The stone underfoot changed.
Reinhart noticed it first. The Depths were always shifting—decaying corridors, fractured temples, and roots that pulsed like veins. But now the gloom lightened. The smell of iron and rot faded, replaced by a cool, windblown scent. They had passed into something preserved. Sacred, even.
"You feel that?" Reinhart asked.
Julius, who was halfway through eating a spicy mushroom, paused. "Yeah. This place smells like... lemon soap and hope."
The tunnel ahead opened to a radiant clearing, and rising from the earth like a monument carved by forgotten gods stood Castle Light.
Bathed in an ethereal gold, its marble towers gleamed even in the Depths. Shields adorned the parapets, and luminous lanterns floated along crystalline walkways. For a moment, Reinhart and Julius just stood there, in awe.
"This isn't a hallucination, right?" Julius asked, blinking.
"Only one way to find out."
They entered.
The gates were open. Divers moved about peacefully. Some trained with steel. Others meditated or tended campfires. A group of young trainees sparred with conjured flames under the watch of a mentor in golden robes.
"Newcomers!" a voice called.
A bright-eyed freshie, probably no older than seventeen, ran over to them with a clipboard.
"You two just arrived? Welcome to Castle Light! I'm Binley, I give tours!"
Julius whispered, "He looks edible."
Reinhart muttered, "Don't."
Binley beamed. "Come on! I'll show you the bakery first. It's where most of our calories go."
That was the magic word.
For the next fifteen minutes, Julius and Reinhart followed Binley through Castle Light's inner rings. He showed them the enchanted pantry, the forge, the library filled with notes on Depths horrors, and the community garden that grew mushrooms that sang lullabies. Julius tried to eat one. It slapped him.
Finally, Binley led them toward the outer courtyard. "So this is the dueling yard. We settle disputes peacefully here with light sparring—"
BOOM.
Wind exploded.
A blur shot into the courtyard, tackling Binley with such force that his soul nearly disconnected from his body.
"AAHHHHH—!"
Binley disintegrated. Wiped instantly.
Standing over his now-vanished corpse, panting, was Subaru. His clothes were torn to ribbons. His eyes were wild. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks.
"No time—sorry—wasn't looking—still running—"
"SUBARU?!" Reinhart shouted.
"CAN'T STOP—THE CULTIVATOR'S STILL BEHIND ME!"
A massive tremor shook the courtyard. The golden towers shivered.
One of the guards screamed, "YOU KILLED BINLEY?!"
"HE WAS OUR BEST FRESHIE!"
"AFTER HIM!"
An explosion of movement followed.
Divers, guards, mentors, and elite scouts surged forward in a wave of fury. Flaming swords, crystalline spears, and aetheric arrows all trained on Subaru as he bolted toward the exit.
"NOT AGAIN!" he wailed, vanishing into the mist.
Reinhart pinched the bridge of his nose.
Julius looked thoughtful. "Do you think they'll catch him this time?"
"Not a chance."
"Want to get food while they try?"
Reinhart shrugged. "Sure."
The hunt for Subaru had begun anew. But for now, in Castle Light, only one truth remained:
Subaru was the fastest problem they'd ever met
Chapter 15.5 – "The Bounty of a Storm"
The bells of Castle Light rang not for war, nor celebration, but for vengeance.
The courtyard was still marked by the ghost of chaos. Freshie Binley's clipboard lay cracked in the dirt. The baker wept in the background. Training dummies were impaled with stray arrows from the failed pursuit. And somewhere in the distance, Subaru was probably still running like a man possessed.
But now, his name echoed through the Depths.
Posters were nailed into cavern walls. Magical messengers whispered his crime in shadows. Castle Light's bounty board, rarely touched in peacetime, now glowed crimson with one burning name:
SUBARU OLOF (aka VIKSAN)Wanted: For reckless manslaughter of Freshie Binley, disruption of Castle Light peace, and excessive fleeing.
Bounty: 5,000 Notes
And that was just the start.
Another Diver added 2,000 Notes. A third, insulted by Subaru knocking over his cup of tea mid-chase, added 500. The baker, crying, offered a dozen golden-tier meat pies. Even the Depths themselves whispered rewards: whispers carried of strange artifacts willing to align with whoever stopped the "chaos runner."
Then the total hit 10,000.
And that was the moment it got serious.
Far above the commotion, in a blackened spire jutting from a cliff in the Eastern Shell, a figure stood still as obsidian. He was garbed in dark crimson robes, wrapped around chiseled muscle and metal-carved flesh. His horns curled back slightly, like blades. His eyes were not just red—they shimmered like liquid rubies.
His name: Alen Drakkengard.
A Drakkard.
The race of high predators. Dragons reimagined into man. Blood-born and war-fed. A race Reinhart, Subaru, and Julius didn't even know existed.
Alen had felled gods in training. He had once pierced a Lionfish Colossus through five feet of iron coral. His heart pumped not just blood, but will sharpened over centuries.
He held in his hand a spear unlike any other.
Red Death.
Forged from the crystallized heart of a dying Bloodspawn and bathed in the Abyss's ink, it pulsed with living shadow. Bloodrend ran through it—but so did Shadowcast, corrupted and controlled.
As Alen watched the bounty manifest on the blackstone mirror, he gave a low chuckle.
"Subaru Olof," he said the name as if tasting it. "Your chaos has called me."
A whisper came from behind. A servant, cloaked and trembling. "This is beneath you, Lord Drakkengard. He is but a fresh—"
The room shook. Red Death shimmered.
"10,000 Notes," Alen said calmly, "is not beneath me."
He turned. His crimson cloak flared as he walked, each step echoing with weight. The mirror shimmered again, showing the rough sketch of Subaru mid-sprint, mouth wide in panic.
Alen grinned.
"I hunt."
Back in Castle Light, Reinhart and Julius remained blissfully unaware. The guards were still cleaning up the mess. Discussions buzzed in corners.
"Did he really wipe Binley?"
"I heard he tripped and wiped someone else on the way out!"
"Is he even human?!"
In a tavern overlooking the northern watch post, a few divers huddled over drinks.
"Y'all hear who took the bounty?"
"No, who?"
"Drakkengard."
Utter silence.
Then the glass cracked in one diver's hand. Another whispered, "He's not a hunter. He's a storm."
Meanwhile, in a place far off, Subaru was panting beneath a jagged mushroom tree. His cloak was in tatters, his boots barely held together, and his hands were shaking.
"Can't... stop," he wheezed.
Somewhere behind him, a vibration hit the air. A heavy, rhythmic pulse. Like thunder without sound.
Subaru looked back.
He saw nothing.
But something had noticed him.
And the hunt had begun.