## Chapter 9: The Ardent Blade
The morning sun beat down on Lumina Sanctum, capital of the Holy Kingdom. Its streets, paved with sun-bleached stone and lined with meticulously maintained shrines, thrummed with orderly piety. Near the towering spires of the Grand Cathedral, the crowd parted like wheat before a scythe. Kael, the "Ardent Blade," strode forward, his polished silver armor gleaming, his expression one of barely contained boredom. Behind him marched his team – fifteen handpicked adventurers, the "Sunhawks," their own gear immaculate, their faces radiating the confidence of the perpetually victorious. The severed, smoldering head of a massive fire wolf, slung between two burly warriors, drew gasps and awed whispers.
"Level two hundred," one of Kael's companions, a mage with fiery red hair, announced loudly to a group of wide-eyed acolytes. "Hardly broke a sweat." The others chuckled, a chorus of agreement.
Kael ignored the adulation. His sky-blue eyes, usually sharp, held a restless dissatisfaction. He stopped before the colossal, intricately carved doors of the Grand Cathedral, their gold inlay catching the light. He tilted his head back, surveying the holy edifice not with reverence, but with the impatience of a predator waiting for worthy prey. Without a word, he pushed the heavy doors open.
Inside, the cool, incense-laden air was a stark contrast to the bustling heat outside. Sunlight streamed through stained glass, painting the marble floors in fragmented hues of sapphire and crimson. At the far end of the cavernous nave, standing before the altar, was Prelate Valerius. His white robes seemed to glow with an inner light, his face serene but lined with the weight of divine responsibility.
Kael approached, his boots echoing sharply in the sacred silence, his team fanning out behind him. He stopped a respectful distance away, but his posture radiated impatience.
"Prelate," Kael stated, his voice clear and resonant, lacking deference. "The Fire Wolf of the Ember Crags is dealt with."
Valerius turned, his wise eyes taking in Kael, the team, the faint scent of ozone and char still clinging to them. "So I heard, young Kael. Reports say it was a swift engagement. The blessings of the Light were clearly upon you." His tone was measured, diplomatic.
"Blessings?" Kael scoffed, a flicker of irritation crossing his handsome features. "It was barely a warm-up, Prelate. Level two hundred? Child's play for the Sunhawks." He gestured dismissively behind him. Murmurs of agreement rippled through his team. "We require a true challenge. A mission worthy of the Hero of Lumina."
The Prelate's serene expression didn't falter, but his gaze sharpened slightly. "The Church provides trials commensurate with–"
"We are bored, Prelate!" interjected Lyra, the fiery mage, her voice cutting through the quiet. "Skirmishes with oversized beasts? Bandit lords who crumble at the first spell? This is not why we trained!"
Others chimed in, a chorus of youthful frustration:
"Give us a Demon Lord!"
"Our blades thirst for true darkness!"
"Is there no real threat left in the world?"
Kael raised a hand, silencing his team. He fixed Valerius with an intense stare. "My purpose, Prelate, as the Hero chosen by the Light, is to stand against the encroaching Shadow. To slay Demon Lords. Not... pest control." He spat the last words.
Valerius studied Kael for a long moment, the silence stretching. The only sound was the distant chant of monks. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and grave. "Very well, Hero Kael. Your zeal, though untempered, is noted. There is a rising concern. You and your team will be send to the the Obsidian Reach."
Kael's eyes lit with predatory interest. "A Demon Lord?"
" Yes," Valerius confirmed. "Known only as 'Azrael'. Intelligence suggests he is... the weakest of the Nine Demon lord."
A derisive snort came from one of Kael's warriors. "*Weakest*? What kind of Demon Lord is he?"
"Precisely," Kael said, a confident smirk playing on his lips. "The weakest? Then he should be the perfect starting point. My team and I will depart immediately. We'll bring you his head before the next moonrise." He turned slightly, ready to stride out.
"Hold, Hero Kael," Valerius commanded, his voice suddenly carrying an edge of steel that froze Kael mid-turn. "You misunderstand. While assessed as the weakest, Azrael is not to be underestimated. His power, though nascent and unfocused, is... anomalous. Unpredictable. The Church does not gamble with its chosen Hero on mere arrogance."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Arrogance? Prelate, my team–"
"Your team," Valerius interrupted firmly, "is fifteen strong. Against an entity holding a Demon Lord's seat, however 'weak', that is fifteen souls walking into the unknown." He held up a hand to forestall Kael's protest. "You will be reinforced. Five hundred Holy Knights of the Dawn Shield will accompany you."
"*Five hundred?*" Kael echoed, incredulous. "To crush a weak Demon Lord? That's... excessive. Insulting! My Sunhawks alone–"
"Are not expendable!" Valerius's voice cracked like a whip, echoing faintly in the vast space. The serene facade was gone, replaced by the stern authority of the Church Militant. "You are Lumina's blade, Kael, not a reckless dagger thrown into the dark. You will take the knights. You will follow the tactical guidance of Knight-Commander Aris. And you will remember that even the smallest spark, in the right tinder, can ignite a conflagration that consumes heroes and armies alike. Do I make myself clear?"
Kael met the Prelate's gaze, a storm of defiance and wounded pride warring in his eyes. The Sunhawks shifted uneasily behind him, the bravado momentarily dampened by the Prelate's unexpected severity. After a tense pause, Kael gave a curt, stiff nod.
"Crystal clear, Prelate."
Valerius held his gaze for another moment, then his expression softened fractionally. He gestured to an acolyte who stepped forward, presenting a sealed scroll bearing the Sunburst sigil of the Church.
"Your orders, deployment routes, and rendezvous points with the Dawn Shield. May the Light guide your blade, Hero Kael. And temper your fire."
Kael snatched the scroll without a word. He turned sharply, his silver cloak swirling, and marched back down the nave, his team falling into step, their earlier swagger subdued. The heavy cathedral doors boomed shut behind them, sealing away the cool sanctity and the Prelate's grave warnings.
Outside, the adoring crowd was still there. Kael paused at the top of the cathedral steps, the scroll clutched tightly in his gauntleted fist. He looked out over the gleaming, orderly city of Lumina Sanctum, then towards the distant, unseen horizon where the Obsidian Reach lay.
"The weakest," he muttered, the word tasting like ash. He glanced back at his team, their confidence slowly returning as they basked in the crowd's attention. A fierce grin spread across his face, banishing the shadow of the Prelate's warning.
"Well, Sunhawks? Looks like we finally get to hunt a Demon Lord. And with five hundred witnesses to see how swiftly the 'Ardent Blade' cuts down the so-called 'Lord of Obsidian Reach'." He held the scroll aloft like a trophy. "To glory!"
A roar of approval rose from his team and echoed by the crowd. Kael descended the steps, obstacle on his path to true heroic legend. The Prelate's caution was the timidity of old men. He was Kael, the Hero. What could possibly go wrong? He strode towards the barracks, already planning his victory speech, oblivious to the storm he was marching his five hundred knights and fifteen loyal souls straight into.