Chapter 79.5: Ghislaine's Hunt [Ghislaine POV]
The tavern in Milishion's merchant quarter smelled of stale beer and desperation.
I'd chosen it specifically because desperate people talked. Merchants who'd lost cargo. Nobles who'd fallen from favor. Adventurers who'd seen things they couldn't explain and needed someone, anyone, to believe them.
Information flowed where desperation pooled.
"Another ale," I said to the barkeep, sliding copper across the counter. My beast ears tracked three separate conversations simultaneously while my eyes scanned the room for marks.
Two tables over: a merchant complaining about increased "protection fees" near the border. Possible extortion ring. Low priority.
Corner booth: adventurers discussing a dungeon near Roa that had "changed" recently. Structural shifts. New monsters. Worth investigating.
Bar counter, three seats down: a man in travel-stained clothes muttering about "unnatural weather patterns" in the Begaritt region. His accent marked him as a refugee from the Metastasis Event still trying to find his way home.
That one caught my attention.
"Weather patterns?" I asked, shifting closer. Casual. Like I was just making conversation.
The man looked up, bloodshot eyes meeting mine. He took in my beast features, the ears and tail, and relaxed slightly. Fellow refugee, his expression said. Someone who understood loss.
"Storms," he said quietly. "Not normal ones. They form too fast. Move against the wind. And in the center..." He trailed off, fingers tightening around his mug.
"What's in the center?"
"Nothing. Just... empty space. Like the world forgot what should be there."
Void magic residue. Had to be. Someone powerful experimenting with spatial manipulation, or worse, artifacts from the ancient wars activating spontaneously.
"Where exactly?" I kept my tone casual, but my mind was already categorizing threat levels.
He gave me coordinates. Remote region, weeks from any major settlement. Not an immediate danger to population centers, but worth logging for Arbalest's intelligence network.
"Thanks," I said, sliding him a silver coin. "Get yourself a hot meal."
His gratitude followed me as I left the tavern, stepping into Milishion's afternoon chaos.
Division A. Arbalest's adventuring branch.
The largest division by membership, over three thousand registered adventurers spread across the Central Continent, each one logging information, tracking rumors, investigating anomalies. Most didn't even know they were part of a larger intelligence network. They just thought they were getting paid well for thorough quest reports.
Claude had built the system with exceptional organizational genius. Decentralized, redundant, impossible to dismantle completely even if parts were compromised. Each adventurer reported to local coordinators, who filtered useful intelligence up to division leaders.
And I was one of those leaders.
Not by choice. I'd always preferred simple contracts. Fight monster, get paid, move on. But after leaving Eris at the Holy Land of Swords, Claude had made it clear. Arbalest needed my experience. My connections. My ability to read situations that others missed.
"You're wasted on simple escort missions," he'd said during our last meeting in Milishion. "Paul's group proved effective in the field, but they lack your tactical instincts. I need someone who can coordinate operations across the Central Continent. Someone who knows which threats to escalate and which to handle quietly."
He'd been right, damn him. I was good at this. Better than I wanted to admit.
The intelligence safehouse sat in Milishion's administrative district, an unremarkable building with a merchant front on the ground floor and operations center hidden in the basement. I descended stairs worn smooth by careful feet, knocked the pattern on the reinforced door: two quick, pause, three slow.
Locks clicked. The door opened to reveal Gregory, Division I's second-in-command and my liaison for Central Continent operations.
"Ghislaine," he greeted, stepping aside. "Good timing. We've got reports coming in from the Asura region. Figured you'd want to see them before I passed them up the chain."
The basement operations room was organized chaos. Maps covered three walls, Central Continent, Demon Continent, Millis Continent, each marked with colored pins indicating different threat levels. Red for immediate danger. Yellow for monitoring. Blue for opportunities.
Too many red pins lately. Metastasis aftershocks still rippling across the world.
"Show me," I said, moving to the Central Continent map.
Gregory spread parchment across the table. Field reports from half a dozen Division A operatives. Disappearances near the border with the Red Dragon's Jaw. Unusual monster migrations in the Great Forest. And something that made my ears flatten. Reports of "coordinated demon attacks" near human settlements.
"Coordinated?" I read the report twice. "These aren't random raids?"
"Operatives are confident. Attack patterns too precise. Someone's organizing them." Gregory's expression was grim. "Could be a Demon King in the region. Could be worse."
I studied the map, marking locations. The attacks formed a pattern, concentric circles expanding from a central point in the wilderness between Asura and Millis territories.
"Get me a team," I said. "Six adventurers minimum, A-rank or higher. We investigate personally."
"Claude's going to want a full briefing before you deploy."
"Then brief him. I'll be ready to move by tomorrow." I paused, considering. "And Gregory? Mark this red. Whatever's organizing these attacks has territorial ambitions. We shut it down before it becomes another Metastasis-level catastrophe."
Claude's voice crackled through the communication stone, distance making him sound hollow but his authority unmistakable.
"Coordinated demon attacks. You're certain?"
"Certain enough to investigate," I replied. The private room at Arbalest headquarters gave us secure space for sensitive discussions. "Pattern analysis suggests intelligence behind the raids. Not random monster aggression."
A pause. I could imagine Claude's expression, that focused intensity he got when processing tactical information.
"Timeframe for investigation?"
"Two weeks. One to reach the region, one to assess and neutralize if possible. If it's beyond our capabilities, I pull back and request Division X support."
Division X. Claude's personal strike force. Reserved for god-tier threats or situations requiring overwhelming firepower. I'd only called them in twice since joining Arbalest leadership, and both times had been justified.
"Approved," Claude said. "But Ghislaine, listen carefully. If you find evidence of god-tier involvement, any indication of world powers or ancient artifacts, you extract immediately. No heroics. No testing yourself against impossible odds."
His tone carried weight. He knew my tendencies. Knew I measured myself against strength, always seeking the next challenge that would push me beyond my limits.
"Understood," I said. And meant it. The Dragon God's casual dismissal of everything two thousand Arbalest operatives could bring to bear had taught everyone clear lessons about recognizing when force alone wasn't the answer.
"Good. I'm dispatching Ash with a drake wing for rapid extraction if needed. They'll maintain position at the regional outpost." He paused. "How's Eris?"
The question caught me off-guard. Not tactical. Personal.
"Surviving Gal Farion's training," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "She passed the entrance test. Hasn't quit yet. That's more than most manage."
Another pause. Claude's silences always meant he was considering implications beyond the obvious.
"She left Rudeus," he said. Not a question.
"She needed to become stronger." I chose words carefully. "Needed to prove something to herself. The Holy Land will give her that chance."
"Or break her trying."
"If she breaks, she wasn't strong enough to stand beside Rudeus anyway. The sword doesn't lie about that." Harsh words. True ones. The kind Claude appreciated because he thought the same way.
"Fair enough. Keep me updated on the demon situation. And Ghislaine?" His tone shifted, carrying something that might have been concern. "Watch your back. Coordinated attacks mean leadership. Leadership means someone smart enough to recognize threats."
"I've been fighting smart opponents since you were learning to walk, Claude."
A brief laugh through the stone. "Fair point. Good hunting."
The connection terminated.
I sat in silence, processing the conversation. Claude's concern wasn't misplaced. Organized demons meant potential Demon King activity, and Demon Kings didn't tolerate interference in their territories.
But that was exactly why I needed to investigate personally. Arbalest couldn't afford another blindside like Orsted. We needed intelligence on emerging threats before they escalated beyond control.
The door opened. Gregory entered with six files.
"Your team," he said, spreading them across the table. "All A-rank or higher. All experienced with demon combat."
I reviewed each profile. Balanced group, two swordsmen, one archer, one mage, one healer, one scout. Good mix of offensive capability and tactical flexibility.
"Brief them," I said. "We depart at dawn. And Gregory? Emphasize the importance of intelligence gathering over glory-seeking. If someone tries to play hero, they're off the team before we reach the danger zone."
"Understood." He gathered the files. "Ghislaine? Be careful. We've lost too many good people recently. Division A can't afford to lose you too."
The sentiment was appreciated, if unnecessary. I'd survived decades of combat by being careful when it mattered and decisive when it didn't.
Tomorrow would reveal which situation this was.
The village was empty.
Not destroyed. Not burned. Just... empty. Houses stood intact, doors hanging open. Cooking fires had burned down to cold ash. Personal belongings remained undisturbed, clothes folded neatly, tools stored properly, even children's toys scattered in yards as if the owners had simply stepped away moments before.
"This is wrong," Marcus, the team's scout, said quietly. His instincts matched mine. "No signs of struggle. No blood. No bodies. People don't just vanish."
I crouched near a doorway, examining the threshold. Mud tracked inward but not outward. Someone had entered during the last rain, three days ago based on weather patterns, but either hadn't left or had been careful enough to erase their departure.
"Spread out," I ordered. "Document everything. Locations of personal effects, condition of buildings, any tracks or traces indicating direction of travel. And stay alert. Whatever caused this might still be here."
The team moved with professional efficiency, but I could feel their tension. Empty villages were worse than destroyed ones. Destruction told a story, monster attacks, bandit raids, natural disasters. Emptiness suggested something deliberate. Calculated.
I moved toward the village center, where a well stood surrounded by communal gathering space. Most villages used this area for meetings, celebrations, emergency discussions. If there were clues about what happened, they'd be here.
Near the well: a basket of vegetables, half-sorted as if someone had been preparing a meal. A child's doll lying face-down in the dirt. And scratched into the ground in hasty, desperate strokes.
A symbol.
Definitely magical in nature. I'd seen enough enchantment work from Claude to recognize deliberate pattern structure.
"Teleportation circle," Sera, the team's mage, said from behind me. She'd approached silently while I studied the marking. "Crude one. Single-use, probably. But functional enough to move... how many people lived here?"
"Census records said ninety-three," Marcus reported, returning from his circuit. "Confirmed empty houses match that number. No bodies, no signs of resistance, no indication anyone tried to flee."
"Mass teleportation," I said slowly. Pieces assembling. "Someone gathered the entire population in the central square and transported them elsewhere."
"Why?" Sera asked. "Slave raids use portals, but they're violent. Leave evidence. This is too clean."
Too clean. Which meant whoever did this had power, organization, and purpose beyond simple slaving operations.
"Marcus, check the perimeter. Look for signs of larger encampments, demon forces, mercenary groups, anything that might indicate staging areas." I turned to Sera. "Can you trace the teleportation destination?"
She knelt, examining the scratched symbol with professional focus. Her hands moved through analysis patterns, feeling for residual mana signatures.
"Faint traces," she said after a long moment. "But yes. Direction is east, toward the frontier. Distance... far. Beyond my normal scrying range, which means powerful caster or significant mana investment."
East toward the frontier. Toward unclaimed territories between civilized lands and true wilderness. Perfect location for someone building operations they didn't want discovered.
"We're following the trail," I decided. "But we do this smart. Scout ahead, maintain communication, and the moment we confirm this is beyond our capabilities, we extract and call for Division X support."
The team nodded, professional discipline overriding natural desire to investigate immediately.
As we prepared to move out, I activated my communication stone, contacting Arbalest's regional hub.
"Base, this is Ghislaine. Confirming initial intelligence. Village population: missing, not dead. Evidence of mass teleportation to frontier region. Pursuing investigation with extreme caution. If you don't hear from me within five days, assume worst-case scenario and escalate to Division X deployment."
Gregory's voice crackled through: "Understood. Ash's drake wing is on standby for emergency extraction. Good hunting, Ghislaine."
The stone went silent.
I stood in the empty village square, feeling the weight of ninety-three missing lives. This was why Arbalest existed, to prevent tragedies before they escalated. To be the force that noticed when people vanished, when threats emerged, when the world tilted toward catastrophe.
"Move out," I ordered. "And remember. Intelligence gathering first. We can't help these people if we're dead."
The team followed me east, toward answers I suspected we wouldn't like.
We found the camp at dusk.
Large operation. Too large. Dozens of structures, barracks, storage facilities, even what looked like a command center. Defensive perimeter patrolled by demons in organized shifts. And in the center, surrounded by guards, an enclosure holding hundreds of humans.
"That's not a raid," Marcus breathed from our concealed position overlooking the valley. "That's a labor camp."
He was right. The humans inside worked under guard, constructing additional structures, moving materials, organized into crews with clear task assignments. Not slaves being brutalized, but workers being managed with calculated efficiency.
"Count the guards," I said quietly. The team had binoculars, enchanted lenses Claude's artificers had developed for reconnaissance work.
"Thirty demons visible," Marcus reported. "Variety of types. Four appear to be mages based on robes and staff equipment. Two command figures near the central structure, one demon, one... can't tell from here. Humanoid, but wrong proportions."
I studied the camp layout with tactical eyes. Demons organized like this required leadership. Not just Demon King authority, but actual command structure. Someone with military experience who understood fortification and operational security.
"Sera, scrying detection wards?"
The mage's hands moved through diagnostic patterns. "Three layers. Professional grade. They're hiding this place from standard divination. We only found it because we followed physical tracks rather than magical trace."
Which meant whoever ran this operation understood counter-intelligence. Understood that protective magic drew attention if you knew what to look for.
"Fall back," I ordered. "Slow, careful. We've got what we need."
The team withdrew with practiced silence, putting distance between us and the camp before we dared speak normally.
"We report this to Claude," I said once we'd reached safe distance. "This is beyond Division A capabilities. That camp has infrastructure, organization, and defensive preparation. Hitting it with a small team would be suicide."
"What about the prisoners?" Marcus asked. "We can't just leave them."
"We won't. But we don't help them by getting killed attempting a rescue we're not equipped for." I met his eyes. "This requires planning. Proper assault force. Division X coordination. We do this right, or we make things worse."
The team accepted the logic even if they didn't like it. Good operatives understood when to recognize their limits.
I activated the communication stone, connecting to Arbalest command.
"Base, this is Ghislaine. Confirming organized demon labor camp, frontier region. Estimated three hundred human prisoners. Military-grade security. Requesting Division X deployment and tactical planning support."
Claude's voice came through immediately. He must have been monitoring the channel.
"Understood. Hold position for reconnaissance support. I'm dispatching Ash's wing now. Full debrief when they arrive."
"Confirmed."
The stone went silent.
I looked toward the valley where hundreds of people worked under demon guard. Ninety-three from the village. How many others from different locations? How long had this operation been running?
"We'll get them out," I told my team. "But we do it smart. Just like Claude taught us."
The operation debrief took three hours.
Detailed maps. Guard rotation schedules. Structural analysis. Supply lines. Everything we'd observed during our four-day reconnaissance before Division X arrived with their overwhelming assault force.
The rescue had been successful, three hundred and seventeen prisoners extracted with minimal casualties. The demon command structure destroyed. Intelligence recovered about a Demon King named Badigadi who'd been experimenting with "efficient human resource management" before deciding it was "boring compared to fighting" and abandoning the project to subordinates.
Another crisis resolved before it escalated.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that we'd gotten lucky. If Division A's information network hadn't caught those initial raid reports, if I hadn't recognized the pattern, if we'd waited even a few more weeks...
"You did good work," Claude said after the formal debrief ended. He'd attended via communication stone, managing operations from Fittoa while monitoring multiple fronts simultaneously. "That's what Division A is supposed to be, an early warning system that prevents catastrophes rather than cleaning up after them."
"We need more coordinators," I said. "Three thousand adventurers across the Central Continent isn't enough. Not when threats like this can develop in remote regions without immediate detection."
"Agreed. I'm allocating budget for recruitment expansion. And Ghislaine?" His tone shifted slightly. "Thank you. For taking this seriously. For recognizing that intelligence gathering matters as much as combat strength."
Coming from Claude, who rarely gave direct praise, the words carried weight.
"Someone has to keep the world from falling apart while you manage your territory," I replied. Dry humor, but genuine sentiment underneath.
A brief laugh through the stone. "Accurate assessment. Keep me updated on Central Continent developments. And take a few days rest. You've earned it."
The connection terminated.
I sat in the intelligence hub, surrounded by maps marking threats across three continents. Red pins. Yellow pins. Blue pins. Each one representing something that needed attention, investigation, or monitoring.
This was my role now. Not just warrior, but coordinator. Not just strength, but awareness. The beast folk instincts that made me a deadly fighter, acute senses, threat assessment, territorial awareness, served just as well in intelligence operations.
Eris was at the Holy Land learning to be stronger through combat mastery.
Division A's work continued.
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