and crumbling buildings lined the road without any sense of order. The ground was uneven, filled with bumps, broken tiles, scattered stones, and a thin layer of dust. Nightfall was approaching, and the mist was beginning to form, slowly turning the surroundings into a white haze.

The lampposts did little to brighten the streets. Some were so dim they barely emitted any light, while others were completely out, likely because beggars had taken the oil for warmth. Nevertheless, Aurelian spotted a few shadowy wisps—purplish-black dots hovering around the dim lights. Their presence seemed to make the already weak light grow even dimmer. Now dressed in a more presentable kefna and a black collar cape, Aurelian walked solemnly, staying close to the side of the road near the pungent gutters filled with moldy, reddish-green liquid—no longer water. He was resolute; for his penance, he would be the Ministry’s sword, rooting out heresy and profanity. To him, this was not a burden but a privilege.

It didn’t take long for him to locate his target: a two-story, square building with a flat wooden roof and visible cracks along the walls. Despite its rundown appearance, it was in better condition than the surrounding soot-stained structures. This was the residence of Windsor, a Nightstalker and follower of some foolish god. Aurelian refused to sully his mouth by even speaking that god’s name.

He found a building slightly set apart from the others and leaned against the wall, observing Windsor’s residence. A faint orange-red light glowed from the top window. He needed to be sure Windsor didn’t have any backup or contingency plans. This was his first mission for the Ministry, a test of his competence. Failure wasn’t an option. As for doubts? Aurelian had none—the Ministry was eternally righteous and pure.

After some time, Aurelian tensed. A figure emerged from the open stone window. The person looked around briefly before leaping from the building, landing silently at the rear.

That’s him! Aurelian recalled the image shown to him by the Bishop. Windsor, dressed in black robes, with long black hair blowing in the wind. He had an incredibly beautiful face, one that reminded Aurelian of the man who had accompanied the boy. Are they part of the same faction? he wondered. However, there was a difference—Windsor had a more slender, almost feminine body, while the other man had a more masculine frame with a feminine face.

Under the red-white moonlight, Aurelian pulled out a glass bottle, twisted off the cap, and downed the liquid inside. It felt as though he were swallowing lumps of coal or iron. He forced it down, and almost immediately, he felt something strange. Among his mystical components, a new sensation had formed.

Quickly, he summoned it. It didn’t have a name, though some referred to it as the "face of the soul." Specks of brown starlight appeared before him, blinking and pulsing like a heartbeat. Faint white threads connected the specks. There were three brown specks, and to the side were silvery or mist-colored ones, connected by even fainter, illusory threads.

He knew exactly what they were. Just by looking at the brown specks, the knowledge echoed in his mind.

Mind Invisibility!

Memory Reform!

Memory Waning!

These were his mystical components as a Mind Worm. The faint white threads connecting the brown specks represented the fusion potential of his abilities. The thinner and more translucent the threads, the harder the fusion process would be. If the threads didn’t exist at all, it indicated incompatibility—a rare ability would be needed to bridge that gap.

As for the silverish specks, Aurelian knew he couldn’t fuse them. They were merely manifestations of his connection with the shard-armor. Since the armor wasn’t intrinsically part of him, attempting to fuse with it would result in immense pain, likely leading to a complete breakdown. Just then, he noticed another speck of light floating between the silver and brown ones—a black speck, so dark that it seemed like a void in the world. Strange that the Pure White would give me a black component, Aurelian mused but quickly shook his head. That didn’t matter.

The black component had an extremely thin thread connecting it to the brown ones. So, it’s fusible, but it would be very painful. And even if it worked, it’s only temporary. Yes, the potion had granted him additional components, but they were temporary. Depending on the potion's quality, the components would fade away over time. Trying to fuse with them would only result in unbearable pain when they inevitably broke off from his natural components. He wasn’t keen on suffering through that.