In the primeval forest, a canopy of trees formed a sea of green. Dappled light and shadow spilled across faces below.
Cicadas sang in the trees, while people moved restlessly beneath them.
One young man appeared youthful in appearance, yet his expression carried an ancient weariness. His face was like stagnant water—not the lazy melancholy of a self-pitying poet, but the dead calm of one whose heart had already withered.
After a long journey, he reached his destination. Twilight had fallen; the clouds at the horizon looked as though they were set aflame.
"Yo, you're back! So? Did you take care of them all?"
As he pushed open the door, an old man in the middle of a card game turned, waved him over, and asked.
The youth ignored him, walking straight to the bar. He ordered a strong drink, tipped it back in one gulp, and drained it dry.
"This brat isn't cute at all. Compared to my grandson, he's nothing. Sooner or later, he's going to get himself killed," the old man muttered, his pride wounded, and began cursing outright.
"You've got some nerve to say that," someone mocked from nearby. "Wasn't your grandson the one you sent to his death? When the Magic Council was chasing you, you tricked your own grandson into going as bait. Cold-blooded."
"Hahaha, yeah, that was hilarious. The kid actually thought the Council wouldn't lay a hand on civilians. You conned him into ambushing them, and he got butchered. Serves him right."
"You should've seen the look on his face when he realized the truth—it was priceless."
The two men put their arms around each other, laughing uproariously, sparking a chorus of laughter across the room.
"Why, you—!"
The old man's face twisted in humiliation. Rage boiled over as he conjured a longsword in his palm and slashed at the mocker. His strength and speed were so fierce that few even registered the attack.
Smash!
A sweeping kick intercepted him midair, hurling him across several tables before he crashed to the ground. Before he could rise, a heavy boot slammed down on his head.
"Well, well. Look at you, trying to act like someone important. Sneak attacks now, huh? When did you learn that trick, eh!?"
One of the men he had attacked ground his heel against the old man's skull.
"No, no—you just didn't know him before. When he first came here, he hated everyone, strutted around like he was third only to heaven and earth. Got beaten down plenty of times before he finally learned to behave."
"No real skill. A useless clown who loves to put on a front. Too bad… he never learns."
"Yeah, I remember those days, too. That look on his face—burned into my memory." The bystanders roared with laughter, clutching their stomachs.
"Horace! Why so quiet? You just got your revenge, didn't you? Still not satisfied? Come on, play with us!" someone shouted, approaching the expressionless youth who had just returned.
"Get lost." Horace didn't look up, drowning another cup of liquor.
"Che, what's with the temper? It's not like your whole family was—"
The speaker choked mid-sentence, eyes wide, as a powerful hand clamped around his throat and lifted him clean off the ground.
Murderous light flashed in Horace's eyes. His right hand tightened slowly. The man's forehead veins bulged, face turning crimson, eyes bulging outward. He was a breath away from death.
"Easy now, little Horace."
A figure dressed like a white-robed jester spoke up, halting the moment.
Thud!
Horace's killing intent ebbed. He flung the man into a wall with brutal strength, embedding him in the plaster. The entire guild hall shook.
Many looked on with mingled fear and envy.
"This kid's getting too strong, too fast. Barely a year, and he's already at least A-Class. He must be using some forbidden magic."
"Who knows. This world's full of shady power. Use it, don't use it—doesn't matter."
"But aren't you curious? Why only him?"
"What, you want to learn it too? Even if they taught you, would you dare? Could you handle it?" another scoffed.
"Hey, you know something, don't you?" The others' eyes lit up.
"Of course I do. But why would I just tell you?"
Coins and jewels immediately changed hands. The stingy walked away, but the eager paid up.
Pocket heavier, the man finally explained:
"You all know Horace's story, right?"
"Yeah. His village requested a guild job to deal with a monster. Some hotheaded rookie took it—charged into the lair like a fool. Not only did he fail, but he lured the beast back to the village. Everyone died but Horace."
"I heard he even tried to take it to the royal courts. But once the Magic Council got involved, it went nowhere. Barely any compensation. Typical Council."
Nods all around. One voice added:
"After that, the kid hated the Council. Hated the guild that bungled the job. Lucky for him, he awakened magic himself."
"If you ask me, he ought to thank that rookie. Otherwise, how would he have become a mage?" The man looked around nervously, lowering his voice only after confirming Horace had vanished.
"You're right. Horace is consumed by hatred. The guild master admired that… so he gave him a forbidden spell. A life-burning magic—sacrifice your lifespan, and grow stronger fast. Don't be fooled by his strength. He's got maybe a year left to live."
The man laughed as he watched their expressions curdle, then strolled off, pleased with himself.
The others seethed—too cautious to risk themselves, but already plotting how to scam their losses back from someone else.
Just then, the ceiling blazed with sudden brilliance. A pillar of white light tore through the roof and crashed down.
From within stepped a black-cloaked Natsu Dragneel. His eyes swept the crowd.
"The Life-Burners Guild. Even among dark guilds, your crimes are notorious. Nearly every one of you has blood on your hands."
"Who are you!? A Council dog!?"
"Master! Something's wrong, what do we do!?"
"So what if you are? Did we kill your family, too? Looking for revenge, brat? Your grandpa's right here!"
…
The hall erupted in chaos, their emotions stirred by some unseen force. Faces twisted, mouths opened, and confessions spilled out.
"I just hated my neighbor. Why should he have a pretty fiancée? Why did he get to go to school? Killing him was the happiest day of my life! Hahaha!"
"I hate them all! I hate the Council's hypocrisy, I hate the kingdom's weakness, I hate those arrogant guilds that ruined my family! I want revenge! Revenge!!"
"I wanted wealth. The kingdom wouldn't give it, so I took it! Loansharking, gambling, extortion—I built my own gang! If I'd been stronger, I'd be king by now!"
"I was ordered by the royal family to form this guild! We do the jobs they can't afford to be linked to!"
"You are all guilty," Natsu said coldly, listening to each twisted motive. Most were simply wicked. Some had once been victims, now turned perpetrators.
Behind him, the Seven Realms Sigil manifested. Points of light appeared, sinking into the bodies of those present.
Their shapes, features, and auras began to change.
Above, golden torrents of magic gathered, a storm funneling into the guild like a hurricane. Magic poured endlessly into their bodies.
When it was done, they stood transformed—replicas of Azuma of the Purgatory Seven Kin, and Seilah of the Nine Demon Gates.
This was the primary function of the Seven Realms Sigil: to take a template and mass-produce copies. For now, Natsu only replicated Azuma and Seilah—balanced for cost and efficiency.
One could draw power from nature itself.
The other could seize control of minds.
Together, their synergy was devastating.
"Go," Natsu commanded. "To the other dark guilds. I want to know why they joined the darkness. Once you understand, bring back the repeat offenders. Kill if you must—but spare those who are redeemable, seal their magic, and keep them alive."
Seilah: "As you command."
Azuma: Yes.