Chapter 2: The Scientific Method of Hunting
The Kingdom of Aethelgard prided itself on two things: the purity of its light mana and the strength of its knights. It was a human-dominated nation surrounded by untamed wilderness and hostile non-human territories. In Aethelgard, power was quantified by "Ranks," measured from one to nine based on the density of the mana core in a mage's chest or the aura core in a warrior's abdomen.
Rank 1 was a novice. Rank 9 was a national calamity. The average city guard was barely Rank 2.
And then there was Seraphina. A political anomaly. In a kingdom obsessed with sun-kissed hair and golden eyes reflective of light mana, her silver hair and violet eyes were seen as omens of deep misfortune, borders bordering on demonic. King Varic, unable to bring himself to kill his own flesh and blood but unwilling to tarnish his reputation, had locked her away in this luxurious, isolated villa on the outskirts of the capital since birth.
She was a prisoner in paradise. But paradise was getting boring, and the prisoner was getting hungry.
In her chambers, Seraphina finished grinding a purple root in a mortar and pestle.
"Wyvern's Thorn root," she murmured, dusting her hands together. "Highly paralytic to humans upon entering the bloodstream. Fatal in high doses to anything under Rank 3. To me? A slightly spicy garnish."
She had spent years reading every book in the villa's extensive library. Botany, anatomy, history of magic—she absorbed it all with the disciplined mind of a former medical student. Now, she was applying it.
She dipped two long, thin steel needles into the violet paste.
Tonight was about data collection. Specifically, testing the "Rank Up" hypothesis.
She couldn't feed on the villa staff. If servants started vanishing, her father, the King, would send high-ranking investigators. She needed test subjects that wouldn't be immediately missed. Transients. Mercenaries.
Seraphina stepped onto her balcony. The twin moons were high, bathing the world in silver light that made her feel invincible. With a thought, the leathery wings ripped from her back, the silk of her specially modified dress parting to accommodate them.
She kicked off the railing.
The rush of wind was intoxicating. For eighteen years, her world had been defined by four walls. Now, the landscape of Aethelgard sprawled beneath her like a dark tapestry. She saw the distant, glowing spires of the capital city, protected by immense mana barriers. She turned away from them.
Her target was Oakhaven, a small settlement five miles west of her villa. It was a stopping point for low-ranked adventurers and sellswords looking for cheap contracts to hunt goblins or escort merchants.
Seraphina circled high above Oakhaven. Her enhanced vision zoomed in like a camera lens. The village was mostly asleep, save for the "Rusty Shield" tavern.
She landed silently on the thatched roof of the stable behind the tavern, folding her massive wings tight against her back so they resembled a heavy cloak in the darkness. Her ears picked up voices below.
Two figures stumbled out of the tavern's back door into the muddy alleyway.
"I'm tellin' ya, Elara," a burly man slurred, clad in cheap leather armor with a rusted greatsword on his back. "That job was garbage. Fifty coppers for three days of hiking?"
"Shut up, Brance," the woman hissed. She wore patched robes and carried a crooked staff tipped with a dim, cracked mana crystal. "It paid for the ale you just drowned yourself in, didn't it?"
Seraphina analyzed them.
Target 1 (Brance): Warrior. Significant muscle mass, but movements are uncoordinated due to alcohol. Detectable aura is weak, unstable. Estimated Rank: Early Rank 2.
Target 2 (Elara): Mage. Lower physical threat. Mana signature around her core is present but dim. Estimated Rank: Rank 2.
Perfect test subjects. Stronger than a commoner, but weak enough to manage.
Seraphina didn't hesitate. She dropped from the roof, landing silently in the mud behind them.
The mage, Elara, sensed something. She spun around, raising her staff. "Who's th—"
Seraphina moved with the speed of a striking viper, faster than any human should move, especially one looking so delicate.
Thwip. Thwip.
She jammed one poison-coated needle into the exposed skin of Brance's neck and the other into Elara's wrist.
Brance grunted, reaching for his neck like he'd been stung by a bee. "Damn bugs..."
His words slurred into nothingness. His knees buckled, and he collapsed face-first into the mud, stiff as a board. His eyes were wide open, terrified, but he couldn't even twitch a finger.
Elara tried to scream, tried to channel mana into a firebolt, but the paralysis hit her faster. Her staff clattered to the ground as her body seized up, freezing her in a half-turned pose of terror.
"Excellent efficacy," Seraphina whispered, looming over them. Her violet eyes seemed to shine in the alley's gloom. "The Wyvern paste works faster than the texts suggested."
Now came the hard part.
She grabbed the warrior by his leather chest strap and heave-hoed him over her shoulder. He was heavy, easily 250 pounds of dead weight, but her nighttime strength compensated. She tucked the smaller mage under her other arm like a sack of potatoes.
Launching into the air with two adults was difficult. Her wings beat furiously, kicking up mud and straw as she strained for altitude. Once she gained momentum, the flight back to the villa was a grueling test of endurance.
She didn't land on the balcony this time. She circled to the far side of the villa grounds, near an abandoned greenhouse. Hidden beneath a layer of overgrown ivy was a heavy cellar door she had discovered—and oiled—months ago.
She landed, dropped her "packages" near the door, and hauled it open.
The space beneath the villa had once been an extensive wine cellar and ice storage for previous owners. Now, it was Seraphina's private laboratory. It was cold, damp, and smelled of earth.
She dragged Brance and Elara down the stone steps. She brought them to a central chamber where she had prepared heavy iron manacles bolted directly into the stone floor.
She chained Brance to the wall first, then Elara opposite him.
They were still paralyzed, their eyes darting around the dimly lit cellar in panic. They watched as the beautiful, silver-haired girl who had kidnapped them walked to a nearby table, picked up a leather book, and began writing calmly in a language they had never seen.
Experiment 17: Subject Acquisition.
Success. Two Rank 2 individuals secured.
Method: Aerial insertion followed by Wyvern's Thorn paralytic.
Subjects: One Warrior (Male), One Mage (Female).
Current Status: Subjects are secure in the sub-level containment unit. Paralysis should wear off in approximately two hours.
Objective: Phase 1 testing of blood consumption effects. Will commence when subjects regain consciousness to monitor psychological reactions alongside physiological changes.
Seraphina closed the diary. She pulled up a wooden stool, sat between the two paralyzed adventurers, and crossed her legs, her violet eyes studying them with terrifying clinical detachment.
"Don't worry," she said softly, her voice echoing slightly in the stone chamber. "I'm a student of medicine. I just need you to help me confirm a diagnosis."