CHAPTER 320: CHAPTER 310: INCENTIVE

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Rumpelstadt]

It was a strange kind of light that touched Rumpelstadt—thin and seemingly uncertain, like the sun wasn’t quite convinced it should be shining here. The drizzle had stopped, leaving only the shimmer of moisture on the streets. Damp wood and metal scents mingled with the smell of burned oil lamps.

Dante stood at the edge of the square, his figure still.

Rumpelstadt seemed more alive, but barely. A handful of people were stepping out from their homes, brushing off rain from cloaks and hats, moving like ghosts through the streets. But what caught Dante’s attention wasn’t the civilians—it was the group of four Retorta Guild members pacing through the square. Their uniforms were unmistakable. Each one carried a stack of papers, pinning them to walls, boards, even to the sides of abandoned carriages.

He didn’t need to get closer to know what those papers were.

("Wanted posters.") His thought came sharp. ("So they’ve started their manhunt. For her.")

He didn’t sigh. He rarely did. But inwardly, the feeling that passed through him was close enough to one. He surmised that Tamamo was not stupid enough to stroll around with Gretchen.

He scanned the group once more, then turned down the street—only for a far too familiar voice to slice through the quiet.

"Dante!"

He froze.

A small shape trotted briskly toward him—a golden fox with nine gleaming tails, each moving. And walking beside her, attire damp, was Gretchen.

Tamamo was stupid enough to stroll around with Gretchen.

Of course.

If his helmet didn’t hide his face, they would have seen his stare flatten into a deadpanned one.

Tamamo was humming happily. "Done with your brooding walk yet?" she called, voice light as a breeze. "You’re absolutely soaked. Honestly, I should hold off on riding you until you dry off."

Gretchen sighed heavily beside her. "Do you have to talk like that?"

Tamamo flicked her tails, grinning up at her. "It’s called conversation, dear."

Dante didn’t move as they reached him. "It is unwise to linger here," he merely said, violet lenses narrowing. "The Retorta Guild is in town—no doubt already searching for you."

Gretchen’s expression hardened. "Then let’s end this here and now. They want me alive, not dead. Better to kill them first before they drag me back to those cursed experiments." Her words were sharp, trembling slightly under old anger.

"Starting a fight here would be foolish," Dante replied, cutting through her anger. "We don’t yet know how many are stationed in this area, nor if they’ve identified who freed you. Reckless action will only create casualties."

"So we’re supposed to ignore them?" Gretchen’s glare was unwavering. "All that talk about burning down their outpost—and now you’d rather wait?"

"In a few minutes," Dante said simply. "We’ll regroup with Alexander and Ivan first. They’ll oversee the town’s safety while we move on the outpost."

Tamamo’s golden ears perked up at that. "Oh? You’re trusting such important work to those greenhorns?"

Dante glanced down at her. "You seem to know something of their capabilities. More than I. I recall you calling Ivan a Nil. What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"You don’t know?" Gretchen looked surprised. "I was trapped underground for years and I know that."

Tamamo laughed softly. "I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Dante’s good at many things—but not curiosity."

"Tamamo." His voice carried warning.

She ignored it entirely, sitting back on her haunches, tails swaying. "Fine, fine. A lesson, then. Nil are special beings—souls bound by a fragment of the First Tree’s withered branch. The branch burns what’s called a Maledictum Sigil into their essence, granting them a unique power—a reflection of who they are. No two are ever alike."

"The First Tree..." Dante murmured, thoughtful. "Then its withered branch predates all conventional sorceries."

"Correct," Tamamo said, impressed by how quickly he grasped it. "The magicks of East and West come from newer branches of the Arbor Astrigaudium. They’re diluted, less integrated into the nine realms. But the withered branches? Their power runs deep."

"The Arbor Astrigaudium..." Gretchen repeated softly. "A metaphysical tree that exists across every realm."

Tamamo blinked, then grinned. "Oh? You’ve actually heard of it? Impressive for a mortal. Most couldn’t even pronounce it."

Gretchen rolled her eyes. "You talk too much for someone who likes to act ancient."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Tamamo said sweetly, tails curling. "But yes, Nil are powerful—dangerous even. Though... Ivan doesn’t quite inspire confidence."

"You still doubt him," Dante remarked.

"With good reason." Tamamo’s voice turned almost analytical. "Nil evolve through stages. Five, to be exact. Most remain stagnant at the lower ones. From what I’ve sensed, Ivan’s only reached the Vociferari stage—the second. His sigil burns faintly, which means he understands his Null Schema, but not enough to wield it with depth."

"Stages of evolution..." Gretchen muttered. "Yes. I remember. The more one synchronizes with their sigil, the greater the transformation."

"Exactly," Tamamo nodded. "But few ever reach the higher stages. Their evolution depends on will, insight, and pain."

"Then it’s too soon to judge him," Dante said. "He may have reached the second stage recently."

"Perhaps," Tamamo mused. "But call it instinct. The boy’s too naïve. Sooner or later, that naivety will shatter—and when it does, so will he."

Silence lingered briefly. Then Tamamo’s ears flicked sharply eastward. Her expression changed.

"Oh dear."

Dante’s tone sharpened immediately. "What is it?"

"I can sense them. Near the mines." Her emerald eyes narrowed. "Both Ivan and Alexander. But they’re not alone. Others are converging—Retorta Guild signatures. And that Legatus of theirs... he’s close."

Dante’s stance shifted slightly, his coat moving with him. "Then we move now—"

"Wait." Tamamo’s voice was airy, but her gaze was alight with mischief. "Why not let them handle it first? A little trial by fire. If they’re truly worth your trust, they’ll survive."

Dante turned his head toward her, silent.

The moment stretched. Gretchen looked between them, uneasy. Tamamo met the violet glow of his lenses with an unblinking smile, her tails curling.

Dante spoke. "...I’ll not play your games, Tamamo."

"Oh, but you always do," she replied, her tone suddenly lower.

The air seemed to thicken. A faint force stirred through the street, the pressure so sharp that even Gretchen felt it in her chest. The violet glow of Dante’s eyes narrowed, locking on the fox spirit.

"Do not mistake my tolerance for mercy," he said quietly. "Your presence is permitted because it’s useful. But test me again, and you’ll find the limits of that grace."

Tamamo’s smile only widened, amused and unfazed. "My, my... so cold. So cruel." She rose on her hind legs, tails fanning. "Perhaps what you need is a little reminder of warmth. A good spanking, maybe. Or a proper duel."

Gretchen pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling. "Wonderful. I survived the Retorta Guild just to die between a monster and a lunatic fox."

Tamamo’s tails swayed lazily, the faintest laughter slipping from her. "Oh, don’t be so dramatic, darling. We’re all friends here."

"Friends don’t threaten each other," Gretchen muttered.

"Depends on the friendship," Tamamo shot back lightly. "But Dante here is a big meanie, and he deserves a beating!" she grinned.

Dante didn’t respond. His gaze remained on her, shoulders squared, the intense pressure rolling off him.

"Well then, dear. Let us duel!" Tamamo grinned on.

---------------------

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

[Rumpelstadt Mines]

[Ten minutes earlier]

"So... these are the mines," Ivan murmured quietly, his voice barely audible beneath the rustling canopy. The forest around them was thick with fog — perfect for cover. From their vantage point behind a tangle of pines and bramble, the yawning black mouth of the mine stared back at them — a rotted wooden frame leaning against the slope.

At least a dozen men in uniform — the Retorta Guild’s colors — were scattered around the clearing. Half of them stood guard, the other half were dragging corpses — their own — into a shallow pit near the entrance. The stench of burnt flesh drifted even to the forest’s edge.

"Ugh... Gods," Alexander hissed beside him, his nostrils flared; his heightened senses had always been both a gift and a curse. "That’s burnt flesh. Fresh, too." He spat into the dirt, grimacing. "The hell happened here?"

Ivan didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the corpses — the way some of them were charred beyond recognition, others punctured in ways that didn’t seem natural. His voice finally came, "Maybe... Dante and Tamamo. They were investigating here."

Alexander turned his head sharply. "You think they did this?"

"I don’t know," Ivan replied, his tone caught somewhere between thought and guilt. "But they were following up on something. Maybe they found it." He crouched lower, brushing a few leaves aside to get a better look at the guild insignia on one of the burned bodies. His brow furrowed. "This doesn’t seem like a simple skirmish."

Alexander exhaled through his teeth. "Bastards probably deserved it."

Ivan shot him a look — not angry, but disappointed. The kind of look that asked why do you always say things like that?

Alexander met his gaze, shoulders lifting lazily. "What? You know the kind of people the Retorta Guild are by now. Smug, greedy bastards, always digging where they shouldn’t. I bet half the world wants them gone."

"Maybe," Ivan said softly. "But that doesn’t make this right."

A brief silence settled between them — uncomfortable and heavy.

"Dante and Tamamo probably already finished investigating the mines," Ivan muttered after a long pause. "If this many guild members are here, maybe they found what they were looking for... or..." His eyes lingered on the pit of bodies. "...they ran into whatever the tavern owner was talking about."

Alexander tilted his head, skeptical. "You mean that nonsense about miners disappearing?"

"Yeah," Ivan said, straight-faced.

Alexander groaned. "Fantastic. And we came here."

"That’s our job," Ivan replied.

"Yeah?" Alexander shot back. "Then remind me why the hell we’re here if those two already played hero and stirred the hornet’s nest?"

Ivan opened his mouth to reply — to say we’re here to make sure they’re safe, or we can’t just ignore it — but before he could speak, movement caught his eye.

He froze.

Down by the mine’s entrance, four men emerged from the treeline opposite them. They looked like miners — clothes worn thin, hands and faces smeared with grime and coal dust. Old work boots, torn shirts, eyes hollow but burning with something fierce.

One of the Retorta Guild members noticed them immediately and stepped forward. His tone was sharp and cold — the kind that lacked any trace of human warmth.

"This area is restricted and under Retorta Guild jurisdiction. Turn back now."

The first of the miners — a broad-shouldered man with a soot-stained beard — stepped ahead, spitting at the guildman’s boots. "We’ve had enough of your kind!" he snarled. "These mines belong to us! To the people of Rumpelstadt, damn it!"

The guildman’s hand hovered near his weapon, but he said nothing.

Another miner, younger, thin with hollow cheeks, came forward. "That’s right! Our fathers worked here! Our grandfathers! You think we’ll just let you strip what’s left and walk away?"

"Yeah!" the third chimed in, his voice cracking but full of rage. "These are our mines!"

"And we ain’t leaving!" the fourth shouted, waving an old pickaxe as if it could ward off the men. "You can shove your ’jurisdiction’—"

The guildman’s gaze didn’t waver. His silence was chilling, like something had stripped away whatever humanity was left in him.

Alexander sighed, resting his arm against a tree trunk. "Here we go..."

Ivan’s eyes didn’t move from the scene. His jaw tightened. "It’s about to turn ugly."

"Think we should step in?" Alexander asked quietly, though his tone made it sound more like a complaint.

Ivan didn’t answer right away. He watched the men — watched the miners’ trembling hands, the fear and anger knotted in their movements, the guild members tightening their formation like a reflex. He knew what came next; he’d seen it too many times.

"They’re desperate," Ivan murmured. "Desperate people don’t walk away quietly."

"And the guild?" Alexander asked.

Ivan’s expression hardened. "...Doesn’t seem like they talk twice."

Alexander let out a long, low breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, what now?"

"We stop them," Ivan whispered.

Alexander huffed, eyes narrowing. "Playing hero again, huh?"

Ivan gave him a sidelong look. "Someone has to."

Alexander smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Swell."