Chapter:115 Arigato
Arigato—the Japanese word for thank you—whispered through the corridor like a fading prayer.
The word came from a figure cloaked in a long, dark hooded robe, the folds trailing like ink against the ancient, stone floor. The air was musty, heavy with the scent of aged parchment and incense. He walked with slow, reverent steps, each one deliberate, each one echoing with finality.
It was the Black Pope.
The corridor around him was dimly lit by flickering torches embedded in the moss-veiled walls, casting shadows that danced like restless spirits. His face remained hidden beneath the deep cowl of his robe, only the faint outline of a sharp chin and pale lips occasionally catching the trembling flame.
In his gloved hands, he held a string of black beads, their texture smooth and reflective—perhaps obsidian, perhaps something darker. His fingers moved across them rhythmically, counting in silence. One… two… three… until he reached six. He stopped.
Outside the stone corridor was a narrow window, through which pale light streamed. The Black Pope turned to it. Beyond the thick stained glass, the sky blushed with the hues of dawn—or perhaps dusk. He stared into the horizon, then muttered beneath his breath, his voice like rusted iron scraping stone.
"I must move… toward six o'clock."
From within his robe, he retrieved a small, rusted cross, no longer than a finger. The cross pulsed faintly with a reddish hue, vibrating subtly as though alive. Then, he pulled out a torn fragment of cloth—its edge scorched, blackened by battle. It had once belonged to Headless.
The Black Pope lowered the cross gently onto the cloth. A sudden gust of dark energy spiraled upward, forming a thin halo of crimson smoke. He closed his eyes as if praying.
"Devil's Cross: Corbel Arch Technique."
The ability stirred to life. The cloth, now infused with residual death essence, became a gateway. Since Headless was now dead, the technique did not track the slain—but the slayer. And the slayer… was Sakamoto.
The Black Pope's head tilted. A faint smirk curled under his cowl.
Then, without a word, he turned. A small table stood beside the corridor exit, a steaming bowl of half-eaten rice resting on it. He dropped a few aged coins beside it—payment for the meal—and stepped through the creaking doors into the world beyond.
Meanwhile, in Seoul…
The quiet hum of Mujin's office contrasted with the weight of his decision.
Before him stood three hunters—each strong, each tested in battle. Madagascar, clad in a high-collared black coat, stood with arms folded. His breath lingered in the chilled air. Tito, hands in his pockets, wore his usual nonchalant smirk, while Chiro leaned against the far wall, arms relaxed but eyes alert.
Mujin stepped forward, his commanding voice cutting through the silence.
"Rokky has been located. He's in a remote village called Ringsted. Off the grid. Quiet. Disconnected. He's lying low."
He paused.
"This mission is top priority. Bring him back—alive. No bloodshed unless necessary. His testimony is the only way we can prove Sakamoto's innocence. You three are the best suited for this."
The trio exchanged brief glances. Tito gave a low whistle. Madagascar nodded once, gravely. Chiro cracked his knuckles.
Mujin stepped closer, gaze burning with intensity.
"I trust you won't fail me."
With that, he dismissed them.
Moments later…
The team sped through Seoul in a sleek, black vehicle, headlights carving a path through the night. The highway stretched endlessly ahead as the city's lights dimmed behind them.
Soon enough, they reached Incheon International Airport.
They moved swiftly through the terminals, boarding a flight headed toward Ringsted. The hum of the engines soon swallowed them into the clouds.
Elsewhere: Greenland – Payer Peak
The roar of wind howled through the icy peaks of Payer Mountain. A helicopter's blades chopped fiercely through the air before descending upon a rocky landing zone. Snow flurried in all directions, disturbed by the engine's power.
Sovereign/Minister Ivar stepped out.
A tall, imposing figure cloaked in a regal overcoat lined with fur, his eyes as sharp as glacial steel. Beside him, a soldier exited—uniform sleek, marked boldly with S.U.H.A across the chest. The wind flapped the soldier's coat as he saluted his superior far across told a weird looking man.
The soldier, He leaned in towards Minister Ivar,
"That's Cain. Knight Óðr's Regent. His hand. His weapon. His shadow. He follows him everywhere."
Ivar gave a knowing nod, voice steady.
"I'm fully aware. The Regent was given to him by the Union. We'll see if he remains worthy."
Across the mountainscape, at a jagged peak crowned in silence, Cain stood—an unnatural abomination.
His skin was bone-white, muscular, with six arms, each bound in red-and-black restraints that pulsed faintly. A grotesque stitched mouth split his face, and his X-shaped red pupils glowed with eerie awareness. A black, scale-like ribbon wrapped around his torso, sprouting spikes that looked like they could pierce steel. The lower half of his body shimmered with golden circuitry-like veins, glistening like molten code etched into flesh. His claws curled and uncurled in anticipation.
At his feet, perched on the snowy ledge, was Knight Óðr.
His appearance was ghostlike—teal hair tousled by the breeze, a stitched, white mask with X-shaped eyes and a jagged black smile covering his face. His attire was peculiar: a white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, a brown vest with golden accents, a decorative tiepin, and gloved hands that moved with unsettling grace.
As if he already knew who arrived, he lifted one hand to his chest and turned.
The sky above filled with crows—hundreds of them—circling in a spiral, each with glowing red X-shaped eyes, mirroring their master.
Cain glanced upward.
"It seems the Sovereign Union has come for us."
Knight Óðr responded softly, voice like silk wrapped in venom.
"I saw them long before they arrived. Come, let's greet our guest."
A lone crow flapped its wings near Óðr's feet and began to grow—wings expanding, feathers hardening like steel—until it transformed into a colossal mount.
Without hesitation, Óðr and Cain stepped atop it. With a screech, it soared from the mountain toward the helicopter below.
The crow landed before Ivar, its wings folding with thunderous force.
Cain stepped off first, then Óðr.
Both knelt.
Ivar observed them in silence, then smiled faintly.
"You seem to be enjoying your little retreat up here in the mountains."
Knight Óðr tilted his masked head.
"The city… disgusts me. This place is quieter. Purer."
"That's fine," Ivar said, before his tone dropped. "But I'm not here for that conversation."
He reached into his coat and tossed a black parcel toward Óðr.
Óðr caught it, inspecting the seal.
"The Union has issued a hunt. A retrieval mission. You know what that means."
Óðr nodded, silent.
Ivar's coat flared in the wind as he turned and stepped back into the helicopter. The engine roared to life again.
As the blades began spinning, Ivar looked back one last time.
"We expect no failure."
Then he vanished into the sky, leaving the frozen silence of Payer Peak behind.
End of Chapter 116
Next: The Hunters Move