Prologue
In a remote part of Lantshire lies a forbidden territory. Chasms where they claim even grass refuses to grow.
In fact, even mages avoid it to the best of their abilities. Should they be taken there, a dire fate almost certainly awaits them; venturing there of their own accord would mark them a fool of the highest order—or fatally off their rocker, no longer capable of distinguishing their home from the gallows.
“Hah…hah…hah…”
Staring up at the gray sky, gasping for breath, Godfrey hoped he was at least the former.
The training grounds within the Gnostic Hunter headquarters saw new recruits scattered across the property of this charnel house. Their welcome party had drawn to a close.
“Good enough. Done till 4D training. Until ordered otherwise, eat and rest.”
With that, their instructor left. But those listening were in no state to do either of those things.
Corpses of magical beasts. Remains of golems. Piles so high, there was no safe place to step—and between them, craters large and small, gouged into the ground of the training area. The recruits lying there, out of breath, had nearly all sustained wounds far beyond a few broken bones, each in a state of extreme exhaustion—and fresh out of mana. Ragged breaths were a good sign; some of them did not appear to be breathing to begin with. They’d rather have emergency treatment than food and sleep, but such practicalities were off the table here.
“…You alive, Lesedi?” Godfrey asked, managing to catch his breath.
“…Somehow. The two behind you?” his partner said, not getting up.
Godfrey staggered to his feet, moving to the two recruits nearby. They’d had it in for him at the start of training, but now—well, even being generous, they were half dead. Missing several limbs and long since unconscious, the recruits had wounds that would be fatal to any ordinary. But by Gnostic Hunter standards, the two of them were expected to heal up with a little food and rest.
Kneeling down to check their pulses, Godfrey sighed with relief. “Still breathing. Sorry, I’m not much of a healer—hang on till we reach the med ward.”
“…Gimme one. I got enough left to carry.”
Lesedi managed to right herself; even though she didn’t have even a drop of mana left in her, she heaved one of the wounded on her back and set out. Godfrey followed, briefly considering collecting the severed limbs. But given the state of the training grounds, it would be nigh impossible to find them, and there was no guarantee they were intact. He quickly dropped the idea.
“And that was just a warm-up,” Lesedi growled. “Can’t even imagine how bad it is in the field. Especially if you plan to stick to your guns.”
“……”
Godfrey merely nodded.
She eyed his profile a moment, then turned quietly to the front once more. “Another tour of hell. As if I hadn’t seen enough of those.”
A harsh truth, delivered without passion. That brought any number of memories to Godfrey’s mind—the darkness on campus, the kind gestures of the best friend he’d lost, the lonely look of the junior he’d failed to save, the cheery bounce in the step of the comrade he’d left behind. What they’d been through was not something he could forget.
“I’m not about to let it stop at a tour,” said Godfrey. “If I’m there, I wanna make it better. Like I did at Kimberly.”
“Bold. You realize that’s tantamount to improving the very world?” Lesedi replied, intentionally digging deeper, making sure he knew the implications—like she always did.
And that familiar back-and-forth put a confident smile on his face at last.
“Everyone says it’s impossible,” he told her. “In other words—it’s just like the day we began.”
His mind was made up. He’d do it all again. He’d moved from Kimberly to the world at large, his targets no longer students consumed by the spell, but Gnostics corrupted by tír gods. And yet, Purgatory himself remained the same.
Once more into the breach. Let them point their fingers, dismiss him as a fool. He was in the dirt, spilling his blood, all while praying that he’d be a mite better a fool than the last time.
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