Chapter 68 - 68: The Nocturnal
Ibaan came back to his senses.
A figure stood before him. He wore a white mask, with a skull carved on its right side. Caribbean-blue eyes gleamed beneath it. Brown hair fell over the mask, reaching his eyes, tied back with a rubber band—if it weren't tied, it would spill over his shoulders.
"Yo, Bastard 11! That's a treacherous mask!" the man said in a cheerful voice, smiling through his words.
Ibaan scratched the back of his head as he stood up.
'Oh.'
"Hi," Ibaan said, his voice stiff and broken, still confused, still scratching his head.
"Call me Bastard 01," the man replied. "But The Debate is preferred."
'So this is Bastard 01,' Ibaan thought.
"Come. Follow me." The man waved his hand and turned around.
His voice carried weight—heavy and commanding—even though he released no power at all. There was no display, no threat, no battle intent.
Yet it was clear.
This was someone powerful.
Ibaan still felt suppressed.
Anyways, he observed the palace, standing on land that barely looked like mortal ground. The grass looked picturesque as he followed the mysterious man across the grassland.
He looked around. There were many beautiful flowers filling the air with aroma—different kinds of flowers. There was even a tree, a beautiful one, rich with pink petals, with a swing tied to its branch.
There was also a pond, which made him question his own existence.
Who lives here?
All the Bastards? But don't they meet only on Sundays? If yes, then what is all this supposed to be made for?
Many questions lingered in his mind, though there were no answers.
But that didn't amaze him.
What did—after looking straight ahead—was the castle.
The great, mysterious castle.
Two huge pillars supported the structure that was suspended in the air up above, which looked like a chamber covered by the obsidian rocks, it was designed arcanically. And on it was a figure with his hands raised in the air as if commanding the world, and behind its head was sunlight illuminating the subjects, giving a hope even when hopelessness dominates.
His brows furrowed as he felt it a bit familiar.
And beyond that structure stood a castle, two long towers rose up in the space and in between them was the main structure of the castle.
As they reached near the two pillars, Bastard 01 looked back at him.
"You'd choose a nickname for yourself, and choose one of the cards that appears in front of you!"
'huh!'
Suddenly the atmospheric pressure changed, and something surged, then came in front of him as if suddenly a train came into view.
A line of cards appeared in front of him and he had to pick one to choose his nickname.
Motioning his hands he picked up one of the cards, and to his surprise all the others vanished into nothingness.
He flipped the card and looked at it.
The card was almost identical to the one he had received with the invitation—but there was one difference. A name was written in the center.
"The Nocturnal."
'Nocturnal?'
Ibaan's brows furrowed. He realized that Nocturnal was a word with different meanings in ancient languages.
In the Vampire language, Nocturnal meant "the one who is meant to be ordered, and the one who gives order under the veil of the sky."
In the Utopian language, it meant "the deceitful disciple."
And in the modern language of his homeland, Hostis, it simply meant "one who stays active at night."
He raised his brows in confusion, then quickly pushed those thoughts aside.
The Debate—Bastard 01—asked with a warm, cheerful smile, "So, what's your name?"
Ibaan lifted his head, and the words left his mouth.
"The Nocturnal."
"Oh, nice nickname. Anyway, let's go now." Debate chuckled softly and turned, walking ahead.
Ibaan looked at the card again, and to his surprise, it had changed—returning to the same appearance as the original card he had received with the invitation.
At the top, carved neatly along the edge, were the words "The Bastards."
Below it was an image.
A man in a white robe stood inside a white castle, his long red hair falling freely over his shoulders. His eyes were closed. Resting on his shoulder was a red-bladed sword, a dragon skull embedded in its hilt, the blade planted into the ground—the Utopians' Duke.
Beneath the image were the words:
"Bastard 11."
And below that was written:
"The Nocturnal."
Just then, Mr. Debate spoke while walking forward. "You've got to have two official cards now. Only Pillars get them."
"Pillars?" Ibaan followed Mr. Debate.
"You'll know," Bastard 01 replied calmly, as the gate opened on its own.
'Huh? Then why mention it now?'
"Alright," Ibaan said, walking beside the man, though slightly behind.
As the gate opened, the eyes beneath the mask of the Saint of Dusk witnessed a new scene.
A long, mysterious passageway stretched ahead, carrying its own aura—as if it were alive. Maybe it was.
It was illuminated, even though there was no visible source of light.
On both sides of the passage stood statues of knights, each holding different weapons. And Ibaan felt it wasn't the aura of the passageway that unsettled him, but a question that surfaced in his mind as he looked at them—
Were these knights dead, or alive?
He couldn't understand.
He wanted to ask Mr. Debate, but immediately dismissed the thought. What if Bastard 01 got annoyed and beat him right here for asking too many questions?
He probably wouldn't.
He didn't look like that.
…but maybe he could.
'Aah, god damn it.' Ibaan shook his head and banged it against the wall subconsciously.
Just then, Mr. Debate turned his head toward him. "Anything wrong?"
"…"
Ibaan shook his head immediately, his face was covered in sweat.
Mr. Debate turned back his head forward and walked forward toward the end of the passageway, and so did the Ibaan.
At the end of the passageway was another gate, which designed a very differently.