Blessed Visor

"Haven't you heard of undead?" Victor asked, his voice a low rumble that resonated from deep within his chest. He finally removed the plague doctor's mask. The face beneath was stark and angular, framed by tightly bound black hair woven into intricate braids that resembled dark ropes. His eyes, deep-set and intense, held a weariness that spoke of centuries lived. A thin, jagged scar traced a path across his left cheekbone, disappearing into his hairline.

He then extended a hand, the calloused skin rough against David's. "My name is Victor," he said, his voice now a low, resonant baritone. "Victor Willowstone. The Ember of Aesgrus."

The tall figure with the golden hand shifted, the metal plates of his gauntlet clicking softly against each other. He stepped forward, his blood-soaked blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the tavern's grimy windows. He offered a nod, the movement stiff and deliberate. "Call me Stark," he rumbled, his voice deep and steady, like the grinding of stones. "Stark the Distant Talent." The golden light reflecting off his gauntlet illuminated the dried blood that caked his normally blond hair, giving it a rusty, almost orange hue.

David, still reeling from the sudden shift in location—one moment the cramped back room of a tavern, the next a windswept field with a steaming hot spring—blinked at them. The air here was noticeably warmer, carrying the faint scent of sulfur and damp earth. Steam curled lazily from the spring, obscuring the far side of the field in a hazy veil. "David Raphael," he replied, offering a hesitant handshake to each. He paused, a thought striking him. "Those… those names… 'Ember of Aesgrus,' 'Distant Talent'… are they like… titles? Based on something you did?"

Victor's smile became thin and sharp, the scar on his cheek twisting slightly. "They are… markers," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, as if sharing a dangerous secret. "Markers of what we are capable of. Some mark great deeds, others… terrible sins. In this world, David Raphael, a name can be a weapon, a shield, or a death sentence. Choose yours wisely." He turned his gaze to Stark. "And some, like Stark, chose to keep their story to themselves." Stark nodded in response. His golden amber eyes flashed for a second. The light reflecting off them almost seemed to burn.

Victor then turned back to David. "It seems you don't have one. Such markers usually manifest based on one's achievements, but to truly solidify it, you'd have to register with a coven." He paused, considering David's blank expression. "I believe you don't know of covens either, or possess magic."

"A coven?" David asked, his gaze shifting from the steaming spring to Victor's scarred face.

"Something like a cult, perhaps a church," Victor explained, gesturing with a scarred hand. "By swearing loyalty to a divine entity or god, one could obtain their favors. But one must obey their commandments, or face their curses. The blessings are not granted freely."

Stark interjected, his voice deep and thoughtful, the words measured and precise. "Covens aren't just about blessings from established churches, though. Sometimes, a coven is simply an organization that represents a specific type of magic or sorcery. Like the Fire Coven, for example. They dedicate themselves entirely to the mastery of flame. But by focusing on flame, you limit your potential with other elements. You become only and only good at flame. The same applies to other covens. Depending on which you join, you might or might not be able to join others. I myself joined a coven. I was a prodigy with physical weapons, but abysmal at magic. I sealed my magical potential away in exchange for a significant boost to my already… profound attributes." He flexed his right hand, the golden gauntlet gleaming in the fading light.

David's curiosity piqued. "What's the most powerful coven?"

Victor shrugged, the movement causing his rough robes to rustle. "It's debatable. There's no definitive answer. Power is subjective, after all. But as I said, it's not solely about the coven itself. It's about the bargain you strike."

Stark grinned, a flash of white teeth against his blood-streaked face. The smile didn't quite reach his burning amber eyes. "Well, technically, it is about the coven. You have to bargain for it, after all. The greater the offering, the greater the boon."

David chuckled. "Kind of like Black Friday," he muttered to himself, a faint smile playing on his lips as he remembered the chaotic shopping frenzies of his past life, the frantic races for discounted electronics and limited-edition items.

Stark's brow furrowed. "Black Friday? What's that you giggle about?"

"Oh, nothing," David stammered, waving a hand dismissively. "Just… reminds me of Black Friday."

Victor and Stark exchanged a sharp, almost alarmed glance. Victor murmured to himself, his voice barely audible, "Impossible… Black Friday… that was thousands of years ago… the era of the Fallen Angels… could he be… a paladin? An elf?"

Stark, his mind racing, thought I knew it. There's something truly special about this one.

Victor collected himself, his gaze returning to David. "Currently, the most popular coven is the Empire Coven. Unlike the others, there are no elemental or magical limitations. Your sworn loyalty is to the Kingdom of Xeryl Astasia itself. It's popular, and there haven't been many major conflicts lately, so it's a relatively safe choice. It basically increases all your stats to a well-rounded level, regardless of any existing discrepancies or gaps. All you need to do is protect and obey the kingdom's laws and its people. And their blessings aren't random, unlike those offered by some churches."