Ras and Fiarca descended a stone staircase, their path lit by the glowing aura sphere, until they arrived at a large underground hall, walled in by magnificent arches, that was almost the size of the cathedral above. There the pair encountered many Chasseurs in varying states of repair, scattered about the space like decaying statues in a ruined temple.
“Why is the imperial family hiding these down here?” asked Ras, perplexed. The dark stone walls of the subterranean chamber amplified his voice to a surprising extent.
“Some of the imperial Chasseurs are better kept out of sight,” said Fiarca. “Apparently, people decided the mausoleum was the perfect place for that. Members of the imperial family can come and go as we please, and nobody else would ever choose to come down here.”
The way Fiarca spoke suggested to Ras that the princess had not been involved in the decision.
“You mentioned ‘uncomfortable pasts,’” he said. “What did you mean by that?”
“Chasseurs seemingly cursed to bring death to anyone who rides them, cultural artifacts plundered from other nations, units once used to conduct secret assassinations, that sort of thing.”
“And that’s what your father decided to give me as a gift? Sounds like a poisoned chalice, if you ask me.”
“The Vildhjärta is…an exception. It doesn’t technically belong to the empire at all. We’re only holding on to it.”
“Holding on to it?”
Ras frowned.
“Yes. Until a worthy successor arrives. That’s what we were told.”
“And that’s supposed to be me? Are you sure about this?”
“It has to be you, Ras. There isn’t another aura knight in all the realm who can do the things you do.”
Ras briefly wondered what gave the princess the confidence to speak like that, when she suddenly cast her eyes downward.
“Actually,” she said, “we’re still not sure whether we can give it to you.”
“You’re not?”
“The previous owner of the Vildhjärta sent me a message. It said to bring you down here tonight.”
Fiarca’s tone was uncharacteristically meek, and she let out a brief sigh. Ras guessed she must be feeling guilty from bringing him along on what were arguably false pretenses.
“Do they want to test me?” spat Ras with clear annoyance. “Who is the previous owner anyway?”
Ras had never asked for the Vildhjärta in the first place, and now he was expected to prove himself worthy of riding it. It was starting to get on his nerves, but for some reason, Fiarca looked at him and grinned.
“I think you’re better positioned to answer that question than I am,” she said.
“What?”
“Now then… According to what I was told, it should be just beyond here.”
Without deigning to explain further, Fiarca raised her ball of light. A chemical reaction using hydrogen in the air produced diphenyl oxalate, causing a bright glow to fall upon a single Chasseur standing at the back of the hall.
It was a frightening sight, a jet-black body that almost seemed to melt into the shadows.
“There it is,” said Fiarca. “The Vildhjärta.”
“What kind of grouch decided to paint it that color?” asked Ras, approaching the frame. There were no hard-and-fast rules when it came to painting Chasseurs, but in practice, black was something of a rarity, especially for a custom unit. That was because Chasseurs were a symbol of a house’s prestige, and typically painted with bright colors and intricate designs to inspire courage on the battlefield and bring hope to a lord’s people. It wasn’t worth trying to camouflage a unit, as the sight of a Chasseur spewing crimson aurons was difficult to hide.
And so the jet-black Chasseur unnerved Ras. It called into question everything he knew.
“A grouch? You’re a brave man to be throwing around a word like that, Ras.”
“Am I? I think anybody would say the same.”
Ras was a little confused why the princess stiffened just then, but he thought nothing of it.
“It looks like it’s encased in something,” he remarked.
“That’s right. They’re called aura crystals, I hear.”
Fiarca walked up to the Chasseur and tried to touch its leg, but just before her fingers reached the metal, there was a sharp-pitched noise and the princess’s hand was repelled. The entire frame of the unit appeared to be coated in a layer of transparent crystal, almost invisible, like polished quartz.
“Thanks to them, the unit inside is completely isolated from air and temperature changes,” Fiarca explained. “The Vildhjärta was fully repaired and put into stasis straight away, so it could probably stay in pristine condition for another hundred years or so. Those aura crystals are as solid as diamond.”
To demonstrate, Fiarca drew the sword at her hip and swung it against the barrier. However, the blade bounced harmlessly off without even scratching the unit’s paintwork. An aura knight’s sword could pierce steel, but even it was no match for the aura crystals.
Fiarca returned her sword to its sheath. “The problem is,” she said, “we don’t know how to dispel the barrier.”
“You don’t?” said Ras with a sigh and a shake of his head. “Then what’s the point of it? It’s just a giant eyesore.”
“I didn’t say it couldn’t be dispelled, Ras. I only said we don’t know how.”
“So then…the previous owner? They know how to free it?”
“That’s right. Well, I hope they do anyway,” Fiarca added with a shrug and a cheeky grin. “The last time the Vildhjärta saw battle was twenty-seven years ago, toward the end of the Shrumland War. This unit, by itself, fended off the stampeding Sand Dragon that arose from the Lagyllia Desert. This is a mythical Chasseur, Ras. The deeds it’s performed aren’t even in the records.”
“Wait a minute. You don’t mean…”
Ras shivered. The blood drained from his face immediately. There was only one person who slew a Sand Dragon twenty-seven years ago, and it was someone Ras knew very well.
“That’s right, Ras. The Vildhjärta previously belonged to the Black Blade.”
Fiarca nodded gravely. The Black Blade, Fon Cigel. One of only four people on the continent who had attained the highest level of auramancy mastery. The owner of the ParadiasH brothel in Prouss, and Ras’s teacher.
“I see. Oh god, it all makes sense now.”
Ras couldn’t keep his hands and voice from trembling. The emperor owed Fon a great deal, so it wasn’t out of the question that she might ask him to hold on to a Chasseur for her. Ras could imagine no safer storage vault than the Prata Cathedral.
He immediately turned on his heel and started walking away. Fiarca called after him.
“Ras? Where are you going?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m getting the hell out of here before she shows up.”
“What? Why?”
“I can’t meet Fon now. Who knows what that crazy woman will do to me?”
Just then a voice issued from the darkness, causing Ras to stop in his tracks like he’d been frozen in ice.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say about your teacher, Ras. Do I need to teach you a lesson?”
“…?!”
The voice came from above. Craning his neck, Ras spotted a rather petite woman standing on the shoulder of the jet-black Chasseur. She looked about Ras’s age, perhaps even younger, with strikingly large eyes that glinted amber in the darkness like a cat’s. Her black hair, haphazardly cut to shoulder length, possessed streaks of red running through it. It was a common feature of the most powerful auramancers.
She was wearing very little; just a few pieces of clothing that looked like underwear, and a black leather mercenary coat over them. Her belly and upper chest were completely exposed. No ordinary visitor would be allowed to walk about the imperial palace dressed so outrageously, but the woman was anything but normal. She was Fon Cigel, the Black Blade.
“Fon!” Ras exclaimed.
“You’ve landed quite a cushy job, Ras. How come you didn’t send me a letter? Boo-hoo.”
Fon placed her hand to her cheek and made puppy-dog eyes at Ras. However, her childish behavior elicited only a horrified shiver from her pupil.
“Wait, Fon, you don’t understand! I was taken from Prouss against my will! I haven’t forgotten our promise, I swear!”
“Sob. Is that really true, Ras?”
“Yes. The palace was supposed to have sent you a messenger to explain…”
“So I heard. But Amalie and the girls got to him first, and I never found out what the message was. If you meant him to be a stand-in for you, Ras, you’ll need to send five or six of his buddies along with him.”
“That’s a soldier of the Imperial Guard,” said Ras, burying his face in his palm. “Just what did you do to him…?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Ras. We treated him like a guest.”
Fon licked her lips seductively.
All the ladies who worked at ParadiasH were experts in their craft, capable of squeezing their customers for every last coin. Not only that, but Fon had trained each and every one of them in the use of auramancy.
Whether Fon’s girls treated him to their top-class service, or made him a sparring partner for their first-rate skills, either way it would be a life-changing experience for the poor imperial guard caught in the middle. Ras could only pray the man was still capable of living a decent life after that.
“But enough about him,” Fon said. “What was wrong with you in the test match today, Ras? It shouldn’t have taken you that long to defeat a second-rate Chasseur like the Ahajia. I’m very disappointed in you.”
Fon’s smile at Ras was like a baring of teeth, and the malice oozing from her words caused Fiarca to flinch.