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Arc 1 - Blind Faith
Blind Faith - Daggers X Knives.
Written by - Ellien S. Vorein
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The central church of Velronia was alive with sound.
Children knelt in rows, whispering prayers through cupped hands.Women bowed politely to passing visitors, their robes brushing softly against the polished stone floor.
And in the middle of it all—Iris-chan ran like a tiny hurricane.
Her footsteps echoed between the marble pillars as she weaved through people with completely unnecessary speed, holding a stack of books that was absolutely too heavy for her.
"Ah— ah— ah—! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, Seraphier-samaaa!"
She skidded to a stop, nearly tripping over her own feet, tears forming instantly in her eyes in pure comedic panic.
Seraphier didn't speak.He simply smiled — a small, gentle curve of the lip — watching her like a parent who had long accepted that this child existed outside normal physics.
Violins played softly in the background.Opera singers practised on the balcony, their voices filling the hall with warm, golden sound.
DONG.
The church bell struck once.
All heads turned toward the door.
Faran stepped inside.
Iris's eyes widened.Her entire soul ignited.
"Faran-samaaa!! What are you doing here, huh?! You missed Iris-chan that much already, didn't you?!"
Faran's eye twitched.He inhaled sharply through his nose — the inhale of a man using every ounce of strength not to snap in a holy building.
Her sheer energy.Her whimsy.Her speed.Her volume.
Faran's jaw tightened.
"…No," he said.
But Iris was already circling him like a happy moth.
Faran flicked her forehead.
She grabbed her head dramatically, stumbling two steps back.
"Owwww! Faran-sama, that's not very nice…"
Before she could wind herself up again, Seraphier's voice drifted across the hall — soft, calm, and touched with the cadence of a hymn.
"What brings thee hither, good Faran? Would a war hero such as thyself be seeking humble entry among the worshippers of Obellion?"
His tone was gentle, formal — almost playful — but the words carried that quiet, archaic weight unique to him.
Faran exhaled — long and tired — then lifted a hand to suppress a small yawn.
He rubbed the side of his neck, gaze shifting from Iris's dramatics to the priest standing beneath the stained-glass light.
"…How about a talk and a walk," he said quietly.His voice was calm, steady, almost casual."What do you say, Seraphier? Just us two."
Iris froze mid-pout, her mouth forming a tiny O of betrayal.
Seraphier closed the old scripture he had been holding, the faint smile still resting on his lips.He did not meet Faran's eyes — he never did — instead his gaze hovered just past Faran's shoulder, as if speaking to a place only he could see.
He dipped his head slightly.
"If that is thy wish. A quiet walk with thee shall be no burden."
Iris stomped her foot.
"Ehhh?! Faran-sama is stealing Seraphier-sama away from Iris-chan again?! Not fair not fair not fair—!"
Faran didn't even look at her.He simply stepped aside, gesturing towards the church doors.
"Let's go," he murmured.
And Seraphier, serene as ever, followed.
✦✦✦
They crossed the old stone steps and stepped outside, leaving music and incense behind.
The air changed immediately — heavier, cooler, washed with the faint dampness that only the outskirts carried.
The ground softened beneath their boots, not muddy, but damp enough that each step released the scent of wet earth.
Tall trees rose on both sides, their trunks dark from moisture, their leaves trembling with a slow, swaying dance.Beads of water clung to every branch, catching the light like small, trembling jewels.
Squirrels darted up slick bark, their fur brushing against the dripping leaves.Dragonflies hovered over shallow pools between moss-covered roots — tiny, colourful sparks moving in gentle swarms.
The sunlight filtered through the canopy in muted, scattered beams, brushing the forest floor with a warm, quiet glow.
It was soft.Almost shy.
The sun didn't shine — it meowed lightly at them, warm but faint, as if too polite to disturb the serenity of this damp woodland.
Faran exhaled softly.
Seraphier looked around with a gentle expression, letting the damp breeze pass over him. Sunlight touched his pale hair, making the priest look like a saint admiring creation for the first time.
"I've never been to this part of Velronia," he said, tone completely modern and normal."It's pretty, isn't it, Faran?"
Faran rubbed the back of his neck.
"…Yeah. It's the outskirts. Haven't been here for a while."
He stretched his arms overhead, a tired yawn slipping from him — the yawn of a man who hadn't slept well in weeks.
Droplets on the branches above trembled as he moved.
Lowering his hands, he spoke again — voice calm, but carrying weight.
"Seraphier."
The priest stopped walking.Hands folded gently behind his back.His faint smile lingering.The damp forest light shimmered across his robes.
He waited — patient, gentle, ready to listen.
Faran stepped over a patch of moss, boots sinking slightly into the damp earth.He took a moment before speaking — long enough for the wind to breathe through the trees again.
"…It's strange," he muttered, eyes on the forest floor."I don't really… talk to people. Not like this."
Seraphier's smile softened.
"Then thou hast chosen a curious companion," he replied lightly."For I am oft told I speak too much, even when I say nothing at all."
Faran snorted under his breath.
"…Yeah. You do that."
They continued walking through the quiet woodland — water dripping softly from leaf to leaf, dragonflies skimming the surface of shallow pools, a distant bird crying across the canopy.
After a few steps, Faran slowed.
He glanced at Seraphier again — not irritated this time, not burdened, just… thoughtful.
"…I don't think I've ever asked," he said,"but… do you ever get tired of it?"
Seraphier tilted his head.
"Tired?"
"…Being the priest. The centre of everything. People praying, people confessing, the weight of Obellion worship and Velronia's faith all on you."
He shrugged, hands deep in his pockets.
"I guess I'm asking if it's lonely."
Seraphier blinked once, slowly — not in confusion, but in mild surprise.
For the first time since they'd left the church, the saintlike smile faded.Only a little.Just enough for the air to shift.
"Faran…" he said gently."Thou asketh questions like a man who already knows the answer."
Faran looked away.
"…Maybe."
They stopped beneath a tall willow, its long branches dripping water like strands of silver.
Seraphier turned his head slightly, still not making direct eye contact — staring, as always, just past Faran's shoulder.
Then he spoke, his voice gentle.
"It's not lonely. Not when Iris-chan is around. Not when Velronia is peaceful. And certainly not when you drag me out for walks like this."
Faran let out a breath — somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.
"…You're impossible."
Seraphier clasped his hands behind him again.
"Then it seems we are well-matched."
A droplet slipped from the willow's branch, landing softly beside Seraphier's shoe.
He straightened slightly, the faint smile easing from his face.Not fading — just settling.
His posture didn't change.His eyes didn't move.
Only his voice did.
"…So tell me, Faran," he asked, tone suddenly flat, quiet, stripped clean of its earlier warmth."What is it you want?"
Faran didn't answer.
Instead, he slipped a hand into his coat and pulled out a small, old dagger — the blade chipped, the metal rusted along the edges.
Seraphier watched quietly.
Faran began flipping it through his fingers.
Not aggressively.Not as a threat.Just… moving.
The dagger danced effortlessly between his knuckles — spinning across the back of his hand, flipping into the air, caught between two fingers, twisted once, then flicked to the other hand like a magician's prop.
All without Faran looking at it.
The blade passed dangerously close to his skin more than once, yet he never flinched.
It was the kind of show-off movement a man did when he had nothing better to do — like a circus performer absentmindedly juggling.
Seraphier didn't move.Didn't react.
His monotone voice drifted again.
"Impressive. You have always done this."
Faran shrugged, still spinning the dagger around his thumb in a perfect loop.
"Maybe. Or maybe I just like the sound it makes."
The dagger flipped over his wrist, landed in his palm, and he caught it by the handle without even looking.
Seraphier's eyes followed the motion only once — a brief, almost imperceptible glance — before settling back into that same calm, unreadable stillness.
Another droplet slid from a willow branch and hit the ground with a soft tap.
"…Faran," he murmured, voice flat, monotone,"you did not bring me here to juggle."
Faran lifted the dagger again, letting it twirl around his fingers in another lazy spiral.
"Didn't bring you here for anything," he replied, catching the blade by the dull edge and flipping it into his palm."Just… wanted to walk."
Seraphier didn't blink.
"That is unlike you."
Faran smirked faintly.
"Is it? Maybe I'm allowed to change."
He flicked the dagger upward; it spun once, twice, and he caught it by the handle again without shifting his gaze.
The forest air hummed softly.A dragonfly drifted past Seraphier's sleeve.
The priest finally spoke again — voice still emotionless, but quieter.
"…Faran."
Faran paused the dagger mid-spin, letting it rest loosely in his fingers.
"Hm?"
"What troubles you?"
The dagger stilled.Not dropped — just frozen, hanging between his fingertips as if the question pulled it to silence.
Faran looked ahead at the damp forest path.
"…Nothing," he muttered.
The wind breezed slowly through the trees, brushing past the willow leaves with a soft, wet rustle.
Seraphier's robe shifted faintly with the movement.
He stood still for a moment, gaze fixed somewhere just beyond Faran's shoulder — that same place he always seemed to look.
Then, in a voice gentle yet touched with an older cadence, he spoke:
"What is it thou want'st, friend Faran?"
Faran rolled his neck once, then stretched his body side to side.His shoulders cracked.He lifted his arms, stretched them back, and let out a long, lazy yawn.
"…Alright."
Before the word had even finished leaving his mouth, he moved.
Faran's fist shot forward, aiming straight for Seraphier's chest — fast enough to split the air.
Seraphier's hand snapped up.He caught Faran's wrist cleanly.
No hesitation.No strain.Just a simple, precise motion — like plucking a falling leaf from the air.
In the same movement, Seraphier twisted his body and countered with a high kick, heel slicing toward Faran's jaw.
Faran ducked — barely — and swept Seraphier's standing leg, gripping his robes and flipping him over in a clean judo throw.
Seraphier didn't hit the ground.
His palm slammed downward first — a calm, controlled strike — cracking the damp earth beneath them and absorbing all the impact as he pushed himself back to his feet, creating distance with a single smooth motion.
The forest shook faintly from the force.
They both breathed out, standing a few metres apart.
Faran grinned under his breath.
"Not bad for two middle-aged men, am I right?"
Seraphier smiled, laughing softly under his breath.
"…Yeah. You're absolutely right, Faran."
He moved before the last word finished.
A sharp high kick tore through the air toward Faran's head — fast, clean, perfectly placed.
Faran raised his elbow and forearm in a tight guard.The impact cracked the ground beneath his feet, dirt trembling from the force.
While Seraphier was still mid-air, Faran's free hand shot forward, elbow driving toward Seraphier's ribs in a brutal counter meant to end the exchange.
But just before the blow could land—
Seraphier planted one hand on Faran's shoulder, twisted his torso, and spun into a one-armed cartwheel over Faran's back, flipping cleanly and landing several metres away.
Distance opened instantly.
The forest went silent.
Seraphier straightened slowly, that earlier warmth gone.
His voice dropped — flat, cold, emptied of emotion.
"I see," Seraphier said.
"I'll admit… you're—"
Faran didn't finish the sentence.
His dagger came down in a brutal, momentum-loaded strike, aimed cleanly at Seraphier's skull.
Seraphier moved.
He didn't dodge — he vanished sideways, feet sliding across the damp earth just in time.
The blade missed him by a breath.
BOOM—!
The impact obliterated the ground.
Trees, logs, and roots behind Seraphier shattered into splinters — exploding outward in a burst of debris as if hit by a cannon.
Leaves and bark flew into the air, raining down like broken glass.
Seraphier landed lightly on a fallen trunk, coat fluttering from the shockwave.
He didn't hesitate.
He stepped in.
In one smooth motion, he planted his foot directly onto Faran's open palm — the hand still gripping the dagger — and drove it into the earth.
Faran's wrist hit the soil with a hard thud, the weight of Seraphier's heel pinning it down completely.
His armed hand was trapped.Frozen.Welded to the forest floor by pure leverage.
Seraphier leaned in slightly, his hair swaying.
The wind carried his voice, low and level:
"…Pinned."
Faran's hand was pinned hard into the earth — Seraphier's heel pressing down with calm, merciless precision.
But Faran's strength was not normal.
His fingers curled.
The ground beneath his palm cracked.
Then shattered.
Stone split apart as he forced his wrist free with brute power, breaking through soil and rock in one violent surge. Dust exploded upward, forming a rough cloud between them.
Without thinking, Faran scooped the broken fragments of stone and flicked them forward with rapid-fire precision — dozens of jagged pieces whipping toward Seraphier's face like bullets.
Seraphier reacted instantly.
He stepped forward, sliding through the dust like a shadow.
His hand opened.His fingers curled.
And he struck.
Not punches.Not blocks.
Flowing Claw.
His arm moved in a fluid, circular rhythm — sweeping and cutting through the air, each motion perfectly timed.
Every rock that came near him was broken.Shattered.Crushed mid-air before it could reach his skin.
Fragments cracked against his clawed palm, exploding into dust in rapid succession —
tap— crack— tap— crack— tap— crack—
In less than a second, the entire volley was gone.
Seraphier lowered his hand, dust falling around him like mist.
His voice came out quiet, measured.
"…You're resorting to stones now?"
Faran dusted off his palm, letting out a low laugh — a rough, amused sound as he brushed stone flakes from his fingers.
"Well… a priest knowing martial arts?"He tilted his head, smirking."That's cheating."
He flicked another tiny stone off his sleeve.
"So isn't using rocks fair game?"
Seraphier's expression didn't change, but the corner of his mouth lifted — just barely.
"…If that is thy logic," he said softly,"Then perhaps I should pick up a tree."
Seraphier didn't move at first.
Then he lifted one leg — almost lazily — and swung it across the trunk of a massive tree beside him.
Not a tap.Not a push.
A kick.
The entire tree tore from the ground with a violent rip, roots snapping like tendons, soil erupting upward as it launched forward like a giant, airborne football.
It came crashing straight toward Faran — a wall of wood and weight hurtling through the damp forest with enough force to flatten a house.
Faran didn't blink.
Ching.
Two gleams flashed.
The tree split in half instantly.Perfectly.Cleanly.
The halves flew past him on either side, crashing into the forest floor with enough force to send birds scattering upward in a chaotic burst.
Faran stood in the settling dust, holding two daggers — one in each hand — the blades humming softly from the impact.
The split was immaculate.Not jagged.Not rough.
A perfect cross-section.As if the tree itself had been scared of him and parted willingly.
Faran twirled one of the daggers between his fingers, letting the metal catch the faint light.
"…You were saying?" he muttered.
Seraphier stared at him — expression unreadable, willow-light drifting across his robes.
"Then let us see, good Faran… whether thy blades may keep pace with mine."
He stepped forward.
Not walking.Not running.
Arriving.
Seraphier's fist met Faran's daggers before either man had finished inhaling.
CLANG.
Faran twisted both blades inward —Seraphier slipped between them, striking with the edge of his palm.
CLANG.
Faran stepped left, daggers flashing in tight arcs —Seraphier blocked with his forearm, twisting around the metal like he'd trained against knives his whole life.
CLANG.
The forest echoed.
Rust and steel clashed again and again in rapid bursts — a rhythm, a tempo, a heartbeat made of metal.
Leaves shook from branches.Dirt cracked beneath their feet.The air itself trembled around them.
Faran's twin blades sliced through the space between their bodies in perfect, deadly precision —Seraphier answering every cut with a strike, a parry, a flowing redirection that turned each clash into a spark.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
No words.No wasted breath.
Just two men —master and master —trading blows at a speed that blurred the edges of their silhouettes.
Steel arced.Knuckles connected.Forearms met steel.Elbows scraped metal.
The forest didn't dare speak over them.
Only the sound of rust and metal meeting again and again carried through the damp, trembling air.
Seraphier closed the distance too quickly.Too aggressively.
Bodies nearly chest-to-chest, daggers scraping against his ribs as he pressed forward, trying to smother Faran's spacing.
Faran didn't hesitate.
He lowered his head—
—and headbutted Seraphier straight in the forehead.
A dull, heavy crack echoed through the trees.
Seraphier recoiled half a step, breath catching.
A faint line of red ran down his brow — nothing serious, but enough to show he wasn't untouchable.
Faran grinned, wiping dust from his nose.
"One point to me."
Seraphier's eyes lifted slowly, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing his usually calm expression.
Only for a moment.
Then he straightened, rolling his shoulders back.
"…A crude tactic," he said softly, voice flat again, "yet effective."
He stepped forward once more.Closer than before.
Damp earth trembled beneath their feet.
The fight started again before the trees could finish shaking.
Seraphier reached into his robe and drew… a small butter knife.
Not a weapon.Not a blade.Just a kitchen utensil.
He held it like it was forged from god-steel.
Then he struck.
CLANG—!
The impact split the air.
The shockwave tore through the clearing —trees splitting clean in half,the wind screaming through the branches,small animals bolting in terror,flocks of birds erupting from the canopy.
Faran blocked itjustin time.
His twin daggers crossed in front of his throat, catching the tiny knife an inch from cutting him.
Metal shook.Faran's feet skidded backward through the damp soil.
"…You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.
Seraphier pushed harder, butter knife biting into the locked blades, pressure rising—
Faran shifted his weight—
And countered.
His leg shot forward, slammed straight into Seraphier's stomach with brutal force.
A solid, body-cracking impact.
Seraphier's breath exploded out of him.He staggered back, coughing once — a harsh, involuntary sound — the force of the kick driving him several metres away.
Distance opened.
The forest went quiet again, dust and leaves floating around them.
Faran rolled his shoulder and smirked.
"Cute knife."
Seraphier didn't hesitate.
He flipped the butter knife in his grip once, caught it by the tip—
—and threw it straight at Faran's eyes.
Not a casual throw.Not a warning.
A full-force, body-compressing strike.
The wind vibrated violently as the blade cut through it, the pressure caving inward on itself, the forest air buckling from the speed.
Faran reacted instantly.
His hand snapped up.
CRACK—!
He flicked the knife aside with the edge of his palm.
But even with perfect timing, even with hardened skin and veteran reflexes—
A thin line of red appeared across his hand.
Blood.
Faran glanced at it once.
"…Tch."
Seraphier began to walk.
Slowly.
Step.By step.By step.
Each footfall deliberate.Measured.Calm.
Almost silent against the damp earth.
Faran tightened his grip on his daggers.His breathing steadied.His stance lowered.
On guard.Alert.Watching every angle.
Seraphier kept walking.
Step…by step…by step…
Until the distance between them shrank to a few metres.
Then he stopped.
No stance.No expression.
Just stillness.
Waiting.
Faran exhaled through his nose.
"…Alright then."
The forest held its breath.
Seraphier slowly raised his head.
For the first time in the entire walk,he looked directly at Faran.
Eye to eye.
His irises—were gone.
Pure black.No colour.No life.No reflection.
His expression emptied.Flattened.Cold.
He opened his mouth just slightly.
And whispered:
"…Goodbye,Faran."
The wind stopped instantly.
Not slowed.Not faded.
Stopped.Completely.
The forest froze.
Then—
Animals dropped where they stood.Squirrels fell from the branches.Deer collapsed mid-step.Insects fell from the air.Birds circling overheadjustdroppedto the ground.
Dead.
No wounds.No marks.No violence.
Just—death.
The trees began to wither.Leaves crumbled into dust.Bark cracked and greyed.Roots shrank into themselves,as if the entire forest was decayingin real time.
Seraphier's voice returned—quiet, low, slow—each syllable sinking into the dead air:
"…Ken… za… mu… ket—"
The world responded.
Somewhere — far away, yet impossibly close —a sealed figure lifted its head.
Wrapped in golden chains.Heavy.Suffocating.Endless.
One chain snapped.
798 remain.
Faran stood ready—not terrified,but bracing,muscles coiled,daggers steady in each hand.
"Seraphier… what the hell are you doing?"
The priest's lips curled.
Not into a cold smile.But a warm one.Bright.Friendly.
His voice returned to its soft, cheerful tone:
"Ah—! Sorry, sorry, Faran!"He laughed, almost excited."It was a lot of fun, truly. But I must get going."
Just like that.
All warmth.All bounce.Playful.
As if the forest wasn't dying around them.
He turned and began walking away, humming under his breath.
Faran took a step forward.
"Wait…Hey—I'm not done."
Seraphier lifted a hand, waving lazily without turning around.
"Next time, friend…"
And he disappeared between the dead trees.
Faran took a step forward—
But the air shifted.
A whisper of movement.A ripple in the damp light.
Weavers.
Ten of them.
Green, thin, long-limbed creatures emerging from the rotting trunks as if peeled from the shadows. Their forms shimmered in the dim breeze — insect-like bodies, jointed limbs clicking softly.
They circled him silently.Slowly.Deliberate and hungry.
Faran spun once, daggers ready.
"Tch…"
The ground trembled.
A larger shape rose behind the smaller Weavers —
A giant one.
Its shadow swallowed the edges of the dying clearing, its many eyes flickering with a sickly green glow.
Faran glanced back—
Seraphier was gone.
Not walked away.Not vanished with sound.Just… gone.Like he'd never stood there at all.
Faran kissed his teeth, shoulders tensing.
"…So you were luring me," he muttered under his breath."Damn it…"
The Weavers hissed softly, stepping closer.
Faran lowered his stance.Both daggers angled forward.
"Alright then…"
He exhaled.
The giant, cloth-skinned mantis lurched forward first —then another —then another.
They swarmed him.Hissing.Clicking.All jagged limbs and hunger.
Faran's eyes darted sharply across the clearing, his breath steady, controlled.
Trees.A dozen of them — cracked, dying, leaning at dangerous angles.
Cliff.Jagged rocks above; loose stone waiting to fall.
Lake.Dark, still water behind him. Deep. Too deep.
Weavers.Ten small ones in a ring.One giant one preparing to pounce.
Rocks.Loose debris from Seraphier's earlier destruction.
He spun, scanning again, faster.
Trees.Cliff.Lake.Weavers.Rocks.
Again.
Trees.Cliff.Lake.Weavers.Rocks.
The world tightened around him, each element locking into place like pieces on a board.
The mantises closed in.
Faran tightened his grip on his daggers, lowering his stance.
"Alright…" he muttered."…Let's use what we've got."
One Weaver lunged first — its green scythe-arms slicing toward Faran's clothes.
Another jumped from below.
Faran pushed off the ground, rising just enough to avoid both.
As he lifted, he twisted.
A clean mid-air spin.
Twin daggers flashing.
SHRRK—!
Both Weavers split in half before they even hit the ground, bodies unravelling into two perfect lines.
The remaining ones shrieked — high-pitched, clicking, startled.
Faran landed lightly, blades humming.
"Eight to go… and then you."
His eyes lifted.
The giant Weaver towered above the others — twisted limbs, joints bending the wrong way, green carapace malformed and stretched like it had grown incorrectly.
Wrong.
Wrong in a way that felt heavy in the air.
The giant one moved.
Slowly.Far too slowly.Unnaturally slow.
As if its body was resisting itself with every step.
The eight small Weavers closed in, circling Faran completely.
One leapt first.
Faran vaulted upwards, stabbing a dagger into a tree trunk to launch himself higher.
A Weaver scaled the same tree, lunging—
Faran slammed his palm into its face.
CRACK—!
Its skull gave way instantly.
He dropped back down—
Another Weaver intercepted—
Faran punched straight through its chest.
The body hit the ground.
"Six to go."
Below him, the giant one continued walking.Slowly.Way too slow.
Its shadow dragged across the clearing like a stain.
Then the remaining six moved together — a perfect swarm.
All six jumped at once.
Faran flipped backward, escaping the initial strike.They landed beneath him — perfectly spaced.
North.West.South.East.
Every angle covered.
As he scanned, he felt it.
A shadow.
Above.
Six scythes aimed at his throat—
And behind them, descending—
The colossal silhouette of the giant Weaver, falling like a meteor.
"…shit."
His demise descended.
TORN—
A radiant holy arrow pierced straight through the giant Weaver's head, exploding it backwards in a burst of green, shimmering light.
The headless body collapsed.
The six beneath him froze—
Long enough.
Faran cut all six down in one clean sequence.
He landed in silence.
"Took you long enough."
A calm voice drifted from behind him — elegant, youthful, mature, warm.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Faran turned.
A breath.A pause.
Recognition settled.
"…Cyran."
The man stepped out from between the dead trees, bow in hand, cloak lifting softly in the fading wind.
Faran exhaled, tension melting off his shoulders.
"How've you been?"
Cyran smirked faintly.
"Alive. It's a start."
The wind whistled between them — a quiet note slipping through the dead branches, as if the forest itself paused to acknowledge the reunion.