Adolescent drivel. Laurent scrolled through a metal tablet. It was a clone of Zaniyah’s letter that he had been forced to slap together. Neryx, being Neryx, had failed to make friends with them and was now imploring Laurent to spy on them behind their backs. Over the past few days, Zaniyah and Alton had done nothing but send neurotic code back and forth between each other.

Not even actual code to imply that they were seeking help or to spread valuable information about their situation or Neryx to others. No, the two used code to hide the fact that they were a pair of perverts who were now wasting their time drafting an erotic novel together. And Laurent, who regretted stating that he had enough time to monitor the situation, had to read through every bit of it to ensure they weren’t causing trouble.

From what he could tell, any code that reared its ugly head was just youthful Carapace slang. Slobbish, grammatically incorrect gibbering, is how Laurent would describe it. Slang that only increased his bewilderment and rage whenever he had to decipher the shorthand used between Zaniyah and the Cully siblings.

Of the three letters he had clones of, the only tolerable one was Vincent, who only sent two messages each day to Veximarl. Once with “Good morning,” and another with “Good night.” Veximarl would repeat the message back to him, and neither would say anything else.

If this is what Laurent missed out on by not having a proper childhood, then it was clear that he needn’t have any regrets over his stolen youth. He was their age when he drove a sword into Cornelius’ gut and life wasn’t any easier for the generation after his. The only difference was the lack of seriousness being applied to the severity of their situation.

There was a sharp knock on the door. A good, proper sound that was assertive and professional. He would usually not take notice, but he was desperate to deal with anyone who could act with an ounce of maturity.

“Enter,” called Laurent.

Veximarl opened the door and quickly closed it behind him. He had dark circles underneath his eyes and was struggling to remain composed. From Laurent’s understanding, he had spent his time in the Fogbloom meditation room. Studying his family’s history had become a priority to him.

“Father Laurent,” said Veximarl with a brief nod of the head. He waited for Laurent to raise a hand before taking a seat in a chair.

“Viokern has become troubled due to a lack of mentorship.”

Veximarl wrung his hands together and avoided Laurent’s stare. “There is simply too much to prepare for.”

Indeed, there was. On top of having to monitor the idiots, Laurent was overseeing the removal of Duxton’s titles. They already had what they needed to depose him. All the extra effort he had exerted to keep an eye on the prince had been to ensure that Duxton didn’t have one final card up his sleeve.

“The King’s Court will meet tomorrow.” Laurent studied Veximarl’s face, waiting for any hint of change in his expression. He remained in a sleep-deprived daze. “Duxton has taken measures to distance himself from the Arbutus family. He announced that he will only accept messages from the palace that have been given to Sir Tardival. We will respect his wishes and will send a request for his appearance this evening.”

Duxton was hiding in the theater district. Udell had made a payment on an apartment there, yet continued to stay as a guest at the royal family’s beachside mansion. Fairy Cully had taken the lead in acting as Duxton’s hands and feet. Laurent’s people had informants at Petalmist and at the shops she frequented as well as her classes.

Fairy often gloated about projects she was working on. From jewelry and trinkets for the prince, to her several visits to a printing shop. She was convinced that she was working on something that was going to change all of Lustro and Laurent had eyes on all of it.

“How may I assist?” Veximarl remained composed, despite the occasional weary nod of his head.

Laurent gestured to a stack of papers on his desk. “This is Duxton’s grand plan. His final act of retaliation.” Copies of a document from the printing facility Fairy was visiting.

Veximarl stared at it for a moment before picking it up. This was Duxton’s outline for policies he wished to enact when he became king. He wished to rebuild the laws of Lustro and modernize them. Both men and women would have equal rights to titles and property ownership. Proper criminalization of enforcing slavery, indentured servitude, and arranged marriages.

There were also measures taken to expand education for all with a focus on advancing technology. Most importantly, there was a call for the separation of church and state. Though his time as overseer for Lustro had been short, Father Omiro had instilled laws that merged the moralities of the church into government. Measures that had stayed to this day.

Every sentence was a flagrant attack against either the noble class or church. The King’s Court would be dismantled and replaced with representatives from every region. He even wished to abolish the baronies and make that an elected position and work towards building a system of clean elections.

“His aim is the common man,” said Veximarl. Duxton was placing a bet that his removal as the crown prince would cause riots across the countries.

“His aim is misplaced,” replied Laurent. “The Court will use this as evidence to prove Duxton as a radical madman who has no place in politics. They will back Viokern, which is why we must take care to raise him well.”

Veximarl lifted his head and narrowed his gaze. “Raise him like cattle for slaughter.”

“Yes,” said Laurent without an ounce of apathy. “An event which could have been avoided entirely if Wulfric had bothered to treat Duxton with care. Duxton should have been raised in the palace and isolated from the issues which made him stand out in the first place. Had Wulfric not fervently rejected him, he and King Howell would still be alive. We would have free use of Duxton as one of Neryx’s puppets.

Rather than a simple and comfortable life that would have led to death, Duxton has been forced to fight for survival from the moment he’s been weaned from his mother. He gathered formidable allies in the years before he was allowed into the palace and has earned the wrath of the King’s Court by being as violent and unpredictable as his father. Duxton is now unusable as a sacrifice, thus we will take Viokern’s life instead. This is the transaction we must make.”

“Transaction,” repeated Veximarl with a scoff.

“We are not men of leadership,” said Laurent in a harsh tone.

Veximarl did not reply. Laurent wasn’t one to raise his voice or show many reactions. His tone was enough to stun Veximarl into silence.

“Neryx is needed to achieve the Order’s goals,” continued Laurent. “The Order has one purpose and we cannot allow it to be polluted by the whims of future generations. Neryx has been there from the beginning and we give them immortality and protection in exchange for a better future.

Until Tria’s siblings are dead and gods have risen to take their place, we and those who come after us will continue to provide for Neryx. They will keep the intentions and purpose of the Order pure. There are those among us, such as you and I, who do not excel at leadership but have a keen skill of servitude. Our role is to serve, Veximarl, not to reject our purpose simply because we find certain parts of it distasteful.”

The taste of their work was so sour that it made Veximarl ponder if Laurent had any taste buds left. “I will inform Viokern of the Court’s decision to meet.”

“We’ve invited more journalists than usual,” replied Laurent. “Maintain focus on Duxton and deflect any questions concerning yourself or Viokern. A full press conference will be held the day after tomorrow.”

“Understood,” said Veximarl as he stood up.

The muscles in Laurent’s back tensed as Veximarl left the room. They weren’t alike. Unlike Veximarl, Laurent never had questioned the words or advice of those above him. He saw how Veximarl’s face twisted with questionable concern as Laurent parroted the same words Wulfric had spoken to him.

“You’re not a leader.”

Wulfric tapped a finger against the table in front of him. He had invited Laurent on the pretense of spending time with his cousin, but the topic had shifted to an inquiry into Laurent’s abilities. Laurent was only fifteen at the time and his father’s failing health had many questioning if he was ready.

“Look at El.” Wulfric gestured to Elbellizara, who was playing a hoop and stick along with several other teenage girls. “People are drawn in by her natural charisma. It wouldn’t matter if she were a princess or not, there would be droves of fools hanging onto every word she says.

Then there’s you, Laurent, who hasn’t managed to make a companion on his own.” Another clear observation. Laurent had arrived at the party by himself, as he didn’t have much in the way of friends at home. “You even let a maid choose your outfit. You hardly have an ounce of intellect when it comes to fashion.”

Laurent kept his gaze on Elbellziara. She had been frequenting his home in Grand Temple quite frequently as of late. “I will do what I can to expand my knowledge on the subject.”

“Let’s not focus the topic on you, Laurent. There are far more important matters at hand,” replied Wulfric. He then gestured to Elbellziara with a set of fingers. “My sister has needs. People with needs are dangerous.”

“... What do you command me to do?” Laurent’s eyes flitted from Elbellziara to Wulfric. He maintained strong eye contact with the prince while he waited for a response.

Wulfric shook his head with a smirk. “We’re going to mediate an exchange of needs,” he said as he outstretched his hands. “El is in love with your pastry chef’s assistant and you have a passing interest in Mart’s Mercy. I happen to know for a fact that a high-ranking member of their order is looking for an apprentice, but I need you to do this before I arrange an introduction.

Step down from the family, Laurent,” whispered Laurent as he folded his palms together and leaned onto the table. “Do it because you wish to follow the religious calling. Let El take the place as your father’s heir. Encourage her relationship with that baker. She’ll owe you the world and you will shoulder none of the responsibility.”

That was Laurent’s first lesson in how Wulfric worked. Elbellziara got what she wanted. She was removed as a potential heir to the throne, she could marry the man she loved, and she had both wealth and power in Grand Temple. Laurent joined Mart’s Mercy under the mentorship of someone code-named the Viper.

They exchanged the freedoms they had for a choke chain held by Wulfric. Elbellziara let the Order do as they wished within Grand Temple. Laurent began to build a library of the rarest texts in Lustro and became Wulfric’s personal killing dog.

It would take years of training and work in the field before Laurent was allowed to meet Neryx. Not even Wulfric’s usual entourage, Paladin Nicolas and secretary Enzo Cowl, know about them. At nineteen, Laurent would face his initiation into the Order of Alcea.

Neryx was a man in his sixties with a hunched back and a crooked leg. He was a teenager when his master assisted Father Omiro with the assassination of the Fogbloom family. His master, Feniyu, would eventually become the founder of the Order, and he was the only original member who was still alive.

“The road to destiny will be a slow and arduous journey,” said Neryx. “For gods to be born, we must acquire a would-be. Not just one, but dozens. Only the ones with the most potential will be allowed on the road to divinity. Would-bes are born from tribulation. They are also born from weakness. We must murder a god before we capture the others.”

As Neryx lifted a gnarled hand, Wulfric took over. “Iath has lost his physical form. He kept his power alive by splitting it among his chosen paladins. It now resides in their descendants.”

Viper half-heartedly raised a hand. “Paladins?” Her voice had a husky tone and she had a preference for men’s clothing. Anyone might mistake her for a man upon their first meeting.

It wasn’t a question, but an announcement that this was far too difficult of a job for one hunter and their apprentice. Laurent had helped Viper take one down before. Viper was a cleric of remarkable skill, but she was unable to match them in terms of self-healing. She likely would’ve failed the job had not Laurent found a way to intervene.

The thought of combating the ferocity of a paladin combined with the strength of Iath sent an honest chill of fear down Laurent’s spine. He did not vocalize his worries but kept his focus on his master. She was not afraid but left mildly amused that she would be receiving such a ridiculous request.

“Father Neryx has crafted a sword of blood iron,” replied Wulfric. “It’s enchanted with a poison that reacts to strong magic. A bare scratch is enough to curse a god with eternal agony.”

“... What about the first part of the plan?” Viper leaned forward in her seat. “The Father doesn’t summon me in person only to instruct me in how to accomplish the second half of his grand plan. I am the catalyst, dear prince, not the cleanup.”

Neryx’s cheeks cracked as his lips spread into a smile. “I grant you permission to be that catalyst.”

Viper’s face was always hidden behind a flat, scaled mask, yet she clearly wore a grin that matched Neryx’s. “... Elbellziara?” Her tone was hesitant but hopeful.

“Cornelius,” replied Wulfric.

“When?” Asked Viper.

Wulfric leaned back in his seat. He was relieved that he had caught the Viper’s interest. Viper would freely and easily accept any mission that she deemed was worthy of the Order’s cause, but it took considerable amounts of bribing to get her to do anything else.

“There isn’t a time limit. We’ll arrange for Cornelius to travel to the Clay Region-”

“By boat,” interrupted Viper. “Let’s do it by boat.”

Wulfric tilted his head.

“We’ll sink the boat. Odelia can only head towards land if she manages to save him. All the easier to trap them deep within the Clay Region and hunt them down,” explained Viper.

Now Wulfric was the one smiling. “Will you need much time?”

“Ten weeks. I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning and cutting contact until the job is finished. done.” Viper stood up. “Do you have my sword?”

“A messenger will be by with any materials that we deem necessary for you to complete your job.” Wulfric stood up as well. “The Order thanks you for your service.”

“You do not speak on behalf of the Order,” replied Viper. “... Come, Laurent.”

Laurent stood up and gave half a nod to his cousin as he left. The pieces were falling together in his head. Wulfric had wanted Cornelius out of the picture for some time and was willing to kill him for the sake of starting a war with the Clay Region. That war will be used as cover for members of Mart’s Mercy to move in and kill Iath’s vessels.

Viper spoke in a quiet tone after they entered the carriage. “... Odelia Arbutus.” Nicolas’ aunt and Cornelius’ mentor and bodyguard. She was considered to be the strongest elementalist in the whole of Lustro.

Fighting paladins was tedious and boring. Once they realized they were being overpowered, paladins would pull the long con and play on defense until their opponent was out of stamina. Viper didn’t enjoy that sort of combat… But an elementalist like Odelia had the strength to level the country. That kind of fight was the one that Viper thrived on.

“By sea is the wise decision,” said Laurent. Odelia’s strength was in fire magic. She had a chivalrous personality and wouldn’t be able to use her full arsenal on a passenger ship.

“It’ll take a week to get to Crookstead. Maybe two or three weeks to find who we need,” replied Viper. “There must be someone who wants to make a power grab there. We’ll have nine weeks to plan a revolution. A proper madman that will close the borders and stir the region into a frenzy.”

That deadline was strict. The Clay Region was ripe for change. Recent droughts had put tension between the people and their duke, and by extension, bred distrust in King Howell’s leadership. Laurent saw the path before them as clearly as Viper did.

“You’ll need a proper mask,” added Viper.

“I’m fine with the one I have,” replied Laurent. He had an undecorated oval mask carved from purplewood. It was plain but was somewhat similar to what Viper wore.

“... Moth,” whispered Viper. “I’ll call you Moth during this mission.” She lifted up her mask, letting it idle on the top of her head as she smiled at Laurent. Viper had a rather plain and average face. Middle-aged, pale from a lack of sun, and a hint of crow's feet around her eyes. “War takes a few years… We’ll commission you a proper mask once the job is done.”

“Moth?” He had hoped for something snake-based, or at least reptilian. Personally, he liked the idea of being called, “Adder,” had that been an option.

Viper’s smile softened from amusement to a kind reminiscence. “I give that bastard prince a hard time, but I kill who I’m told to kill. Anytime my job bothers me, I shed my skin and find comfort in rewards. You, though,” she shook a finger at him. “You’re always aiming at the light. Someone like you is the backbone of the Order.

The Order is going to belong to you someday. Neryx isn’t going to live forever and I’m not going to sit still while everyone fights for his spot. I’ll be killing your competition under your banner and promise you that every shadow in this kingdom will be your castle to rule.”

Laurent felt overwhelmed by her words. This was the first time that anyone had made a vow to him. Somehow… It felt like a weight was being lifted from somewhere inside his chest. Viper was the first person in his life to have faith in him. She didn’t even ask him if he had concerns over murdering his flesh and blood. The goal of the Order was their sole truth in life, and she had absolute faith that he would follow through.

… And Lydia Larkin would be the one to tear this person away from him.

Their job had complications. There were always “complications” whenever it came to playing with life and death. Odelia suffered a fatal wound, but she managed to stab Viper with an arrow of true faith before she fled. The same arrow that Laurent had shot her with moments before. While Odelia would succumb to the poison within a few days, Viper used her magic to keep herself fighting for two and a half years.

Even if every movement she made caused her pain, she didn’t stop. The goals of the Order drove her. Laurent lost count of how many of Iath’s vessels their team was responsible for killing. Viper fought on, wiping out entire bloodlines. Going after a paladin traveling under Lydia’s protection wasn’t bad luck. It was simply an everyday transaction made in their line of work.

Laurent had to watch his mentor of six years fighting for her life with every pained breath. They had done enough. He gritted his teeth and rejected the thought of going back to Grand Temple. Hadn’t they done enough? Surely, that was the last vessel. There wasn’t a point in having such a strong guard dog if he hadn’t been the last.

“... Moth.” Viper wheezed as she spoke.

He stood up and approached her hammock. It had only been two days since their fight. Laurent hadn’t seen the paladin die, but he witnessed Lydia and her partner drag him off. Viper’s condition had heavily deteriorated since then. That paladin was either in worse condition or already dead.

Viper raised her hand. Laurent reached out and took a tight grip of it.

“I’m here,” he said.

“... Laurent,” replied Viper.

“Here,” he repeated.

She struggled not to laugh. “Always so serious.” She sighed. “It’s nice to hear your name once in a while, isn’t it? Laurent… Laurent.”

Laurent’s lips parted for a moment. “V… Viper.”

Viper gritted her jaw. It was difficult not to laugh at his struggles. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it? To treat each other as equals. I was really looking forward to it.” Her hand slipped from Laurent’s. “... The bells are about to go off.”

The bells that encircled their camp began to rattle. Laurent quickly put on his mask. “I will handle it.”

He left the tent and was surprised to see Lydia standing outside. She had made it past the first perimeter of bells and was now waiting by the second. Lydia had a finger on the string and was purposely pulling on it.

Her hair, though hidden by a wide-brimmed hat, was covered in dust. So were her clothes. Dark circles were under her eyes. She must have been tracking them for days without much rest.

“I’m here for your boss,” said a calm and composed Lydia.

“They are unavailable,” replied Laurent.

Lydia pulled out a dagger. Laurent’s gaze flitted from her rapier, still idling at her hip, to the dagger. There wasn’t a reason for her to choose a dagger over a rapier. The rapier was expensive-looking, possibly a decorative piece, but a soldier wouldn’t carry around a useless blade. His eyes narrowed at the dagger, especially at its distinctive black edge.

“I can’t stand the traditions you Violet folk follow,” replied Lydia as she skillfully tossed the dagger in the air and caught it. “I’m always having to repeat myself over and over again until I get to someone in charge. I don’t have time to deal with the secretary. Send her out.”

Laurent adjusted his stance.

Lydia did the same. Her posture was defensive. She was going to wait for him to make the first move.

“Leave on your own free will or I will force you to go,” commanded Laurent. If she chose to attack then and there, he could summon a sword with his magic and finish her off with a surprise attack.

Lydia shook her head. “You should’ve replied with a joke. It’s not like I showed up with an appointment.”

“Leave,” repeated Laurent.

He took a step back as a thick cloud emanated from Lydia’s feet. It carried a foul and rotten smell to it. Laurent held his sleeve to his nose and mouth. This was the same foul scent that had weakened Viper’s magic during their last encounter. A cleric could struggle against the illness, but Laurent had no resistance to it at all.

Miasma disoriented his senses, sending him crashing to the ground. His world spiraled around him as his blood felt like it was catching on fire. He would never learn how long stayed like this or whether or not he remained conscious. One moment, there was sickness. Next moment, there was one. Lydia managed to walk past him without any resistance.

Laurent didn’t have time to catch his breath or gather his senses. He shoved himself to a stand and rushed inside the tent. His fears were realized when he witnessed Lydia standing next to Viper.

“Teacher!”

Lydia didn’t look his way. “... Shh.”

If she had a free hand, she would’ve held a finger to her lips. One had was holding Viper’s, while the other was resting above her eyes. Viper’s jaw had gone slack. A telltale sign that her life had ended. There were no wounds on her body, and the tent lacked any scent of miasma. She likely let herself go without much of a struggle.

Laurent’s eyes stung. The world before him blurred as hot tears began to stream down his cheeks. He didn’t know what he should do anymore. Returning to Grand Temple would be the same as abandoning the mission his master gave up her life for.

“... I don’t feel happy,” said Lydia. “Nor do I feel vindicated. I only know that there’s still more I have to do… There’s always more that I have to do.” She let go of Viper’s hand and took a step back. Lydia stared at the maskless Viper for a moment before shaking her head.

Laurent didn’t stop her as she walked past. He took her place at Viper’s side and grasped onto his mentor’s cheeks. There was still a lingering warmth to them. He then grasped onto her hand as he fell onto his knees, still weeping.

If only he were stronger. The Aconite family took pride in their magic. They trained in it from a young age. He questioned the strength of it. Laurent wasn’t strong enough to protect his place within the Aconite family. He wasn’t strong enough to defend his mentor.

His family’s legacy was that of prophets. Not any god, but Crea, who created life from nothingness. What was the point in carrying her divinity in his veins if he was incapable of healing wounds? Or saving the one person who had put their faith in him?

He took a while to rise from that position. Laurent stepped outside for some fresh air, only to find Lydia with a shovel. She had made a weak attempt to dig a hole underneath a nearby tree. The region’s countryside was nothing but baked clay. Lydia had failed to make any progress.

Laurent walked over and held his hand over the scraped clay. A series of purple drills appeared below his palm, loosening the ground in a rectangular shape. Lydia, red in the face from all her hard work, sat down on a nearby rock.

“I swear, if you’re Cornelius, and you faked your own death in order to start this war…” She shook her head. “I’m going to repeatedly pierce your testicles with the heel of my boot.”

“I murdered Cornelius,” replied Laurent in a deadpan tone.

Lydia glared at him for a moment before shaking her head again. “... Ah.”

Laurent finished digging out the grave on his own. It was easier to summon a half dozen shovels to do the brunt of the work instead of watching some woman do it. Lydia went to sit in the tent, citing that she didn’t want to leave Viper alone while they waited.

“I’ll help you carry her,” she said as Laurent returned to the tent.

“I will handle it on my own.”

As he picked up Viper, he realized how small she had gotten over the past two years. It had been nothing but a series of battles for the pair of them. They had taken turns hunting paladins and being hunted on them. Viper once complained that it felt like they were always on the run, but as Lydia said, there was always more work waiting for them.

Lydia stood on standby. “You should leave your mask with her.”

“She has her own mask.”

Lydia held up a finger. “Think of it as a memento exchange,” she replied. “Nothing makes a teacher happier than being able to keep a memento of their favorite student. Wouldn’t you rather have her mask instead of your own?”

She had a point. Laurent took off his past and gently placed it on Viper’s chest. When he glanced at Lydia afterward, he realized that he had been tricked. The suggestion, though sentimental, was merely an excuse to see his face.

“Lydia,” she said as she held out her hand.

“... Laurent,” he replied with hesitation. He stared at her palm for a moment before shaking her hand.

The shake was a strong and firm one. “There’s a paladin traveling with a group of nomads west of here,” said Lydia. “There’s a rumor that he’s from the Arbutus family.” She then narrowed her eyes. “I’m not suggesting that you kill him. You can use him as an excuse to go home.”

Their only goal was to start the war and end Iath’s existence. Laurent had no ill-will against the Arbutus family. “Thank you for the advice.”

Laurent would go on to take Viper’s mask and moniker as his own. He got rid of anything in her wagon that distinctly belonged to a woman. Anyone who met him on the road would have assumed he always traveled alone. Taking Lydia’s advice, he ceased his transgressions against Iath’s vessels. His time was done. The other, larger, groups could finish that task for him.

He set off eastward and found Nicolas traveling with a preteen named Tallosi. Laurent explained that he and Viper had been stuck on this side of the border since the war again, but he would make an effort to escort Nicolas home. Nicolas said that either Tallosi came with them, or he wouldn’t be moving anywhere.

There was a lack of fanfare when he returned. Neither Wulfric nor Neryx invited him to the palace. It felt like he had lost all of his value as a member of Mart’s Mercy. Not even the Order would call upon him. The war quietly ended three weeks after he returned. Out of anyone who could ask for him, Elbellziara would be the first to ask for his services.

It was a relief to know that it wasn’t murder she was after. Elbellziara was worried about her sister-in-law. The two had an argument that resulted in Iofea eloping with a man that Elbellziara was trying to arrest. She wanted Laurent to track down where she had gone to and give her a considerable amount of money.

A trip would eventually take him to Carapace. He would meet Lydia for a third time there. She confronted him in an alley, wearing white armor and holding a dagger in her hand. That was the same dagger she had threatened him within the Clay Region.

“Are you here for me?” Lydia asked.

“A woman named Iofea,” replied Laurent.

Lydia tightened her grip on the dagger. “... To kill her?”

“I’ve been sent to give her a letter and some money.”

Lydia twirled the dagger about in her hands and put it back in its scabbard. Now that she wasn’t covered in dust, he could see that it had two insignias on it. One of a boar and the other of Mart’s Mercy. She had taken that weapon from one of his comrades, meaning that it likely had the same abilities as an arrow of true faith.

“Ah.” He surprised himself. Laurent realized that Lydia had always taken him seriously.

“My apartment is two blocks away from here. Come half a cup of tea with me.” Lydia exposed her back to him as she turned to walk away.

The war was truly over. He had been a soldier following orders. Lydia had been the same. She was the person who single-handedly ended the war, yet she chose to return to a modest apartment. A small thing on the corner of a market street. Rather than reap the rewards of her victory, she brewed tea for the man who had a hand in starting that war.

“Nice of the duchess to finally do something about finding her sister-in-law…” Lydia counted on her fingers. “Five years after they lost contact?”

“... There was a war,” replied Laurent. Resources were drawn thin. Such a reality should have been obvious to her.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Yes, of course there was.” She paused to take a sip of her tea. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” answered Laurent.

“I meant,” she said before taking a bite of a cookie, “are you alone in life? Not, like, a lover or anything, but a confidant? Someone you can talk to? Anyone you trust?”

Laurent furrowed his brow. “... No.”

There was a look of pity on Lydia’s face. “I hope you find one someday. Until then, feel free to seek me out anytime you find yourself in Carapace. We’ll catch up.” Her eyes then lit up with excitement. “You should get a hobby! Every knight has a hobby. They should let Mart’s Mercy people have some fun too.” She then lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper as she looked away from him. “Maybe the lot of you could learn to be a little less murder-happy.”

“I doubt it,” replied Laurent. Everything for the Order and the Order always had more work to do.

“You’re quite young,” said Lydia. “I’ve met a lot of people like you. At Braytons, or here in Caraparace… They were all people who didn’t have a chance to learn how to be people. There was always someone out there who was using them as a tool.” She smiled weakly. “Do me a favor, Laurent. Take the time to learn who you are. See the world through the eyes of its people and not through a golem’s. Having your own thoughts and feelings is a basic human right.”

She had a point. Laurent’s return to Grand Temple would have him learning that there wasn’t much for Mart’s Mercy to do. He did not take a cleric as a partner, thus he was never sent out for body retrieval. The war had killed of Wulfric’s blood lust. He didn’t ask for many murders.

As the Order of Alcea turned their attention to political control within every corner of Lustro, Laurent was left to idle. He began his journey of climbing the ranks of the Order of Alcea. It gave him further access to forbidden texts and lit an interest in the songs of sirens and magical runes.

Elbellziara controlled the face of Grand Temple, but Laurent oversaw its shadows. He gave the city peace of mind. Part of that job was to handle the chaos that would spawn every now again.

And that chaos’ name was Emily Pennyrile. A woman who rejected the magic given to her by birth and became a triple threat of the stage. She openly spoke out against how both women and priestesses were treated in the Violet Region. Which is why Laurent had no choice but to invite her out.

“To kill me, right?” Asked Emily. “You asked me here to kill me?”

Her statement had several people turning their heads. The pair met at a popular cafe in Fogbloom. “... I’m not here to kill you.” Laurent’s intention was to ease her worries by meeting in neutral territory, where they would’ve been seen together.

“Then I’m ordering cake,” retorted Emily. She raised a hand to catch a waiter’s attention.

“I only ask that you watch your tone in public,” added Laurent.

Emily immediately dropped her hand. “... And what if I don’t?”

Laurent noticed that the waiter heading their way had paused. He beckoned him over. “The lady will have the orange blossom tea and a strawberry parfait. I will have an espresso and a rhubarb scone.”

Emily’s face flushed red. “And what if I don’t?!” She repeated at a higher volume.

“Then I will be forced to invite you out again for a small talk,” replied Laurent.

She pursed her lips. “I’m quite the forgetful woman. There’s a chance that I’ll need a lot of reminders.”

Her goal was to waste his time and force Laurent to give up due to being annoyed with her antics. How unfortunate. She didn’t realize how much time he had on his hands. What started as a warning became a weekly occurrence. The polite conversation of their first meetings soon turned into passionate arguments of philosophy and sociology.

Handling Emily was the same as cultivating fire. She was the shining light of whatever she chose to approach. Her growing following had everything from male admirers to women’s rights activists. Left uncontrolled, she could have gone on to be a wildfire of change across the social norm.

Under Laurent’s influence, she became a valuable confidant. Someone who helped read the popular trends and flow them to the advantage of the Order. Her popularity as an actress meant that she could ask for any musical to be performed and make changes to the script as she wished. Laurent used this to create demand for productions that promoted propaganda.

Their relationship wasn’t romantic in nature. Nor was it akin to a mentorship. They each had their fields of expertise and treated each other as equals during conversation. Had not Laurent’s work kept him busy, he would have greatly enjoyed spending more time with her.

Wulfric’s mental health had begun to deteriorate. Anyone he deemed a threat was treated as a threat to the Order. Mart’s Mercy went from the occasional murder to full-on secret police. Laurent used his management of Grand Temple as an excuse to not go out on any killing excursions.

He would only leave the Violet Region twice in the years leading up to Wulfric’s death. Wulfric’s instability had made the King’s Court question his ability as heir to the throne. The Court became split between making either Alton or Duxton the next heir. Laurent chose to stay out of palace politics, as the Order was his first and only concern.

Wulfric’s obsession over the crown had him sending killers to attack his own children. Enzo and Ebellziara crafted a plan to make Alton’s heritage questionable and banish him from the palace. Laurent, being the only person who knew where Iofea was, moved Alton into the hands of the Toval family.

This allowed for Nicolas and Enzo to concentrate on Duxton’s safety. Emily would move from Fogbloom to Grand Temple. She became more vocal about the movements of the church. The worst offender was the Daughters of Iath, who accepted all women who were descendants of paladins, unless they happened to be priestesses of Eatha.

She took a position as a dance and music tutor for Patterfall and Viokern. Though she never fully retired from the stage, she starred in fewer and fewer productions. The days which she and Laurent met increased in frequency.

“Are you still living in that small apartment?” Asked Emily as she stirred a bit of milk into her coffee.

Laurent didn’t see a point in moving. He preferred to live modestly and use his savings to fund charities working in the Clay Region. The war had started as a way to kill Iath. Wulfric’s ambitions had savaged the lands. People were sold into slavery. Resources were drained and redistributed to the other regions.

This wasn’t why he joined the Order. “I’m not one to live past my means.”

Emily snickered. “How old are you?”

“Thirty,” replied Laurent absentmindedly. His attention then snapped to Emily as she burst out laughing.

“I always thought you were so much older! No wonder it didn’t seem like you were aging much.” She smiled as she looked down at her cup. “Only four years older than me…” Emily then shook her head. “I’m thinking about getting married.”

“Good luck,” said Laurent with a hint of sincerity. They had been meeting like this for seven years. He knew her to be a high-energy mess at times. Completely unideal for what most Violet Region men looked for in a wife.

Emily puffed out her cheeks. “Thank you for your goodwill.”

If there had been an outdoor wind, it would’ve rushed over Laurent’s head as easily as Emily’s hints did. “I’ll be gone for a week. Maybe longer. There is business that I will need to handle outside the city.”

Emily’s childish expression shifted to a saddened one. “Work is important… Even if it means you’ll miss the opening weekend of my play.” She had been invited to play the part of the ibis in the Coral Prince, and she couldn’t pass up on playing her most famous role.

“It can’t be helped,” whispered Laurent.

“I want to be the first one to greet you when you get home. Don’t forget to see me right away, okay?” She put on her toughest expression, which always reminded Laurent of a scowling lamb.

Laurent pushed those thoughts aside. “... As you wish.”

He had been asked by Wulfric to perform an assassination. Laurent would have turned him down had the target not been Priestess Jaida, Duxton’s mother. He planned to give her the funds she needed to move south to the Clay Region and catch a boat to the Coral Kingdom.

The prince’s request was due to a growing concern that the priestesses were protesting against their lack of rights. Emily was now one voice among dozens. There was a risk that one person could become the center of their rebellion. Duxton, who had recently turned sixteen and now had a voice within the King’s Court.

Wulfric’s delusions had him believing that Duxton would use his mother to gain control over the priestesses and cause a religious revolt. Laurent refused to be a pawn in the prince’s paranoia. He set off in hopes to prevent one senseless death and returned too late to witness the depth of Wulfric’s madness.

Emily was dead. Wulfric had convinced himself that she was a political pawn of Elbellziara’s that could be used to add to Duxton’s strength. Rather than use Mart’s Mercy, he had Emily’s sister, Henrietta, make the arrangements for her death. In exchange for her work, Wulfric made Henrietta the leader of the Daughters of Iath.

Unable to act against an important pawn of the Order, Laurent turned his attention to tearing Wulfric down. Neryx, like Laurent, preferred to stay in the shadows. He let Wulfric take the face of the Order so he could oversee the fruition of its true goals. It was clear to Laurent that Neryx was losing control of his lead dog.

“Father Neryx,” said Laurent as he took to a knee.

Neryx resided in the upper floors of the palace, as he had for several decades. Though Laurent was considered to be a leader within the Order, he had trouble arranging a meeting with the necromancer. Further proof that Wulfric was keeping him isolated so that he could run wild with the Order’s resources.

“Rise,” replied Neryx with a wave of his hand.

Laurent stood but kept his gaze to the ground. “I am aware of your plans to move your consciousness to Duxton’s body once he has come to age, but I fear that Wulfric is acting against your intentions.”

Neryx was the heart of the Order. He bore witness to its creation and would maintain its true purpose. Immortality was a given. It was a long-standing plan to eventually move Neryx into a body of the royal family. Wulfric had absentmindedly deviated from this plan several times. The prince had managed to convince Neryx that Cornelius was better off as a sacrificial pawn instead of a host and now he sought to politically destroy Duxton.

“He often has outbursts every now and again,” replied Neryx. “His murderous intent usually calms once he grasps onto the bigger picture.”

“I believe that he is purposely restricting your movements. If you happen to die while waiting for a host, there is nothing we can do.” Laurent’s glove creaked as he tightened his hand into a fist. “Wulfric’s gaze no longer matches our own. He only cares about the present and not the future. Your death is not a loss to him. It is simply a stepping stone for complete control over the Order.”

Neryx’s lips smacked as he ground his toothless gums together. “... I always thought you were better left on the field,” he eventually said. “Wulfric thought you best left in Grand Temple, so you could keep a leash on Elbellziara’s movements. Had we done like I wished, and sent you to fetch a child of Alcea, our task would have been accomplished by now.”

A shame. Lydia would have made for a glorious god. Laurent maintained an unspoken truce with her. She had an established life in Carapace, and he wouldn’t ruin that by mentioning her name to the Order. Any public memoirs of her time during the Southern War neglected to mention that Viper had an apprentice. It seemed like common courtesy to keep his mouth shut as well.

He should change the subject. “I believe it best to go after Wulfric. I propose that I dismantle what he has carefully curated and then you will take his body as your own.” Laurent raised his head to catch a glimpse of Neryx’s face, but his expression was unreadable.

Neryx gummed his lips again before responding. “I will need a new face for the Order, which will be you. There are designs for a golem which I would like for you to oversee. Make an effort to take out your competitors in the church. I will promote you to Howell’s religious hand afterward.”

“As you command,” replied Laurent with a bow.

Anytime it felt like Laurent was taking a step in the right direction, he left a wake of destruction behind him. Leave his position as heir, become a killer. Save Jaida, lose Emily. Taking complete control over the church meant that he had to lose sight on Grand Temple’s shadows, and that’s when Henrietta was allowed to bring in slavery and the silent genocide of priestesses.

While he made strides in the church, Wulfric was kept distracted by the promise of Lydia Larkin’s ascension. Laurent should have paid more attention to the situation. Had he not been distracted himself, he would have asked to oversee the experiments on Lydia. As far as he knew, she died the night of Wulfric’s rebellion.

The prince had gotten word of how poor his situation was and planned to expose Neryx. He would be the one to release Lydia from her confines. Wulfric and Neryx had kept Howell complacent for years by flooding him with a cocktail of drugs. It was easy to blame everything wrong on the king and his necromancer puppeteer.

But Neryx needed to be protected. That was the single rule of the Order. Laurent found an opportunity to take Wulfric’s life with his own hands, and Emogene would take that and Wulfric’s body away from him. The ill deeds and chaos caused by Wulfric’s subordinates would later have Duxton on a murderous rampage. Neryx was running out of time and hosts.

Once Duxton was gone, Laurent could bide his time and wait for Viokern to be old enough. It left an ill taste in his mouth, but it was all for the Order. The greater purpose. He had given up too much in his life to see it crumble under his watch.

His gaze wandered over to Viper’s mask. It had hung in his office ever since the end of the war. From the moment he entered the palace, Viper’s sword always hung at his hip. What was he afraid of? This was supposed to be his territory. His sanctuary.

Deep down, Laurent knew he wasn’t safe. He knew that Neryx wasn’t pure. The lies and madness didn’t start and end with Wulfric. It wasn’t the prince who oversaw Lydia’s murder. Hiding away Zaniyah seemed like a passing interest. She was tied to Iath, who should have been long dead.

There was something else. Neryx was equally as paranoid as Wulfric was. They knew something that Laurent didn’t.

“... What was it that you saw?”

Zaniyah glared at him from her bed. This was the guy who she’d seen sneak in and out of Neryx’s treasure room. Considering how he was bothering her now, this was probably the tech guy who had hacked their letters. He gave off the same nerd vibe that Sybil had.

“You know that I could just say whatever I wanted and you’d just have to accept that as the truth, right?” She stuck her tongue out at him before she struggled to roll over in bed.

This had to be some sort of weird interrogation method. The only thing Laurent did was say, “Afternoon. My name is Laurent. What was it that you saw?” He was doing that thing where he’d force Zaniyah to fill in the gaps in her own head and respond with whatever.

Laurent remained composed. “I have read over the entrance exam notes of yourself and the others in your squad. You were noted to have exceptional skill for insight and an inability to lie.”

She glared at him over her shoulder. Zaniyah could lie all she wanted, she just never saw a point in doing it. “How do I know that talking to you isn’t going to get me in trouble with Neryx?”

“I do not know the reason why you remain imprisoned,” replied Laurent in a monotone. “Logic dictates that you witnessed something that I would find unsavory.”

This was what Stonetoe would call one of them “enemy of my enemy” situations. There was a danger of making herself a target of Laurent’s in the future, but there was equally a chance of setting Laurent on Neryx. It’s not like she was capable of walking anywhere, so it’s not like it was a bad idea to cause a little infighting if that was an option.

“It was Lady Lydra Larkin.” Zaniyah rolled over again and struggled to sit up. “She’s being kept in the core of the palace.”

“What condition was her body in?” The conditions of the core weren’t ideal for keeping a body. Neryx had better storage with them in the upper rooms. That’s where he kept his puppets when they weren’t being used.

“Honestly, it was pretty poor.” Zaniyah hung her head to the side. “Standard old corpse stuff, I guess? She still had that big hunking sword impaled in her chest, so I guess that’s why they didn’t move her. Wouldn’t have recognized her at all if she didn’t start talking.”

Laurent’s back visibly tensed. Alive. Neryx kept her alive all these years and didn’t say so much as a word to him. He felt angry. That sort of irrational rage that led to one making mistakes.

“What did she tell you?”

“Look, it’s uh,” Zaniyah rubbed the back of her head, looking quite ashamed of herself as she did so. “Troubling, okay? I’ve been worried this whole time that the corpse trick was just Neryx wasting our time until Creepy Cleric and guards could set up their ambush.”

Impossible. Neryx had to process a cadaver in a certain way before they could puppeteer it. They had no reason to do that to Lydia and then just leave her there with Bellia impaled in her. He folded his arms as he attempted to sort out his troubled thoughts.

Neryx attempted to directly merge a god into Lydia’s body. The experiment failed and it must have kept Lydia in some sort of half-death condition. Knowing Neryx, they likely kept Lydia like that as some sort of entertainment. Many of Neryx’s dangerous or secret experiments were kept in the core, as few people knew how to get inside.

All for the Order. Laurent had to focus if Neryx’s attempts were in line with the Order’s ideals. They had Sybil locked away in her cocoon. No matter how long it would take, she would emerge as a god. Would there be a point in maintaining either Neryx or the Order at that point?

Laurent shook his head. There wouldn’t be. All for the purity of the Order. The final step in their plans should be to end the pollution by dismantling their organization. He had started out as a victim, fought his way into leadership, and could now see the end. It was all going to come to an end.