...Yanana...Court of Law Pavillion...

At her back she heard the wheel of a cart bearing a multitude of implements of pain to use in the case of guilt. 'How inventive we are at torturing one another... why fear demons, when we're the ones who probably invented the tools they use on us?' She made the black humored joke in the privacy of her own mind, but felt no inclination to laugh at it.

The guards approached and began to work the chain securing her to the pillar of defense, Neia shouted out, "Did you hear that?! The wealthy escape justice, what meaning has their prohibition on healing by temples?! The wealthy can afford healing potions, or they can pay a spell caster of the guild, even if you beat them for some crime, here before all, they endure only a few minutes, why I wouldn't be surprised if they kept servants in the audience with potions ready for use! Yet you, you the people, no matter how minor your guilt, must endure and suffer to heal slowly, if ever at all, and bear your scars forever. If Puniti steals bread to stay alive, she must bear her pain and scars into her grave! But if that fat priest traded healing for sex, exploiting the desperation of the poorest of women, even if you did beat him severely, his pain would last only minutes and his body would be clean of marks of shame forever!"

Neia didn't resist as they attached a chain to her right wrist, or her left wrist. She walked with her back straight, and she did not stay silent as they worked, "You think you do justice by having me beaten!” She didn’t flinch at the sound of the lash being tested, and she felt the eyes of the observers on her, soldier and citizen alike. ‘I made a choice, and I will see it through!’ She steeled herself for the inevitable and kept her tongue moving, her voice going, pronouncing divine justice over the sound of rattling chains.

“You think you serve the gods?! Then let the gods take up your whip and beat me themselves! Can they not?! What kind of pathetic of gods are they that cannot do anything themselves?!" She let out a bitter laugh as she recalled the internment camps of the demons and demihumans from the year of the invasion, and clenched her fists tight above the shackles.

Tense fists or not, when she finally fell silent, she looked around and walked peacefully between the two very uncomfortable men. Only when she stood between them, did she speak again as they laid hands on her shoulders, and with surprising gentleness and pity in their eyes, pushed her to her knees. "You are not protecting the gods, you are protecting yourselves from having others speak of the injustice that you do by your exploitation! Justice is more than blood and whips! Justice is the strength to act, and strength is not just about what you can do to others, it is about what you can TAKE for others! So I'll take this for my god, for my justice, and for my people, and the scars may be mine, but the BLIGHT is on YOU!" Her final accusing word was not a shout, it was a roar that echoed over the grounds, so that even the bearer of the whip hesitated to act and let the whip fall limp at his side.

Her eyes turned to the priests and the noble, but as if afraid to meet her gaze, they moved away from the podiums and out of her view.

The audience was spellbound, and the guards did their last bit of work slowly, very slowly, when one of them stopped. "This isn't right." He said softly. He looked at the other guard beside her, who paused as he was running links through the hoop.

"What?" He asked.

"This isn't right." He said again, a little louder. "She didn't DO anything." As he spoke, a distance away, a man wearing a mask was testing and inspecting a long whip.

"You don't have to hurt people to be punished." Neia said simply. "You just have to be critical of the people who deserve to be criticized, but who have the power to silence people, and as long as people just follow orders out of fear or gain, well that is all it takes for them to get away with it." She shrugged.

He didn't pick the chain back up. "Just do your job, man." His colleague said, "The judge and jury made their decision, you've got orders, and it’s the law."

He tugged the chain tight, raising Neia's left arm.

"And what if I don't?" His colleague asked.

As Neia had been led to the pillars of discipline, there had been ugly rumblings in the listeners among the audience about her sentence. Someone shouted, "Mercy!" Neia thought for sure she recognized the voice of Puniti, and she wryly thought that it was probably the first time that girl had ever raised her voice for anything, if her first impression meant anything.

"What do you mean, what if you don't?" The guard who had just secured her left arm said.

"I mean... what... if... I... fucking... DON'T?" His comrade at her right arm replied, "She did not DO anything, you know my father is still missing a hand because he couldn't afford to pay for it to be fixed, now he's living with me because he couldn't take care of the farm anymore. All she did was say that shit was wrong, and all she did was say what their rules are. How the fuck do I punish her for that? How the fuck am I supposed to face my father when I go home tonight eh?" He threw down the chain he was holding. "How is that conversation supposed to go? Yeah, you know those temple rules that keep a painful stump at the end of your arm, those rules that cost us the family farm, today I helped have a woman whipped to the bone for saying that wasn't fair."

"Mercy!" Another voice went up.

It was one thing for a man to be indifferent to the pain of a stranger, but it was another to be casual about the pain of a well known colleague or a friend, and the guard who had just secured her left arm went quiet.

The guard at her right arm leaned forward and spoke in a rough high whisper, "What would those fat fucks do for you if you got hurt here? This is Neia Baraja, these chains are a joke, if even half the stories are true, she's powerful enough to be at least the same as a platinum ranked adventurer, I tried sparring over at the guild hall last week and got beaten by a gold rank, and you're no better than I am. If you got hurt, the most they'd do for you is give you a slight discount on healing, and if you got dead, they'd throw a quick funeral, forget about you, and find another bully boy replacement at the local tavern. She's chained because she let us chain her. She's here because she told the truth. C'mon man, this... isn't... right!" He hissed the seditious words, but not softly enough.

The priests were calling for assistance and extra guards to maintain order. The judge had drew out a fresh gavel and was beating it like he was trying to tenderize meat.

"Mercy... Mercy... Mercy... Mercy... Mercy…." The call got taken up, louder and louder, and the rough man at the left side stayed immobile for a moment, and then walked slowly in front of Neia, and she met his gaze, he searched her eyes as she searched his, she did not blink, she did not waver, she just whispered softly, "Whatever you do, is whoever you are.”

“So... who... are... you?" She asked, and he thought long, and he thought hard, glancing over her shoulder, the audience had begun to raise their fists and not too far away, several of his fellow guards were doing the same, "Mercy... Mercy... Mercy!" He looked up at the various guard positions, arrows that had been pulled tight to pierce her flesh and run her through if she tried to escape, had gone from taut and ready to release, relaxed. Some had returned arrows to their quivers... it really was a beautiful day...

"Fuck it!" He shouted and threw his weapon down, and went to loose the chain that held her arm aloft, and as he struggled to undo the lock, a fresh group of guardsmen arrived with halberds out.

The newly arrived guards were considerable in number, and they were quick to surround the pavilion, the two at Neia's pillar were confronted and even as they tried to argue, they were grabbed by four others and arrested. The smell of fear and anger was thick in the air, the sound of a hard fist on flesh and a blunt thud as the but of a halberd collided with a jaw echoed behind her as the pair were forcibly removed. Others who had escorted her, those who had been found with raised hands, were similarly arrested and dragged away, and order was slowly restored. Neia knelt still, and allowed the new ones to secure her arms so that they were raised over head and spread apart.

She laughed aloud when she felt the tearing of her shirt to expose her back. “You have the law… but I serve a higher thing. The god of justice, the embodiment of justice. If I can tolerate baring my soul to my god, I can bare my back or my breasts without shame, you can beat my flesh! But you can never… ever beat my god’s will!” She felt the trepidation of the hands as they frantically worked to rend away the last of her shirt, scraps of it fell away near her feet, and the remainder fell and dangled at the waist, a mockery of what it had been.

But no fear touched her. She took a long, deep breath, everything felt sublime, her skin tingled, her body felt totally relaxed. She recalled the occasion after Kalinsha when a nightmare troubled her, and CZ let her rest a weary head on her warm lap to sleep. Her entire body felt as if she’d been enfolded into the arms of her divine lord, like he was offering her courage. Her feet shifted under her legs only a little, straightening herself further. She felt the moment coming. Her mind rushed, and while it was still easy, she shouted like she was giving a battle cry. “Hail to the Sorcerer King! He is Justice!”

With the threat of violence imposing silence, there were no more shouts but hers, however the whispered words "Mercy... Mercy... Mercy”, fell from countless lips. The words were loud enough that there was no one who could not hear it, even as no one voice could be called guilty of actually speaking. It was an eerie scene between Neia’s every shouted declaration.

The war hero knelt still, back straight, and said loud enough for all to hear, "Into the hands of the God of Justice, I commend myself!" She breathed deep, and looked up at the sky, the warmth of the sun came down on her, and she thought about what the rest of her people were up to, no doubt they had really torn up the adventurer's guild's platinum ranks by now, and she wished she could be there to see them take on the mythril ranks. "Oh well, it can't be helped." She said to herself.

She heard the punishing sound of the lash being tested again. ‘I suppose they had to find someone else to do it, or perhaps it is the same one, but he wanted to be sure I knew what was coming, to enhance my fear.’ She smirked at the absurd thought. ‘I faced Jaldabaoth. Why would I fear whatever pain he can inflict?’ She snorted and dismissed the absurdity of their expectations.

Stripped to the waist, she felt the eyes of the crowd on her, but felt little in the way of prurient interest, more like a raw fascination with the taboo. And the sense of ‘safe’ fear, gratitude that it was not they who were due to suffer. A guard approached and held out a strip of leather to her mouth.

“Bite down… It’ll help....” He whispered, she glared up at him, only to see he did not look at her with malice. “Please…” He silently mouthed the word, and she reluctantly opened her mouth.

But before she bit down on the leather strip he extended to her, she looked over her shoulder and shouted, “Get on with it! I coud kill twenty demihumans in the time it takes for you to beat me once!”

They blushed a deep crimson, and Neia savored the embarassment as she turned her head arond, looking up to the guard, and biting down on the leather strip he offered her.

the rise and fall of her chest, the feel of her own breath past her lips. She kept her eyes skyward after the guard departed.

She saw out of the corner of her eye, the rags that her shirt had become, cast aside like trash on the ground. The distant crack of the whip being shown off to the crowd struck her ears. ‘Trying to build the sense of fear in me, and in them no doubt. Fools.’ Neia thought abstractly, she felt as if she were not herself, but rather, outside her own body, watching.

Then it happened

‘That poor woman…’ She thought, as if the woman kneeling between the pillars were not herself, the whip came forward, and raked at the back. Howling. The woman was howling through the leather strip in her mouth. She was in pain. Crack after crack, the body between the pillars spasmed and jolted as flesh was stripped away to reveal the red blood beneath it. ‘That’s me… isn’t it? That’s me…’ The understanding brought her back to herself in time for the next of... she did not know how many blows to land across her back, she jerked under the raking strike, feeling her flesh ripping away. She howled for the silent masses. But her head did not bow. Not even when the leather fell from between her teeth when she shouted for all to hear...

“His Majesty is Justice!” She screamed the words out, howling them to the sky as the third strike ripped an ugly cross over her flesh. She felt her breasts bounce with the jolt but any hint of embarrassment at that was buried under the pain that clawed its way through her body.

Her chest heaved and sweat poured over her, further enhancing the pain of the wounds they were putting over her back. “You’re just predators! Preying on the people you were meant to serve!” She spat the words out, and they were carried over the pavilion…

Followed by another scream that was ripped from her throat with the crack of the whip as it tore into the muscle just below her shoulder blade. She felt her body spasming with pain, the chains rattled, her breathing became labored. Neia’s entire body trembled and spasmed as a wail of pain was torn out of her body, tearing from her lips. Her eyes glassed over and scanned the crowd. Their eyes were down, they weren’t looking at her, they couldn’t see her, but they heard her when she wailed again when the whip kissed her back.

Behind her, she could feel the leering of one of those twisted souls who loved victims more than justice. She gritted her teeth, her spasming fingers folded in to become fists and she raised her head to the sky. “Long live the Sorcerer King! His majesty is justice!” She shouted as loud as she could, and the whip struck her near the base of her spine, her body jackknifed at the same moment that she howled, drawing the chains tight as her flesh so that they strained to hold both her and the pillars to which she was secured.

‘How many?! How many more times are they going to hit me?!’ Neia screamed inside her head, the sweat was pouring into her wounds and the burning agony of it seared through her like a hot poker as the salty sweat clawed like nails against the red streaks.

She felt tears blur her vision as another blow landed, and though she bucked, she did not bow her head, nor did she scan the crowd again, they were ignoring her, refusing even a sympathetic eye. ‘Shame… they’re ashamed, weak, frightened… I’m being used as a tool, to keep them in line… my howls are invisible whips that drive them to their knees.’

The understanding of the power of fear, fear she was being used to press on them, grew ever more clear when she was forced to scream again as the whip came out and wrapped around her front, putting a long red welt over her chest that made her cough and vomit as she jerked in her chains. A trickle of vomit ran down her lips as her body trembled, “His Majesty… is… justice! He is god! The only god!” She spat out defiantly, her words ringing off the pavilion to every ear. “You are exploiters! Oppressors! Extorters! Abusers! I spit on your gods and your faith that holds life hostage for coin!” She looked over her shoulder to where her persecutors were, to where the judges were. And spat every word directly at them. A shadow drifted across her eyes, enough to send a tremor through the fearful core within their bodies.

She saw the whip coming, and felt it rake down her back again, and she roared out her pain, hate, and defiance. The priests, she could see, were barely able to look in her direction, and none dared meet her eye. The guards responsible for crowd control, shifted tensely, but the silent crowd, their shameful looks, their downard gazes… it all cast an eerie air over the pavilion. A tiny smile formed when she turned her eyes skyward again, ‘They’re beaten and they know it, My Lord. My blood shames them, the bloodlust the priests thought to excite to feed the frenzy of the mob has turned to ashes in their mouths! I haven’t shamed you! I may be beaten, but I am unbowed! If only you could see me… would you be proud of me… my precious Lord Ainz…’ Neia groaned, and then yowled like a wounded beast as a blow ripped up her back.

...Nazarick...

Sebas pursed his lips as he watched the young woman take blow after blow and call out praise to her lord. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to go to her aid. Yet the memory of the past lingered. ‘Tuare… aiding you without orders, it was rash, my reason, an excuse. It nearly killed you. I cannot ‘interpret’ my master’s will a second time. I must wait until she is in danger. But I can be prepared.’ Sebas thought to himself, and he called to Shalltear for the gate to be opened. A moment later, he and the Eight Edge Assassins vanished from the tomb together.

...Pavillion of Yanana...

“That’s it then… Justice has been done.” Someone behind her whispered, seemingly relieved, and Neia wrapped her fingers around the chains that bound her, and began to pull. Blood dripped down her back, she tasted copper in her mouth, her lips were bloody where she’d bitten them, the sound of spattering on the ground echoed over the stillness. Whatever orders were about to be uttered by the judge died before leaving his lips as the chains began to groan, strain, and to their horror, stretch.

“Justice!” Neia half shouted and half slurred… She struggled to put one foot under her, and her entire body trembled as if frozen from the winter chill. “There is no justice here! His Majesty is justice!” She shouted while blood ran down her legs, and arms to fall and stain the stone where many other dried drops lay, waiting for new siblings to join them. Neia’s flesh did not disappoint, droplets fell like dripping rain over the stone as she staggered crudely to her feet.

Her pull on the chains grew, and grew. She quietly muttered a few martial arts, her muscles strained, and continued to strain when she was on her feet.

The stone and the chains fought her… until the strength of the stone itself gave way and shattered. The thunderous noise of broken rock and the clatter of it’s striking the stone under her feet spoke better than any orator of the mind of the guilty woman.

The pillars fell under the weight of the pull, and the pillars of justice fell like a corpse at Neia’s feet as if to beg her forgiveness for their part in her pain.

She wavered upright for a moment, indifferent to the eyeful of her bare breasts that she put on display, she raised a chained, trembling hand and leveled it at the priests, judges, and the soul who looked down at the whip as if he were now holding a live serpent. “His majesty is justice… your practices are wrong… your gods… your gods…” She felt suddenly very light headed, uncertain of her footing, she staggered, but caught herself. “Your gods… are dead gods… but my god… cannot die. He is beyond death, and beating me will not change that…”

Her eyes locked onto the one to sentence her, who shrieked out, “Get that thing out of here! Put it down!”

Terror took hold in the whip bearer’s heart and he drew it back to attack her, to fend off the bloody monster who stood in front of him, whose vicious gaze threatened to swallow him whole.

Neia felt herself begin to fall, her legs fell partly open as she staggered a step. She felt her voice weaken, her arm shook like a leaf in the breeze, only the raw pain of her wounds kept her conscious, “No… justice… here.” She was breathing raggedly. “N-Not yet.” Her ice blue eyes framed by a face red and flush, her small breasts heaving violently as she struggled to breath through the pain. “I-I… It will take more than that.”

A bloody, beaten mess of a woman centered her eyes on the hand that held the lash, and in her heart, a hatred and a fury began to grow that was greater than her pain. And a half mad laugh came past her lips, and from them came flecks of blood. ‘Did I bite my tongue?’ A tiny rational part of her mind wondered. The scrape of chains over stone accompanied the grim, slow laugh. To the horror of those who had sentenced her, the guards they shouted to take her away or to put her down or both. Those who met her gaze, were like frightened birds with broken wings, caught in a serpent’s eyes hungry eyes. The crowd, meant to bear witness to her breaking, meant to bear witness to shame, meant to bear witness to her humility as a warning not to follow her path, was torn in two.

Some… could only look down. Others, others looked at the guards and those officials who cast that sentence, with naked hatred.

“It’sh… not over!’ Neia said as her head bobbed uncertainly, her words punctuated by the sound of falling droplets which, in the perfectly acoustically designed pavilion, echoed like shouts to even distant ears.

...In Nazarick…

When Ainz returned to the mirror to see what was happening, a hellscape awaited him. His jaw dropped as his servant, his faithful Neia, staggered bloody and torn before the crowd, dragging chains and broken blocks that had once been proud pillars of punishment.

Though he could not hear her words, as she looked up to the heavens again, he could read her lips, and read the total, fearless devotion in her eyes.

‘Bleeding for the savior of our people… an honor…’ She half stammered.

He was about to call for Sebas, when he saw through the mirror that there was no need. The lash flew out toward her, and the eight edge assassins made quick work of it. They cut the lash to ribbons. The punishment officer stared down at it in disbelief, then reached for another, caught up in their fear, two others who were so lost in terror that they forgot their own weapons, took up lashes from the cart of ‘choices’ and strove to use them.

However with every desperate attempt at sending out a lash to strike the squire of the undead monarch, the undetectable insectoid bodyguards simply cut the implement apart in mid air. Leather strip after leather strip simply skittered harmlessly across the stone, or flew wildly off target. In short order, they made a game of it, the weapons were cut, the lashes were cut, swords fell from scabbards, halberds and spears lost their heads and clattered, while bow strings snapped and fell more limply than a drunkard’s erection.

“C-Cowards…” Neia said coldly, her shaking wrist rattled the chains that dragged on the ground behind her.

The orders to do her harm did not come out again, they looked on the unthinkable, the unbroken heretic of the north who bared her bloody back to the population, and at her back sparks of fury took hold in a thousand sets of eyes.

How it might have gone from there, as a low, feral growl began to build in the orator that was more bestial or demonic than human, began to build, was unknowable.

Until Neia saw the gentle, but somehow stern, bearded face of Sebas descending the steps.

She waited, swaying on her feet, until he was near and he let her lean against him. He glared at the city officials with an icy gaze. “Surely you misspoke, because I heard a sentence pronounced, a sentence that was carried out. And I could have sworn that was supposed to be the end. I believe… you are not permitted to execute someone who has already been punished under the law. You have tried her, found her guilty, and punished her. Have you not?”

Mute nods met his own until one thin, elderly official with cruel eyes and sharp nose and tight, angular features managed to speak up, “Yes, we have. Someone must have overreacted. She is… she is free to go. But may not be healed anywhere within the city.”

He raised his arm and extended it out, gesturing to the stairs, “Help her out of here if you wish… justice… has been done. She would be wise to remember this day, the next time she speaks ill of the gods…”

He cut off his words under the glare that fixed on him from the old man who held up the heretic.

And little by little, the grounds emptied.

“Sinners…” Neia hissed, “Sinners… Sinners… I will see the great sin cleansed… I swear it…” She did not try to hide her words, but there was nobody left with the courage to challenge them, when they were uttered.

Neia could barely see through cloudy rage and towering pain, but though they were rapidly becoming mere retreating blurs as Sebas whispered words she barely heard, she felt the blood drain from their faces, faster than it was draining from her body.

When they were alone, and only when they were alone, Sebas drew out his potion and dumped it over her wounded back where strips hung limp like leather strips being turned into straps. The flesh began to mend and her body reform itself to health.

When it was done, Neia sank to her knees, still half naked, Sebas removed his coat and put it over her shoulders. He fell to one knee and let her fall into his chest. Only then, hidden away from any prying eyes, even those of the one who held her, did she let any tears come out. Her body began to shed its buried fears through shaking and an outbursting of emotion in liquid form.

Take my coat, go, dress, rest. You have done enough, endured enough, for today.”

“Don’t tell anyone, if CZ or Skana think it was too terrible, well, they worry.” Neia wiped her mouth and shook her head with her forehead still pressed into his chest.

“Shouldn’t they know, so that they can help you?” Sebas asked slowly.

“No, I can walk, speak, act, again. The potion worked wonders. I’m fine. If I can bear it to be done, you can bear my silence.” Neia replied quietly, “Get these chains off me if you don’t mind, but other than that, I don’t need help.”

She held her wrists up, and Sebas’s hands came down and severed them without grazing the skin beneath.

They fell with a clatter, and Neia stood up, looking around the pavilion, “I tried… I really tried.” Neia whispered as she drew the coat around her, covering her chest as they stepped apart. “Nobody can ever say I didn’t.”

Sebas didn’t ask what she meant, she was holding the coat as tightly as a child held a security blanket. “Thank you… thank you Sebas.” She said again, and she took off running, making her way with powerful leaps up to a rooftop where she had to see nobody, she returned to her quarters, changed into another shirt, and then made her way back to the adventurer’s guild as if nothing had happened.

There, she found that the adventurers and Black Justice members had gone from a contest of arms, to a contest of drinks, with the area normally used for combat training, having had tables laid out, and people of both sides slumped over at most of them, including, with no surprise to Neia... CZ, who she now knew could not hold her liquor. Skana was sitting with her, still going strong, with a series of mugs stacked in a pyramid in front of her, and a stack almost as high in front of an adventurer wearing a mythril plate.

Neia looked the figure over, he was a red haired man with a thick beard and a broad chest, he wore mythril armor colored green, with numerous symbols decorating it, he had a great big two handed ax leaning beside him and green eyes that gave away a mirthful spirit, he leaned back contentedly and waved politely to Neia as she came closer.

Skana grinned drunkenly and raised her mug, "Looks like you got it settled. Nicely done, whatever it was." She said laughing, "Looks like CZ was right, I'll have to tell her after her intoxication protocol is off."

"Her... what?" Neia asked.

Skana laughed, "Oh, she was telling me about it awhile ago, it seems the Sorcerer King told her to experience things the way you did, so she activated something called an 'intoxication protocol' that let her experience getting drunk... and it turns out it doesn't give her much tolerance for the stuff, but it does let her enjoy it."

Neia rolled her eyes, "Somehow I am not surprised." She chuckled and touched CZ's shoulder, "Can she do something about this herself, or... is she stuck like this?" Neia asked.

"She can turn it off any time she wants, but... she doesn't want to." Skana said with a giggle.

"So... we carried her back to the hotel for no reason at all?" Neia said with her mouth open in surprise.

"Yup." Skana said, and downed the rest of her mug, then placed it atop the others.

"Cute." CZ said, and got out a sticker which she promptly affixed to Neia's cheek... and then to the mythril plate adventurer's. He blushed red as his fire red beard, and poured another for himself after stacking his mug with the rest of them, and then he filled Skana's mug, and handed it back to her.

"To full mugs." Skana said.

"May they never empty for longer than it takes to fill them!" He said, and they slapped the mugs together and resumed drinking.

Neia had the distinct sensation they'd said that phrase more than a few times, and mentally rolled her eyes. "You go ahead and have fun here then, you can tell me about your contests tomorrow, I'll be in my room tonight, join me if you like, I'm fairly tired, that was exhausting." She said, and Skana gave her a mischievous grin and said simply, "Oh, I like." And then she laughed teasingly, drawing a similar laugh from Neia before she walked away.

It wasn't long before she returned to the hotel and sought out Tinamoc. As she relayed the events to him, he listened intently and silently, when she was done he said, "So... you've made some friends today, haven't you?" His voice was so sarcastic that she couldn't have missed his meaning if she'd wanted to.

"I suppose so." She replied with a shrug.

"They'll connect you to my mission soon enough, but what that will mean, I don't know, priests are powerful here, really powerful, they will respond, and to succeed here means we can't just start killing everyone who gets in the way. This isn't Prart, even the most hypocritical priest, isn't going to be nearly as corrupt and debauched, you're not going to do the same thing twice. I don't object to you trying to spread these ideals, hell I've come to share them, but please just exercise some discretion." He replied.

"I will." She said, "At least as much as they allow me to, remember I didn't seek that out... well... this time, they did that."

"That was stupid of them." He said.

"Yes, it was." Neia replied.

"I doubt they'll be that stupid twice." He said.

"Never underestimate the persistence of stupidity." Neia answered.

Tinamoc sighed. "I suppose not. Well, goodnight then, I'm going to go over my books for today's work, plan on leaving day after tomorrow early in the morning."

Neia stood up and shook his hand, "Good night then. Shall I meet you for breakfast tomorrow?" She asked.

"No, you can sleep in, I shouldn't need anything, but if I do, I'll send someone for you." He said in answer and gave her a polite wave and a smile that made Neia think of an uncle to a niece he was indulging.

Neia walked out of his quarters with a polite wave, and then went to her own room, she sat down on the bed, and then she began to shake and tremble all over again like the moment was still fresh. The tension, the pain, the feel of her flesh being torn open, it didn’t just feel fresh, it was fresh. Despite the healing potion, the ghost of past agony still tore through Neia’s mind so strongly that she reached under herself to touch the flesh to feel for scars she knew couldn’t be there.

She swallowed hard and threw Sebas’s coat over a chair and went for a shirt of her own.

When it was on, she lay on the bed and didn’t even notice her own tears as they ran away from her eyes while she stared up, hollowly at the ceiling above her. Alone, save for the four walls beside her, the bed beneath, the ceiling above, she hugged her body and tried desperately to deny it all. ‘It wasn’t that bad… it was just pain, it’s alright, you’re alright, everything is fine now so none of it matters. Your wounds are healed, so why are you crying, idiot. Weakling… SINNER!’ She cursed herself and then despite having just barely put the shirt on, it felt constricting. Everything felt like it was too close, too tight, her breathing became fast paced as if she were about to run.

She scrambled to tear off everything she wore. Her fingers shook so hard that it took several minutes longer than it should have, until she grew sick of it and simply tore the laces of her boots so fiercely that they ripped open and her boots came off. The string of her pants and the shirt she’d barely worn for a minute or two, all cast off or torn off.

Only for her to suddenly feel too exposed, and she scrambled beneath the covers and hid herself away as the fading light of the setting sun passed slowly through the window, shrinking more with every minute, she hid from its light beneath the blanket and behind tightly shut eyes. From the light, and from the world at large, she did her best to disappear, until she could embrace the safety of the darkness.

When she heard Skana enter the room, she said nothing and pretended to be asleep, she didn't want to talk, and luckily, she didn't have to. Skana seemed to have believed her to be slumbering, and when she got into bed beside her, she simply lay her arm over Neia in a half embrace, and went to sleep with her. Neia felt the comforting warmth of another person, and held back her welling tears again until she was sure Skana was deep in slumber. Only then did she let them quietly run out, with only the warmth of touch providing comfort, but it was enough that eventually she really did fall deep into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

...In Nazarick…

“Sebas…” Ainz said softly.

“My Lord?” Sebas asked and his already stiff back straightened a little.

“What happened to her while I was away?” Ainz’s voice was neutral, but his emotional suppressor almost seemed to have synced itself to the earlier striking of Neia’s blood to the stone beneath her feet.

“She was punished for her loyalty to you, My Lord.” Sebas replied, his stony face unwavering.

“I see. And did her loyalty waver?” Ainz asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not in the slightest, My Lord.” Sebas answered in turn. “And per your orders, I did not intervene until they were preparing to kill her. But they did hurt her badly. Though per your plans… it backfired. I saw rebellion in those who were meant to be cowed by her pain.”

Ainz quickly messaged the eight edge assassins. "Find where they've taken the guards who were arrested, when you've found their location, notify Shalltear and have her open a gate for them, bring those men to my throne room, I would have words with them, and also, the priests, judge, and punishment officer, monitor their activity, when they return to their homes, make them disappear, Demiurge will need new test subjects." His orders were given in the kingly tone he'd practiced in front of the mirror every night, and in that moment, he felt he had done it flawlessly.

"We live to serve." They said in unison, and went to carry out their mission.

The priests did not find their safety was long in its endurance.