The lanterns drifted elsewhere, to the far side of the Cathedral of Condoleeza.
Faceless was seated in the library, writing in a language too obscure to be comprehended. He wrote with a quill made from a raven's feather, and the ink it drew was ancient, tainted blood.
Vanix stood near the window that overlooked the ruined crimson city behind Faceless's desk. His hands rested behind his back, with his five fingers laid neatly one over the other.
Vanix spoke in a cold tone:
"That destruction out there resembles an old painting… as if the one who painted it was the very one who caused it."
Faceless moved his pen left and right, and then spoke with a passing ambiguity:
"You're right. There are those who create catastrophe and then stand atop it calmly, sketching it into existence."
Vanix turned his head slightly toward Faceless and uttered a cryptic, grim phrase:
"Oh oldest hunter… did you once do the same?"
As Faceless continued sliding his pen across the parchment, a mistake caused it to scratch the page with an eerie script. He lowered his head, thoughts weighing it down, and muttered:
"I've done much. And now… I seek the strength to correct it."
He stood and walked toward the crumbling wall, inspecting something upon it. Vanix watched him quietly, then asked:
"Do you expect a group to rise, one that will disrupt the Hunt? Like the D'kronma family?"
Faceless replied while calmly running his fingers across the damaged wall:
"You know them well, Vanix. The Bounty Hunters will appear. They are truly terrifying and powerful… beings who hunt both hunters and monsters alike. To them, all are the same."
Then, he continued in a sharper tone:
"But the real question is—will their leader place a bounty on a particular elite?"
Vanix slowly walked toward Faceless and asked:
"Are they watching the new members?"
Faceless pulled an old, tattered book from the wall, wiped the dust from it, and answered:
"Your words are unclear, Hunter Vanix. Do you mean are they watching, or are they already watching?"
Vanix stretched his hand forward, uncertain, and spoke:
"What's the difference?"
"The difference is clear, dear Vanix. They watch—but the one who truly watches… is their leader. To enhance the fear, they speak as if many are watching. But it is only one who watches—and that is enough to terrify."
Vanix approached the damaged wall and asked:
"And does the leader himself watch?"
Faceless turned his head slowly toward Vanix and spoke with a voice shrouded in shadow:
"It is possible that even we are being watched. Isn't that right, Sir Neleron…?"
Sir Neleron sat in a broken chair with the crimson city visible behind him through the window. His form was unclear, cloaked in shadow. Only his wide, unsettling grin and violet weeping eyes could be seen.
He wore a bloodstained white shirt and black pants. Towering and massive, even while seated, he emanated an overwhelming presence.
He spoke in a rough, beastly voice—like a wolf growling under a full moon:
"Oh… Faceless… seems like you expect the arrival of those without a trace of aura."
Vanix looked to the side, shocked by the revelation. He murmured to himself:
"I couldn't sense any aura from him… as if he had no power at all."
Faceless responded with a faint, mocking tone:
"You say it again… as if I do not know who appears… especially ones like you."
Sir Neleron laughed with a guttural growl:
"Hahahaha… man, you still amuse me. Your twisted sense of humor never changes."
Then he added:
"How is the new hunter? He seems terrifying."
Faceless chuckled softly, but with a sharp tone of sarcasm:
"You probably know better than I do… seems you've been watching him from the shadows, Sir Neleron."
Sir Neleron stretched his massive hand forward, veins bulging grotesquely. Then he spoke in a voice like a wolf on a blood moon:
"Didn't I say you knew me well? When he fought Sir Jaxen, I wanted to jump in and crush him… but that's not my nature. I prefer to fight alone."
Faceless closed the book and placed his hands behind his back, then asked sharply:
"Do you think you could kill him?"
Neleron smiled with manic glee, then clenched his fist and growled:
"And you think I'd lose to a mere brat like him?"
Faceless extended his hands forward and clapped powerfully—so loud that the floor dented beneath their feet before restoring to normal. He then spoke in a chilling voice:
"Seems you didn't look closely enough… at how his golden shadow glared at everyone with fury."
Sir Neleron gripped the arms of his chair, and for a moment, the air itself seemed to freeze. A sudden cracking sound echoed as the old wooden arms splintered beneath his fingers, crumbling like dry bone. Shards fell to the floor, like a confession long overdue.
He spoke loudly, grinning like a madman seated upon a throne of death and shadows:
"Oh Facelessssss… you've made my body crave the fight! But alas… my follower Valdimar will crush him."
Faceless laughed and covered his face with his five fingers:
"No one will be able to kill him. And I promise you this… he will come to your region, destroy it, and crush your skull as well."
The ancient, rickety chair exploded, sending dust and splinters flying across the chamber—destroyed not by magic, but by Sir Neleron's sheer excitement. The mighty bounty hunter strode forward, facing the towering and dreadful Faceless.
"This is a direct challenge, Faceless. Then I shall wait for him… in Edward III's Territory. I'll send you his head on horseback, as a noble gift."
A terrifying smile formed on his lips as he spoke.
"We'll see," Faceless replied with a chilling voice.
Sir Neleron took two steps back—and vanished like a thunderbolt.
Vanix had only been listening, stunned by the conversation. Though he had some knowledge, it now seemed woefully incomplete.
"My lord… old hunter… are you truly going to let German face that dreadful place alone?"
Faceless walked to the window, staring at the ruined Victorian city below. Then he spoke with a terrifying calm:
"They are not among the Great Ones. The strong can vanquish them."
And now, as the dark and cryptic dialogues between Faceless and Sir Neleron end, the scene shifts to German and Ophelia, now facing off against the bounty hunter Valdimar.
"Oh come on, man… enough of that empty talk. Everyone who shows up here acts like they're the strongest and swears they'll kill us," German said mockingly, glancing at Ophelia.
A beautiful smile crept onto Ophelia's face. Valdimar struck his scythe to the ground three times, his wolf-like eyes fixed on them as he spoke:
"I'm not pretending. But my scythe will speak the truth."
German stepped back and leaned against the bridge wall. Ophelia looked confused by this odd behavior. He yawned, placing his five fingers near his mouth, and said to her:
"You seem more excited to fight him than I am. Your hand's trembling with thirst for blood."
Ophelia raised her hand, looking toward it with intense surprise, then spoke to herself:
"How did he notice that? But he's right… I'm so excited to crush that idiot."
"The incoming opponent shall be yours, O mad Lord of Nothing," Ophelia said with a grin as she looked at German.
"I'm not interested, but I agree," German responded to Ophelia.
Ophelia moved a short distance closer to Valdimar, placed the card into the four holes, and revealed her weapon—her sword.
"It doesn't matter, but once I kill you, I'll go deal with that heretic," Valdimar pointed his scythe at German.
Ophelia charged swiftly at Valdimar, but the monster with the open eye appeared before her and blocked the strike. Ophelia smiled and said:
"Looks like this will be a two-on-one fight."
Valdimar appeared from behind her, and just before he struck, he said:
"To take down prey, we'll use every method."
Valdimar swung his attack, but Ophelia blocked it by placing her curved scythe underneath. She drew her pistol and fired at him, but he dodged.
The monster appeared again before Ophelia, attempting to cut off her head, but she grabbed its hand and broke it. Blood poured from its eye in agony before she hurled it powerfully toward the Gothic houses.
She looked back toward Valdimar and rushed him, swinging her sword at his neck. He blocked the strike with his scythe, but she lifted his scythe up and struck his stomach with her foot, sending him flying back a considerable distance.
Valdimar held his stomach and laughed wickedly, saying:
"Pain… pain, I want to taste real pain!"
Suddenly, Ophelia appeared before him, swinging her sword with brutal force to split his head—but he stopped the strike, flipping his scythe. Ophelia spoke mockingly as they clashed:
"Pain? What, are you a masochist?"
Valdimar lifted her sword upward, grabbed her face, and launched her at lightning speed toward the Gothic castles. But she gripped his hand tightly until she broke it. Still, he held on to her while laughing maniacally as they crashed into one of the castles.
A powerful, terrifying explosion followed, so intense that the bridge itself shook. On the other side, German was watching calmly, speaking to himself:
"What a truly entertaining fight… But this man is no ordinary fighter. He has a few points that might help him win. Still, Ophelia is absolutely terrifying."
Meanwhile, the chains connected to the black clouds were shaking violently as Ophelia and Valdimar fought ferociously in the air, above the ruins of the shattered Gothic castles.
The sound of clashing swords and scythe echoed from the sheer force. Valdimar's body bore some deep wounds, especially his broken hand. Ophelia grabbed Valdimar's head, lifted him high into the air, then smashed him down like a meteor toward the buildings.
But before the impact, the monster with the open eye appeared and caught Valdimar's body, moving him away from Ophelia. She was shocked by this strange act. The monster stood before her and slashed her abdomen, attempting to strike again—but she broke each attack.
Then, biting her lip in rage, she grabbed the monster's head and crushed it, then drove her sword into its eye. The monster screamed in a terrifying, disturbing cry like a child's, until Valdimar appeared behind Ophelia and stabbed her powerfully in the back with his scythe.
Ophelia grabbed the scythe and pulled it from her body swiftly. The monster's body plummeted into the chaos below. Water trickled down her back, but she seemed completely unfazed. Instead, she glared at Valdimar with fury.
"You have a terrifying madness… and my sense of pain has reached its peak," Valdimar said in a chilling tone.
"Doesn't matter what you've reached. You're just a masochist who enjoys being tortured," Ophelia replied arrogantly.
On the other side, German looked on silently, smiling mysteriously.
"Seems like a terrifying party is about to begin."
They both charged at each other with frightening power, shaking the chains and the clouds themselves. Valdimar struck violently at Ophelia's face. She responded in kind, laughing maniacally.
With a horrifying move, Valdimar spun his scythe in a hexagonal pattern, slashing deep wounds into Ophelia's abdomen—but she was entirely unfazed.
She grabbed his scythe and swung her sword at his chest, but he blocked it with his bare hand, then struck her head so hard she was flung back.
Ophelia placed her five fingers on her forehead, then looked at her blood-stained hand. She laughed with madness, saying:
"Is that all you've got? I feel sorry for you."
She appeared before him with terrifying speed, standing like a towering, dreadful statue. Then she swung her sword with such force that his ribcage became visible. She grabbed it and crushed it, then fired a bullet into his neck, sending him hurtling toward the Gothic castles floating above the black clouds.
The impact was so immense that the chains began to sway in all directions. Ophelia stared at the explosion coldly, gripping her sword.
German spoke to her with a smile:
"Looks like you finished him off."
Ophelia replied with a cold and ready tone:
"No. That monster won't die so easily."
The Gothic castles exploded into tiny pieces, scattering everywhere. Some shards grazed Ophelia.
Valdimar appeared in the air. His mask had fallen off, revealing a face made of intertwining threads of pulsating veins. Each strand throbbed like a talking mouth. A black wing emerged from his back, and his scythe was now gushing with blood.
On the other side, the monster with the open eye appeared once again—but in a far more terrifying form. Its face was pure blackness. Swords protruded from its back like wings, and it held a sword made of dust.
German and Ophelia were both stunned by the terrifying, bizarre aura.
"Looks like this one's entered his true form," German said as he gazed upon the scene.
Valdimar pointed his blood-dripping scythe toward Ophelia and spoke with menace:
"I shall make your pretty face… a new one for me to wear."