Nero's head snapped up.

He had been deep in study when he sensed it.

There was movement in the corridor outside his cell. Footsteps, deliberate and measured, accompanied by the faint clink of metal on stone.

Someone was coming.

His first instinct was to pretend to be asleep, lying back onto the straw and feigning unconsciousness. But then, he stopped himself.

It had been two weeks since he was thrown down here. Two weeks of silence and isolation broken only by daily visits to throw him the flavorless rations.

At the very least, it was either that, or something different.

If it was the other, chances were they wouldn't let him stay unconscious.

So there was no need to pretend.

He sat up.

The heavy footsteps drew closer.

Nero's brows furrowed,

This felt different for some reason.

Nero closed the book and willed it back into the Mark. It vanished from his hand, dissolving into crimson light that flowed back into the inverted cross on his skin. Gungnir followed a moment later, the spear disappearing into the subspace storage as well.

He remained sitting, cross-legged on the straw, and waited.

The footsteps grew louder, accompanied now by voices.

The metal gate creaked open.

Three figures entered. Two were Templars in full crimson armor, their faces hidden behind visored helms.

The third was different.

It was a man in simple robes, dark grey and unadorned, with a leather apron tied over them. He was perhaps forty years old, with a plain face and calm eyes that swept over the cell with a generally dull uninterest. Especially when his gaze landed on Nero.

The man gestured, and the two Templars moved forward.

"On your feet," one of them said, his voice muffled by the helm.

Nero stood slowly, his remaining hand hanging loose at his side, his stump still wrapped in dirty bandages. The Templars grabbed him by the shoulders, their gauntleted hands digging into his flesh as they hauled him out of the cell.

Nero didn't even try to resist.

What would resistance do after all?

They dragged him down the corridor, past rows of other cells, most of them empty. However, the sight of ones that were not empty filled him with no small amounts of dread.

Some contained dried up bonenes hanging up on the walls by shackled clasped onto their hands.

Others contained gaunt figured with bloodshot eyes and bony fingers reaching out from the darkness, their broken throats crying out for mercy.

Nero's expression spoiled into a grimaced.

What the hell was this?!

Wasn't the Church supposed to be a benevolent organization? Why would they treat people like this? From what he could sense, there was no traces of corruption in most of those down here. So why were they being treated this way?

What crimes could they possibly have committed?

The torchlight flickered as they passed, casting long shadows that danced across the stone walls.

Nero sighed as his mind churned.

Was he about to be released? Or were they about to torture him? Regardless, the worst they could do at this point was kill him, and he doubted that was their intention.

If they wanted him dead, he would already be dead after all.

After some time of walking through the dark corridors, he was brought to a different room, larger than his cell but just as cold and damp. A single chair sat in the center, bolted to the floor, with iron manacles attached to its arms and legs. The Templars shoved Nero into it and locked the restraints around his wrist and ankles, then stepped back to stand behind the door.

The man in the grey robes entered behind them, walking with slow, deliberate steps. He moved to stand in front of Nero, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression neutral.

"My name is Brother Callum. You must be Nero. "I am an Inquisitor of the Everlasting Church. Do you know why you are here?"

He said all this quietly. His voice was calm, almost gentle, the tone of someone who had stood before this chair countless times before.

Nero shifted uncomfortably with that in mind and met his gaze but had nothing to say.

Eventually, he found his voice,

"What do you want from me?"

After not having spoken to another human in two weeks, Nero found that his voice sounded gruffier and colder than he had ever heard it.

Brother Callum tilted his head slightly, as though considering him.

He walked away from him and towards a large stone table in the room. On it was a very thin stack of papers,

"This report says you are one of the refugees that was meant to be purged outside the walls of Liedenstorm." He lightly tapped the edge of the papers and glanced at Nero with raised brows,

"According to this, you not only fought well against several Abomination attacks, you also killed dozens of White Dogs during the Purge with a silver spear and engaged Captain Orpheus in single combat without dying. You are not corrupted, and yet you displayed strength and speed far beyond what a normal human should possess."

The first thing Nero did was sigh in relief internally,

'They do not know my secret.'

With that in mind, a little confidence blossomed in his heart.

Brother Callum paused, intentionally letting the words hang in the air.

"This is even more surprising, but the Commander even vouched for you. Apparently, you are also from the fallen town of Gor and served as a Town guard there for two years. Both your parents are deceased. That is why you do have some combat experience. But I find that explanation... insufficient. It doesn't explain why you have enhanced physical capabilities, not your ability to evade death at the hands of a captain."

Nero kept his expression blank while his mind began racing.

He had already made his decision the moment they began dragging him out of the cell;

He was going to lie out of his ass...

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