Raze and Mariabel closed the distance carefully, their footsteps deliberate but not threatening as they followed Baelor down the quieter side street. The secretary maintained his steady pace, leather case clutched professionally at his side, giving no indication he was aware of their presence.

They were perhaps twenty feet behind him when Raze began calculating the optimal moment to speak, his Absolute Genius running through opening lines that would capture attention without triggering immediate flight response. The street remained relatively empty with only scattered pedestrians far enough away that quiet conversation wouldn't be overheard.

Fifteen feet now, close enough to make contact but maintaining respectful distance that didn't feel like imminent attack. Raze opened his mouth to call out, to begin the carefully prepared introduction that would hopefully convince Baelor to listen rather than run.

Then Baelor spoke first.

"So the Syndicate has finally decided to kill me," his voice was flat and resigned, carrying none of the warmth or emotion expected from someone facing their death. He didn't turn around, didn't break stride, just continued walking while addressing his apparent executioners with eerie calm. "I wondered when they'd decide I'd outlived my usefulness."

Raze froze mid-step, thrown completely off balance by the unexpected response. Beside him Mariabel's hand moved instinctively toward where she'd concealed a knife, combat reflexes activating before conscious thought could override them.

"Though I'll admit I'm disappointed," Baelor continued, still not turning. "Sending children to handle the execution seems almost insulting after five years of perfect service, I'd have thought I warranted at least a proper assassin rather than young cultivators playing at wetwork."

His pace slowed fractionally, head tilting slightly though he still didn't look back. "But perhaps that's the point, perhaps the insult is deliberate, one final humiliation before the end." His voice carried bitter amusement. "The Syndicate does appreciate their psychological games."

Raze recovered quickly, his mind adjusting to the drastically altered situation. Baelor had noticed them following, had been aware the entire time and deliberately led them to quieter location where confrontation could occur away from witnesses. The secretary's situational awareness was far sharper than expected.

"We're not here to kill you," Raze said firmly, keeping his voice low but clear. "We're not working for the Syndicate, we're working against them."

Baelor's steps stopped completely at that, his entire body going still in way that suggested coiled tension beneath professional posture. Long moment passed where only ambient street noise filled the silence, distant conversations and cart wheels on cobblestones providing mundane backdrop to extraordinary confrontation.

"Against them," Baelor repeated slowly, still not turning. "That's creative lie, I'll grant you that, more elaborate than simple denial would be." His hands tightened on the leather case. "But the Syndicate is the only organization with reason to have me followed, the only group who knows I exist beyond my role as Lord Venn's secretary."

"We know about your family," Mariabel said, her voice gentle but direct. "We know about your wife's death in the carriage accident, about your eldest son's family in the house fire, about your youngest son's execution for fabricated crimes, we know the Syndicate murdered them systematically to force your cooperation."

The effect was immediate and visceral. Baelor's shoulders tensed, his breathing changed from controlled to sharp, his entire posture shifting from resigned acceptance to something far more volatile. When he finally turned to face them his expression was no longer the perfect professional mask.

Fury burned in his eyes, rage so intense it transformed his features from mild-mannered secretary into something barely human. His jaw was clenched tight enough that muscles stood out along his neck, his hands shook with suppressed violence, and for a moment Raze thought he might attack them simply for mentioning his murdered family.

"Don't," Baelor's voice came out as low growl, all pretense of calm shattered. "Don't you dare speak about them, don't pretend you know anything about what they took from me."

"Lady Anastasia told us," Raze said quickly, recognizing they were seconds from complete breakdown of communication. "She gave us documents proving the timeline of Syndicate corruption, showing how they systematically destroyed your family to acquire your services, we know because she's cooperating with us to expose Venn and everyone who enabled what happened to you."

That stopped Baelor's building rage, confusion breaking through the fury as he processed the claim. "Lady Anastasia," he repeated, skepticism warring with desperate hope. "Venn's wife is cooperating with strangers to expose her own husband?"

"Her son was dying," Mariabel explained. "Thomas had mana corruption in his blood that no Healing Hall could cure, we developed treatment using liquified philosopher stone and offered it without conditions, she's helping us because we saved her child and because she hates what her husband became under Syndicate influence."

"Thomas," Baelor whispered, the name carrying weight of personal knowledge. "I handle all manor correspondence including medical reports, I've read every physician's assessment declaring him terminal, watched Lady Anastasia's desperate letters to specialists across three kingdoms begging for cure that didn't exist." His eyes narrowed with suspicion fighting against hope. "You're claiming you cured incurable condition?"

"We administered the first dose five days ago," Raze said. "His breathing stabilized within an hour and color returned to his face, Lady Anastasia confirmed the treatment's effectiveness and agreed to provide testimony about Venn's corruption in exchange, though we'd have given the cure regardless because the child didn't deserve to die for his father's crimes."

Baelor stared at them, his mind clearly working through implications and probabilities. "Prove it," he demanded. "Prove Lady Anastasia is actually cooperating, prove you've done what you claim, because if this is Syndicate test of my loyalty you've constructed elaborate fiction that almost sounds believable."

Raze pulled documents from inside his coat, the copies Anastasia had provided showing financial transactions and correspondence spanning Venn's corruption. "She gave us these, records she kept from the early years before she fled to her family estate, they detail how the Syndicate corrupted Venn systematically and your name appears in several documents as administrator brought in specifically to manage expanding operations."

Baelor took the papers with shaking hands, his eyes scanning familiar documents he'd probably helped create originally. Recognition flickered across his face, details only someone intimately familiar with Venn's operations would know authenticating the source beyond reasonable doubt.

"These are real," he said quietly, wonder and confusion mixing. "These are actual copies from Lady Anastasia's personal records, I remember several of these transactions because I processed them personally." He looked up sharply. "How did you get her to trust you enough to provide this?"

"We kept our promise about her son," Mariabel said simply. "We proved we were exactly what we claimed to be by saving Thomas without demanding anything in return, trust followed naturally from demonstrated sincerity."

Baelor's rage was subsiding now, replaced by something more complex and dangerous. Hope mixed with suspicion, desperate desire to believe warring against five years of learned helplessness and justified paranoia.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, cutting to the practical heart of the matter. "You've cured the Lady's son and gained her cooperation, you have documents proving Syndicate involvement, why approach me at risk of alerting them to your investigation?"

"Because we need current intelligence," Raze explained. "Anastasia's documents cover historical corruption but we need information about Venn's present operations, about current Syndicate associates and ongoing transactions, about the full scope of criminal activity happening right now rather than five years ago."

"You need insider testimony," Baelor translated. "Someone who sees everything because organizing it is their job, someone who can provide details that turn historical pattern into active criminal enterprise."

"Exactly," Raze confirmed. "We have the foundation with Anastasia's cooperation but we need current operational details to make the case truly comprehensive, details only someone in your position could provide."

Baelor laughed, the sound bitter and sharp. "You're asking me to betray the organization that murdered my family, to risk whatever remains of my miserable existence by feeding you information they've killed for less than suspecting someone possessed." His expression hardened. "Why would I take that risk when they've already taken everything I cared about?"

"Because we're offering you revenge," Raze said, letting the word hang in the air between them. "We're offering you the chance to watch Venn destroyed, to see the Syndicate's operations exposed and dismantled, to witness the people who murdered your family face consequences instead of continuing to operate with impunity."

The word revenge hit Baelor like physical blow, his entire body reacting to concept he'd been dreaming about for five years. His breathing quickened, his hands clenched, his eyes burned with renewed fury that was no longer directionless rage but focused purpose.

"You're offering me what I've wanted since they hanged my son," Baelor said, voice raw with suppressed emotion. "You're dangling hope that the monsters who destroyed my life might actually pay for what they've done."

"Not might," Mariabel corrected. "Will, if you help us complete the case we're building, Lady Anastasia will testify about historical corruption, you'll provide current operational details, and we'll deliver everything through channels that can't be suppressed, the crown will have to act or face being exposed as complicit in covering up criminal enterprise."

Baelor was silent for long moment, internal debate playing across his features as decades of caution fought against desperate desire for justice. "If I help you and the Syndicate discovers my cooperation before you're ready to move, they'll kill me," he said flatly. "Not quickly, not mercifully, they'll make an example to ensure no one else considers betrayal."

"We know," Raze acknowledged, not sugar-coating the risk. "This is dangerous for everyone involved, Lady Anastasia is gambling her son's future on our success, we're gambling our lives on being able to expose them before they can eliminate us, you'd be gambling whatever remains of your existence on revenge being achievable rather than suicidal fantasy."

"But the alternative is five more years of perfect servitude," Mariabel added. "Five more years of maintaining professional mask while watching Venn and the Syndicate prosper, five more years of your family's murderers facing no consequences while you organize their criminal operations, is that really preferable to risking everything for genuine chance at justice?"

Baelor's hands trembled as decades of suppressed rage fought against self-preservation instinct, the internal war visible in every line of his face. Finally he took a shuddering breath and the professional mask cracked completely, revealing the broken man beneath who'd been waiting five years for someone to offer him hope.

"I'm not ready to die yet," he said, voice rough with emotion he'd been suppressing for half a decade. "But I'm also not willing to live the rest of my life serving the people who murdered everyone I loved." He met their eyes directly. "If you're offering genuine chance at bringing them down, if this isn't elaborate Syndicate test or naive children's fantasy, then I'll help you, I'll provide whatever intelligence you need and I'll testify when the time comes."

Relief flooded through Raze so intensely it was almost dizzying, they'd done it, convinced the broken secretary to cooperate despite every rational reason to refuse. "We'll need to establish secure communication method," he said, forcing his mind back to practical concerns. "Something that doesn't require face-to-face meetings or correspondence that could be intercepted."

"I handle all of Venn's mail and communications," Baelor said, his tactical mind already working through logistics. "Which means I can manipulate what reaches him and what gets lost in administrative chaos, if you need to pass messages we can establish dead drop system where I collect intelligence reports disguised as merchant correspondence."

"That could work," Kael's voice came from behind them as he and Aslan approached now that initial contact was complete. "We'll need code system in case Syndicate discovers the drops, something that appears mundane on surface but contains actual intelligence."

Baelor studied the newcomers with professional assessment. "Four young cultivators taking on criminal organization with reach into multiple kingdoms' governance structures," he observed dryly. "Either you're remarkably capable or remarkably suicidal."

"We killed a Master rank cultivator who was Syndicate enforcer," Raze said simply. "We cleared a Tier Zero dungeon with just two people, we cured supposedly incurable illness using methods no master alchemist thought possible, we're capable enough to make this work if you provide the intelligence we need."

That impressed Baelor more than expected, his expression shifting from skepticism to something closer to respect. "Master rank at your age and cultivation levels should be impossible," he said. "That requires either incredible skill or willingness to take risks most people consider insane."

"Both," Mariabel confirmed. "We're skilled and we take necessary risks because sitting safely accomplishes nothing while people suffer."

Baelor nodded slowly, acceptance settling over his features. "Alright, I'm in, I'll provide whatever operational details you need about Venn's current activities and Syndicate connections, I'll testify when you're ready to move, and I'll maintain my cover until then so they don't suspect anything has changed."

"How do we contact you for initial intelligence transfer?" Aslan asked practically.

"There's a bookshop in the merchant quarter called The Gilded Page," Baelor said, his mind already working through secure protocols. "I visit occasionally to purchase administrative reference texts, if you leave message with the proprietor requesting consultation about estate management I'll know to check for dead drop at the fountain three streets north, small package hidden beneath the third bench."

"And if we need urgent contact?" Raze pressed.

"Don't," Baelor said flatly. "Urgent contact means exposure risk we can't afford, everything operates on regular schedule or not at all, patience keeps us alive while impatience gets us killed."

They spent another ten minutes establishing communication protocols and discussing what intelligence would be most valuable initially. Baelor's knowledge of Syndicate operations was comprehensive, five years of managing Venn's affairs giving him access to information that could dismantle entire networks if properly leveraged.

Finally, as the side street began seeing more foot traffic, they prepared to separate. Baelor would continue to his final appointment while Raze's team would fade back into the capital's crowds, contact established and cooperation secured.

"One question before we part," Baelor said, his professional mask reasserting itself as he prepared to return to his role. "You've secured Lady Anastasia's testimony and now mine, you clearly have larger plan than just gathering intelligence." His eyes were sharp with analytical focus. "What's your actual strategy moving forward? How do you plan to leverage this information to bring down Venn and the Syndicate without getting everyone involved killed in the process?"

Raze met his gaze directly, recognizing the question for what it was. Baelor was committing to dangerous course of action and deserved to understand the full scope of what they were attempting.

"Three elements working together," Raze began, his Absolute Genius organizing the complete strategy. "Lady Anastasia provides historical testimony establishing pattern of corruption, you provide current operational intelligence proving ongoing criminal activity, and we deliver everything through independent press that can't be suppressed through normal channels."

"The Truth Ledger," Baelor said immediately, recognition in his voice. "Helena Graves's operation, she's made career of exposing noble corruption despite threats and attempts at suppression." He nodded slowly. "That's actually brilliant, once the story is public the crown has to respond or face accusations of complicity, you're using public pressure to force action that might otherwise be quietly buried."

"Exactly," Raze confirmed. "We build comprehensive case with multiple sources of evidence, release it through channel that ensures maximum visibility, and let political pressure force the crown to act against Venn and the Syndicate regardless of how many officials they've bought."

"It might work," Baelor said thoughtfully. "It's audacious and risky and requires perfect coordination between multiple parties who've never worked together before, but it might actually work." His expression hardened with renewed determination. "Alright, I'm fully committed now, you have my cooperation and whatever intelligence I can provide, tell me what you need and when you need it."

"First drop should be overview of Syndicate associates who visit the manor regularly," Raze said. "Names, appearances, known affiliations, anything that helps us map their network structure, after that we'll request specific operational details based on what we learn."

"I can have that ready within three days," Baelor confirmed. "Leave the message at The Gilded Page and I'll make the drop, check the fountain location two days after I receive your request."

They finalized last details and confirmed understanding of communication protocols, everything established for ongoing intelligence sharing that would hopefully remain undetected until they were ready to move overtly.

Baelor straightened his coat and adjusted his leather case, the broken man disappearing back behind professional secretary's mask with practiced ease. "I've spent five years waiting for this opportunity," he said quietly. "Five years of perfect service while planning revenge in every spare moment, don't waste this chance by being careless or impatient."

"We won't," Raze promised. "We'll build the case properly and move when everything is in place, your family deserves justice done right not rushed and botched."

Something flickered in Baelor's eyes at the mention of his family, grief and rage and desperate hope mixing. "Justice," he repeated softly. "I'd almost forgotten what that word meant after watching them prosper while my family rotted in graves." He looked at each of them in turn. "Make it count, whatever you're planning, make it count enough that their deaths meant something."

"We will," Mariabel assured him.

Baelor nodded once, sharp and final, then turned and walked away with the same efficient purpose he'd maintained throughout the day. Within seconds the professional mask was complete, secretary resuming his duties without visible trace of the confrontation that had just occurred.

Raze and his team waited until Baelor was out of sight before moving themselves, splitting up again to avoid appearing as coordinated group. They'd reconvene at the Copper Rest to discuss what they'd accomplished and plan next steps.

As Raze walked through crowded streets his mind was already working through implications of what they'd just secured. Two elements complete, Lady Anastasia and Baelor Crawford both committed to providing testimony and evidence, only one piece remaining before they could move to final phase.

Helena Graves and The Truth Ledger, the independent press that would ensure their evidence reached the public and couldn't be quietly suppressed. That would be the final and possibly most dangerous element to secure, journalists who made careers of exposing corruption tended to be paranoid about approaches from strangers claiming to have explosive stories.

But that was tomorrow's problem, today they'd accomplished something remarkable by recruiting the Syndicate's own secretary to work against them. Today they'd offered a broken man genuine hope for revenge and he'd accepted despite every reason to refuse.

The plan was coming together, three elements nearly secured and strategy crystallizing toward moment when everything would be revealed and consequences would cascade.

Venn and the Syndicate didn't know it yet but their downfall was being orchestrated by four young cultivators and the people they'd hurt most grievously. Justice was coming, patient and methodical and absolutely inevitable.

They just needed to survive long enough to deliver it.

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