Commerce Emperor - Chapter 14: The Scales of Justice

The Knight and the Inquisitor arrived at Snowdrift in short succession.

It was quite the procession that emerged from the woods around the city. Hundreds of riders trampled grass under their hooves, whipping up a dust storm hiding flying pegasus knights circling above them. The spring wind blew a dozen unfurling banners representing the greatest noble houses of Archfrost: a white hare, a blazing lion, a winged stonetusk… I could hardly recognize half of them.

Though none of the banners’ majesty compared to the largest one’s splendor: an icy crown with seven pointed horns, each representing one of the seven great classes and the associated heroes. The symbol of Archfrost’s royal house.

I watched their procession from atop a mare gifted to me by Alaire—I had taken to calling her Mudkeep due to her brown coloration. Alaire herself rode Silverine at my left, while Soraseo rode her black warhorse and Therese a white steed. Eris was also present, albeit on foot—her habit of teleporting around spooked the horses—and I had noticed Mersie observing the scene from the city’s walls. My former lover kept to the shadows, watching from afar without making her presence known.

So many heroes gathered at the city’s gates, I thought, looking over my shoulder. Though we had bought dozens of soldiers with us and secured the area, I half-expected the Knots to attack us now. Or perhaps will they try to split us up first?

Whatever the case, the three-hundred strong procession approached us without trouble. Whereas the Riverland Federation’s nobles and merchant princes liked their fine clothes and satin, the lords of Archfrost arrived clothed in steel and iron. Our nation’s knights favored white and blue colors, alongside heavy armor. Many of them carried large pavise shields, mighty maces, long spears, and sharp longswords. In short, the prince’s retinue came ready to wage war.

And why wouldn’t they? The flames of war forged Archfrost. The country had been threatened by beastmen invasion from the north since its foundation, not to mention internal troubles like the recent rebellion in Walbourg. Its nobles learned to wield a sword the moment they could walk. The country might have suffered from an economic crisis, but the army’s coffers were never empty.

Would their discipline and weaponry be enough to destroy demons? I hoped so. I had the feeling the likes of Fenrivos were but a taste of what kind of monsters we could expect to fight in the near future. Not to mention the kind that hides in plain sight among men.

We know so little about how demons function, I thought. If the Devil of Greed was a previous Merchant, as I now strongly suspect, how could she still buy souls and transform people into more demons? The class has been passed on to me.

“You still owe me a dinner invitation, Robin,” Eris reminded me lightly as the prince’s retinue came closer to us in a thundering stampede. “What kind of Merchant takes a lady’s merchandise without paying her for it?”

“The kind who wants to pay in full with interest,” I replied lightly. In truth, I spent all of yesterday’s afternoon studying the book Eris gave me in an attempt to translate it. I had learned the basics of traditional Erebian, but translating a centuries-old grimoire written in the language proved a little harder than I expected. “Do you prefer your meal spicy or sweet?”

“How about both?” Eris teased me with a wink. “Surprise me.”

Alaire sent me a sideway glance, her jaw tightening. I assume she reproached our flirting with the prince so near. As for Therese, she appeared a little disappointed in me. I wondered why.

Let us see if our Knight lives up to the tales, I thought as the Archfrostian leader strode forward to meet us. The crown prince rode atop a mighty white steed whose color meshed well with his scintillating silver-laden steel armor. A blue cloak of ermine fluttered from his shoulders, and the sheath of his sword carried the emblem of the House of Archfrost.

Two men rode beside him, both of them unarmored. The first was a terribly young man with short jet-black hair, darker eyes, soft features, and pale white skin. He carried a bow around his chest, alongside a short sword on his belt and a shield on his back. The prince’s squire, most likely. He followed His Majesty like his shadow, his trembling hand ready to draw his sword at the first sign of danger.

The other appeared to be in his late thirties, with a slender build, sharp features, and a small pointed beard on his chin. His neatly combed dark hair was streaked with white. His eyes, as gray as Alaire’s, radiated wariness when they appraised our group. The man alone carried no weapon, and his unassuming brown mantle contrasted nearly with the splendid armor of his master. I noticed a passive resemblance with the squire. Perhaps they were uncle and nephew, or father and son?

“The man is Mathias Leclerc, Archfrost’s First Minister of State,” Therese helpfully whispered into my ear upon noticing my confusion. “He has been in the position for five years now.”

“On which faction’s payroll is he on?” I questioned her.

Therese chuckled. “Both, I assume. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have kept his post for so long.”

Ah, then he was either a crafty opportunist or an ambitionless bureaucrat. I hoped for the latter. We had enough potential traitors in our midst as it was.

Alaire cleared her throat once the prince neared within hearing distance. “Greetings, Your Majesty,” she declared politely, inclining her head respectfully. I quickly imitated her, as did all of us. “I bid thee welcome in Snowdrift.”

“It is too early to call me ‘Your Majesty’, Lady Alaire.” Archfrost’s crown prince removed his helmet. He was incredibly handsome for a young man short of eighteen, with short, lustrous hair the color of gold and azure eyes that any maiden would have fallen for. His skin was fair as snow and unblemished by the ills of the world. “I have yet to be crowned king.”

My Goddess, he’s even prettier than Mersie, I thought. “Much to everyone’s displeasure,” I quipped, causing Therese, Eris, and the prince himself to smile. Alaire herself remained stone-faced, her hands tightening on her steed’s reins.

“You make me blush, Sir,” Prince Roland replied with a warm smile. “From your fiery hair, I assume you must be the new Merchant I’ve heard so much about. Robin Waybright, is it?”

I always knew being a ginger would make me famous worldwide. “I hope you’ve heard only good things, Your Highness.”

“Please, call me Roland. We are fellow heroes and equal in the Goddess’ eyes.” And he was humble too! “And to answer your worries, Robin, Mathias would not stop lauding you at the royal council.” The prince waved a hand at his minister, who politely nodded at us. “Your reforms fascinate him.”

“They do.” The minister advanced slightly closer and studied my face. “Your plans to increase agricultural productivity especially intrigue me. Food production has always been the weak heel of our nation, but we have mostly focused on introducing new grains or negotiating better importation treaties. If your method does yield fruit–”

“Vegetables, you mean?” the prince joked. “I’ve heard you speaking of turnips and clovers, not apples.”

“You are well-informed, Prince Roland,” I noted. It made me cautiously optimistic. Few nobles would have bothered to learn about agriculture, no matter how sensible, let alone a prince. Besides, Roland appeared to have a sense of humor. A rare thing among prickly nobles.

“As the future king of Archfrost, it is my duty to learn any information that could improve my subjects’ lives.” He put a hand on his chest. “I hope that we can collaborate together to build a new and better kingdom. Archfrost needs new blood such as yours to move forward.”

I had grown so used to empty platitudes in Ermeline that Prince Roland’s earnest tone took me aback. His words carried the weight of his raw passion and dedication. I could tell he was the rarest breed of politician: the kind that believed in his own message.

“I hope so, Prince Roland,” I replied with some enthusiasm. My, this association promises to be interesting…

“I look forward to us working together then, Robin.” Prince Roland approached Therese next. “It has been a long while, my lady.”

“Five years, Prince Roland,” Therese replied courteously before offering her fiancé her hand, which he kissed. I caught the prince’s squire scowling at the scene, albeit briefly. Was he wary of the imperial princess for her foreign origins? “I hope your dancing has improved since last we met. We are to hold a ball tonight.”

“I’m afraid I still have room for improvement,” Roland replied with embarrassment. “Is a ball appropriate though? I was told the count’s funeral would take place at noon.”

Alaire let out a sigh, her bearing almost regal. She reminded me of a warrior putting on their armor; one of courtesy rather than steel. “My grandfather’s death is cause for sorrow, but your coming is cause for rejoice, Your Highness,” she said diplomatically. “Your Uncle Sigismund will arrive soon, alongside the finest lords of the north. Surely we should welcome them properly.”

“A wise choice,” Minister Leclerc said with a strained smile. “It is good to gather friends in these troubled times.”

I could read between the lines. There is another civil war brewing, and it is time to tally who will be on each side.

Though Alaire initially wanted to avoid holding a celebration after her grandfather’s funeral, Therese convinced her to go through with it for two reasons. The first being that it would help secure her place as the new countess of Snowdrift by building up political capital. Second, it would help Prince Roland build up a coalition to take down the regent in case the latter refused to relinquish power. Considering Therese would become Queen of Archfrost once her fiancé assumed the throne, it would neatly unite the country under someone who had its best interests at heart.

As for me, I supported the event because it meant flushing out our enemies. The Knots would never be able to resist an opportunity to strike such an event. Success meant wiping out nearly a third of the world’s heroes and destabilizing Archfrost a great deal more. It, in turn, would give us an opportunity to wipe them out from Snowdrift once and for all.

“Lady Alaire, allow me to offer you my condolences,” Roland said with a grim tone. “Though Count Brynslow was no friend of mine, he was a wise lord who duly fostered my future queen. I give you my word, you shall have justice for his murder.”

I did not believe in noble promises, since words were like wind, but something in the prince’s dark tone and eyes unsettled me. The way his blue gaze harshened when he spoke of justice, and the very subtle sideway glance his squire and minister exchanged… I had a gut feeling something was wrong.

“Your Highness is kind,” Alaire replied courteously, not giving anything away. “But there will be time to discuss avenging my grandfather once we have cremated him.”

“Of course.” Roland turned his gaze on Eris and Soraseo. “It is good to see you again as well, Lady Eris. Might I ask who rides at your side?”

“My, who else but your vassal, my pretty prince?” Eris replied with a smirk. “The loyal one.”

“Yes, I have heard about the Cavalier’s poor choice of employer.” Once again, I caught a glimpse of that cold stare in the prince’s eyes. “I do not know what madness seized her or what leverage Griselda has over them. The heroes should not fight on opposing sides.”

“Give me time to work my charm, oh Knight,” Eris reassured him. “I will do my best to bring her back into the fold.”

“Good.” For the Cavalier’s sake, the prince’s tone implied.

He hides darkness in his heart, I realized. Made sense. Nobody was that perfect. Still, I wonder how much dirt a Knight in shining armor can hide…

Soraseo introduced herself with a respectful nod. “I have a great honor meeting you, Lord Knight. I am Soraseo, the Monk.”

“And from the way you carry yourself, a true warrior too.” Prince Roland removed his left hand’s gauntlet, revealing a familiar symbol: a golden bastard sword topped by the Erebian symbol for eleven. “Perhaps you would indulge me in a short joust, Lady Soraseo?”

“What, right now?” I asked, flabbergasted.

“Our prince does have an appetite for battle,” Minister Leclerc mused.

Prince Roland exploded into laughter. “King Koshro, the first person to unify Archfrost, dueled a city’s commander each time he visited one, to ensure both of their skills remained sharp. Besides, my squire, Sebastien, spent so long dressing me up in my armor. I would hate for his efforts to go to waste.”

“I would rather that His Grace not endanger himself,” the squire complained with a grunt. “He keeps breaking his swords.”

“You exaggerate,” Prince Roland chided them. “Besides, I haven’t faced a real challenge since I earned my class. I am eager to see how I perform against a fellow hero.”

“I will have great pleasure in accepting your challenge,” Soraseo replied eagerly. Were all warrior-aligned classes so desperate for the thrill of combat? “Sword or spear?”

“Both work for me,” Roland replied with enthusiasm. “Shall we go with blades? I am curious to see how your curved sword performs against mine.”

Therese winced at her fiancé’s words. “Shouldn’t we try to stop them?” she whispered to me and Alaire. “This will delay our plan for the day.”

“Don’t bother,” Eris replied, having overheard us. “It’s a warrior thing.”

From the way no one in the prince’s retinue tried to argue against the spar, I guessed Roland usually challenged strangers. And most importantly, they believed he was in no danger at all.

“Let them fight,” Alaire said, her eyes squinting at Roland. “I am curious what he can do.”

So was I. In the end, our troupe backed down and formed a circle around the two duelists. Roland and Soraseo remained mounted, each with a hand on their swords’ hilts. As befitting a match between heroes, everyone started to place bets.

“Are you up for a small wager, Lord Robin?” Mathias Leclerc asked. “I will bet a gold coin on our prince.”

“I’ll bet on Soraseo,” I replied. Besides the fact she was a friend, I had seen her manhandle a demon with casual ease. “I have faith in her skills.”

“I could hardly be expected to bet against my future husband, so I will wager a coin on Roland,” Therese said with a chuckle. “What about you, Alaire?”

Alaire observed both fighters before settling on her choice. “Soraseo will win.”

“My, such tall odds,” Eris mused. “I will bet on the Knight.”

By the tally’s end, two-thirds of Alaire’s guards and the prince’s retinue had bet on Roland. It suited me fine. I always liked to support an underdog.

The fighters were in no hurry to determine which of them would win. They held each other’s gaze without lifting a finger, appraising each other. They would have looked like statues carved from stone and steel to an outsider. I could scarcely hear either of them breathe.

Soon… I thought, my eyes lingering on Soraseo’s fingers tightening on her sword’s hilt. Her sword’s reach was greater than her opponent, so she held the advantage for the first strike. One, two–

Soraseo unsheathed her sword so fast the blade turned invisible.

Her blade made no noise as it cut through the air. Neither did Roland’s when he parried the blow. Their steel only became visible as they clashed in a thundering flash of wind and lightning. The duelists’ trained horses let out screeches of surprise, but remained steady as their riders exchanged a flurry of blows.

I had seen Soraseo demolish a giant demon with barely any effort. To my surprise, Prince Roland proved to be equally fast. Two opposed elemental essences surged from each weapon when they crossed paths: lightning for the prince’s, and wind for Soraseo’s.

Such a splendid dance of swords was akin to an opera. No one could look away from it. Alaire, Therese, all were mesmerized by the divine spectacle unfolding before us.

“The Knight class grants its user mastery over all weapons and forms of combat,” Eris explained to me. “A pebble becomes as deadly as a longbow in a Knight’s hands.”

Watching the prince’s fight underlined to me the difference between skill and mastery. He can manipulate his weapon’s essence, I noted while observing the bout. The blade moved as if it were an extension of Roland’s arm, its steel hardening right before a clash, its weight shifting around where it would make for the most devastating blow. Moreover, the sword moved so swiftly that it often vanished from sight. My eyes couldn’t keep up with Roland’s speed and dexterity in spite of all the skills I gathered as the Merchant.

Even then, both duelists clearly held back. Soraseo focused her strikes on the prince’s sword rather than his body to avoid hurting him in spite of her greater reach. As for Prince Roland, I noticed him loosen his grip when their weapons clashed. This bout was little more than a warm-up, a prelude to the true performance.

“They’re evenly matched so far,” I pointed out.

Eris smiled ear to ear. “You forget one key detail, Robin.”

As if on cue, Prince Roland suddenly tightened his grip and parried one of Soraseo’s strikes with his true strength.

“The human body is a weapon.”

I felt the shockwave from ten meters away.

To my astonishment, Soraseo and her horse went flying back into the air. The Monk was thrown off her mount, her mark shining as she managed to adjust her fall just enough to land on her feet. Her mount crashed less gracefully, his landing throwing mud in all directions.

I heard Therese gasp audibly at my side, while Alaire remained utterly speechless. Only the prince’s retinue didn’t appear surprised in the slightest.

Soraseo rushed to her horse’s side while shouting a word in her native Shinkokan which I could not understand—her mount’s name no doubt. She immediately tended to her stallion, who thankfully appeared to be more frightened than hurt. Prince Roland gallantly did not press his advantage.

“What… what happened?” I whispered in astonishment.

“I have seen our prince throw a cart around as if it were a toy and swing a tree as if it were a quarterstaff,” Mathias Leclerc calmly boasted on his master’s behalf. “Prince Roland also crushed a bear’s skull with one hand during a hunt. His grip is so strong that most weapons break in his hand.”

I had heard tales of unassuming men shattering wooden barricades or outracing a horse when pushed to their limits. My mark had granted me enough speed to outpace the wind when threatened. That was what the human body could do when strengthened with will and essence.

That was why the Knight was said to possess the strength of ten men. His class enhanced his body into the perfect weapon.

After calming down her mount and helping it stand back up, Soraseo checked her sword. I detected a slight crack where the blade had clashed with Roland’s.

“You are good, Lord Knight,” Soraseo congratulated Roland with a smile. That brief clash of steel fulfilled her more than her duel to the death with Fenrivos.

“I return the compliment, Lady Soraseo.” The prince stepped down from his horse. “Shall we continue on foot?”

Soraseo raised her sword without hesitation. The spar had only just begun.

Even if I were to collect the skills of a hundred warriors, I wouldn’t equal a tenth of these two’s strength, I realized. That’s the difference between a support class like mine and a battle-oriented one.

Yet for all this dazzling display of martial might, my eyes kept lingering on the prince’s mark. It was my first time meeting another member of the seven great classes, yet that sword on his hand felt familiar.

Same place as Belgoroth’s, and very similar looking, but the Demon Ancestor’s symbol lacked any numeral, I thought. Do their marks exist outside the main twenty-two?

A messenger’s arrival drew me out of my thoughts. The man arrived on horseback through the city gates, his breath heavy. “I bear a message from Lady Freygrad,” said the man. “The Abbey’s inquisitors have arrived by boat.”

Another hero had knocked on our door.

“Can you welcome that group, Robin?” Alaire asked me coolly as Roland and Soraseo circled each other on foot. “This duel might take a while, and we must still show His Highness’ retinue their accommodations for the week.”

“But who will collect my winnings?” I quipped.

Alaire finally cracked a smile. “I shall.”

“I’ll come with you, Robin,” Eris said. “You’ll need to lighten up after meeting with Cortaner.”

I scoffed. “Is he really that bad?”

“I will let you see it for yourself.”

How ominous. Still, I invited Eris to ride at my back, said goodbye to my other allies for the moment, and rode towards the docks with haste. It didn’t take me long to see the shadow of the inquisitors’ cog, whose sail proudly displayed the symbol of the four artifacts. A squad of soldiers in purple plate armor oversaw workers unloading their ship’s cargo under Lady Freygrad’s supervision.

As I expected, Marika and Colmar had beaten us to the docks. I found the former talking with an armored blonde woman with scars on her cheeks; the two seemed to get along well enough that Marika laughed at something her companion said. As for Colmar, he was discussing afar from the others atop the ship’s deck with an inquisitor who kept their face hidden behind their helmet. Though I couldn’t see any hint of his visage, I felt the same sense of familiarity that followed all heroes.

“Cortaner,” Eris confirmed, though I could have guessed that on my own. This man breathed the part more than his comrades at least. His armor alone bore spikes, and he towered over the already tall Colmar. “He does not seem to appreciate our dear Alchemist.”

Clearly not. The inquisitor’s arms were crossed, his hands gripping his armor’s steel tightly. As for Colmar, his very body language screamed unease. Whatever they were discussing didn’t seem pleasant.

“Is that Penitence Armor?” I asked Eris while pointing a finger at Cortaner.

“I told you he had a spear wall up his ass.”

That was one way to put it. I had heard of the Penitent Ones, though I had never seen one yet. They were a small order within the Arcane Abbey made from former criminals who sought purification for their sins. They underwent a terrifying process called the Reforging of the Flesh, a mimicry of the Goddess’ promise to reforge the world after purging it of its impurities. Witchcrafters mingled a Penitent One’s skin’s essence with that of their armor, drove spikes into their bones to prevent fractures, and altered their very flesh.

Few survived this irreversible process, and fewer retained their sanity afterward. Those who did became the Abbey’s elite soldiers. Warriors utterly dedicated to enforcing the Goddess’ will, unable to sleep or take off most of their armor, who had nothing in their life but their duty.

In short, our generation’s Inquisitor was a fanatic’s fanatic. Wonderful, if strangely appropriate.

“Oh, Robin!” Marika waved a hand at me upon seeing us arrive. “Let me introduce you to Inquisitor Gunndra.”

“You know each other?” I wondered out loud as Eris and I climbed down from our horse. “Seems like you do.”

“Lady Marika and I met in the Riverland Federation, albeit under difficult circumstances,” the blonde inquisitor, ‘Gunndra,’ confirmed before shaking my hand. “It is an honor to meet you, Lord Merchant. I look forward to working with you.”

“Same.” Though I wasn’t sure I could say the same for Cortaner yet. “How many reinforcements did you bring with you?”

“A full peacekeeping force’s worth. Six soldiers, including myself, three exorcist witchcrafters, and Commander Cortaner himself.”

“Ten?” I didn’t hide my disappointment. I had hoped for more reinforcements from the Fatebinder. “That’s not much.”

“Oh, believe me.” Gunndra glanced at Cortaner, who walked to the docks with Colmar in tow. “He’s worth a hundred of us.”

The tension in the air was palpable as the Alchemist and Inquisitor joined us. Colmar’s hands clenched and unclenched on their own, his back as tense as a bowstring. I had never seen him so frightened.

“I am conflicted,” Cortaner admitted to Colmar, his voice colder than an Archfrostian winter. “The Abbey’s teachings demand that I destroy you on the spot.”

Colmar did not say a word, while my companions exchanged silent, shocked glances. My hand moved closer to my dagger’s hilt on its own, ready to defend my friend if need be…

“However,” Cortaner added, “Your soul is pure, and the Alchemist’s mark chose you in spite of your sinful state. It is not my place to question the artifacts’ plans for you. I shall not interfere.”

“I appreciate your mercy, Ser Cortaner.” I could almost taste the relief in Colmar’s voice. He was clearly pleased to avoid a fight. “If it pleases, I would like our discussion to remain private.”

“Your confession will stay between the Goddess and us.” Cortaner turned to face Marika. I could only see darkness through his visor’s slits. “Do you remember what I told you when we last met?”

Marika’s smile faded away, swiftly replaced by a deep scowl. “I know the price of letting a demon live, yes.”

“Good,” Cortaner replied with laconism. “That is why you were chosen.”

Since Marika appeared clearly uncomfortable with the discussion, I decided to intrude. “Inquisitor Cortaner, a pleasure to meet you–”

“I have legal documents for you to sign, Lord Robin,” the man cut in, his tone sharper than his armor’s spikes. “I request the right of pursuing an inquisition within this city.”

This man has neither patience nor humor, I realized. Eris, that silly hyena, cackled behind me. The more I hung out with her, the more I was convinced she only found delight in embarrassing others.

“Granted, within limits,” I answered calmly. If this man couldn’t stand social niceties, I would get straight to the point. “You will be allowed to interrogate and detain suspects of demonic activities, but no torture, no arrests without evidence, and no extrajudicial execution unless it’s a confirmed demon or cultist collaborator.”

“It’s not extrajudicial if Alaire were to give permission,” Eris suggested mirthfully.

“You’re not helping,” I complained.

“I know.”

Cortaner crossed his arms in displeasure. “Half-measures will only slow down the demonic purge.”

“But this will reassure the populace,” Gunndra pointed out. “The Blight is strong enough as it is. Us acting with a heavy hand would strengthen the believers’ fears and thus the Berserk Flame.”

“True,” Cortaner conceded, much to my surprise. He did not argue further. ”Very well. We shall do as you ask.”

My Goddess, did he actually listen to criticism? Perhaps that man was less rigid than he looked. “First of all, what can your power do in detail?” I asked him. “The more we understand it, the better we can figure out synergies with our own abilities.”

Cortaner looked down on me until I could finally see his baleful black eyes. His deep, terrible voice echoed both in the air and in my mind. “Confess your sins to me.”

My mouth opened on its own. “When I was eight, I stole marbles from a shop,” I confessed my first step on a life of sin. “When the merchant noticed, I lied and I accused a magpie.”

Eris gasped in mock shock. “Robin, you monster!”

What’s happening? Before I could recover my composure, my mouth, tongue, and jaw moved on their own without any input from my mind. It was as if a foreign ghost had entered my flesh and seized control. I can’t… I can’t stop!

“When I was at the orphanage, we used an old Board & Conquest board, but the instruction manual was written in Iremian because Sforza was a cheap son of a whore, no offense to whores, whose beds I often visit,” I continued, unable to hold back. I tried to close my mouth, to tighten my jaw, to seal my lips, but the truth poured out from my heart nonetheless. “Since none of the children understood Iremian, I pretended that I could read it so I could invent rules whenever I was pushed into a corner. Then I learned to load dice so I could establish dominance at game contests. At eleven, when a bully tried to steal my lunch, I forced his head into a chamber pot–”

I recounted all of my crimes in chronological order in perfect detail; from my childhood pranks all the way to the dirty work I did under Sforza’s guidance. When I tried to physically keep my jaw shut with my hand, my mouth struggled back harder so my tongue could tell everyone present how I had skimmed money from Sforza’s criminal empire to buy myself a feathered hat, because I thought it would impress Mersie. It did not. It did not.

Meanwhile, Marika clearly struggled to hold back a fit of laughter. Eris, that traitor, mocked me with a smile. Colmar gave me a gaze full of compassion, which only made me feel worse.

Stop this, I pleaded at Cortaner with my gaze, for my mouth said, “I lived a life full of lust, bedding virgins, whores, commoners, and noblewomen without care, because I am thirsty.”

Cortaner listened to my words and remained blind to my suffering. His black eyes stared at me with the weight of all the authority figures in my life. Only when we reached the moment when I earned my mark did I finally feel his power release its hold on me.

“Your heart lacks discipline,” Cortaner judged me. “You should control your vices, not the other way around. I recommend self-flagellation.”

“From what I gathered, he was the one holding the whip when it mattered,” Eris mocked me. She laughed twice harder when I glared back at her. “You understand how it feels now.”

I guessed this was karma for forcing her to tell me the truth yesterday, but damn it. Poor gentle Marika couldn’t look at me without putting her hands on her mouth to swallow a fit of laughter.

“The Inquisitor’s class compels others to answer my questions truthfully.” Cortaner raised his helmet’s visor just enough to unveil his scar-ridden lower mouth. He childishly stuck out his tongue at us, which bore a silver symbol on its surface: a pair of scales bearing the Erebian numeral for twenty. “It lets me detect lies even when I do not say anything. No cultist will be safe from my judgment.”

“Did you truly need to ask him such a question?” Gunndra questioned her coworker. “He is the Merchant. The mark wouldn’t have chosen him if his virtues did not outweigh his sins.”

Cortaner put his visor down without apologizing. “No one should be above suspicion, not even heroes.”

“Then what are your sins, Inquisitor?” I rasped back, pointing at his armor. I knew it was childish, but his judgmental attitude rubbed me the wrong way. “For you to wear that armor, they must have been heavy indeed.”

His pitiless black eyes met mine. “Have you ever heard of the Kaliyara?”

“No, I have not,” I replied. I noticed Gunndra visibly flinching.

“They were a tribe from the Fire Islands raiding Iremian colonists ten years ago,” Cortaner explained with eerie calmness. “Irem offered a silver coin per Kaliyaran scalp. I was a mercenary back then, ruled by a different kind of lust than yours.”

Eris’ laughter died out.

“With other men of ill repute, I went into the jungle to hunt,” Cortaner continued without skipping a beat. “We happened upon a village of fifty-three natives. They were not Kaliyaran, but we knew Iremian authorities wouldn’t tell the difference. Brown is brown.”

Marika’s face lost all color, as did mine. I knew what was coming next.

“So we killed them all. Men, women, children. All of them. We gathered the corpses in a pile and set them on fire, laughing. We did this all for fifty-three silver.”

Most frightening was the man’s unwavering voice. I did not hear a single sob nor a hint of hesitation. If he felt any emotion—and he must have to put on his Penitence Armor—he had buried his shame very deep inside his shell of steel.

“That was the least of my crimes, Lord Robin,” Cortaner concluded. “I have done the demons’ work on earth, for which I pay for now by suffering in the Goddess’ name.”

Oh my, he is serious, I thought, my blood frozen in my veins. “I… I see.”

“I pray to the Goddess that you do not,” Cortaner replied before changing the subject. “As for how we will proceed, our exorcists will help strengthen the seals on the Blight. Once we have secured the site, we will conduct an investigation into the Knot and root them out. If you have a list of suspects, we will begin with them.”

“I have one,” I confirmed warily. Mersie provided one to me, based on what she had learned in Ermeline and her own private investigation.

“Good. Then we shall not waste time.” Cortaner walked away with a steady step, with Gunndra following right afterward. “I shall send for you as soon as we find a lead.”

Our group watched the two leave with the rest of their squad in the Blight’s direction. None of us tried to stop them, if only to further discuss strategy.

“I warned you he was something special,” Eris whispered, her eyelids lowering slightly.

“That’s one way to put it,” Marika whispered. The Inquisitor’s words had shaken her to her core. “What he has said… could a class truly choose someone like that?”

“He is a tormented soul,” Colmar replied. To my surprise, his tone sounded sympathetic towards the Inquisitor. “It is not our place to judge him.”

Marika scowled at him. “Colmar, he threatened you.”

“Few inquisitors would have let me walk away after what I told him.” Colmar shook his head. “What he has done before receiving the mark is of no concern to us. We face the same enemy today.”

“I suppose we do,” I whispered to myself, though I was only half-convinced. I wasn’t certain Cortaner’s inner nature had changed much. In fact, I worried he had simply redirected his brutality towards cults and demons rather than innocents. He was a sword without a hilt. He might harm us as much as the enemy.

Still, we would need his help. The bait had come. The hunters were here. The trap was set.

Now, we just had to wait for the enemy to trigger it.