[41st Year of Foresai, Lower Fire Month, Day 3]

I did it. I can’t believe I did it. I charged the brothel.

Climb’s face was smattered with a nervous smile. Perhaps if his accomplishment had been less impressive, he could have worn a stoic and dour expression; if it had been done on the bespoke orders of his mistress, he could have worn a confident and gregarious one. Instead, he was stuck in the gap, unable to calm his shaking and exhausted body; a sort of crashing energy swept him in anxiety and swelling pride.

Gods, I’m going to make so much trouble for her, aren’t I? I guess I already have. She’ll- she’ll be okay with it, won’t she? She will, I’m certain of it. She’ll understand. I needed to do it.

Climb’s day had been entirely exceptional. After finishing his errand to Gagaran and Evileye at the Platinum Horde Inn, he encountered, on the return trip, a boy accosted by a gang of men. There, a man dressed as a butler and Climb beat back the attackers and doused the boy in a healing potion, respectively. As a consequence of this rescue, Climb had been drawn into an adventure, this including: a training to overcome his fear of death by the butler, Sebas; a meeting with the esteemed Seeker of Martial Arts, Brain Unglaus; immediately becoming a brother-in-arms to both men when assaulted by a quintet of assassins; proceeding to raid the brothel first mentioned to Climb but hours prior in Renner’s meeting with Lakyus; and all culminating in a one-on-one duel with the infamous phantomancer of Six Arms. Lo, did Climb then return to the fortress having nearly died twice, waylaid two men himself, taken a pair of prisoners of unbound value to his Mistress’s war, and gained two comrades who were both friends and sources of envy alike.

Sebas, Brain, thank you.

Upon his return to the castle, he had immediately been taken aside, ordered to disarm, and placed under arrest. This was little more than a formality - Climb had cooperated with the entire process - but one nonetheless necessitated by his tardiness. His absence had not escaped notice, he having not made the official start of his duty-shift. Such occurrences were common enough, typically the result of Renner sending him on some quest, and then that message failing to make its way to the officer on-duty. As a result, his treatment had been mostly casual, though the fact that he was bloodied starkened the matter somewhat. Still, this was a failure to report, and as a result, a general - though impotent - threat of being charged with desertion now hung over his head. Currently, he was alone in a windowless interrogation room deep within Ro-Lante, waiting for the on-duty commander, Knight-Officer Retha.

I guess that’s four times I’ve almost died now. Twice today, the fight with Succulent, that training with Sebas… does that count? He said I might die, but… yes, I would have. Had I flinched, I think he- he might have… Yeah, twice today. Before with Teloran, when he cracked my armor. And then that time when I was a child; when she saved me. Is- is that normal? Ekhan talks… would talk about some of the nasty scuffles he saw on the street, but those were always between others.

On a flit, Climb reached around to touch his backside, finding the tatter in his shirt where Succulent had pierced him. Catching it with his thumb, he wiggled it in, running it along the broken links in his chain shirt. He touched the exit point with his other hand, feeling the incongruous contrast between the breaches and his unmarred flesh. It was too surreal for him to handle, and he returned his hands to his side before he became too discombobulated.

Every time I’ve survived, it’s been because others have saved me, hasn’t it? Brain saving me in that scrape, Sebas sparing me, Lakyus having given me this armor, Renner giving me… well, everything. What am I going to do? How can I pay them back? Well, that’s the problem. None of them want repayment.

Climb lightly sighed, then huffed in amusement. His life was starting to feel a little absurd.

It was strange, that duel with Teloran. I was so scared then. Scared she would die. Scared I would. Now- now, I don’t think I’d be afraid at all. What do you even call that? A warrior’s outlook? Am I already a veteran? Maybe. I know I wouldn’t’ve panicked, and that’s got to count for something. Wait, should I pray for them? Would that work to thank them? How do I even do that?

Climb thought for a moment. Climb knew something of the Gods - namely, that there were four of them, and that they created the world and gave it unto humanity - but they so rarely entered his daily life. Attendance in the fortress chapel had never been mandated by his mistress, nor so much as suggested to him by any of his superiors. He had read some of the religious texts - mostly the Igniteuch - and while he could recite the common parables, anything beyond that became muddled and fuzzy. Some of his fellow guards would pray when they ate, and Climb picked up the practice for a time, only to stop when he realized neither Renner nor - more tellingly - Lakyus did. There was a grand sort of disinterest in the topic, something that never quite sat right with Climb; alas, his mistress was a participant in this and his mistress was always right, so he pushed the subject out of his mind. This willful ignorance did him no good now, and he was left completely unsure of what to do, or how to say it.

"Uh…"

Which God should I pray to? If I'm talking about death… probably Earth, right? What is one of his names? He of the bountiful… dirt - that’s not right. Bountiful ground? Oh wait, it’s soil. I guess I should start.

“He of the Bountiful Soil, I…”

Crap! What is it again? What does Lakyus always say? Uh, I beg by the… uh… oh!

“I stand by- er, o’er your fields to share my request and to thank… to extend my gratitude to those who have aided me. I wanted to- um, to thank you for today. I wish… I wish to thank you for letting me meet Sebas and Brain. Both of them are brave and honorable men, and I pray that you will protect them, and give them guidance. They… they both helped me so much. I never could have charged that place myself. The training Sebas gave me… I- I don’t know what I would have done without it.

For Brain, please guide him to a better place. I know he carries guilt from his time as a sellsword, and- and maybe he did evil things then, but he’s not an evil man. I’m sure of it. For Sebas, please protect him and Tuare from any further attacks by Eight Fingers - well, not that he needs protecting, but please keep him safe anyway.

If- if I were to die in Her Highness Renner’s service, please protect her too. Please protect her! That’s what I want. I wish for her to be safe, a-and when she gets her future husband, that he treats her well. Please do that for me, He of the Weathered Rock. Thank you, thank you. Oh, and those women; if-”

The door was thrown open in that moment, Climb flinching in his chair as he instinctually rallied his body’s energy. This was for naught, as it was Knight Retha who strode in. Climb shot from his chair, cutting off his words with a small pang of regret.

"Sir."

"At ease."

Climb drew back down into his seat, yet Knight Retha did not enter the room. He stayed holding the door, looking out. After a moment, he spoke.

“Marshal, if I could request that you needn’t bother-”

Another man entered the room. He was older, in his late fifties, what hair remained on his balding head drizzled with gray. He bore neither equipment or armor on his body, rather, a uniform. At his hip was a sword. This was Knight-Marshall Helgrave, Jelka’s replacement as Defense Coordinator. Climb fought the urge to leap out of his seat again, Retha making a staying motion as he closed the door.

“Myself with this matter? If I was your position, I would not presume my commander’s course of action.”

“Understood sir.”

What is he doing here? Isn’t it just past sunset? He shouldn't be on duty. I mean, I know Jelka would stay up some times, but that was for balls or other events. Is… is this going to be a problem?

Both men took their seats, sitting across the table from Climb. Helgrave eyed him up keenly, squinting slightly as he did.

“Climb, yes?”

“Yes sir, that’s correct.”

“Family name?”

“I don’t have one sir.”

“Right. I see. Then, Climb, why have you failed to report to your post?”

Climb had already given a rough outline to the palace knights who met him upon his return; he had, however, left out the details of Sebas and Tuare, this to shield their involvement as they fled the city.

“Sir, I was raiding a brothel.”

Wait, that came out all wrong!

“Raiding a brothel? Are you saying that a visit to a whorehouse is-”

“No! Sir, I-"

"I don't appreciate being interrupted, Climb."

"My apologies, Sir."

"Do you mind explaining why burying yourself in a whore was of a higher priority than guarding the Golden Princess?"

"Sir-"

Retha’s interjection was immediately cut off, pursing his lips as he stopped speaking.

"Stop, I want to hear this from him."

Sir, I- I was not… soliciting women of the night. I- I assaulted an underground brothel.”

“What do you mean?”

"Breached and charged it, sir."

Helgrave paused, closing his mouth and staring at Climb. After five seconds without a blink, he twitched his gaze to Retha, who for his part was sitting ramrod straight and looking dead ahead, past Climb and into the wall behind him. As Retha offered nothing, wearing only a stoic expression on his face, Helgrave turned back to Climb and continued.

"You were being literal?"

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

This was an inevitable question, one Climb had mentally drilled himself to answer on the way back to Ro-Lante.

“Sir, this brothel came up in discussions with Lady Aindra this morning. It’s- er, it was run by the Slavery Division of Eight Fingers in the southern portion of the city, in the Rine district. They expressed their desire to have it destroyed. After being sent to summon Gagaran and Evileye of the Blue Rose, I found and attacked it on the return trip.”

This was a rendition of events Climb felt incredibly proud of. He and Unglaus had constructed it as they dragged Cocco Doll and Succulent to the nearest guardhouse; by their standards, it was a masterwork of half-truth, intentional omission, and misleading statements that just so happened to fit the evidence at the site - give or take the ruin dealt by Sebas. It omitted his presence entirely, drawing the inevitable retaliation from the syndicate away from him and his saved slave; Unglaus’s participation rendered the attack plausible anyway, and of the two prisoners they had taken, only one had been conscious to see Sebas, though he had been badly discombobulated. The thing that bothered Climb the most was invoking Lakyus’s name, though she had expressed a desire to charge the place anyway. The best part of it was that Renner’s name never came up at all, though if she chose to endorse it, nothing he said would contradict that. He fervently hoped that this would be enough.

That ought to work, right?

“What do you mean, ‘was’?”

Climb sagged slightly on the inside.

Dammit.

“Sir, I toppled it.”

“What?”

“Sir, slew the guards, freed the women there, and took two prisoners.”

“How many, how, and who?”

“There were a total of twenty-eight men on site. About sixteen to twenty of them were guards, eight clients, as well as Succulent of Six Arms, and Cocco Doll, head of the Slavery Division.”

Helgrave’s lips curled up, a cruel and sardonic smile growing on his face. He chuckled in complete disbelief. This was in contrast to Retha, whose lips parted and eyebrows raised in a combination of shock and growing awe. He nervously looked to Helgrave, then back to Climb, saying nothing and swallowing.

He's started to trust me more since the Black Night. I guess most of them have.

“And you did all this yourself?”

“No sir, I had the assistance of- of one other.”

“Who?”

“Brain Unglaus, sir.”

“Brain Unglaus? As in, the Brain Unglaus who pulled second place in the Grand Tournament, the legendary bladesman rivaled only by our warrior captain, the man who made a fabled travel southward to retrieve the sword he wields. That Brain Unglaus?”

“Yes, sir… To be honest, I only took down one man… and I did duel Succulent, but I would have died if he did not save me. Frankly, he did most of the work.”

Climb nervously huffed, embarrassed at how little he actually contributed.

“And where is Unglaus now?”

“To the Warrior-Captain’s house, Sir.”

“Stronoff is involved in this?”

“No, he’s just staying there.”

At least, I think he’s just staying there.

“And, after this raid?”

“We delivered those men to the nearest guard post, and I, after having my wounds tended, returned directly to here.”

“Your wounds?”

Helgrave composure finally broke, and he burst out into laughter. Bringing his hand up, he burrowed his face in it, each gulp of air filling the room with more of his jubilation. Climb began to brood with a low anger, simmering underneath the surface as his visage became more and more stonelike. Retha - who, as far as Climb could tell, was starting to believe in his account - joined Climb in his frustration, sternly coughing into his fist. This seemed to send Helgrave into his own coughing fit, which drew on for a full half minute, before he quieted down and returned to facing forward.

“Climb, I wish to impress upon you the severity of your situation. I understand you are her highness’s favored toy, but any lies, games, or foolishness now will have extreme consequences. What you have done constitutes a failure to report, or, it could be considered desertion. The former is less severe, and, when all is said and done, will simply result in you being permanently relieved of your duties. I hope I need not tell you the results of the latter. Now, with that established, tell me again - and this time tell me the truth - where were you and what did you do?”

Helgrave's words were simply unbelievable, and left Climb with no response. He had offhandedly asked Renner three weeks ago what she thought of Jelka's replacement, and she had simply said that she was disappointed by the selection. Those words now seemed revelatory, and Climb began to roil with anger.

Is- is he serious? By Gods, he is! He thinks I'm lying? I mean, I am about Sebas, but he thinks I was out doing… doing things with women! Godsdammit! What am I going to do? Just- just say it again.

“Sir, along with Brain Unglaus, I assaulted the brothel run by the Slavery Division of Eight Fingers. We killed those guards present, freed those enslaved women, and took as prisoners both Succulent of Six Arms and Cocco Doll of the Slavery Division.”

Helgrave coldly gazed at Climb, before sitting straight in his chair and waving absently with his hand.

“Alright. You’ve made your bed, you may lie in it. Sir Retha, I want you to-”

I’ll show him, then.

“Sir, may I stand?”

“What?”

“Sir, may I stand?”

“Why should I-”

“Sir, let him.”

Retha’s interjection seemed to stay Helgrave, and before he could muster a response, Climb stood up from his chair. He had not had time to wash, and his outfit was still fouled at and below the waist.

“Sir, in our duel, Succulent managed to land a mortal blow on me, stabbing me clean through from behind. As you can see, my chain shirt has been pierced through the front-”

Climb brought his right hand to his shirt, splitting the tatter with his fingers, before pirouetting.

“And behind.”

After a moment, Climb turned forward again, before collapsing into his seat. Helgrave shot his head to Retha, flicking his eyes back to Climb nervously.

“What station did you deliver the prisoners to?”

“The one in Rine, Sir.”

“Sir Retha, I want you to go there now and confirm they’re holding prisoners.”

“Sir.”

Retha sprung from his chair and - looking relieved - snapped a salute, marching out of the room posthaste. The eagerness of his actions seemed to have left Helgrave in the lurch, the sound of the door as it closed punctuating the moment. He hung for a second longer, before turning to Climb and blurting out his next words.

“You’re bloodied.”

“Sir, I did not have time to clean myself. I did not wish to delay my return.”

At this, Helgrave had nothing to say. A minute, then two dragged by in silence, neither man wishing to engage with the other. Climb’s vindiction steadily morphed into vindication, Helgrave meeting him gaze for gaze, though with none of the fire his eyes once held. Footsteps were finally heard in the hall outside, and the door opened to reveal the recently departed man.

“Retha, I told you to-”

“Sir, the inspector in charge of the Rine district force is already here with one of his commissars.”

He is?

“What, why?”

“To- to request a prisoner transfer, Sir.”

“On what grounds?”

“That they do not have the requisite security to be able to safely hold him, Sir.”

“Name?”

“Amptief Doll, Sir.”

The silence roared.

Was that all worth it? Pulling me in, questioning me?

“Go… go ahead and authorize it.”

“SIr, based on the account Climb has given, this man is the head of an Eight Fingers division. Considering the previous assault they inflicted upon us, I wouldn’t be comfortable signing my own name to the transfer papers.”

“Right. I’ll be out in a moment, then.”

“Understood, Sir.”

Retha saluted once again and moved to exit the room. As he left, he took a last look at Climb and nodded. Climb did so back, though his was a more muted motion. The door once again closed.

“Sir, I request to be released such that I may return to Her Highness’s side.”

“And why do you want to do that?”

“Sir, I am supposed to be on duty.”

“Can you write?”

Climb’s eye twitched.

“Her Highness taught me to, Sir.”

“Compile a written report. I want everything that happened in writing.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Sign it. Once you do that, I’ll have Her Highness countersign, then you may leave.”

Helgrave stood, preparing to take his egress. As he made for the exit, Climb made his final interruption.

“Sir, I will require an inkwell and parchment.”

“Oh, right.”

The latch clicked open, then shut. Climb buried his face in his palms.

—

He did it. I can’t believe he did it. He charged the brothel.

Twenty-eight dead; sixteen rescued; two captured. With this, the day decided to throw itself end over end, blundering headlong into the night and careening through Renner’s schemes.

These figures are unimaginable. I have nothing for this. I just… what?

The details he had provided had an air of complete unreality to them. Worse, his descriptions had been so totally incoherent - this, for the events had been so totally arousing for him - that it was impossible to draw anything of meaning from them. Put simply, Renner could not understand what, how, or why Climb’s day happened as it did. This was a rare failure, and one that necessitated a shift in her priorities: understanding was no longer required; what mattered most was capitalizing on this victory.

How did he even know where the brothel was located? I never shared that with him. Actually, this is precisely why I never did; the risk of him running off and doing just something like this - however slim I thought it at the time - was always a threat. He must have spied my notes without looking, yet he would have done it backward or from the side - I never turned my sheet around. Chardelon, did you commit the offense of letting information slip then sin twofold by forgetting about it? Though, that’s not the most puzzling detail here. That would be the fact that he’s lying.

Climb was not a confident writer, resorting to a clipped sort of prose that left far too much to the imagination with none of the flair necessary to spark it. It had all the usual weaknesses Renner found in the unerudite: the sorts of phrases long since stripped of their potency by overuse; an absence of rhetoric; little narrative direction or control; the misunderstanding that reporting fact was more important than leading the reader to what you wanted them to believe. As he did when he spoke, when confronted with some uncomfortable reality, he resorted to a sort of stoic silence, nodding or saying “yes, Your Highness.” When this principle was brought to his writing, his sparse style turned downright staccato. The account of his day she had now read was positively riddled with such holes, Climb spouting half-truths, fibs, or outright deceptions every other sentence. Renner was left with a slippery discomfort that she couldn’t quite get her hands on, another issue she simply tabled.

I do not think that the behavior of sellswords has changed so much as for them to participate in charnel charity. What could he have done to convince Brain Unglaus to side with him? Further, what could compel him to hide it? Is there a third party here, or perhaps an organization? I suppose it's possible… no, probable from these notes. Still, I have no sense for omissions of this sort. They exist, yes, but specifically where in here I do not know; what can a princess be expected to know of sword combat?

Renner sighed, picked up her quill and scratched out a line, penning a replacement in the margins. This was one of a dozen similarly stuffed betwixt Climb’s methodical print, her flowery revisions fixing the problems Climb had left in his story. Though she knew not what she was destroying evidence of, the how of it was effortless. Having been so thoroughly overwhelmed by the day, Renner had reached that stage of emotional exhaustion where the moment was robbed of its weight, leaving her with a yet welcome companionship with Climb.

I’m sure I’ll have my answer soon, but this is an odd bit of cunning from my dog. Granted, it’s ramshackle, but to get Helgrave to squirm as much as he did to order the creation of such a document… It must have been quite a sight, made all the more impressive by his inexperience. That man’s selection is a right travesty; we could have had Theiern, if only for his wits and not for those he commands already; I’m sure his band could mount some martial prowess compared to the forces of House Boullope or House Raeven. Ah, perhaps Climb is the fox, and I’m the rabbit. Lo, for all my plotting and grand machinations to bring us together, he goes off and does something positively skewed from my course. How earnest.

With a final flourish, she reached both the end of her sentence and the document. With the revisions complete, she slid it to the side, snatched a new sheet of vellum, and began to ink what she would actually sign. This was not to be a written retelling of events, but a manifesto. Bookending Climb’s edited account were two new passages of her make, ones that framed the raid in moral and dutiful terms, compelling the reader to take action against the baleful syndicate that was Eight Fingers. Before her were a number of writing implements and other stationery, along with a wax melter, her seal, and a small bowl of rice porridge with softened and diced apple. She was not in her quarters; rather, in the strategic forum. The sun’s light had not yet faded from the world - the western sky still stained in the penumbra’s maroon glow - yet the brightness of the newly installed magical lights washed it out, making the windows black and impenetrable.

I must move swiftly and decisively. The capture of Cocco Doll will shake the syndicate from top to bottom. Every single divisional head, captain, or otherwise in the city will hear about this by tomorrow and flee the day after. It’s unacceptable. Thus, a strike in totality. All seven locations from our dear head of the drug division… what was her name? Hilda- no, Hilma Cygnaeus. Add in a few others, and perhaps a few locations outside the city.

There was one other in the room, a Maid Nunya. Renner spied her from the corner of her eye, and after a moment's preparation, looked to her porridge bowl and made a face. She absently reached around the table with her dexter, groping for her handbell, then - in a moment of realization - clicked her tongue and widened her eyes. As she turned her witless visage upon the maid, Renner gave a relieved smile as she saw Nunya was already approaching.

It would need to be a clean sweep. Overwhelming force at every location. I would need Raeven’s house forces… perhaps that becomes part of the bargain.

“If you would light my wax melter, and rid this bowl for me… Oh, and please bid the chef a wonderful evening. This was just the perfect supper.”

The maid nodded, used a sparker to ignite the candle under the wax pan, took the bowl, and made to exit. This entire sequence had been mentally rehearsed by Renner, her empty-minded act clean and convincing. This was all for a purpose: mainly, clearing the room in preparation for a speech she was to give.

The question becomes the location of Six Arms. Undoubtedly, every syndicalist will move to hire them. If they’re half-witted enough - and I’m certain they are - they’ll only accept one of those bids, concentrating the bulk of themselves there. Any singular member of the Blue Roses I send will be snatched up and devoured. If I could hire Red Drop to hunt them - and with Lakyus’s uncle at the helm, I’m sure they’d accept - it would be a different matter, but they are away, at least to my knowledge.

She intended a forceful delivery tonight, and though such a tone was certainly useful foreshadowing for the warpath she was soon to rage, it was at odds with the usually airheaded performance she kept around the maidstaff. She was loath to leave evidence of any break in character so blatantly in view, and thus this mandated the maid’s dismissal. To ask her to leave and then not return was unacceptably conspicuous; to give her a task that required her leave and then relieving her for the night was equally damning. Thus, Renner had annoyed her away. This would not prevent the exact words of her speech from making it to the maids, but it would deny them a critical firsthand account, making everything they learned suspect. As Nunya opened the door, she jumped slightly, allowing a man to pass into the room, then a second.

Ah, they’re arriving, good.

Renner turned to her side, dropping in a bar of verdant blue wax into the melter, and continued writing. She steadily finished line after line as more men entered the room, the bar losing its shape and deforming into the pan. She had summoned a host of aides and attachés from the Great Houses, those who sojourned at Valencia in service of their masters. A few minutes passed, a total of nine arriving and taking their seats. All were various shades of exhausted, miffed, and sardonic, none quite knowing what could compel the Golden Princess to summon them this late. Upon reaching the end of the document, she signed and sealed it, then sighed and pushed herself off from her seat. Snatching what she had written, she slipped it into a portfolio and made for the front of the room. Her prearrangements for this speech - though on short notice - had netted her a podium, one which she slid her writing onto to keep close at hand.

How am I to handle the enlistment of Zanac and Raeven? Perhaps I just put on the same face I do for Lakyus? Letting my wits shine brighter feels like the only thing I can do. Reasonable. I should start. Bait them with a few tantalizing remarks.

“Thank you all for gathering so late. I understand this is somewhat unusual, but this was a matter I needed to address posthaste. In addition to my spoken remarks, I have a document here detailing the events I am about to discuss, as well as the full statements of both I and my bodyguard. You may read it after, but I will have copies scribed on the morrow for you all.”

What forces would I bring to bear? In order of loyalty, Climb, Blue Roses, City Guard, Palace Knights. Perhaps I can snatch along the Warrior Captain, that would be easy enough.

“Let us begin with a question. What does one do when one is grabbed? When a foul hand comes out of the black and takes hold of them. One scrambles, perhaps screams, strikes back, all for the purpose of breaking away. But what if one does nothing? Simply lets it wrap tightly around them, dragging them deeper into the shadow without resistance. It's unimaginable, no? Our Kingdom has done just that. Re-Estize is fettered, is caught. Caught by a hand that will haunt us until we remove it. Its name lies on all our tongues: Eight Fingers.”

Other adventurers are off the table, but perhaps I could hire a dark team - the term is Worker, I believe. Oh, and if I could ever sooth what compelled Brain to fight alongside my puppy, him too. That ought to work, no?

“Such an organization of ne’er-do-welling rogues and skulks may only be dismantled by the actions of many, and while I understand this accursed fact of the situation, some abuses have become too much for me to bear. Thus, earlier today, I dispatched my bodyguard to strike a blow against this rotten and manxome villain. He, in an act both brave and valiant, raided an establishment made expressly for the distribution, processing, and violation of the women caught in the grasp of the slave trade. He forced his way in through a secret and trapped entrance; slew a number of their disdainful brigands and feckless sellswords; freed those innocent and accosted women; defeated the feared and treacherous illusionist bladesman of Six Arms, the Phantom Devil himself; captured him, as well as the disgusting and diabolical head of the Slavery Division itself, Amptief ‘Cocco’ Doll.”

I suppose this means I’m to betray my deal with Keveleos. No matter. In our arrangement, whoever plunges the knife first wins. Then, I am one of nine. Lo, to net the rest.

“This action - though an impressive feat of strength, warrior’s cunning, and care for the people of the Kingdom - will have little impact on the broad strokes of events. No, I dare say it will have no impact! No impact unless you, your fellows, and your contemporaries dare to take action of your own accord. Dare to action against the monstrous rot that is Eight Fingers. It is an organization that exists despite our efforts to the contrary; an organization that has evaded, dodged, or otherwise jinked through law after law, broken code after code, and debauched person after person. It is a taint that will ruin us all if we give anything over to it - anything at all. An enemy that cannot be given quarter, lest its grip grow ever tighter around our necks. I have unbound the first knuckle of its first finger. You must tear away the rest.”

Pray tell, wouldn’t a better phrasing be “to sever?”