The cold of the coming night crept in alongside the icy mood that delivered them to the gates of the bastion at the bottom of the mesa. The group entered the aristocratic elevators, and Aaron absently noticed how the damage from the altercation between his guards had long been repaired.

As the elevator settled below them, Aaron stepped out and stopped his guards and Lyra from joining him. Only Grandmaster Keios stepped forward. Aaron looked the man in the eyes.

"I'd like to speak to you in private, Grandmaster."

A shadow of a grandfatherly smile flashed over the Rhetorician's face.

"You seek my counsel, Champion? Then I shall do my very best in providing it." He motioned the uncertain guard and the glaring Bug back with a flashing movement of his arm.

Bug met Aaron's eyes and shook his head. Is he actually disappointed, or is he just playing his part to create the appearance of a rift? I can't even tell anymore. Aaron pressed his lips together, swallowing a smile. Which is a good thing.

The elevator platform began lurching upwards, and the two men stood opposite each other in silence for a long moment. The Grandmaster's face was inscrutable. Then he touched a bracelet, and the sounds and images of the world around them blurred.

"So, tell me, Champion. What game are you playing?"

Aaron froze. Fuck. I'm alone with this man. No—he is a Grandmaster. A monster. Haven't I learned my lesson about this? The memories of the monkeys in the darkness hit him, and Aaron took a step backwards. Can I cry for help? He looked furtively from side to side.

"Do not worry, Aaron. I understand your position. What the Purists are doing must be disgusting for you." The man began pacing. "But part of you wants to lean into the beliefs of my family. Have you fallen for the girl? Or is something else at play?"

Aaron's heartbeat pounded like a marching drum. With his perception, he must be able to sense this. Aaron focused on the mindshield, more out of habit than any belief that it would help here. The cold magnetic field had an even, slow rhythm. Nice and calm. Cold, as I should be. Aaron nodded after the heat rose past servant-man heights.

"Grandmaster, I am sorry. I don't know what happened to your family…" Aaron trailed off, as the man turned to the side and watched the bustling crowd below.

Then he sighed. "Champion—Aaron. I used to be a believer. Now they call me a sophist. A mercenary of ideas. My clan hired me for the results I am known to bring. But do you know what the advantage of a facade of lies is?"

Aaron swallowed and remained silent. What is he going on about?

The Rhetorician chuckled bitterly. "That if you have built it well enough, you can decorate it with the truth, and no one will believe it. They think I am an agent. But I keep telling them the truth. I will only act in your interest."

The oppressive silence of the amnestic privacy bubble settled over them. Aaron studied the man. You are saying that. But the disadvantage of dishonesty is that I can't tell which layer of the game you're playing. You could be honest… or just be using honesty to lie better. Aaron gestured expansively.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Why gift me the estate? Was it a trap?"

The Grandmaster snorted and shook his head. "Aaron, for a skilled trapper, any tree and string is an exquisite trap. The foolish set traps and hope for their enemies to step into them. I create situations, chaos, and opportunity—and react to them as seems prudent."

He turned to Aaron, and Aaron flinched back instinctually from the intensity of the man's eyes.

"I expected something interesting. With your opinions on slavery. And the knowledge from your world. Maybe you would have turned it into a love nest with my niece. Her father would have been ecstatic."

The man laughed out loud as Aaron blushed.

"You cannot fool me. You are a young and eligible bachelor, and you enjoy the attention. And it is your right to do so."

He shook his head as Aaron studied his feet.

"Part of me suspected you might free all the bonded or send away everyone who wasn't there voluntarily. But you surprised me. And I will take the momentum of that surprise. You intend to create something I cannot quite see the shape of—and that will change the nature of industry in the polis."

Aaron frowned, then nodded. He is smart, but doesn't have the economic and historical knowledge of what I intend to do here. Interesting.

"Grandmaster Keios, you carefully avoided blaming anyone for what happened to your family. You insinuate it was the abolitionists, but you never said it."

The Rhetorician smiled like a shark. "So you took heed of my lesson on paying attention to the words and the tone someone uses. Well done."

The satisfied smile shifted toward a forlorn sadness.

"I arrived in the temple and found most of my family dead. Standard procedure. Sleeping gas and slaughter. I have always insinuated that I blame the abolitionists. Tell me, Champion, why would that be a wise course of action?"

Viciously intelligent eyes met Aaron's.

How fast he changes expressions so unnerving. Aaron studied the smooth walls. Probably helps by geomancy. He shook his head. Why blame the abolitionists? Ah. A facade of lies decorated with truths.

"Because they are everyone's scapegoat. But you think someone else is responsible. Someone whom you hide in the shadow of the ignorance of the perpetrators."

"Precisely."

The word fell like an executioner's axe.

"I know that you are up to something. I know you can't trust me. But while it would be wise to keep those two facts in mind, I also don't mind being used. Because you bring upheaval. And vultures like me thrive on a field of corpses."

The man's voice had grown lower and more intense. At the end of each sentence, he had taken a step toward Aaron. Even as they reached the end of the elevator ride, Aaron stood his ground, meeting the ominous man's cold eyes.

Aaron did not flinch an inch.

"They call you a sophist, but that is another mask, isn't it? You believe in nothing. Only power."

There was a pause, and a smile spread over the Grandmaster's face. Then he tilted his head slowly to the side—over the crowd of waiting mundane nobility and citizens.

A corpulent man waddled up and seemed to step behind the barrier. He walked toward the edge, onto the platform. Aaron's hand twitched, just as the Rhetorician smiled at Aaron. The gems on his robe lit up as the man raised a hand to pierce the shield.

As the light grew bright, Aaron's arm shot up—just in time to not be blinded by the explosion of light. The silence shattered like a collection of glass sculptures. The blinding white spread out and pushed a dozen screams around Aaron.

In the middle of moans and spine-wailing, Aaron blinked tears from his eyes.

The Grandmaster was gone.

Innocent people were injured. Aaron swallowed the bile rising up his throat. My god. He really just threw a blinding grenade into a crowd—just to make a point.

I hope my last mentor tomorrow isn't such a misantropic ass as well.

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