Chapitre 21: First Mission
The man led us down the winding path, his boots making a steady, measured rhythm against the gravel. The surrounding compound seemed to hum with energy, filled with Demon Slayers going about their business—some sparring, others cleaning their weapons, and a few simply watching the new recruits with a hint of curiosity. We finally stopped in front of a large, open courtyard where a small group of attendants stood, each holding a Raven perched on a gloved hand.
"I am Harald Kjeldsen," the man introduced himself, his voice clear and authoritative. "Coordinator of the Recruitment and Training Division. From here on, you'll be reporting to me until you're deemed ready for full deployment."
Harald's presence was commanding, with a square jaw and piercing blue eyes that flicked between each of us as if assessing our worth. His short, dark blond hair was neatly combed back, and a thick fur-lined cape draped over his shoulders gave him an almost regal appearance.
"Your performance during the Trial on Anholt has been noted. What's left of you," Harald added with a glance over the sparse line of recruits. "Those of you who survived the Trial will now receive your Ravens—your first true companions within the Corp."
The attendants stepped forward, each offering a Raven to the recruits. Clara's eyes lit up as the bird was presented to her. It was a sleek creature with glossy black feathers and intelligent eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. Clara lifted her arm, letting the Raven perch there, and smiled at it.
"I'll name you Svart," she whispered softly to the bird, stroking its feathers gently before glancing at me. "You should name yours too, Zark."
I looked at the Raven handed to me, its gaze intense, as if scrutinizing me as much as I was it. After a moment of thought, I settled on a name.
"Skuggi," I said quietly. The Raven tilted its head, as if acknowledging its new name, before hopping to perch on my shoulder.
"Good," Harald said approvingly as he watched the new recruits with their avian companions. "These Ravens will serve as your messengers. Treat them well, and they'll be your lifeline out there. Mistreat them…" His eyes hardened. "And they'll simply find themselves a new master."
The recruits exchanged wary glances as Harald continued. "Now, as New Bloods, you'll start with basic tasks—demon patrols, escort missions, and scouting. The pay will vary depending on the difficulty and danger level of each assignment. Expect a base rate of 15 gold thalers per mission, with a potential for bonuses if you perform well."
A murmur ran through the recruits. Fifteen thalers was no small sum for just starting out. Clara glanced at me, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Not a bad starting rate, huh?" she whispered. "Wonder what the bonuses are like."
"Survive long enough, and you might just find out," I muttered back.
Harald's voice echoed through the hall as he called out the assignments, splitting the surviving recruits into different groups. Each name was met with a mix of sighs and murmurs of relief—or, in some cases, anxiety. When Clara's name was called under the patrol assignment, she glanced at me with a faint smile.
"Guess we'll catch up later, handsome. Try not to die before we get to know each other better," she teased, giving a playful salute as she turned to join her group. I watched her stride off with a confident swagger, the other patrolling recruits quickly gathering around their designated leader. With a brisk command, they were ushered out of the hall, disappearing through the grand double doors.
The air shifted as Harald addressed the remaining one third of us, his tone growing more serious. "You lot will have a different task. You'll be assisting Veteran Hunters on their upcoming missions. You'll not only be exposed to riskier situations but will also be expected to learn—fast. Make a mistake, and it might be your last. But if you survive…" He let the words hang, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You'll come out much stronger."
I straightened, the tension in my chest easing slightly when I realized this could be a chance to make some real progress—and maybe even learn more about what happened on Anholt.
"And last but not least…" Harald continued, glancing down at the parchment list in his hand. "Zark Mikkelsen. You'll be working with Eric Jørgensen. I believe you've already met."
My brow furrowed as I recalled the man from the tavern—the one who'd stood out with his sharp tongue and the way he seemed to know more than he let on. Eric had bought a round of drinks for everyone that night, his laid-back demeanor masking a keen, observant nature.
"Eric will be your mentor for this assignment," Harald added, lowering his list and meeting my gaze. "He specifically requested to take you on. Consider yourself lucky—he's one of our best, despite his reputation."
The hall fell silent, the other recruits eyeing me with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Apparently, Eric's reputation preceded him. I took a deep breath and nodded, feeling the weight of their stares on my back as I stepped forward.
"I understand," I replied simply, keeping my expression neutral. But inwardly, I couldn't help but wonder what I'd gotten myself into.
The heavy wooden doors of the hall swung open, and I stepped out into the cool evening air. The grounds were quieter than I expected, with most recruits already dispersed to their new assignments. I took a moment to gather my thoughts, then spotted a familiar figure leaning casually against a stone pillar nearby.
Eric's disheveled hair framed his face, and his trademark smirk tugged at his lips as he pushed himself off the pillar and sauntered over. "So, we meet again," he said, crossing his arms as he looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on the faint sheen of dried blood on my armor. "Looks like you've been through quite the ordeal."
I nodded, offering a small shrug. "I could say the same for you. Didn't think I'd end up being your trainee."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Trainee, partner, call it whatever you want." He tilted his head slightly. "But I've got to admit, there's a part of me that's curious to see what a Mikkelsen is really capable of."
The easy banter took me off guard, but I found myself relaxing. It was almost like talking to an old friend—one who already seemed to know a lot more about me than I did about him. "Let's just say I'm not one to disappoint," I replied, keeping my voice light yet firm.
"That's the spirit!" Eric clapped a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but not overbearing. "Now, let's get you out of this grim atmosphere. Can't have a proper conversation in a place like this." He nodded towards the pathway leading away from the hall. "There's a place nearby that serves decent food. We'll eat before we head out."
Without waiting for my response, he turned on his heel and started walking. I fell into step beside him, matching his easy stride. Despite the abrupt nature of our newfound partnership, there was something oddly reassuring about his presence—like a guiding hand in unfamiliar territory.
As we walked, the sounds of the training grounds faded into the background, replaced by the more subdued hum of the residential quarters. A few Demon Slayers lingered on the paths, some resting after their assignments, others conversing in hushed tones.
Eric broke the silence as we turned a corner. "So, what did you think of your little test on Anholt? Not exactly the vacation spot most recruits expect."
I glanced at him, my gaze narrowing slightly. "You tell me. You seem to know a lot more about it than I do."
He barked a laugh, shaking his head. "Touché." He glanced sideways at me, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Let's just say I've been around long enough to see what really goes on behind the scenes. And trust me, your test was just the beginning."
I didn't respond immediately, the image of Oliver's dismembered body flashing in my mind. "Then I guess I'll have to stick around long enough to find out," I murmured.
"Damn right you will," Eric agreed, his tone suddenly serious. "But for now, we eat. You look like you could use a meal that doesn't taste like dirt and regret."
He led me through a side street, stopping in front of a small inn with a wooden sign swinging gently in the evening breeze. The scent of freshly baked bread and roasted meat wafted through the open windows, and I realized just how hungry I actually was.
Eric opened the door, gesturing for me to enter. "After you, Mikkelsen. Consider this the calm before the storm."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone