Breakfast with Veximarl was a stressful experience for Sybil. He was constantly shifting the subject whenever she pried into what he had been up to recently. The most that Sybil was able to gather was that he had grievously injured Duxton. An informant at the Arbutus residence relayed that he had survived his injuries, but would need to be bedridden for several days.

Regardless of how others may have felt about how Veximarl was doing, Sybil believed that injuring Duxton was definitely a step in the right direction.

“I do feel a tinge of guilt,” grumbled Veximarl. “It would’ve been troublesome if he had died.”

Sybil stabbed at her potato hash with a fork. “Someone needed to knock some sense into him... Maybe not by ordering a tainted beast to chew him up, but whatever works, right?” She shrugged.

Veximarl set down his cup of tea. “I will be honest.” He frowned to himself before continuing. “I will likely lose track of my use of time over the next few days. They are limiting my access to your room to daylight hours only. I apologize in advance if I end up not seeing you at all until after the trial is done.”

Sybil couldn’t even tell if it was even morning. She could only put her trust in the clock and the fact that this was the first meal she had since she woke up. “I’d ask for a seat at the trial, but I feel like it’s just going to be a bunch of old men arguing in circles for hours upon hours.”

“They estimate that the deliberations may take up to a week,” replied Veximarl. He then stood up and pushed in his chair. “... I don’t believe they’ll look kindly on Duxton.”

“... Eh,” muttered Sybil. Duxton was the type to survive any sort of situation. Rats were often like that.

Veximarl frowned. “I am riddled with regret. This situation is far from ideal for either of us and I would rather prioritize you receiving the emotional support that you need.”

His words flowed into one ear before easily slipping out the other. The gears were already twisting about in Sybil’s head. It would be better for Veximarl to take his time with Duxton’s trial and not show his face around here. She didn’t need him acting as her conscious and saying no to her wild and obscene plans. They were oftentimes perfectly normal and sane ideas and she wouldn’t accept any rebuttals to those claims.

“I appreciate it, Vex.” Sybil reached towards Veximarl. He took a step towards her and wrapped her hand with both of his. “Do what you have to do. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. It would be better for Veximarl to take his time. She wanted to be patient when it came to planning their escape from this place.

Veximarl let go of her hand. “I will do my best to keep you informed of the present situation.” He faked a smile. “See you soon.”

“Soon,” repeated Sybil with an equally fake grin.

She had a feeling that Veximarl would reject any plan of hers unless it was airtight. Dealing with Laurent was one problem. He had the backing of the church and plenty of other dangerous people. Above him was Neryx, who had the backing of Laurent and the power of the palace.

Most of these problems were something future Sybil could deal with. Present Sybil had to focus on the here and now. Collar, off. Good. Now to get past that door without attempting to mist through. Sybil already tried to shoot some mist underneath but had been unsuccessful at getting air to flow.

Priority one, escape. Veximarl informed her that Zaniyah, Alton, and Vincent were being kept somewhere upstairs from her. Escaping with all three would be far too troublesome. Alton had the biggest chances for survival in the palace and was likely safe as long as he didn’t try anything. He would have to be left behind.

Information was the strongest card in her hand. She needed to keep a cool head. The majority of the armed forces were on the other side of the country. Sybil could report to Duke Sickleson or the new Crimson Duke in Carapace and start another civil war. Any sort of civil war involving the Violet Region versus the rest of Lustro was bound to end quickly, right?

Sybil tapped her finger against a table. Neryx operated bodies like they were golems. She didn’t know if they could only control one at a time or multiple at once. Nor did she know how exactly they were being controlled. Maybe Veximarl had an idea. It seemed like they were keeping him flooded with work so that he wouldn’t have the time to take action against anyone.

Ah… Then she really wouldn’t be able to trust him or someone else to get rid of Neryx. Unlike her half-ass plan to kill Laurent, Neryx’s death was absolutely her responsibility. She couldn’t trust anyone else to get it done.

Escape from this room. Get Zaniyah and Vincent. Kill Neryx. Flee palace. Get to Braytons and inform Lady Till of the situation. She’d know who to pass it onto from there. Leave Laurent’s fate to those who knew how to deal with politics. That was her safest bet for getting revenge.

Sybil sat down at her desk and began to write down notes. Design mechanisms eased her worries and distracted her from her current situation. She felt like her head was going to explode if she spent every waking moment concentrating on how to get out of here.

The door to her room let out a series of clicks and bangs before it opened. It was a combination of a standard pin lock and there were magnets inside that helped secure the door's position. She had seen locks like that in Carapace. They used special keys that were fortified with blood iron and runes. Teeth took care of the pins, while the enchantments handled the magnets and other inner locks that a door might have.

Unfortunately, those runes acted like a password. No single enchantment worked on every single door. Oftentimes, they were split in half with one half-hidden in the lock and the other on the key. She couldn’t create a proper key replacement without first learning the password.

She let out an annoyed sigh as Laurent walked into the room. He took a moment to close the door behind him. Someone on the outside locked it. Several thunks rattled out again as Laurent raised his hand.

Sybil glanced at the clock. Three past noon. “Afternoon,” she muttered. “... What are- Wait, seriously?!”

Laurent had encased her in a bubble again. It was larger than the one that had been used to entrap her during the banquet. Big enough for her and her chair to be swallowed up within it. She folded her arms and glared at Laurent.

“You removed your collar again,” replied Laurent in a disappointed tone. His eyes began to scan the room, searching for any other surprises she might have made.

Sybil shrugged. “I don’t like the way iron chafes my skin.”

“And you have a history of chafing authority,” retorted Laurent apathetically. “The collar is a contract between you and I.”

A statement which Sybil absolutely detested. He was basically stating that she was like a dog with a leash. She couldn’t be trusted not to run off and cause trouble unless she had a master with a firm grip on her chains.

Her glare wasn’t deterring Laurent. He merely placed a hand on his hip and waited for her to respond.

“Weren’t you guys the ones who made a big deal about me being a would-be?!” Sybil kicked the bubble. It felt as solid as a summoned shield. “I’m going to be your god one day! You should be on your knees begging me for my forgiveness!” She frowned as Laurent’s expression failed to change. “Don’t force me to bust out of here and smite you where you stand!”

“You would run out of air before that happens.”

Sybil sat cross-legged in her chair and inhaled sharply. Her cheeks puffed out as she attempted to hold onto as much air as possible. All she had to do was wait him out. This was an Aconite. Every Aconite she met had a poor habit of wandering off anytime a situation got boring for them.

Laurent flicked his fingers towards the bubble. Faint lines began to wisp along the surface of the bubble. “Human greed is predictable. They will even grasp onto death if someone threatens to take it away.” The lines traced the runic signs of absence, void, and breath. “... Are you aware of what happens to flesh when it is exposed to a vacuum?”

Vacuum forming was sometimes used on softer metals in the core’s golem factory. Nothing large enough to kill anyone. Only smaller parts. Sybil wouldn’t tell Laurent that she didn’t know. She merely sat there silently and stubbornly held her head high.

“Air seeks to equalize pressure between inner and external forces, causing the lung chambers to expand,” explained Laurent. “Their lungs will rupture during this process. They sometimes explode with enough force to break the surrounding rib cage and shred the heart muscle. And if someone was foolish enough to plug their noses beforehand, the atmospheric buildup within their sinuses is enough to send their eyeballs bursting out of their orbital sockets.”

Sybil immediately exhaled.

The glowing wisps of writing faded away as Laurent lowered his hand. “The first gods create balance. Crea gave form. Bellia gave magic.” He gestured for her to stand up. “The Aconite and Alcea families were formed on the basis of equal power. I will give you a lesson that your disrespectful ancestors failed to pass onto you. Reach out with your hand.”

Crazy bastard. Sybil glared at him for a moment. She carefully reached out and touched the surface of the bubble with her fingertips. Sybil had pressed a hand on shields and Vincent’s golem before. They felt cold and somewhat hollow to the touch. This felt warm, with a faint pulse moving throughout it.

“Break it,” commanded Laurent.

Mist was the foundation of magic. It promoted the growth of blood iron and allowed individuals to exert their will into reality. Sybil tilted her head to the side. She thought of Volo Refuge and her first meeting with the Heart of Eishur.

That was when Barcus had attacked her and Alton. Sybil had reached behind her and grabbed the falchion to defend herself. The sword had slashed through Barcus’ fire spell and dissipated it completely. She had thought that was an ability of the sword, but now she wondered if it was her own inherited talent.

It wasn’t a matter of breaking the shield, but dissolving it into its basic building blocks. Sybil stared at her palm. She gathered traces of mist into it and borrowed a hint of Emily’s magic, forming a dagger in the process.

The bubble gave no resistance as she pierced it with the blade. It merely hissed in protest as the violet mana shifted into white smoke. Sybil slashed the bubble before dashing through it. Her body dissipated into mist and reappeared before reappearing behind Laurent.

Sybil then went low and planted her feet, skidding to a stop right before she ran into Laurent. He had put up his vacuum shield in preparation for her attacking him. Running into that as either flesh or mist wasn’t something that Sybil wished to experience again.

“... Not worth it,” she muttered to herself. Sybil squashed the blade between her palms and reformed it into a ball that she began to toss back and forth between her hands.

Laurent didn’t say anything. He merely stood there as he saw Emily’s shadow overlap Sybil’s form. There was more than one time where she had played with her magic in such a manner.

“What are you staring at?” Said Sybil in a mocking tone.

Laurent shifted his foot. The runes on the floor, the ones that formed his shield, dissipated. “... This wasn’t recorded,” he muttered?”

“What wasn’t?” Asked Sybil as she tossed the ball over her shoulder. It poofed away before it hit the wall behind her.

She had more mastery with Emily’s magic than Laurent anticipated her having. It was worrisome. He didn’t understand what Sybil’s specialty was. A would-be could develop magical quirks and he had been convinced that hers involved shapeshifting. Now he wasn’t sure.

“Miss Kalista had been injected with the blood iron of an Eatha priestess,” replied Laurent quietly.

Those were notes that Omiro Alcea had taken down. Kalista was mentally overpowered by the priestess, who had maintained both her mind and her powers. Sybil’s union with Emily left Sybil mainly in control with Sybil being able to borrow her magic.

“... Uh-huh,” muttered Sybil. She shifted into mist again, this time reappearing near a bookshelf. “Was there an actual reason why you’re here to bother me or did you have a plan?”

Laurent couldn’t remember what the reason was. He knew that Veximarl had visited that morning and may have planned to ask what they had talked about, but it made little sense for him to ask Sybil that. Veximarl was his subordinate, while Sybil shifted between absolutely loathing him to barely tolerating.

Perhaps he viewed Sybil as an entity of interest. The entire goal of the Order of Alcea was sitting in his hands, yet Neryx had been telling him to hold off of experimentation and assistance. He was beginning to feel frustrated with the conflicts between his orders and ideals.

“What have you been working on?” Laurent walked over to her desk. He saw a notebook that had a madly scribbled cocoon shape on its open page.

“... Stuff.” Sybil selected a book from the shelf. It was a picture book of Lustro’s wildlife.

Laurent flipped the page, stared at it for a moment, then flipped it back again. “... You would die,” he whispered.

He was clearly not understanding her vision. Sybil tucked the book under her arm and stood next to him. “So, see here?” She pointed to the metal construct she had roughly sketched around the cocoon. “That’s a mist filter, it filters in mist. And that’s me.” She pointed to the cocoon. “I’d basically just be a digestive system or a brain or something by that point. Shouldn’t starve to death.”

Laurent completely understood what she had scribbled down. “You would suffocate.”

“I just said that it filters mist,” replied Sybil in a know-it-all tone. “I need to build up as much mist as possible in one space. It might be possible to ascend me to godhood if I absorb magic this way instead of eating a god.”

“You would still need oxygen,” retorted Laurent.

Sybil shook her head. “Oxygen is just the scientific word for air. There’s still plenty of air in there.” She gestured to the construct again. “Mist is also air.”

The look on Laurent’s face was a mix of overwhelming concern, surprise, and frustration.

“Air is air,” added Sybil. She inhaled and exhaled several times to demonstrate.

This forbidden text was better left confiscated. Laurent wouldn’t allow such idiocies to gain traction. He picked up the notebook and placed it within his jacket pocket. Sybil made a visual protest in the form of a pout, but this was promptly ignored.

“I will return tomorrow,” said Laurent.

Sybil glared his way for a moment before looking back at her book. She wanted to study anatomy a little more, but this book wasn’t helpful at all. “Don’t bother. I’m doing well enough at keeping myself busy.”

In the same way a puppy was able to keep itself busy. Destructively. Laurent gave her a disapproving staredown before leaving her chambers. He wished to discuss this latest turn of events with Neryx. Action needed to be taken.

The upper chambers of the palace had been closed since Wulfric had died and Neryx had taken over Howell’s body. Lavender was the only way to contact him without an appointment, and Neryx had been spending less and less time in that body. As bothersome as it was, he still needed to make an attempt.

Lavender’s office was near the king’s chambers. Laurent headed immediately there. He rang the bell outside and waited for Lavender to answer it. Neryx begrudgingly opened the door two full minutes after that.

They gave Laurent an annoyed stare. No matter how long they made Laurent wait, he’d stand there patiently. It didn’t matter if he had waited five seconds or thirty minutes, he properly stood at attention the entire time. That sort of inhuman behavior was disconcerting at times, even for a necromancer who had a collection of dead bodies they jumped between.

“Come on,” they said as they made way for Laurent to enter.

Laurent’s gaze scanned Neryx before he followed. Lavender’s body hadn’t been taken care of. His hair was unkempt and his clothes were wrinkled. They were likely something that he had worn for several days in a row. Neryx often had a bad habit of only taking care of their newest dolls and only dressing up the older ones for appointments.

“I wish to reconsider feeding Miss Twist the sword of Bellia.” Laurent remained standing while Neryx sat on the edge of their desk.

Neryx averted their eyes. Attempting to merge Lydia with Bellia was one of their last acts as a human. The process hadn’t gone well. They didn’t even know if Bellia was still consumable at this point, due to the changes that had been made to the sword. These were problems that they did not wish to bring up to Laurent.

“We have options,” replied Neryx. “Twist has already proven herself to be unstable and unpredictable.”

It had been the same argument that Laurent had brought up time and time again. The would-bes that were now commanding an army of tainted beasts and waging war against their country were far less worthy than a teenage girl who had a history of rebelling against authority. Sybil’s potential was being stifled simply because she was acting her age.

Laurent wouldn’t let this go. “Our intel continues to report that the would-be generals' motivations lay in little else than violence.”

“Yet you champion a girl who attempted to murder you,” retorted Neryx. One with a burdensome priestess. If there was one type of acolyte that Neryx absolutely could not stand, it was a priestess.

Laurent rarely voiced his own opinion. His role was to live by the ideals of the Order. He hoped that his worries would be taken seriously if he took a moment to speak his mind. “My concerns lie in how we are using what little time we have. Miss Twist’s whims are heavily influenced by the well-being of her friends.

The longer we hold Paladin Zaniyah hostage, the higher chance we have of turning Miss Sybil against us. As we stand as a representation of Lustro, we would be at risk of creating a god that would lavish in the sight of this nation festering in ashes. Paladin Vincent and Prince Alton are also points of concern.”

Then there was Duxton’s trial. From what Laurent had learned from his spies at Braytons and Veximarl, Miss Twist often mixed up her words when it came to hatred and affection. It was quite possible that she would act out if Duxton faced an ill fate.

He could fully understand and sympathize with Neryx’s worries. Many of her friends were their opponents. They built their hopes and dreams within a worn home. Every window, every opportunity for goodwill, had been broken. All they could do was carry forward and do what they could to avoid the broken glass.

“We have Veximarl,” replied Neryx. “She’ll obey him. I will deal with Paladin Zaniyah according to the old rules of Fogbloom. Have you completed the project I assigned you?”

“... Almost.”

“Then we have enough,” replied Neryx.

It was far from enough, yet Laurent knew that it was all he was going to get. “Thank you.” He bowed deeply before excusing himself.

This was a matter that he and Neryx would not be agreeing on. Neryx was hiding something from him. Laurent had an ill taste in his mouth. He had spent his life curating knowledge on the belief that intelligence and sound thinking was necessary for Lustro’s future.

Laurent entered his office and sat on his desk. He sighed as he struggled to sort his thoughts. The Order needed some secrets. That was a simple reality of their work. Secrets that halted progress on the Order’s vision were unnecessary. They were troublesome.

To further distract himself from his annoyances, Laurent began to flip through Sybil’s journal. She truly was a descendent of Omiro Alcea. Everything he would’ve wanted to accomplish his vision for a better Lustro… But she was sorely undereducated.

She had no basic understanding of any science outside of rune writing. Her skills in learning quickly and using her wit made Laurent believe she was capable of doing much. Though her stubbornness made her incapable of asking for help. There was also this weird bit where her notes implied that she believed she should be a cocoon.

If only there was more time… Laurent’s gaze drifted towards his mediation mat. It was rolled up and leaning against the side of his bookshelf. An item that he had developed after studying a research book based on Fogbloom magic.

The original author developed it as a way to treat insomnia. Laurent saw other possibilities for the use of runes that manipulated both the mind and time. His meditation mat was capable of turning five minutes of physical meditation into an hour of mental awareness. This technique could also be used to a lesser degree during battles, allowing him to take his time in his sparing and counterattack.

He had a theory that such runes could be used to solve his dilemma with Sybil. There wasn’t enough time for her to get a basic education. Nor did he believe that they should wait until a would-be could be captured in the east. Action needed to be taken today.

Laurent rose from his desk and picked up his meditation mat. He then called for one of the palace workers. “I will need three crates and a large pushcart delivered to the fourth-floor library.”

Taking action against Neryx was dangerous. However, the necromancer was distracted by their prisoners. It was clear that they wouldn’t bother with Sybil until after another would-be had been captured. Doctor Lavender was to attend the weekly palace staff meeting that evening. Neryx’s eyes wouldn’t be on Laurent’s movements at all.

Laurent made a list of book titles and left them at the library. He could trust the staff to locate them far more quickly than he could by himself. From there, he made his way upstairs and waited to enter Neryx’s private chambers until after the meeting started.

“Harlea,” he whispered as he went around the corner.

Rather than greeting him with the usual chirping, Harlea’s taloned foot was hanging outside her bars. She was attempting to reach a plate of food that Vincent was attempting to push across the hall. Laurent studied the odd scene for a moment before he walked over and picked up the plate.

Harlea let out a chirp as Laurent set the plate inside the bars and on a table. He also set down a paper bag that contained smoked fish. Without a word to the other prisoners here, he continued down the hall.

“Hey!” Shouted Alton as he gripped onto the bars. “... Laurent!”

Laurent glanced over his shoulder. Alton’s features, though his eyes and hair were differently colored, were remarkably like Cornelius’. The fact that he resembled his uncle was… It left a sour taste in his mouth.

“... I wasn’t here,” he muttered as he continued down the hall.

This hallway was once a part of the king’s private chambers. Neryx had it modified three years ago, after Wulfric’s death and when they took over Howell’s body. Any workers on the project were paid a decent sum before being quietly disposed of.

The centerpiece was Neryx’s personal collection. They were fond of old weapons made from blood iron and relics involving the gods. Any of the rarer pieces were being kept within the core of the palace, but these items needed to stay from the moist conditions of those chambers.

Eatha’s blood iron was clearly labeled. Laurent examined both it at the podium it stood on… Much smaller than he expected. Only about the size of a handball that had been squished slightly flat. He took out an aluminum bar he had in his pocket and placed it between his hands.

Runes began to encircle his hands as shavings began to peel off the bar, until he was left with something similar looking to the blood iron. He doubted that Neryx would pick up the blood iron or inspect the blood iron any time soon. There was ample time before he would be caught.

As quickly as he entered the room, he made his way out. Laurent paused briefly once he entered the hall again. Harlea was eating her fish. She was the only one near the bars. The rest, including Alton, had retreated back.

… His face was quite similar to Cornelius’, but that scowl of his was Wulfric’s. Other than Wulfric, Laurent never felt that much loyalty to his family. Laurent’s hand rested on his hip, where the blood iron sword sat. Cornelius was Alton’s age when Laurent murdered him with this blade.

“Uh… Creepy guy?”

Zaniyah’s voice snapped Laurent out of his sentimental flashbacks. He didn’t reply, but glanced her way.

“Are they really gonna execute Duxton?” She asked with a tilt of her head.

“Tria calls for us when it is our time,” replied Laurent.

Zaniyah grimaced. “I get that, right? I was hoping to get an actual answer instead of a run around?”

Laurent narrowed his eyes. “Some seek death more quickly than others.”

He turned away and proceeded down the hall. Laurent went back to his office in order to check his intel. His time as a member of Mart’s Mercy had taught him that one could never have an overabundance of information.

They had spies at Braytons working on gathering what they could on Duxton. More were sent when Alton joined the next year. Resources had been spent on monitoring Sybil once it was revealed that she had abilities similar to the Alcea family.

Sybil wasn’t unpredictable. She could easily be manipulated to make decisions that were worse for herself. Laurent wasn’t one for blackmail. That girl was a professional at sabotaging herself. He wouldn’t even have to wait for it to happen, she did it herself by removing that magic suppressant collar.

A knock at the door signaled that the books were finally gathered. Excellent. Laurent stood up and straightened his sleeves. The cart should be transferred to Sybil’s room immediately. Regardless of how Sybil feels about ascension, Laurent’s opinion would be one that mattered.

And Emily would be the one to carry out his orders.