The Seven Demon's Tamer

His temperature was burning, and he was shivering—symptoms of a high fever that should have been like an insult to their dignity to tend to as FSG members. Yet, Captain Morgan found himself scratching his head in confusion as he reread the medical reports for what felt like the hundredth time.

Every test they had conducted showed the same results: perfect condition. Not a single anomaly detected.

"What could this be?" Captain Morgan muttered, tapping his foot against the polished white marble floor. The sound echoed throughout the room, coincidentally matching the steady beep of the monitoring equipment connected to the unconscious figure on the bed. "What explanation could this have?"

The medical agent handling Mo Fan—a relatively small woman with striking emerald eyes and hair pulled back in a bun—cleared her throat.

If anyone had bothered to check her personnel file, they would have discovered her name was Dr. Elara, one of the FSG's top medical specialists due to her field of study. Not only is she a certified doctor, her familiar also has healing-related abilities.

Unfortunately, Captain Morgan had never been one for remembering names of subordinates, typically referring to them by rank or specialty.

What a pain. Maybe she would have received respect and special privileges.

"Sir," she began, her voice careful and her tone serious, like someone about to suggest something that potentially needs reasoning, "I am afraid I do not know how to handle this through conventional methods."

She paused, gathering her courage before continuing. "But we still have one last resort."

Captain Morgan raised an eyebrow, his tapping momentarily suspended. "And that would be?"

Dr. Elara straightened her posture. "I can summon out my familiar—it has healing affinity and should w—"

"Do it," Captain Morgan chimed in instantly, not even allowing her to finish her explanation. Protocol dictated that using familiars for treatment should not be abused or used when not necessary. Minor illnesses like fever shouldn't be treated with familiars because it is regarded as laziness.

"Yes, sir," she replied, pleased to have been spared the need to waste her time on explaining.

A strong red mist began to fill the air, emanating from the red mark on her shoulder, glowing through the thin fabric of her medical coat. The mist swirled and danced around the room and converged behind her.

In a short while, the mist materialized into a bee with distinctive white and green stripes, approximately the size of a fully grown cat—that is, if that cat had been overfed consistently for several holiday seasons, of course.

Its translucent wings flapped with energy, creating a gentle breeze that swept across their faces.

"That's her healing familiar?" Captain Morgan couldn't help but question inwardly, his face twitching. "It looks like something that escaped from a children's cartoon about environmentally friendly superheroes."

The familiar hovered above Mo Fan for a moment, as if assessing the right location, but then it plunged its stinger into Mo Fan's freaking forehead violently.

Gasp

The sound came from Mo Fan's lips as his eyes flew open, his back arching with the speed of lightning off the bed as he desperately gulped. A trickle of blood ran down his forehead, which was caused by the violent bee during the healing.

He was awake, after all this while.

Captain Morgan stepped forward, his expression serious. "Mo Fan. Welcome back to the land of the conscious."

Mo Fan's eyes darted around the room, taking in his surroundings with confusion on his face. By now, the familiar had already started retreating as red mist, returning to its summoner's side.

Ever since midnight, when he was found on the field where strange energy output was radiating, he had been unconscious and unmoving.

Even his eyes remained open, and they thought he was dead for a brief moment until they clarified with his heartbeat and realized he was alive.

Since then, he was taken to the FSG base for proper medication. If there was anyone that could give the most appropriate detailed report on what exactly happened on the field, it would be none other than Mo Fan, which was why he wasn't sent to his guild for treatment.

"Water," Mo Fan croaked, his voice raspy from disuse.

Dr. Elara immediately poured a glass for him, helping him take small sips.

"Slowly," she cautioned. "We don't know what exactly it was that happened to you, so you should be gentle with yourself. Your body could need time to readjust."

Captain Morgan waited impatiently, his foot resuming its tapping on the floor. After Mo Fan had finished half the glass, the Captain cleared his throat meaningfully.

"I understand you've experienced the sight of craze power firsthand," he began, his tone suggesting he had no time to waste. "But we need to know what happened out there. The energy readings we picked up were... beyond ordinary."

Mo Fan lowered the glass, his hands still shaking slightly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said softly, his eyes fixing on the glass of water.

"Does it sound like I am making a request?" Captain Morgan questioned. "I am giving an order, young man. Obey at once!"

"I saw the Living Disaster and the Coldest Gaze Wielder," Mo Fan whispered. "Both of them are who we are familiar with as FSG members."

Captain Morgan's eyes widened as he heard the words Ryder uttered. None of it was direct, yet he somehow understood.

Meanwhile...

Clack clack clack

Leo's leather boots echoed against the cracked pavement as he approached the entrance to a dark alleyway.

He walked casually, like someone who feared nothing in this world of summoners, as his beautiful blue-silver eyes practically gleamed even through his sunglasses.

"It should be here," he mumbled to himself, adjusting his glasses before turning his gaze into the alleyway. Just as luck would have it, he found exactly who he was looking for.

"You are Brok, right?" Leo called out as he took a step into the alleyway, his tone as casual as if he were greeting an old friend at a café rather than confronting a stranger he only got a description of.

Instinctively, Brok took a step backwards, tightening his grip on the chain bound to the chest he was with.

"Thanks for your hard work, man," Leo spoke cheerfully, as if he were complimenting someone's choice of outfit in pleasant weather. "You may hand over the chest now."

Brok remained on his spot, unmoving for a short while before he spoke. "Where is he? The man you wanted to kill."

As much as Brok didn't want to, he still couldn't stop himself from thinking about the possible outcome.

'This man claimed he was sent to kill the Black Devil... or rather, Ryder,' Brok thought. 'They were battling when I left, and the Black Devil was on the receiving end of some serious damage. If this man is here right now, strutting around like he doesn't have a care in the world, does it mean that the Black Devil lost? Or worse?'

Brok's fist clenched around the chains of the chest. Unlike Ryder, who could carry the mysterious container effortlessly, Brok didn't possess such supernatural strength. He had been forced to improvise, weaving chains around the box for easier handling.

Even so, his arms ached from the weight of the chains, so he chose this alleyway to rest. He chose this particular alleyway because of Ryder in particular—this is the same alleyway where he directed Ryder to meet him the last time.

"Oh, the Black Devil!" Leo exclaimed, slapping his palm against his forehead. "I didn't kill him... not anymore, anyway."

He lowered his hand, his expression shifting to something more serious. "We are allies now.

"In fact, he was the one who sent me here to retrieve his chest from you." His eyes narrowed slightly behind his sunglasses as he studied Brok. "You must be quite loyal, aren't you?"

Brok stood his ground, unconvinced. "And how am I meant to believe you?"

"Oh, that's right," Leo realized as he placed a finger on his chin, reasoning.

Like a light bulb, a thought flashed into his mind. "Oh, I have an idea! Why don't you come with me to my apartment? Ryder's staying there for now."

Brok repeated, "And how am I meant to believe that?"

"You will never believe until you confirm," Leo responded, turning around to present his back to Brok—a gesture that either demonstrated immense confidence or foolish recklessness, depending on one's perspective.

"Seeing is believing, isn't that right?"

With that said, Leo walked toward the exit of the alleyway, not bothering to look back to see if Brok was following.

The confident set of his shoulders was basically saying that he had no doubt whatsoever that his invitation would be accepted.

With a resigned sigh, Brok followed without any other choice, pulling the large chest forward as it scratched the ground. He maintained a careful distance, ready to drop the chains of the chest and defend himself if things went south.

As they emerged from the alley into the bright sunlight, Leo glanced over his shoulder with a warm smile.

"Don't worry, big guy," he said, adjusting his sunglasses. "If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead. Trust me on that."

Back at the FSG base...

The door to the patient room of the FSG pharmacy swung open, and a figure stood behind the door.

"Mo Fan," began an authoritative voice, "I believe we have given you enough time to rest."

The speaker stepped into the room, revealing himself to be none other than Lucian, Green Horn for the FSG of the West Midlands district.

His gaze fixed on the bed where Mo Fan was lying, now propped up against several pillows and looking more alert than he had been reported to be an hour ago.

In the world of summoners, pharmacies were among the least frequently visited facilities, despite the fact that summoners regularly engaged in confrontations that would leave normal humans hospitalized or worse. In fact, the number of hospitals in an entire country was so few that they could be counted on one's fingers, with several digits to spare.

This scarcity of medical facilities wasn't due to underfunding by the government or something of that nature, but rather to the simple fact that summoners had little use for medicines and other facilities.

The affinities of their familiars rendered most injuries and illnesses mere temporary inconveniences rather than serious threats, no matter how fatal they were.

Besides, just as summoners possessed a reflection of their familiar's abnormal physical capabilities, they also benefited from the same accelerated regeneration and healing.

One common capability all familiars possess is the ability to regenerate their bodies even after the most critical damage, provided they have enough time and minimal interruption during the process of self-healing.

Severed limbs, shattered bones, devastating illnesses, and traumas that would leave ordinary humans permanently disabled were merely annoying setbacks for any human who had contracted a familiar.

Of course, the hierarchy of power remained consistent—the higher ranking the familiar, the greater its healing and regenerative abilities for both it and its summoner.

A Brown Mark summoner, which is the weakest of all, can heal deep wounds within a day, while a Red Mark summoner, which is commonly the strongest, can heal the same within minutes—sometimes within seconds.

Absolute immunity towards sickness is what most Red Mark summoners possess.

Mo Fan, who hadn't displayed any physical injuries whatsoever, had remained unconscious for an unusually long time, which shouldn't have been the case for a summoner—especially a Red Marked.

Due to the well-established fact that summoners could regenerate and heal themselves, the medical team at first adopted a wait-and-see approach, expecting Mo Fan to wake naturally.

However, as minutes stretched into hours, and hours into more hours and days with no change in his condition, concern had grown.

The situation at hand was too pressing, and the FSG needed information quickly. After exhausting conventional methods of treatment, they had resorted to waking him with external healing affinities, specifically the kind utilized by Dr. Elara's familiar.

After Mo Fan had awakened, he had been given a few hours to rest. During this time, Lucian had received detailed reports on the recent events surrounding Mo Fan's discovery and the abnormal energy readings from the field that could be related to Ryder.

These reports, while thorough in documenting what had been observed, raised more questions than they answered. After a few hours of rest, Lucian, who received a detailed report on the recent event, rushed towards the pharmacy.

On reaching the medical ward, he was told by Dr. Elara that Mo Fan needed more rest.

Now, after respecting the medical agent's insistence on a two-hour recovery period, Lucian had returned, ready to escort Mo Fan to his office for proper questioning.

'Surely,' Lucian thought as he studied Mo Fan's pale face, 'he must have seen the ritual firsthand. Maybe not the entire confrontation, but at least part of it—and identify the participants.'

More than anything, Lucian wanted to know exactly what Mo Fan saw that made him like he is.