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Chapter 20 - Chapter 20: The S-Rank Contract

Cary glanced at Dunce, a flicker of disbelief in his eyes. The kid seemed genuinely clueless, which was baffling considering the subject. "Death's Maw," Cary explained, his voice dropping instinctively, "is the most notorious exclusion zone on the continent. Vast, almost the size of Westpo Federation itself. A small part falls within Tiananyuan Collective territory, but the bulk of it scars the heartland of the United Han Commonwealth. It practically forms a natural, and terrifying, border wall between them and our Solas Federation Confederacy. These days, if we Confederates want to reach Han territory, it's either the Skyrid Peaks corridor nearby, or a long detour through Holy Church lands. The place is legend – ground zero where the First Supreme Pope Mystic and the mightiest Archmages of the Millennium War sealed away the Antediluvian Abominations. It's crawling with creatures straight out of nightmare. Folks who go in? They don't come back out. Not a single member of several sizable merc companies that tried exploring ever made it back. Hell, even if we threw the whole Blood Skeleton Windbone brigade at it, landing an S-Grade Prismatic Crystal? Impossible. Back at Red Storm City HQ, I've seen a few contracts like this one, hunting for ultra-rare artifacts reported from inside. They say the deeper you push towards the Maw's core, the worse the nightmares get. This crystal hunt? It's only rated 'Special-Class', not the peak 'Supreme', mainly 'cause it's tagged near the *edge* of that hellscape."

Mystic Mystic Moon tilted her head, a spark of curiosity lighting her violet eyes. "Death's Maw? First I'm hearing of it. And you say almost no one makes it out? Then how did the intel on the crystal even surface? Sounds like a load of overblown campfire tales to me. Can't believe the monsters are *that* bad." In truth, the name was whispered knowledge within the Holy Church. But her father, Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Mystic Mystic Night, had specifically forbade anyone from telling her. He knew his daughter too well – mention the Maw, and her adventurous spirit would be irretrievably hooked. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Ignoring Cary's sputtering protest, she turned to Dunce. "Decision made. We're taking the Prismatic Crystal contract. Scared? You can stay behind."

Dunce shook his head immediately, no hesitation. "I'm coming. But, Mystic Mystic Moon… if we find the crystal, can I have one piece? Please?" His desire to honor his departed teacher Gorith far outweighed any dread of the Maw.

Mystic Mystic Moon waved a dismissive hand. "Fine, fine. Tandore deal. Let's go sign up." She strode towards the contract desk.

Cary watched, dumbfounded, as Mystic Mystic Moon and Dunce marched up to counter to claim the contract even seasoned Blood Skeleton Windbones wouldn't touch. Their casual certainty, talking like the damn crystals were already in their pockets! He hurried over. "Sorceress! That zone is death incarnate! You two, just mages? Zero combat specialists? You're practically walking rations for whatever's lurking in there!"

Mystic Mystic Moon was already sliding her Mercenary Guild ID across the counter. "Relax, old-timer. High risk, high reward, right? My mind's made up. Flexibility is our edge – two people move fast. Monsters too tough? We run. Simple." She tapped the counter impatiently, addressing the wide-eyed clerk. "You! Register us for the Special-Class contract. Pronto. We're moving out."

The clerk blinked, convinced he'd misheard until Mystic Mystic Moon's impatient tone snapped him back. "Y-you're certain, Miss Sorceress?" he stammered.

"Hell yes, I'm certain," Mystic Mystic Moon flashed a predatory grin. "And it's *Commander* of the Heavenly Malice unit now. Chop-chop."

As the clerk mechanically processed the paperwork, Cary made one last plea. "Sorceress… please reconsider. That place eats the hopeful."

Mystic Mystic Moon snatched the processed card from the clerk and turned to Cary with a sweet, patronizing smile. "Cary… *Grandpa*. Looks like age's got you seeing shadows under the bed. Monsters? Sounds like a fun field trip. Come on, Dunce." She breezed out of the Guild hall.

Dunce followed, leaving Cary amidst a wave of pitying murmurs and shaken heads. Not a soul in the hall held any hope for their return.

Cary, a veteran of the streets, wasn't swayed by her 'coward' jab. He sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. "Youth thinks it's immortal. What a goddamn waste of two promising casters… Death's Maw? Ain't meant for mortals."

***

In the deepening shadows outside the Guild, two figures conferred in low tones.

"Argent Two, back to the Prelate. Now. Young Riverress is heading for Death's Maw. I'll tail her."

"Argent One, why not intercept her directly? We *can't* let her breach the Exclusion Zone! It's forbidden by Holy Edict!"

"Tch… you think she'd listen? Remember the Purifying Light 'lesson' last time? Or how long it took you to recover? Go! Only the Prelate can rein her in. I'll shadow her, protect her. If we reach the Maw's perimeter and the Prelate hasn't arrived… *then* I'll make a stand."

"Alright, Argent One. Go. Protect her at all costs. Failure isn't an option… The Riverress, stubborn as she is, has a good heart."

"Tell me something I don't know. Watched her grow since swaddling clothes. Still can't believe the Order assigned *us* from the Arbiters… Move!" One shadow dissolved into the urban gloom, while the other, Argent One, ghosted silently after Dunce and Mystic Mystic Moon.

***

Mystic Mystic Moon practically bounced as they walked. "Dunce, think about it! Completing this contract… our Merc Rating will skyrocket! Might even jump straight to Special-Class! How cool is that? Heh heh." Her earlier spat with Dunce was seemingly forgotten, replaced by giddy anticipation.

They'd retrieved the imposing Titan's Edge greatsword from the Mages' Guild armory first. Dunce harbored no real objection to the contract; his mind was laser-focused on 'Prismatic Crystal'. "Mystic Mystic Moon," he ventured, "gotta ask you something."

"Shoot." Her mood was expansive.

"Mystic Mystic Moon… do you even know what a Prismatic Crystal *looks* like? How do we find the target without intel?"

Mystic Mystic Moon grinned conspiratorially, leaning close and scanning the street. "Look at you, developing brain wrinkles! Of course I know. Wouldn't have taken the contract otherwise."

Dunce blinked. "You do?"

"Duh." She winked, tapping the ornate headpiece of her short haft – a masterwork of white, wing-shaped alloys cradling a centerpiece. "Remember, my dad's a Blood Skeleton Monk Priest. Privileged access, darling. *This*," she said, pointing to the large, perfectly transparent gemstone pulsating with inner light at the staff's apex, "*is* a Prismatic Crystal."

Dunce leaned in, truly examining Mystic Mystic Moon's staff for the first time. It radiated a palpable aura of sanctity, the central gem swirling like captured liquid energy. "That? That little rock?"

"'Little rock?' Pfft." Mystic Mystic Moon rolled her eyes. "Yes, dummy. Dad confirmed it. His word's gold. Prismatic Crystals resonate with a unique energy signature. I'll know one when I feel it. As for those chumps worrying about muscle?" She smirked. "They don't know *you're* the muscle, heh heh. Come on, supplies next, then we roll."

Dunce trailed her towards Fat Boss's Bakery. Mystic Mystic Moon shot him a sidelong glance. "Since you're addicted to that cheap carb-bomb bread, we'll stockpile it for the road." She pushed open the bakery door. Dunce felt a small, unexpected twinge, said nothing, and followed.

Spotting Dunce, the plump baker beamed. "Kid! Was hoping you'd swing by! Got that change for you. Way overpaid yesterday – those loaves weren't worth a clipped coin!"

Dunce pushed back his hood, offering his customary, slightly vacant smile. "Keep it, Fat Boss. Fair price."

Mystic Mystic Moon slid up to the counter. "Rations. What's the damage?"

"Two loaves for a credit chip. Kid, you're with her?" He gestured at Mystic Mystic Moon. "Take what you need. His payment yesterday more than covers it."

Mystic Mystic Moon grinned. "You sure? 'Cause I want *a lot*. Know how much *he* can put away?"

Fat Boss chuckled. "Take what you want. My treat."

Mystic Mystic Moon watched Dunce lapse back into his characteristic 'just-arrived-off-the-truck' persona upon seeing the baker. *Still sulking? Jerk.* That cold distance earlier was unbearable. If she wanted her reliable bodyguard back, carrots might work better than sticks now.

She flashed her most charming smile and held up one finger. "One thousand loaves."

Dunce and Fat Boss stared. The baker wobbled, clutching his counter. "S-say what? A *thousand*?"

Mystic Mystic Moon savored their shock. "Yep! One thousand. Ready by tonight. He downs ten a day? That'll last us three months, easy."

Fat Boss sputtered, wiping sweat. "B-b-but… a thousand l-loaves… H-how you gonna *carry* that?"

Mystic Mystic Moon tapped her temple. "My problem, not yours. Just bake 'em. You'll get paid. Dunce, move it – other supplies." She tossed a large-denomination cred-stick onto the floury counter, snagged Dunce's sleeve, and pulled him out.

A thousand loaves? Easily pushing three hundred pounds. While Dunce shrugged off the weight, the sheer bulk was impractical. He didn't ask – her smug expression promised no answers. When the time came, she'd pull some trick. They'd need transportation. Probably.

***

Mystic Mystic Moon embarked on a supply run worthy of a desert crossing expedition. Food dominated the list, supplemented by rugged travel gear for both. Dunce became the designated pack mule, burdened under an increasing mountain of purchases. Mystic Mystic Moon treated the small town like a personal boutique, examining everything with wide-eyed curiosity, buying selectively but touching everything. By dusk, the 'haul' was complete, and they were heading back to the bakery when a group blocked their path on a deserted stretch of road.

A dozen young mercs in standardized light combat armor, most appearing barely out of their teens. Their chests bore Mercenary Guild badges – three flashed polished silver, marking them as Tier-Two professionals. One stood out: a striking young woman in supple brown leathers, vibrant crimson hair spilling down her back like spilled wine. Her sharp, appraising eyes locked onto Dunce as she effortlessly shouldered a sleek, polymer-reinforced compound bow glinting with machined precision.

Confronted, Mystic Mystic Moon didn't flinch. She sidestepped smoothly behind Dunce. "Looks like trouble. Your turn."

Dunce nodded grimly and stepped forward. "What's your business?"

The lead silver-armored merc, clearly the unit commander, offered a disarming smile. "Mage. Greetings. We're the Crescent Fang unit. I'm Moon Scar, leader." He gestured to the group. "No hostility intended. We're looking to partner up."

Dunce blinked. "Partner?"

Moon Scar nodded. "Correct. We witnessed you claim that Prismatic Crystal contract earlier. It's… intriguing. How about we join forces? Scout Death's Maw together?"

Hearing 'ally' not 'ambush', Mystic Mystic Moon bounced out front. "Partners? What's the asking price?"

Moon Scar kept his easy smile. "Commander," he acknowledged, using her stated title, "we're just young bloods. Your speech in there… resonated. We're not in it for the cred. It's the *challenge*. Death's Maw? That's the real deal. If we score multiple crystals, one for the unit would be plenty. Contract's yours. Frankly? Without your boldness, we probably wouldn't have the guts."

Mystic Mystic Moon's eyes narrowed, weighing. Cary's warnings about the Maw's lethality had seemed serious. Extra muscle and eyes could boost survival odds significantly. Plus, it'd be less boring. "Alright. Condition: on the march, *my* orders stand. No freelancing."

The crimson-haired woman stepped beside Moon Scar. "Hold up. You're two. We're a dozen, not your unit. Why *your* command?"

Mystic Mystic Moon sniffed. "My rules. Period. Or forget it. I'm a Sorcerer. A *Theurge*. And," she lowered her voice dramatically, "only *I* can ID the crystals."

Moon Scar's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. A Theurge – offensive power wasn't their main draw. It was the Healing and buff capabilities. That could be the difference between life and death. "Understood. Deal. Stand down, Moon Princess Petal." The command was firm.

Moon Princess Petal scowled, crossing her arms. "You sound younger than me. Takes more than title to lead. Prove it. Beat me."

Mystic Mystic Moon never backed down from a challenge. "Doubt my chops? Fine. Challenge accepted. Age means squat – time to learn that lesson." She flipped back her hood. The collective intake of breath from the Crescent Fangs was audible. Moon Princess Petal's fiery beauty instantly paled in comparison to Mystic Mystic Moon's ethereal radiance.

Dunce dumped the supplies and closed the distance to Mystic Mystic Moon. "Commander, let me handle this." His duty to the Blood Skeleton Monk Priest forbade Mystic Mystic Moon risking injury unnecessarily.

Mystic Mystic Moon waved him off, dismissing Moon Princess Petal with a flick of her wrist. "Please. I've got this." She raised her haft, the Prismatic Crystal catching the fading light.

Moon Scar also needed to gauge this girl who held a Theurge certification. He gave his sister a curt nod. "No lasting marks."

Moon Princess Petal grunted, unslinging her bow. A razor-tipped polymer-shafted arrow appeared nocked almost faster than sight. The other Fangs gave them space. Moon Princess Petal drew the cable back to full tension, the bow creaking slightly. "Kid, fair warning – my Penetrators *bite*. Remember the name: Moon Princess Petal." Her finger relaxed.

The arrow became a silver-gray blur, crossing thirty yards faster than thought. Moon Princess Petal's reputation for precision wasn't hype; this shot aimed only to shave a thread from Mystic Mystic Moon's sleeve, a lesson in humility. This close? Archers preyed on mages needing casting time. The shot gave Mystic Mystic Moon none.

Mystic Mystic Moon shoved Dunce's reaching hand aside. Her haft moved a fraction. Blinding radiance *pulsed* outward. When vision cleared, Moon Princess Petal stood frozen, enveloped in a shimmering cage of light. Dunce saw it happen – Mystic Mystic Moon had whispered *something*, a shield of brilliance stopping the penetrator arrow cold mid-flight. Before the arrow fell, the containment field snapped into place. He noted the *complete* lack of chanting.

Mystic Mystic Moon smirked, the fading glow painting her perfection. "Ranged always beats magic? Tell that to the Light. Again?" The challenge hung heavy.

Moon Scar recovered first, stepping to his sister's side. She stared back, stunned. "Commander," he said, the title now holding weight, "your power… is unexpected. For the push into the Maw, the Crescent Fangs are at your disposal."

Mystic Mystic Moon graced him with a victorious nod. "Excellent. Dismissed. Dawn at West Gate. Be there, or miss the party. Dunce! Move it!"

***

Walking back to Fat Boss's, curiosity finally overcame Dunce's resolve. "Mystic Mystic Moon… that arrow… how?"

"Finally decide to talk to me again, big guy?" Mystic Mystic Moon pouted theatrically. "Trade secret. Classified." Dunce shut down again, accepting the snub.

***

The bakery was unrecognizable. Pallets overflowed with fresh-baked loaves, stacked high. Fat Boss emerged from the back, hefting the last steaming tray, soaked in sweat. "There! Should be a thousand… give or take a baker's dozen. Had to call in favors from the whole block!" He slumped against the counter, catching his breath. "Now, the million-dollar question… how're you hauling nearly three hundred pounds of carb-load to hell's front door?"

Mystic Mystic Moon grinned. "Watch and learn, Bossman." She shut the shop door against the twilight, then reached into her tunic, pulling out a slender chain bearing a deep crimson gem pendant – unassuming metalwork surrounding an almost unnaturally rich, blood-hued stone. Fat Boss dimmed the main lights, curious.

Mystic Mystic Moon closed her eyes, fingers wrapping the pendant. Her voice, barely a murmur, held command. "**By blood of the Eternal Ember… open the Gate Beyond.**" The pendant ignited. Deep, visceral crimson light bathed her, emanating from the stone. Her eyes snapped open, fierce violet meeting the glow. "**Secure.**"

The piled loaves obeyed. They lifted, streaming towards Mystic Mystic Moon like iron filings to a magnet. Each vanished upon contacting the crimson aura swirling around her. She became a human black hole, the pile shrinking rapidly. Fat Boss's jaw hit the floor.

"T-that's…" he stammered, watching the impossible. "Thaumatech…? Damn."

Mystic Mystic Moon didn't pause, absorbing their day's haul until only the backpack Dunce clutched fiercely remained. She gestured at it, the crimson glow receding. "Relax, muscle-head. Not stealing it. Save the space in our ride."

Dunce held firm. "No. This… essential. Needs guard duty." The ashes of Owen rested within.

Mystic Mystic Moon rolled her eyes. "Fine. Be stubborn. The bread's inside the Emberblood Charm," she tapped the pendant, now cool and ordinary-seeming again. "Need some? Ask nicely. Two credits a loaf? Thousand would be… oh, five hundred credits. That cred-stick covers it, Fat Boss. Right?"

Still awestruck, Fat Boss nodded mutely. "Y-yeah… plenty… got change…"

"Keep it. Tip for service." Mystic Mystic Moon smirked at Dunce's stony expression. "Not everyone's a penny-pincher. Find us a cheap flop-house. My eyelids are heavy."

***

Dunce blinked. Instead of the five-star he'd expected, Mystic Mystic Moon led them to a modest, clean hostel near the West Gate's checkpoint. It smelled faintly of cleaning solution. Practical. He followed silently as she booked two basic rooms, paying with her own funds from her small, ornate purse.

"Surprised?" she said without looking back, sensing his confusion. "Funding a trek to an Apocalypse Zone ain't cheap. Gotta budget. Even forced me into that dumb Mage test. 'Sorcerer'? Big whoop. Chow time. Stellaving." She ate sparingly, barely a third of Dunce's portion. Then, without another word, she disappeared into her room.

Dunce used his recent Mage stipend to settle the tab before retreating to his cell-like quarters. He removed the pack containing Owen's remains and the heavy Titan's Edge sword stand, feeling the weight lift mentally as much as physically. Weariness, mental more than physical, crept over him. The past two days… intense. Mystic Mystic Moon… confusing. The warmth of the shared sleep on the warehouse floor warred with the sting of her verbal jabs. The rhythmic pulse of his internal energies, recently ascended to the fifth level of refinement, guided him. He sat cross-legged on the narrow bed, seeking the clarity of inner focus. White radiance, barely visible, began to emanate from his form as he slipped into deep focus.

***

Next door, Mystic Mystic Moon tossed and turned. Exhausted, sleep teased but stayed just out of reach, chased away by the replay of recent events. "Stupid Dunce," she grumbled, punching her pillow. "Always messing things up… Ruined my beauty sleep…" She flopped onto her back, the image of waking cocooned in his surprisingly solid arms suddenly vivid. The deep, safe comfort of it… unsettlingly nice. Maybe… if he was less annoying… The thought drifted into the absurdly specific – a bed shaped like Dunce? Her cheeks flushed instantly. She rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. Finally, exhaustion triumphed over tangled thoughts, pulling her into a restless, dream-filled slumber.

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