"Please have mercy!" Vareste's voice rang sharp and hollow through the square, each word dripping with desperation. He knelt before Othelia, his forehead nearly pressed to the dirt, arms trembling as if the weight of her drawn blade hovered over his spine. Which, given its deadly proximity, it very well did.

"You sat at the head of Lindell's council for over thirty years," she said. "You oversaw the registry, the reports, the trade routes. You kept the path clear to that cursed forest. Yet not once did you send word to the Imperial Court about what was happening in the Whispering Forest. Explain yourself, Vareste."

Vareste swallowed. "Lindell is insignificant. Barely a pin on the map. Had I sent a letter, Lady Knight, who would've read it? Who would've acted? We're far from the capital, and you know as well as I do that the courts is slow to stir unless a border burns. Furthermore, for a matter of this magnitude, we do not possess the funds or resources to fashion a contract that would appeal to explorers."

"You did nothing, then," Othelia said.

"I—I waited!" Vareste blurted. "For signs, for clarity! I couldn't just accuse the fog of killing people. There was no proof. No bodies. Only rumors and frightened whispers! You think the court would send a few soldiers for shadows and superstition? They are already stretched thin because of the conflict with the Beastfolk Kingdom!"

"You underestimated the value of those lives," said Othelia. "Or worse—dismissed them."

Tyrus stood at the side of Reo, frowning. Fiona and Grant stood behind Othelia while Nessa was laid face first on a slab of stone that wasn't there before he left. The wound on her backside had disappeared alongside the blood. What replaced the blood was scattered droplets that looked like water instead. Nessa's face, which used to be pale, had returned to its normal color. Her expression was tranquil, as if she were in a deep slumber.

Looks like Fiona's treatment worked. Her affinity with light must be great if she had a spell that can heal a nasty wound like that. I bet she used Restoration.

Tyrus shifted his attention back to the ongoing conflict, the edge of his mouth quirking downward. Vareste's head remained bowed, his arms trembling even harder now.

"Using the conflict against the Beastfolk Kingdom as the reason why a mongrel like yourself refused to request assistance from the capital is nothing short of a pitiful excuse. You dare assume that the court would ignore an issue that directly touches their own people?" Othelia scoffed.

Vareste hunched lower under her gaze, sweat trailing down his temple. "No! I tried to protect Lindell! Sending word would've invited scrutiny. Investigators. Panic. Traders pulling out. This town was a backwater before my position, and I made choices to keep it alive and booming!"

"By sacrificing strangers," Fiona said coldly. "You sent them into that forest with full knowledge they wouldn't come back."

"You can't prove that!" Vareste snapped. "You think I enjoyed signing those permits? Watching families beg for word of their children? I had no choice! If we lost trade entirely, the town would've collapsed. You think the courts would've bailed us out? You think anyone would've cared? What do any of you brats know about this world?"

Othelia eyes turned to slits. "Enough to recognize cowardice disguised as pragmatism. You speak as if your hand was forced, but it was your pen that approved each expedition. Your seal that kept the permits flowing. Your silence that allowed this rot to fester. You have lived in this empire long enough to know the laws that govern this land, no?"

"W-What are you getting at, if I may be so bold to ask?" Vareste said, lifting his head up.

The old man made a mistake. At the gesture, Othelia raised her boot, bringing it down on the man with enough force for his face to kiss the dirt, yet not outright breaking his neck. Vareste wailed, arms flailing as he struggled to right himself.

"I will indulge in your ignorance about Lethos' law, Vareste. In the event where a crisis that cannot be handled by the unblessed and involves the unnatural or unexplained disappearance of imperial citizens, it is required by decree that the nearest authority cautions the matter to the Imperial Court or the Explorer Guild. Failure to report such an incident, whether by accident or actively, is not merely negligence."

Vareste blanched, sweat beading from his forehead and nose. But before he could talk, let alone sputter, Othelia continued, her voice lowering to a growl.

"After mulling over your words, I thought there was no way with a crisis this alarming that a man of your position would simply ignore a crucial law that breaking would incur dire consequences. An excuse that the Imperial Court would disregard Lindell's troubles led me to two conclusions. Either you are the most incompetent council head to ever grace a border town or you had something to gain by staying silent."

"I had my doubts," Othelia continued, straightening slowly. "But the pieces didn't align until I reviewed Lindell's trade records beforehand. Your town's shipments were unusually consistent—especially with Valiedge. A city known for its lax oversight, conveniently just out of the capital's scrutiny. At first, I assumed it was economic desperation. But one name appeared too many times to be coincidence. A man named Sezor."

Vareste's eyes flickered, a movement too subtle for Tyrus to ignore. This whole time, Tyrus was at a loss on where the royal knight was going with this, but slowly but surely, pieces were clicking in his head. He wasn't sure fully, but it to everyone else standing by, it looked as if Othelia was interrogating a criminal. And going by the flow of the conversation, she seemed convinced Vareste was guilty that he had purposely withheld any information regarding the forest.

When he first heard of Lindell's worries, he always found it odd that no one brought the problem up to the Imperial Court just for the simple reason of being a backwater settlement. It took a naraga deceiving the Explorer Guild just for the crisis to finally make it into the Imperial Court's attention. Never alerting the court wasn't just an oversight. It was a deliberate silence paid for in blood.

Tyrus didn't know how important Vareste position was exactly in the grand scheme of things, but wouldn't it be wiser to abstain from actions that would put your livelihood in jeopardy? At such a foolish decision, it made sense Othelia came to those two conclusions.

Othelia stepped back from the groveling man and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "You will take me to where Lindell stores its civic records. Registrations of deeds and titles. Ledgers, by-laws, financial accounts. I want to see everything related to your council's operations for the past few years."

The old man hesitated. His mouth opened, then closed again like a drying fish. "There are dozens of books. It would take hours to find anything of substance—"

"I'll be the judge of what is substantive," Othelia cut in, her tone iron. "Unless you'd like to add obstruction of justice to your growing list of crimes?"

The silence that followed was heavy. Vareste's shoulders sagged, and he finally muttered, "This way."

Othelia turned to the others. "The girl and the Demi-human will accompany me. The rest will stay and watch over Nessa while I am gone."

She didn't wait for confirmation. Her boots struck the stone as she moved, expecting the others to follow without question. Fiona exchanged a glance with Reo and Grant, then nodded and fell into step behind the knight. Tyrus hesitated only a moment, then took his place beside her.

They followed Vareste across a narrow arched bridge that spanned a steep channel, whittled away by the constant years of salt wind and water. Structures that seemed a tad too big to be the common dwelling sat perched at the far end.

Sometimes, Vareste would look over the edge, his fingers twiddling with each glance, as if weighing the possibility of escape or some desperate ploy. But Othelia was never far behind. One wrong twitch, and she'd bury him under her boot again before his legs could leave the ground.

The path beyond the bridge led to a cluster of aging civic buildings tucked into the highest ridge of the tor, with the largest among them being a stone edifice reinforced with moss-covered timber and shuttered glass. Vareste produced a key from within his robe and fumbled at the lock until the door groaned open.

Inside was a gallery of silence—dust-laced light streaming through angled windows, catching on floating motes. High shelves curved against the walls like ribs, each one stuffed with bound tomes, cord-tied scrolls, and metal-stamped ledgers. The room carried the scent of parchment, wax, and cold stone.

Vareste cleared his throat. "The council's records are divided by category. Financial accounts to the right. Legal charters and permits straight ahead. Trade agreements and external correspondence near the—"

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Othelia moved with mechanical precision, snatching ledgers, flipping pages, eyes scanning faster than most could read aloud. Every so often, she paused—marking a page, muttering dates under her breath.

"Looks like Royal Knight Othelia has everything under control," Fiona said in a low voice.

Tyrus nodded. "Why did she bring us along, anyway? I don't see the reason for us being here."

"I brought her up to speed about the whole situation," Fiona said. "Beginning from when we accepted the contract to ending to her first appearance at the gates. She must want us to stick close to her so that she doesn't lose sight of us. Going by her personality and actions, I assume we are witnesses and will later on recount our experiences like last time."

"You mean when she found us at the catacombs?"

Fiona gave him the thumbs up and focused her attention back to Othelia, who now had a pile of books and papers slowly building up behind her. Her eyes would pause on each page for a second, but her hands never stopped. She worked at a steady pace, like a working golem that needed only one directive.

"By the way, where were you?" Fiona finally asked. "A few minutes ago, I noticed you were gone. I was worried that you might've gotten snatched up when no one was looking, but Igneal reassured me that you were probably relieving yourself somewhere."

Igneal said that? Tyrus thought to himself. That's not what happened, but I'll roll with it. I can't tell her the real reason why I was gone. She must've just realized my disappearance if she specified when exactly I left.

"I didn't realize I was gone that long. I've been holding it in for a while, so I decided to find a private spot beyond the gate," he lied, crossing his arms.

Fiona narrowed her eyes slightly, not in suspicion, but in that perceptive way she always seemed to study people. For a moment, Tyrus thought she might press him, but then she simply nodded and shifted her weight onto her other leg.

"I'll let it slide this time," she said, her voice dry. "But next time, have someone else accompany you. These days, I half-expect shadow monsters to crawl out from under a rock and swallow us whole."

"Fair enough," Tyrus said, forcing a small grin.

By now, the royal knight had gathered what looked like half the town's bureaucracy and was meticulously stacking certain ledgers into a "relevant" pile while discarding others without hesitation. Her pace never faltered.

"She's going to find what she's looking for," Fiona murmured, almost to herself.

As if summoned by her words, Othelia suddenly froze. Her finger rested against the edge of an open page, its ink faint but legible. Tyrus couldn't see the contents from where he stood, but he saw the slight tension in Othelia's neck.

"This is it," she said. "Proof of the link. Transactions routed through Valiedge under falsified trade categories. The client? Sezor."

Something clicked in Tyrus head at the mention of Sezor. Now that his name came up, Vareste's involvement with Scourge only furthered, and possibly, solidified Othelia's suspicions that the head of the Lindell council was actively a participant in Scourge's operations in the Whispering Forest. No wonder the royal knight wanted to peruse Lindell's records.

Fiona's expression darkened. "Sezor was affiliated with Scourge, was he not? If this geezer here has been making deals with Sezor, then he's been enabling everything that's happened to this place, Royal Knight Othelia."

Othelia closed the ledger with deliberate weight and turned slowly toward Vareste. The old man had edged closer to the wall during their exchange, shoulders hunched like a child caught stealing from the pantry. But he couldn't shrink small enough to escape the weight of what had just been exposed.

"I-I have no what who or what this Scourge is," the old man quivered. "You must believe me! As for Sezor, it is true I have only interacted with him quite a few times but it has been months since the last exchange. I only decided to deal with him because he was a wealthy fellow. Knowing that the taxes will rise in the future because of the immediate confli—"

"You will face trial in the capital," Othelia interrupted. "The charges: high treason, conspiracy with an enemy of the empire, and unlawful disappearance of citizens. As of today, your position as head of the council of Lindell has been revoked by I, Royal Knight Othelia of the Imperial Court."

Tapping her chest, a flash of light appeared in the palm of her hand. Once the light faded, metallic handcuffs emerged. Othelia stepped forward and grabbed Vareste's wrist, fastening both as the cuffs clicked shut.

Vareste stumbled back a step. "Wait—wait! You can't—! I've served Lindell for twenty years! You don't know what you're doing! Is this how the empire treats one of its own?"

Another flash of light appeared, this time over the man's mouth. A mask of silvery energy bloomed into being, thin and contoured like porcelain, and affixed itself across Vareste's lower face before he could utter another word. The enchantment sealed over his mouth with a faint hiss, muffling his protests into useless noise.

"Good riddance," Fiona said with a scoff. "Only a stream of shit would've come out of his mouth. There should be no excuses for his actions. He should just man up and accept the punishment that comes with betraying his own people. Oh, and the other council members too, for allowing this to occur."

"A carriage will be procured to transport you and the rest of the council members tonight toward Valis," Othelia said, guiding Vareste to the door. "Upon arrival, and from there, an official from Imperial Court will render its judgment."

Othelia paused at the threshold, glancing back over her shoulder. "I'll need a full list of the current council members. If they signed off on any part of this corruption, they will join him in irons."

Fiona gave a curt bow. "As you wish, Royal Knight Othelia."

Othelia gaze settled on Tyrus, and she remained frozen in place, staring at him. Tyrus tilted his head, wondering if she needed something until he realized what it was and bowed as well. That seemed to be what she was waiting for.

The tension in her stance loosened, if only slightly. Othelia gave a faint nod—approval granted—before turning away and disappearing through the doorway with her prisoner in tow. The rhythmic clack of her boots echoed, eventually swallowed by the distance.

Tyrus straightened and muttered, "Showing respect to people I dislike is bothersome."

He felt a hand fall onto his shoulder. Tyrus looked up to see Fiona with a finger on her lip.

"When you bad mouth someone as important as a royal knight, make sure they're far out of earshot," Fiona warned. "It's all about showing respect to people in high positions. They're the ones with the power to make your life easier or a living hell. Even if they're an ass. As a general rule of thumb, be careful with how you talk about nobles and such. Igneal is the exception because he allows it, but I wouldn't expect the same kind of connection from his peers."

Fiona let her warning settle before stepping away and kneeling beside a low shelf where more council files were stored. She rifled through the drawers, scanning labels with practiced speed.

"High society's built on reputation, decorum, and veiled threats," she continued. "It's not always about who has the most gold or influence—it's who knows who. One wrong word at the wrong time, and you'll find doors slamming shut before you even know what was behind them."

Tyrus crossed his arms, lips pressing into a thin line. "That's the part I can't stand. Acting like someone matters just because they wear a fancy crest or command a few more people. If someone's treating me like dirt, I don't see why I have to bow just to avoid upsetting them. I can stay quiet and ignore them, but if they continue treating me badly..."

Fiona pulled out a leather-bound book labeled Council Appointments and set it gently on the floor between them. She flipped it open and began skimming names.

"I get it. Believe me, I do," she said. "But power's a game. And if you want to change anything, you've got to learn to play it without losing yourself."

Tyrus looked down at the open pages. His gaze traced the names, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

"So what you're saying is that I have to fake respect until I'm in a position to not need it?"

Fiona shrugged. "More or less. There's no shame in restraint. You don't have to grovel. Just don't hand people a reason to hate you if you don't have to."

Tyrus knelt beside her, flipping to the next page. "And what if I don't want to play the game at all?"

Fiona gave a dry chuckle. "Then the game'll play you until you're swallowed whole. Look, I'm not trying to scold you. Just... learn when to speak and when to stay quiet. One day, someone important might actually listen—and if you've burned every bridge to get there, it won't matter."

Tyrus paused on a name: Merelen. The title beside it read: Member of the Lindell Council.

"Found one," he said, tapping on the name.

Fiona nodded. "Keep reading. The list might tell us who was closest to Vareste. And if they're guilty too... well. Let's just say Othelia won't be short on prisoners."

Following Othelia's wishes, they continued to shuffle through the papers. Tyrus would occasionally point out names, which Fiona would nod in confirmation as she flipped through the pages. It didn't take long to find the rest of the names. Only a total of four people, including Vareste, were responsible for the general welfare of the city.

Fiona rose to her feet and groaned while her joints popped. "I can't wait for all of this to be over. A bath and a home-cooked meal are desperately calling out to me. Let's get out of here and give the knight what she wants."

Tyrus stretched his arms overhead, the motion stirring the dust that clung to the edges of the records room. "You think she'll go easy on them if they confess?"

Fiona gave a tired shrug. "Depends. Perhaps If they confess and give her something useful relating to Scourge. But if they try to lie or dodge responsibility like Vareste? Royal Knight Othelia doesn't strike me as someone who tolerates half-measures."

She tucked the list of names with locations into the inside of her coat, then glanced around the room one last time, as if to ensure nothing was left unaccounted for. "Honestly, they should consider themselves lucky. If it were anyone else who uncovered this mess, they'd already be swinging from the gallows."

Tyrus grimaced. "Comforting thought."

They headed for the exit; the floorboards creaking beneath their boots. Once out, they returned to where everyone else was still standing. Vareste sat on the ground, his head down, as Othelia stood beside him with a blank expression. Fiona walked over and whispered something into Othelia's ear. After a moment, the knight nodded and grabbed the list of names out of Fiona's hand.

Othelia wasted no time. With the list in hand, she moved through the settlement like a hawk seeking prey. One by one, the remaining council members were summoned—some confused, others pale with dread the moment they saw Vareste bound and gagged. There were no dramatic outbursts or denials. Just grim silence as she read out their names and informed them of the charges: conspiracy, dereliction of duty, and aiding an enemy of the empire.

Darkness fell as the moon disappeared behind the clouds, and four prisoners sat in an increasingly long line in the square, guarded by Blue Dawn and some anxious townsfolk. Othelia stood off to the side, arms crossed, her hair billowing lightly in the evening wind. She muttered under her breath, barely audible:

"Transporting this many people overnight might be tricky. We may not find carriages large enough, or enough drivers."

A voice from afar suggested, "I believe I can be of assistance."

Bonrith strolled into the square from his house, drawing everyone's gaze. The onlookers parted to let him pass, a wide, eager smile on the Askelian's face.

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