After taking the oath, a faint brand appeared across each of their forearms, a mark carrying the sign and insignia of the Spirit King Karth, the lines glowing briefly before settling into something closer to a subtle scar. For any summoner, this counted among the most serious oaths one could take.
Breaking it wouldn’t just cost them their word.
It would destroy their summons entirely, severing the bond outright with no chance of recovery.
And over the long run, the backlash carried consequences even more permanent than that. Eventually, whoever broke the oath would descend into madness, their mind slowly unraveling under the weight of Karth’s endless, incomprehensible ramblings, a punishment that outlasted the initial violation by years.
"Good. You can come in now."
Once he confirmed the brands had properly settled across their arms, Mister Mysteries called out toward the far corner of the room, his tone shifting into something noticeably more formal.
From the shadows tucked into that corner, a man slowly emerged, unhurried, deliberate, each step measured as though he had all the time in the world and no reason to hurry through it. He wore a pitch-black robe that trailed all the way down to his feet, his white hair pulled back into a tight bun at the base of his neck. His eyes carried an unspoken authority that seemed to press down on the entire room the moment he stepped into view, quiet but undeniable.
"This is Mister Kang. He’s a Punishment Enforcer for the Kingdom of Bark."
Mister Mysteries made the introduction plainly, gesturing toward the newly arrived figure.
Punishment Enforcer.
These individuals functioned as the royal family’s personal enforcement arm, deployed specifically to force political adversaries into submission or to handle severe internal crises threatening the kingdom’s stability. Among the hundreds who served the crown in various capacities, Enforcers stood among the very best, second in standing only to the royal family itself, their authority rarely questioned regardless of whose door they knocked on.
"He’s here to brief you on a mission."
Mister Mysteries offered a faint smile, glancing up toward the man standing beside him before stepping back to let him take the lead.
"On the twenty-seventh of December last year, a string of suicides occurred in the city of Blackwater, north of here."
The man began explaining, his voice level and precise, carrying none of the theatrical flourish Mister Mysteries had shown throughout the day.
"At first, it appeared to be a consequence of large-scale layoffs happening around the same period. But each individual suicide carried disturbing details that didn’t align with typical patterns, details the initial investigators had chosen not to release publicly."
"An official report eventually reached the Intelligence Bureau weeks later, and a formal investigation was launched shortly after. The findings pointed toward the influence of three individuals, each operating at tier 5 or above."
"One of them goes by the name Buron. A lunatic summoner and dark magic practitioner originating from the Lumberg Republic, south of our kingdom, with a history of disappearing for months at a time before resurfacing somewhere entirely unexpected."
The Kingdom of Bark wasn’t the only human kingdom occupying this stretch of territory. In fact, four separate kingdoms collectively held this particular front against the wider threats surrounding them.
The Kingdom of Bark. The Lumberg Republic. The Cryptic Empire. And the Senos Monarchy.
Each kingdom, while publicly presenting a unified front, remained locked in a constant, quiet struggle for regional influence and power. In practice, they only genuinely cooperated when facing threats from entirely different races altogether, setting aside their rivalries only when survival demanded it.
"The second is someone you might already recognize. A noble of this very kingdom, Honger Algar, former leader of the Algar clan."
As the man spoke the name, his gaze shifted deliberately toward Ethan, who remained standing quietly off to the side.
Ethan’s expression didn’t change, though something behind his eyes sharpened slightly at the mention of his own clan’s former leader, memories of everything that name still meant to the current Algar power structure surfacing briefly before he pushed them back down.
"We’ve come to the conclusion that one of these three individuals is attempting to breach the Demi-God realm, and that everything uncovered so far forms part of a larger Demi-God summoning ritual, one that requires exactly the kind of sacrifice a string of orchestrated suicides would provide."
He added the final detail plainly, and the room’s temperature seemed to drop instantly, a tense, heavy silence spreading outward across every corner of the space.
Demi-God.
By far, this represented the most dangerous tier any of them had encountered since their run-in with Davos, a level of power that sat well beyond anything any of them had trained to face directly.
"Demi-God? Then what do you need us for?"
Fin asked the question with his voice noticeably unsteady, the earlier ease drained entirely from his posture.
They were tier 7, all of them. What could a group barely out of their teens realistically accomplish against three summoners already operating at tier 5, each with years of experience layered behind them? This felt like the kind of mission that belonged squarely in Banshee’s hands, or Lady Arian’s, people with the standing and the raw power to actually make a difference against a threat this large.
Honestly, being handed something like this felt absurd on its face.
"Calm down, boy. Always in such a hurry."
This time, Mister Mysteries let out a long, deep sigh, pressing his fingers against his temples as though the question itself had physically tired him.
The kid clearly had no idea just how volatile Kang’s temper truly was. If he had, he wouldn’t have thrown out a question like that so carelessly, with barely a moment’s thought given to how it might land in the room.
Kang, for his part, hadn’t reacted outwardly yet. But the stillness settling over him carried its own weight, the kind of quiet that usually preceded something far less patient than words.
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