"What?" he blurted out, startled. Gasps rippled through the crowd, but Leo paid them no mind. He kept walking toward the door—only to pause.
Hey, boy wait.
a faint, confident smile tugging at his lips. Then, just as quickly, he wiped it away and turned back.
"Everyone, leave. Now. You—boy—come here. Sit."
Leo obeyed, stepping forward as the rest filed out, their eyes lingering on him with open curiosity. When the chamber finally emptied, the duke exhaled a heavy sigh before speaking.
"Are you truly… Liura's son? Is it really so?"
Leo met his gaze, unflinching. "Liura Lumira. Height—one meter seventy. Green eyes, red hair, pale skin… What else? Ah, yes, a tattoo on her neck. What else… hmm, she also—"
"Enough." The duke cut him short, raising a hand. "I understand. You are her child. You just… don't resemble her, do you?"
"I hear that often," Leo replied flatly.
The duke leaned forward, voice tightening. "Then tell me… what became of my daughter?"
For the first time, Leo's indifferent mask hardened into something sharper, darker. "All I can say is this: she died with honor."
The duke's expression faltered. "I see… I didn't mean to force you to relive painful memories. Thank you for bringing her message. But… what of your father?"
"I don't know him."
The man fell silent, his eyes narrowing as though burdened with a secret he dared not reveal.
"Is that all you've come to say? Then forgive me, I must take my leave—"
"Sit," the duke commanded sharply. "I am not finished with you."
Leo's brows drew together. "What do you mean? You swore you wouldn't kill me."
"That is true. But you entered our stronghold. You underwent our trials. You know far too much. I cannot simply allow you to walk away."
Leo muttered under his breath, frustration flashing across his face. Damn it… I only wanted some gold for delivering Mother's message. Looks like I've stepped into something far worse.
The duke's voice deepened, carrying the weight of authority. "Since you have already endured the trials, only the induction remains. From this day forward, I shall regard you as one of the Black Hunters."
Leo shot to his feet. "What nonsense are you spouting, old man?"
The duke's lips curled into a fierce smile. "First of all—I am not an old man. I am your grandfather. Show some respect. Second, unless you would rather have me sever your tongue, your hands, and your eyes to ensure our secrets remain safe… you will accept."
The force of his presence was suffocating, a crushing weight Leo could not resist. His defiance crumbled, and he muttered with reluctant submission, "Fine… fine. I'll stay."
"Good," the duke said, his voice once more calm. "Now go."
When Leo stepped out of the duke's office, he found them all gathered in the corridor, waiting for him. The first to speak was Christopher.
"Are you truly Liura's son?" he asked, his voice tight with curiosity.
Leo gave a careless shrug. "I suppose so."
Christopher's eyes narrowed. "Then everything you've done… it was deliberate, wasn't it? From the moment you caught Liza, every step you took was calculated."
Leaning back against the wall, Leo crossed his arms with quiet defiance. "And what if it was? Your headquarters is hidden from the world. The letter was meant for my grandfather—one of the kingdom's dukes, a man impossible to meet on the streets. Tell me, how else was I supposed to reach him? I did what I had to do. Do you have a problem with that?"
Silence fell, heavy and undeniable. His answer was too sharp, too reasonable to contest. It was Tyler who finally broke it.
"You must be tired," he said, his tone far lighter than Christopher's. "Come, I'll show you your room."
The two of them walked down a narrow passage until they arrived at a chamber. Inside, Leo saw his belongings—those that had been taken from the tavern the day he arrived—already arranged for him. The room, however, was shared, and with Tyler of all people, the same man who had once beaten him bloody. The thought soured in Leo's mind, but Tyler seemed utterly unbothered, even casual.
"I'll leave you to rest. Tomorrow is the induction," Tyler remarked.
Leo frowned. "The what?"
Tyler lifted his wrist, revealing a faint tattoo beneath it. "Tomorrow, you'll receive your mark." Without another word, he stepped out, leaving Leo in silence.
Leo sank onto the bed, his gaze drifting to the silver ring on his finger. What did he mean, 'receive my mark'? The question weighed on him as exhaustion dragged his eyes shut. Sleep claimed him swiftly; after all he had endured, it no longer mattered where he was—only that he could rest.
The night passed in what felt like an instant. When his eyes opened again, Tyler was fastening the buttons of his coat, already dressed for the day.
"You've slept enough," he said, glancing at Leo. "Unless you'd rather be late for the ceremony. The duke won't be pleased."
Leo rubbed his eyes, struggling to make sense of the words. "What?" he mumbled groggily.
Tyler tossed a bundle of clothes at him. "Get dressed. I'll wait at the door."
The garments were black from head to toe, sharp and severe. When Leo put them on, he thought he looked like a hired killer. No wonder they call themselves the Black Hunters.
At the door, Tyler stood with his arms folded, waiting. "Follow me."
Together they walked through the stronghold until they reached an enormous library. Without hesitation, Tyler pulled a thick tome from the shelves, sliced his palm, and let his blood drip across the open pages. The book glowed, its surface trembling with light, and a section of the shelves shuddered and slid aside, revealing a hidden passage.
He motioned for Leo to follow, and the two descended a spiraling staircase that seemed to plunge endlessly into the earth. As they went, torches burst into flame along the walls, illuminating their path. At last, they reached a towering gate etched with a strange emblem.
Tyler murmured a low incantation. With a groan like stone awakening from slumber, the gate swung open. Beyond it stood two figures cloaked in black.
"You're late," one of them said, their voice echoing in the chamber. "We've been waiting."
"We're here now," Tyler replied curtly.
The two figures handed them black cloaks. "Put these on. From here, his task is no longer ours."
Tyler clasped the cloak over his shoulders, then turned to Leo with a faint, knowing smile. "My part is finished. The rest… is up to you. Good luck."
They all took their places around the strange stone table. Cloaked figures ringed it like a dark tide. Leo stepped forward and addressed the duke. "So where do I stand?"
"Beside me," the duke said, then raised his voice. "The induction will begin. Each of you, take your place."
Obediently, they moved. Every hand closed around a dagger. At a single signal the blades flashed; one by one they cut the soft skin of their palms and let the blood fall into the shallow basin set into the table.
The blood in the cup before Leo flowed as if compelled, filling the vessel while, with a steady hand, he sliced his own palm. At the duke's motion, a servant thrust the cup toward him.
"Drink."
Leo raised it and drank without hesitation, though the metallic tang turned his stomach. Behind him an ancient woman stepped forward. "Extend your arm. Sit."
He sat and pushed his sleeve up. She gripped his wrist with surprising strength and produced a black needle. The first press of the needle sparked a fire across his skin—old symbols, angular and obscure, were carved into his flesh. The pain was savage.
"Should a mark hurt so?" Leo gasped.
"Silence, boy. Let me finish." Her voice was dry as parchment.
She worked without mercy. Each incision flamed hotter; Leo's shouts rose and broke against the vaulted ceiling. His eyes began to glow, a furnace lighting behind the irises. The duke's voice, low and authoritative, sliced through the chaos.
"Control your breath. Master yourself."
"I can't," Leo screamed. "This… this burning—"
"The blood will teach you control," the duke snapped. "Now—be still!"
A black fire seethed over Leo's limbs, licking at his skin. Some present shouted to restrain him; others hesitated. The old woman lifted her palm, and a pulse of energy struck the back of Leo's head so hard he blacked out. The flames guttered and vanished.
"Enough," she said. Water was poured over his face until color returned to his lips. When he drew his hand back from the basin, the strange characters lay there, etched in ink-dark lines across his wrist.
The duke rose, cloak whispering. "Today we bind a new member—one who shares our blood and bears our sign. Leo Lumier, congratulations on your induction. Now you must find your weapon."
Leo pushed himself to his feet and walked toward the array of arms suspended along the hall—spears, swords, and long-barreled rifles glinting in dim torchlight. He plucked one at random and held it up.
"Choose this one," the duke said.
A faint smile touched the duke's mouth. "You do not choose the weapon; the weapon chooses you."
"Then I suppose I should close my eyes," Leo muttered. He shut them and let his steps carry him along the rack. When his hand stilled it had closed around a long, brutal blade—an enormous scythe, its edge honed to a cruel gleam. He opened his eyes and stared at the weapon in disbelief.
"A scythe?" he breathed. "Am I to be a reaper?"
He turned toward his grandfather and the others. The duke's eyes narrowed. The elder at the dais cleared his throat. "Is it permissible to grant him that?" he asked, the question hanging heavy in the torchlit air.66