Wayward v Remus stare-down of the century lasted past the thirty-seconds deadline into a one-minute extension.

Finally, Satholia’s personal devil won out. Wayward cast a rune, shrouding the area from prying eyes and ears.

“Interesting offer, but I have an obligation to support Orwell Mehest.”

Rem nodded. Wayward’s professionalism was a hell of an obstacle, but Remus Breaker never entered the battle without a counter punch and unfair advantage.

“I know your order: help Orwell Mehest’s scheme, destroy the royal-mages and protect the investment,” Rem recited. “It is a set of orders you received a month ago. As a fellow profession, I salute you. You slam-dunked the objectives.”

Rem continued.

“Orwell Mehest’s scheme already went belly-up. Nothing you can do about a third-hand yanking easy victory from your grasp. You fulfilled the second aim perfectly. Only Kruger survived your purge in a wipe so clean the royal-mages will never recover. As for the investment — look around us — Orwell blew Venistalis beyond recovery. Win. Lose. Watching Home Alone. Grand Empire’s major capital just get a karmic sacking of the century. The royal-mages? Reduced to one A-rank. The royal-knights? Fruitlessly bashed themselves against Mehest. Sol Grandy is high from robbing the royal treasury and burning their freaking database. I don’t need [Clairvoyance] to tell you that the decimated garrison will need to pay in blood to survive tonight. Several noble households—especially those aided the Deathless Clan’s genocide—will receive a bloody awakening. I am near omniscience and I can’t invent a single way to overturn the disadvantage. The unholy combination of power vacuum, external enemy, rebuilding cost, civil-unrest and decimated law enforcement’s veteran will spawn an era of carnage for the Empire. Even if I cart Mehest away in a coffin, the Willow Heart Street still got their wishes: a crippled Grand Empire toiling away helplessly as the 33 Stars flips Phantasia upside down in their petty conflict, perfectly open for annihilation.”

Rem applauded.

“You—Samael Wayward—already met and smashed your boss's expectation. Kudos. But one question, why do you stick around? None of your leader order a trench warfare, so why you are dispensing charity to dear Orwell. No need to answer the obvious. Composed as you are, the Leviathan’s attack left its mark on you.”

Samael’s fist clenched.

“You are the best [Clairvoyance] user in Phantasia,” Wayward grudgingly admitted. “Wisdom, prediction and insight you displayed already prove that you forecast this conversation. You discover my only weakness and make an offer I can’t refuse. But let ask you one question, Hal Jordan, how can I trust you?”

The illusionary Rem disappeared.

A wall beside Wayward collapsed, and Rem stood up from his Remote Viewing’s trance.

“Because I am here in flesh,” Rem greeted Orwell face-to-face. He walked over and grabbed a knife, projecting the illusion. “Now, my only guarantee to make it out of here alive is to convince you I am useful. Is that enough of a guarantor? And Hal Jordan is fake names—my title is Samadi.”

Wayward took the kid seriously. Tonight Samadi proved his fortitude.

…

Rem spun the knife in his palm and the world around them change.

Rows of Corinthian white-walls, stone pavement and stick-like trees planted on the open plaza painted over the burning ruins, fire and smashed road.

Wayward recognized the place. It was his home.

“Centurion,” Rem narrated. “Alongside Starland and Frisnia they form the Tengen Continent’s Coalition of Tengen. Compare to the Aurora Continent we are on, Tengen is in the sense of any language a cluster fuck. In the south, Majistopia—a sham nation sponsor by of Holy Church and Aurorin—warred with the Vampire with the Solovar’s city-states being a buffer. Meanwhile, the Coalition of three belligerent countries are on paranoia watch against opportunistic fairies in the north. Seriously, Wayward, overthrow a country there and lead it. That will be an improvement.”

“Get to the point.”

“Sorry, side-tracking, but I will replay the past. Are you sure you don’t want sometimes to-“

“I already overcome my trauma, kid. Go ahead.”

Rem clicked his finger, and the image started playing.

The sky darkened. A long serpentine torso snaked from the cloud. Around the two, illusion of people ran for their lives—yelling and crying for salvation that never visited. A massive head of a serpent with an elk’s horn peeked from the cloud. It was a beast that defy the gravity and the square-cubed law. It’s body that dwarfed cities. The head — large enough to feast on cruise ships — roared and bathed the town in a breath of fire.

“Grand Empire’s Leviathan,” Rem narrated. “A guardian beast under the control of Grand Empire. Its power is an equivalent to upper S-rank. 17 years ago, this monster appeared mysteriously and destroyed your hometown. The late King of Centurion accused the Grand Empire of mass-murder, but they denied any involvement. With no evidence or power to contest the Empire, this case went cold. To add insult to injury, the Empire counter-sued for defamation causing your nation suffered an international humiliation. The scandal booted the late king’s flailing health to a critical point, leading to his death two years later. The ensuing civil unrest assured the current 14 years old Queen's job is way over her head.”

Rem turned toward Wayward.

“You survived this ordeal and tried to deduce the truth of that night. All the power you gain is for getting justice. This is the reason you become Captain of the royal-mages next to the learning opportunity. However, even with your status, you discover no clue to get you closer to the truth.”

Wayward stared at the Leviathan in a mixture of determination and acceptance.

“You are absolutely, right?” Wayward said. “No record about this attack exists in the confidential archives. Even the Generals think Centuria is slandering the Empire for a quick credit. The Emperor is either a master of acting, or he is clueless.”

“You are on point,” Rem confirmed. “The Emperor and the Grand Empire are hopelessly clueless. The Emperor is an exemplary leader, but expecting him to deduce this mystery is like expecting chicken to learn algebra. He never cared about it.”

Rem clicked his finger. The image rewound back to the beginning.

“My modification on [Clairvoyance] allows me to get a bird-eye view of the event,” Rem stated. “This included the aerial image.”

Rem clicked his finger, and the imaged around them changed into the night-sky.

Rem replayed the past.

Both of them saw it.

A metal ball flying across the sky at high-speed and stopping right above the town. A second later the ball activated, creating an enormous summoning circle in mid-air. The scene of the same carnage replayed itself.

“Enhanced,” Rem clicked his finger, zooming in on the mysterious ball. The closer inspection revealed a state-of-art propulsion system, advance magical navigation and sophisticate welding on the metal joint.

Wayward absorbed the mysterious ball into his mind, not willing to forget it even for a second.

“A high-end magical stealth-drone,” Rem pointed at the image. “It is enough clue to relight the kindle that is this case. Now two questions remain: who sent the drone and why? Only three suspects can expend such level of advance technology: Arden Christy, Balperia and the Isle of Knowledge.”

“Balperia is out,” Wayward stated.

“Yes, Balperia gain nothing from having it neighbor suffer a political collapse,” Rem confirmed. “I don’t know about Arden Christy to wing a conclusion, but we have another clue: The Leviathan. Don’t you think it strange that a foreign force can control the Grand Empire’s biggest guard dog without them knowing.”

“You worked out something,” Wayward ordered. “Tell me now.”

“It is suspicion, but I ponder two possibilities: either someone fake the Leviathan staying home, or there are two Leviathan.”

Wayward froze.

“Tell me about the second scenario?” Wayward said.

“Thare is a stage-tricks,” Rem told him. “A magician saw an assistant in half and — surprised — she alive. Most of this trick often includes a stage-help hiding in another box. I began searching for anything that might point us to the stage-help and discovered a noble connected to the Leviathan died from a suspicious case of food-poisoning few years before the attack begun.”

“Assassination?” Wayward—a trained assassin—had full-knowledge on the exact lethal-poison to fake a food poisoning.

“That theory is debatable, but the mystery unravel there,” Rem got back to the point. “Our noble—George Grigios—is responsible for animal-husbanding the Leviathan. I used [Clairvoyance] to check his activity and turn out he made a shady deal to sell the Leviathan’s shaving and organic debris to a mysterious party — it was enough to tell me everything.”

“How did Leviathan’s junks mark the culprit?”

Rem smiled and shone the light of truth upon the tragedy.

“Do you ever heard of a concept called cloning?”

Wayward’s eyes widened.

“I now present the time-line. Roughly Seventeen-years ago, George Grigios sold Leviathan’s genetic material to an unidentified third-party. The buyer assassinated him. And with the only witness gone, they began an experiment to clone the Leviathan as their personal weapon. They succeeded a few years later and test-run their shiny new toys on a unimportant town in Centuria, either for political brownie point or for kicks.”

Rem continued.

“But judging from lack of repeated Leviathan’s attacks down the years, the project didn’t go as expected—cloning such a monstrously powerful magical creature from scales and dead-skins must have limitations. Factors in this assumption with our drone, only one organization has resources, connections and manpower to fund this project.”

“The Isle of Knowledge,” Wayward arrived at Rem’s answer. “Good theory, but is there any proof?”

“Grigios’ autopsy report was inside the Water-quarter’s Medical Database,” Rem stated. “You are good enough assassin and physiologist to identify the poison used by skimming through those papers. His family also lost peerage after his death. They sold most of his paperwork including his financial record and diaries to rot on a shelf inside Grand Empire’s Nobility Museum. You are much better paper-tracker than me, Wayward. If I smell conspiracy by looking at the poor sod writing his doubt, then you can go further by naming the drug he took to cope with stress after reading those papers.”

That seemed to convince Wayward, but Rem gave him some bonuses.

“Oh yeah, and leave here as fast as possible,” Rem pointed out. “You need every man, elf and demon to help you with this case, and I believe Orwell Mehest will be too busy to help you after barrier come downs.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You need it,” Rem shut the Wayward’s excuse into the shadowrealm. “The attack on your hometown look impressive enough to call the project a partial success. You know what this means, right?”

Wayward understood where Rem came from. If they weaponized one Leviathan clones, then they might as well go for a second and a third. It was already fifteen-years. There was no telling how much Isle of Knowledges perfected the process. Best-case scenario is five S-ranks monsters. But that was optimistic, knowing the world’s sick humor, the number should be a range of thousands.

Thousand S-rank monsters unleashed upon the world was enough to upturn Phantasia's fragile status quo. Wayward foresaw the brutal war even greater than the current carnage in Grand Empire. If he hoped to fulfill his goal, he needed every single blade available.

The boy won. If his highly convincing theory was spot-on, then every second wasted in this pointless war-zone meant more Leviathan reared by the Isle of Knowledge. He needed to leave Venistalis as soon as possible to avoid more wasted of time.

He successfully convinced Wayward that his mysterious group worth too much to trade for any promises from someone like Orwell. Those girls showed too much raw potential to ignore. Against the coming carnage, a [Heavenly Eye] was an invaluable asset. The elf wielding ungodly reflex and lightning affinity also showed more promises in her brief stand than the entire royal-mages. More important of all was Samadi—the most skilled [Clairvoyance] user in Phantasia. With the craft they displayed today, Wayward knew they would become an irreplaceable asset against the Isle of Knowledge.

But the sale was their character. If this group of misfits would risk everything to fight for the people worth nothing to them out of empathy and honor, then they were a trustworthy to watch his back against in the coming war. Honor was something no amount of power could buy, and all their action from interfering with Mehest to saving Kruger sang nothing but praise for these groups’ integrity.

Wayward had one choice to make. Who would be more helpful to him if he had to fight an army of S-rank monsters between Horizon Dawn and Orwell? In that hypothetical scenario, Wayward already saw Orwell and the Willow Heart Street selling out to the Isle. As for these kids, not so much.

So Wayward stretched out his hand.

“I want your contact detail,” Wayward asked.

…

Rem stood there—a blink away from collapsing from the pressure of this negotiation.

Wayward and he parted ways after a few more exchanges of words. Rem breathed erratically. What an immense pressure, negotiating with his life on the line with no Scathach or back-up plan to help him. Worst, the crises was barely reaching the mid-phase. Rem wanted to fall to the floor and roll into a ball. Barely mid-game and the board-state was already hopeless. Orwell had an army with graveyard recursion and unlimited resources, meanwhile he was down two permanents.

Next turn, his counter-play kicked into play. But how much value could it generate against the current board?

“Easy,” said a voice. “Let me take over.”

The white-hair bastard in suit faded into existence, sitting by a ruin with a shit-eating grin on his smug face.

“[All-creation] is your only shot at beating the odds,” REM advertised. “And I don’t mean the lame-duck version divided between us, but the real-deal. The power to create spell and artifact imaginable to existence. A meteor that wiped away only evil. A magical spear that banished the World Enemy away with a thrust. A Deathnote to kill Orwell. You can save this entire city with a single short-cut.”

“Then you go nut,” Rem pointed out. “And started killing anyone you think is unworthy. One slip-up before you march to Tengen and started lopping off families.”

“It is for the betterment of all!”

“The 2nd Constitution of Dawn,” Rem answered. “Horizon Dawn shall not impose fate beyond redemption. Sanctity of life is law and rehabilitation will be the first goal in mind.”

That pissed REM off.

“Are you serious? We are facing an unprecedented crisis!”

“Keeping our value true in an unprecedented crisis is the reason the constitution existed. If you keep flaunting the law, then no one will respect it. That how you end with the cycle of damnation you keep obsessing about. The soul of the organization is destroyed the moment the constitution croak.”

“You must realize you play right now is two critically injure morons, a naïve simp and a useless goddess, right?”

“Is that your conclusion?”

“You believe they are your equal? They are not even close. You change destiny with an action. Your True Magic bring miracle. Malice worst mistake is losing you to Superman. How can anyone of them be a match to you?”

“And that is where you will fail because they will stop you.”

Rem was faithful and calm.

“I know your endgame, invading my dream every night until you eventually breached my mind and takeover. There is no cheating that fate. I don’t need [Clairvoyance] to see you succeed. I am all but a fragile human—doom to fall, eventually. But that is the different between us. I accept my humanity and plan. My death is a fate I cannot change. But they will stop you.”

Rem turned back toward his darker half.

“Until that time arrives, I will you every fragment of my spirit to delay your ascension. I will stall you for as long as I can. The Horizon Dawn will surpass [All-creation] just sit there and watch that miracle, REM.”

Rem waved his hand, and a banished REM away in a flash of light.