The battle had barely settled in their blood, yet Azazel felt the pulse of restless determination. As they left the wardens' tent, he turned to the Grandmaster.
"Why not go straight for another mission? While momentum is still on our side."
Aurelius tilted his head, studying his pupil with those sharp, amused eyes. Then he chuckled, low and unsettling.
"Since I allowed you the privilege of choosing you one more trial, Lucien, it would only be fair if I chose this one."
The group exchanged wary glances. Azazel's stomach tightened. There was something in the Grandmaster's tone—a sinister amusement, as though he was setting a snare.
They approached the great task board. Rows upon rows of parchment tabs fluttered in the wind, only marked with three or four flames.
But Aurelius didn't pause to examine them. His hand reached upward, toward the very top of the board, where no team had yet dared to touch.
He plucked down a parchment with deliberate slowness, then turned it toward them.
No flames. No marks at all. Just an empty, pale scrap of paper.
Azazel blinked. "What… what does this mean?"
Aurelius's lips curled into that same unsettling smile. "It means," he said, "that no one was ever expected to choose this. We didn't even bother assigning flames to it, because it was never meant to be part of the initiation competition. It is… an easter egg of sorts. A challenge for suicidals."
He extended the parchment to them.
The hunters leaned in. The text was brief, written in an almost mocking hand:
"Task: Enter the Catacombs Beneath Rome and retrieve the Mask of Saint Cyprian — an artifact cursed by both Heaven and Hell.
Warning: those who descend rarely return."
Azazel's blood ran cold. The Catacombs… the forbidden labyrinth where both relics and demons sleep. One of the most dangerous areas in the hunter world.
The Grandmaster's voice was silk and steel.
"Zero flames. No reward… except perhaps survival. Or something greater, if you're clever enough to claim it."
The group fell silent. Even Juan, ever quick with a joke, had no words.
Azazel tightened his jaw.
The Grandmaster's eyes glittered in the dim torchlight, predatory and amused.
"Well, Lucien. What will you do?"