The Huntsman of Red V2

Chapter 8 First Seal: Arc 1 End

Vale. Vacuo. Atlas. Mistral. The Kingdoms of Remnant.

Boyd Flynn was not sure how the Kingdoms established themselves and prospered under the constant attack of the Grimm, but he felt that it was long, hard, bloody, and packed with Dust. Lots of Dust, the stuff that was said to have singlehandedly revolutionized mankind's advancement towards a relatively decent standard of living. Then again, not constantly dying was already a plus in Boyd's book.

He fumbled with the lighter he had unceremoniously stuffed into the furthest reaches of his old Vacuo-styled duffel bag and deftly pulled the old silver case out with a flick of his finger. The polished edges and metallic sheen invoked hidden sentiments of bitterness and guilt that quickly faded when he realized that those dark times in his life were over.

He sighed, wallowing in his past regrets before closing his eyes tightly, a hand placed over his temples. If at any point he could have gone back and started things over, then many things would have had gone differently. By the time he realized, comprehended, the extent of his influence, it was already too late. He was out of options now, injured, and out of commission.

Sometimes he had to wonder if Grimm were truly the only monsters in the world. At the very least, they were simple.

He opened his eyes, the action accompanied by the habitual flicking of his thumb which flipped open the silver lid of his lighter. Moments later, he grimaced when he saw that the match fuse was broken.

Great, just something else that he'd need to repair.

His eyes scanned over the quaint office around him, cluttered tableware, scattered papers, and a pile of dirty laundry he only considered washing after the odour began settling. It was a dream office if he had any say in the matter, but in the words of his niece, Cerise Flynn, it was a pigsty, not that she could understand the novelty of it anyway.

The girl was far too concerned with his well being that it became awkward to kick her out because she was an annoyance. Fortunately, she wasn't around today to encourage him to work seriously.

Boyd worked as a journalist on the surface, and he didn't wish to involve those close to him in his affairs. As such, he came off as a slouch and lazy hard-ass in his niece's eyes, the kind of man who couldn't do anything on his own. Then again, she was busy training to become a Huntress, so when he compared her work ethic to his, his could only appear abysmal.

It didn't matter.

He kicked up his feet to rest over his desk and rested his back into his leather office chair.

This was the kind of life retirement spoke of, and besides, he was done being a Hero. Those times of constant fighting in the shadows, the betrayals, and false expectations, all of it was over.

At times he even wondered if the words justice and ideals even meant anything anymore aside from political tools.

In the end, no one fights on righteousness alone. Every action comes with a cost and a gain, he'd learned that fact the hard way which was why he became all the more stunned when he saw something unimaginable.

Boyd's office was located near the central station of Vale's bustling main street which was both crowded and lively as a result of Vale hosting the thirty-second biannual Vytal Festival, an international competition between the Kingdoms. It was part of many government sanctioned events to maintain the happiness of the populace as a measure to prevent negative emotions that attract the Grimm.

Naturally, all Kingdoms were invested in the event with specially made Scrolls streaming the battles and highlights of participants on large screens throughout Vale.