The pirates’ head secured a handsome sum of thirty thousand Novas from Fallsard Enclave, but since the hub stratum showed no signs of opening its gates, they handed Ewan a thirty kilograms weighty bag, its stitching stretched taut and frayed to house its contents—the amalgamation of irregular Anima Crystal chips. Kidd and Ewan both voiced their grumbles about the guild’s lack of customer service, for they could’ve offered it in a simple storage artifact, while the other three scrolled through the tasks list for a reward of non-native Astylind Cores.

  “Hello sir, may I ask if you’re Sir Ewan Ayres?” a well-groomed waiter of the guild came up to Ewan and asked, a hint of citrus drifting in his trail.

  “I am,” Ewan said. “Who’s asking?”

  “I’m called Aaron, sir. I’ve been tasked by our Seigneur to invite you to a banquet,” the waiter bowed and said, handing Ewan a black-matt invitation card with words of golden thread. “It’s a humble feast, our Seigneur hopes you can attend it.”

  “You’re a third party, right? Should you be calling it humble…,” Ewan said, going through the invite, and Aaron lowered his head. The card’s touch ran smooth on his fingers, softer than it looked, and it left a lingering aroma of vanilla in the air. The writing on it dated the feast two years later and invited Ewan by his full name—he could also bring others from his team if he wished to.

  “Quite an early invitation,” Kidd said, leaning in to peek a glance at it.

  “Our Seigneur knows you have a busy schedule, so he wished to give you enough time,” Aaron said. “If you’re in the area and free two years later, he hopes you can attend the banquet. I’ll take my leave now, sir, I have to hand out more invitations.” He bowed again and walked away.

  “What do you think, Boss?” Kidd asked, sniffing the invitation card. “Smells nice,” he said under his breath.

  “Like he said, if we’re free two years later, we’ll attend the banquet,” Ewan said, running his eyes around the guild to map the clouds of Ryvia unfurled in the hall. But none matched the color and the density of someone with the Seigneur’s level, he wasn’t eavesdropping on them at least.

  “What if there’s something fishy, Boss?” Kidd asked, cloaking his voice with Ryvia.

  “Unless the hub opens, Fallsard is our only option in this area. We must bite the bait even if we know about it,” Ewan said and beckoned the other three to come over, covering his corner of the hall with Ryvia, blurring the refraction with Mystic-Anima and masking the voice. “Did you find anything good?” he asked.

  “There are a few, sir,” Lance said, tapping the files he got from the staff.

  “What was that about?” Nana asked, glimpsing the back of Aaron who handed out the cards in the other hall of the guild.

  “It’s an invite,” Ewan said. “Don’t touch it.” He pulled the card back once she reached for it, then looked at Stefan. “Stefan, can you hear anything from it?” He waved the card closer to his ears.

  “A humming sound? Could just be my illusion,” Stefan said, his ears twitching.

  “That’s just Boss shaking the card, you numbnut,” Kidd said.

  “Either way, this is going to the bottom of the ocean,” Ewan said, stuffing the card into an unused storage pouch. “If he invited us by name, he won’t need to see the card. And if he does, we can use that excuse to walk away.”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Can't we look for another hub and avoid this altogether?” Nana asked. “Let’s avoid it.”

  “We don’t have an updated map or the data to find another hub like this,” Ewan said. “Don’t worry, we can mitigate the risks.” He looked at Lance. “You’ll take the lead on these tasks. Next time we’re here, you’ll be Step-1.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lance said with a firm nod.

  “Boss, I should head out,” Kidd said. “I’ll ask around for that, and also get more info on the banquet.”

  “Meet us on the warship,” Ewan said. “Let’s quickly buy what we can and sail out.”

  ….

  Lance spearheaded the tasks of bloodshed, his scythe mowing the enemies marked in the files, while Ewan handled dialogues. Some were for the wild Astylinds gone feral that attacked anyone on sight —they exchanged no words, and at the end, the ocean just ran red. Others were for managing the overpopulation of races that burdened the resources in the area with their numbers—Ewan led those who listened to other areas to spread them around, while Lance came out for those who didn’t. And some were for interference in local conflicts to re-establish peace and quiet—the heat of the battle numbed their desire for talks, so Lance unleashed his scythe in the battlefield again.

  The smell of blood soaked him for months as his scythe feasted on the flesh and bones of his enemies and the unrelated alike. The more he killed, the more blood he drew, the stronger his weapons became, and they nourished him in turn. The air about him shifted amidst the carnage, and he became the metaphor of the Reaper’s descent.

  He was at peace with what his path entailed, he accepted the price he paid for the power, his words often reflected that during the meeting and when they ate together. Stefan’s spell showed no physical alteration in his soul either, which eased everyone’s concerns about his progress. The Reaper’s path mimicked the Severynth’s feedback system, but the parallelity of the bifurcation ended there. Instead, it took its own direction of killing to forge forth. And Lance consummated the rite—the ‘Blood’s Advent—as was the tradition of the Reapers.

  Bathed in the blood of his enemies and his own, their scattered souls lingering on the humming scythe, the shield protecting his path, he roared on the battlefield where his enemies lay in pieces, and finally shed the confines and became a Step-1.

  . And it has 40+ chapters ahead of the Royal Road release on it!

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