The afternoon sun cast long, distorted shadows across the cobblestones as Ylla and Rafel reached the iron-wrought front gates of the village church. Their brisk pace came to a sudden halt when they nearly collided with two familiar figures: Elder Damaso and Elder Wamo.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Both groups stopped, lowering their heads in the traditional, respectful greeting of the district.
"My, my, Ylla," Elder Wamo mused, his hand moving to stroke his well-groomed white beard. He stepped closer, his eyes twinkling with a mirth that didn't quite reach his core. "Where is the fire? You look like you're running toward a miracle or away from a ghost."
"Good afternoon, Elders," Ylla replied, her voice breathless but disciplined. "I simply realized I left something essential in my quarters. I'm just heading inside to retrieve it."
Elder Damaso, standing slightly behind Wamo, let out a soft, melodic giggle. He watched the two young people with the practiced eye of a predator. To the casual observer, Rafel and Ylla looked like the picture of a young, bickering couple—the tall, sturdy warrior and the petite, fiery-tempered woman.
If one didn't know their history, Damaso thought, hidden behind a mask of grandfatherly affection, they'd look like a match made in heaven. But oh, how delightful the truth is. One is a stubborn wall of dense masculinity, and the other is a high-strung eccentric who uses anger as a shield. Watching them pretend to hate each other is the best theater in the village.
"And you're with Rafel?" Wamo teased, his eyebrows arching playfully.
"I am merely volunteering my services as an escort, Elder Wamo," Rafel interjected, his voice deep and formal. He stepped slightly in front of Ylla, a protective instinct he didn't even seem to realize he was acting on. "Please, let's not entertain disturbing ideas. If you say such things out loud, the village gossips will have us married by sunset."
The Elders exchanged a glance and burst into a fit of joyful laughter, sounding like proud parents witnessing a child's first steps.
Hidden gems, Wamo thought, his smile widening. Two powerful lineages, so easy to polish... and even easier to shatter when the time comes.
Damaso reached up to wipe a theatrical tear from his eye, covering the lower half of his face with a silk sleeve. I'm so proud, he mused darkly. To see them walking side-by-side again after all these years... I was right to eliminate their parents during the Great War. It left them beautifully isolated. If we keep them close like this, they become the perfect leverage. Use one as bait, the other as a hostage—two lambs led to the slaughter to light the torch of our new Empire.
"Is something... wrong?" Ylla asked, her face flushing a deep crimson under their intense scrutiny.
"Oh, forgive us, child," Wamo said, tapping her shoulder with a light, affectionate touch. "It just warms my old heart to see you two reconciled. I truly didn't think I'd see the day you two found a truce."
"There is no truce!" Ylla snapped, her hands flying to her hips. "This man is a jerk, and the word 'friend' is a bridge too far. We haven't agreed on anything, and we certainly haven't settled our... our history!"
Rafel remained silent, his jaw set, but his ears were glowing a vibrant red. The Elders laughed even harder, both thinking in perfect unison: Poor boy. Rejected with the grace of a falling anvil.
"Please, stop laughing! I'm being serious!" Ylla puffed her cheeks out, folding her arms across her chest and staring off toward the church towers in a huff.
"This is a disaster," Rafel muttered, rubbing his forehead with a weary sigh.
"This is your fault, Rafel!" Ylla hissed, giving his bicep a light, frustrated punch before hiding her blushing face behind her hair. "If you hadn't insisted on following me, the Elders wouldn't be thinking... terrible things!"
"Ylla, honestly," Rafel said, a rare, soft smile breaking through his stern mask. "I can tell you're actually cute when you drop the act and behave like a normal girl for five minutes."
The silence that followed was instant. Rafel's eyes went wide, and he slapped a hand over his mouth, realizing he'd just voiced a thought he'd meant to keep buried in his soul.
"Oho?" The Elders responded together, stroking their beards in a synchronized rhythm of awe.
"IT'S A MISUNDERSTANDING!" the two youths shouted in unison.
Just date already, Damaso thought, his eyes crinkling. The more they protest, the more delicious the eventual betrayal will feel.
Rafel, desperate to change the subject, pointed toward the object in Damaso's hand. "What's in the briefcase, Elder? It looks heavy."
"This?" Damaso patted the black leather casing. "Just dull administrative work, my boy. Reports on the temple's expansion and the village development fund. The usual paperwork that keeps old men busy and young men bored."
As he spoke, Damaso caught a flicker of light from the corner of his eye. Two of his scouts were positioned near the church fountain, pulsing a Morse code signal through an invisible magic orb. Only those within the inner circle of the Second Root could perceive the shifting mana.
The High Priestess is in the inn. The target is isolated.
"By the way," Wamo offered, his tone shifting to one of oily concern. "We have a moment to spare. Why don't we walk with you to the office? It would be much better for your reputations if you were seen with us. It would stifle any... unfortunate rumors before they start."
"I appreciate the offer, Elders," Ylla said, her voice regaining its polite, diplomatic tone. "But I wouldn't dream of being a hindrance to your important work. I have much to do, and I'm sure the Village Hall is already bustling. Please, don't let me take up your time."
"Are you quite sure, Milady?" Damaso asked, stepping into her personal space with a predatory grace.
"She's sure," Rafel said, his large frame acting as a physical barrier between the girl and the Elder. "I'm more than enough to handle this tenacious girl. I won't let so much as an insect touch her while I'm on duty."
"Tenacious?!" Ylla turned on him, her hand snapping out to grab his cheeks in a vice-like grip. She squeezed until his face resembled a squashed sandwich.
"Wha—get off! Get your hands off me!" Rafel grumbled, his voice muffled by her fingers.
"Consider this payment for your 'cute' comment earlier," Ylla declared, releasing him and smoothing her skirt. "We're wasting time. Time is gold, and we're burning it."
While the two resumed their bickering, the Elders watched them walk away, their eyes glinting with a cold, diamond-like hardness.
The stars are aligning, Damaso thought, a chilling smile stretching his lips. Our Great God is watching over us.
The Second Root will flourish tonight, Wamo added mentally, already imagining the village burning under the weight of their long-awaited glory.
"By the way, Rafel," Elder Damaso said, his voice smooth as aged wine, "I believe you were looking for the Chief? My brother mentioned you were seeking counsel regarding the... unfortunate incidents of late."
"Ah, yes, Elder," Rafel replied, though he didn't move from Ylla's side. "But duty first. I have to make sure this little brat is tucked away safely where the predators can't find her. You know how it is—some people have a thing for 'delicate' targets." He smirked, though he quickly realized how that sounded and coughed into his hand, covering his mouth.
"Huh?" Ylla's head snapped toward him, her eyes burning with a sudden, murderous bloodlust.
"What? It's the truth!" Rafel chuckled, looking down at her. "You could pass for an elementary student on a good day. If a high-tier mage comes looking for a hostage, you're the perfect size to fit in a sack. As a District Representative, you should be focused on safety, not your ego. I don't want to hear that you've become the next victim alongside the children and Her Excellency."
"Hold on, children. Calm yourselves," Elder Damaso intervened, his face a mask of concern. "I don't mean to intrude, but you mentioned 'the next victim.' I heard rumors of a struggle... did something happen to the Priestess and the twins? Are they...?" He trailed off, his eyes wide in a practiced display of dread.
"They were ambushed by an unknown group," Rafel answered bluntly. "The assailants attempted to kidnap the Priestess and the children again. It was a bloodbath in the forest."
Damaso let out a sharp, theatrical gasp, clutching his chest. "How truly tragic! My deepest condolences for the loss, Ylla. The village will mourn such a light going out."
"Wait—no, Elder!" Ylla tilted her head, quickly stepping in to correct him. "The Priestess and the children are alive! Thankfully, Richarde and his crew reached them in time earlier this afternoon. They've already been brought back within the walls."
"Alive?" Elder Damaso's eyes snapped wide. This time, the shock wasn't entirely faked. His heart hammered against his ribs in a surge of jagged rage. Arak, you incompetent fool. You had them in your grasp.
Beside him, Elder Wamo felt the temperature of his brother's aura spike. He reached out and firmly tugged Damaso's sleeve, a silent, grounding warning. "Oh! Well... I must have misheard the panicked reports from the gate," Wamo smooth-talked, his voice oily and soothing. "I am overjoyed to hear they are safe. Truly a miracle."
"So, where are our survivors resting?" Wamo asked, his smile returning, though it looked sharper now. "The Temple should prepare for their return."
"They're at the Emorial Inn for now," Ylla answered politely. "Daliah is seeing to their needs."
"I see," Damaso said, his fingers clenching into claws behind his back. "And Elder Kilo? I don't see him with you today," Rafel asked, scanning the area.
"Urgent business at the temple," Damaso explained shortly. "A task only our younger brother has the finesse to handle."
"Well, since you're here, I should mention something," Rafel said, his expression turning grave. "Richarde and I are planning a massive overhaul of the security protocols—both within the village and along the borders. I'll be seeking the Chief's formal approval tonight, right after I drop this brat off."
"Don't call me a brat!" Ylla hissed, though she turned back to the Elders with a forced smile. "Ignore him, please. He's just trying to be difficult."
"And when exactly do you plan to start this... 'overhaul'?" Damaso asked, his voice tight.
"I'm sorry, Elder," Rafel said with a humble bow, "but the tactical details are classified until the Chief signs off. I'll be at the office this evening to present the full brief."
This is bad, Damaso thought. If they tighten the net now, our 'allies' won't be able to slip through. Wamo's eyes glinted as he watched the young couple walk away. Brother Damaso is worried, he mused, but I see an opportunity. We dispose of Richarde and Rafel tonight. We keep the girls as playthings for the Supreme Being. Sabotage the supplies, and the village falls in a day.
Part 2
The Temple Secret Chambers
While his brothers were busy in the street, Elder Kilo was staring down a nightmare. He had received an urgent alert that the sanctum had been breached. Now, he stood at the head of a line of armed guards, their weapons leveled at a lone figure walking calmly through the gloom.
It was a teenager with black hair and a presence that seemed to swallow the light.
What the hell? It's Aljen. No... it's Hermes Archnemesis, Kilo thought, his breath hitching. What is he doing here?
"How did he get in?" Kilo hissed.
"He emerged from the old sewage maintenance room, Sire," a henchman whispered.
Kilo's blood ran cold. The sewage? How? That path has been a secret of our race for a thousand years. No human should even know it exists.
"You, and you," Kilo barked to his men. "Take the three remaining 'sacrifices' to the inner sanctum. Ensure they are prepared for the ritual immediately. Go!"
As the men hurried away, Kilo smoothed his robes and stepped forward, putting on his best diplomatic face.
"Hmm? Elder Kilo?" Hermes asked, his voice sounding genuinely surprised.
"Ah, Aljen! The traveling merchant!" Kilo exclaimed. "I was about to ask the same of you. What on earth brings a man of your stature to the depths of our humble temple?"
"My group was attacked by a band of fanatics," Hermes explained, heaving a sigh of relief that looked far too convincing. "I stumbled upon a secret passage in the forest while trying to hide, and I followed it to see where it led. To think it brought me right to you! I'm so glad to see a familiar face in this maze."
Kilo smiled, but his eyes remained cold. He's lying. But for now... I'll play along.
Arak failed? Elder Kilo's heart hammered against his ribs, a cold sweat dampening his fine silk robes. And the children? Did he leave them behind just to save his own skin? He must have been desperate to escape, clawing through the forest until he stumbled upon the maintenance tunnel. Still, for a human to find that path... it's a curse.
"Elder Kilo," Aljen spoke up, his voice calm and steady. "Please, tell your men to lower their steel. I'm standing here sweating like a bystander mistaken for a cat thief in the market. It's a bit much, don't you think?" He gestured with his chin toward the pistols aimed at his chest.
Kilo forced a stiff, hospitable smile. "Lower your weapons, men. This gentleman is a friend. A guest." The guards hesitantly obeyed. "Please, follow me, Master Aljen. I'm sure you're exhausted from such a... long run."
"Oh, you're very kind, Elder," Aljen replied, his expression unreadable.
"Guards, secure the perimeter inside the sewage entrance immediately," Kilo barked.
"That's a wise move, Elder," Aljen commented, his tone light. "There are a lot of enemies down there."
"Is that so?" Kilo played dumb, his eyes wide with feigned surprise. "Enemies in such a forbidden place?"
"Yes," Aljen said, his voice dropping an octave. "And strangely enough, those people were wearing the exact same outfits as your men. Oh—please, Elder. Don't let me ruin the mood."
Kilo's movement halted abruptly. The air between them turned freezing. "Are you suspecting me of being an enemy, Master Aljen?"
"I'm not quite at the 'thinking' stage yet, Elder," Aljen replied. In a blur of movement, he drew his pistol and pressed the barrel firmly against the small of Kilo's back.
The guards erupted, encircling them instantly, but Aljen used the Elder as a shield. This is the moment, Aljen thought. If I can expose this man to the public, my brothers will rejoice. To destroy his reputation completely—that is the real victory.
"I find this deeply disappointing, Elder," Aljen grumbled quietly. "To find that the village leadership is working with the Second Root."
"A bold claim," Kilo gurgled, his throat tight. "But there is no evidence to prove such a worthless assumption. In our world, Elder Aljen, evidence is everything. You have to prove it before the social justice of this village, and you have nothing."
"Evidence?" Aljen let out a soft, dark smile, pulling the trigger just enough to hear the hammer cock. "Do we really need a shred of paper to prove that you and your brothers are something other than human? You must be kidding me, Elder."
"Master Aljen, do you truly think you can escape this?" Kilo warned. "You've trespassed on sacred ground and pointed a gun at an Elder who has done nothing to you. I could sue you for trespassing, if you survive."
"I don't particularly care," Aljen snickered. "All I see is an enemy who deserves to have his soul sent to the depths."
"This is no laughing matter, child!" Kilo corrected, his voice trembling. "You are surrounded by fifteen men. If I die, you follow me. Think of the consequences of this outrageous assumption!"
"Oh, I'm not going to die, Elder," Aljen assured him. "Believe it or not, I won't die today. The truth is already starting to settle in the palm of my hand."
Kilo's lip retracted. "You're a madman, Aljen."
"And you're an old jerk who's turning senile, Elder," Aljen sassed right back.
"There is a limit to my patience, boy!" Kilo hissed. "If you insult me again, I will have no choice but to fight back!"
"Then do it. I'm not afraid to die," Aljen dared him.
Kilo heaved a long, heavy sigh, slowly raising his hands. "Good job, Elder. You understand your position," Aljen said. "Now, tell your men to give us plenty of space. I'm sure you don't want to die for a stupid reason."
"Men, put down your weapons," Kilo instructed, his voice slick with cold sweat. "Give us space. Back away five meters. Quick, before he changes his mind!"
The guards retreated. Aljen began to guide Kilo toward the office, but as they reached the door, Kilo brushed the knob. A massive, glowing Celtic mark erupted from the wood, encircling them both. Aljen tried to dive clear, but the magic was too fast.
Blinding light seared the world away. When it faded, they were standing in the middle of a crowded, sun-drenched street. The villagers of Neue Fiona stopped, gasping as the Elder and the merchant appeared out of thin air.
Damn it... magic, Aljen thought, his eyes adjusting.
Kilo didn't waste a second. He threw his arms wide, his face a mask of absolute terror.
"CITIZENS! HEAR ME!" Kilo roared. "THE TRUTH HAS BEEN UNMASKED!"
Aljen gasped as the Elder's voice carried over the entire square.
"This man! This 'Merchant Aljen' you have welcomed into your homes! He is the Don of the Archnemesis family!" Kilo cried, pointing a trembling finger at him. "He is lurking within our village to promote violence against us all! Look—he has a gun! He came to kill me because I learned the truth of his identity!"
"Don't listen to this liar!" Aljen protested, but the crowd was already shrinking back in horror.
"Look at him!" Kilo screamed. "He has been wearing a mask, concealing his true madness, waiting for the opportunity to kill your loved ones! This rascal is a menace! He is orchestrating every crime in our society!"
Kilo then used a hidden spell to slice his own neck, blood spraying onto his white robes. "HE IS KILLING ME! HELP!"
Aljen stood there, gun in hand, looking at the bleeding Elder with a cold, aloof face. He knew exactly what had just happened. The trap wasn't the forest—it was the people.
"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me now? I'm the one holdin' a gun, though," Hermes defended, his voice cutting through the rising murmur of the crowd. He kept his grip steady, but the absurdity of the situation was starting to weigh on him.
"Well... he's right, though," someone from the back of the crowd seconded. A few others nodded tentatively. In their eyes, the person with the weapon usually dictated the terms of the conversation.
The atmosphere froze for a second, the narrative hanging in a delicate balance.
"Ahem!" Elder Kilo cleared his throat sharply, desperate to regain control of the room. "Hermes Archnemesis, remove your mask! Show these people the face of the monster who haunts their history!"
"No way, fag. Screw you," Hermes whinged, his voice dripping with irritation. He wasn't about to play into the old man's theatrical trap.
"See, people! Look at him!" Kilo shouted, spinning toward the crowd with his arms outstretched, the blood from his neck staining his white robes. "This is how the new Don of the Archnemesis acts in front of others! He's an ill-mannered, arrogant, and spoiled child!"
"Oi, that's enough. You goddamn liar," Hermes interrupted, his lips pursed. "Are you perhaps trying to destroy my image in front of the public just to gain something?"
"Yes—I am trying to resolve this issue right now!" Kilo shot back, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Come, people! Call the militia! Arrest this man! My brothers have already accumulated a shred of evidence against him!"
"Evidence of what?" Hermes tilted his head to the side, genuinely curious about how deep this rabbit hole went.
"That you, Hermes Archnemesis, are responsible for the death of a million people!" Kilo's voice rose to a shrill peak. "You're the one who ordered the kidnapping, the embezzlement, and you're the one who formed the evil secret organization that has been pestering our lives for a decade!"
"Excuse me, what? Are you a moron?" Hermes protested, nearly laughing at the scale of the accusation. "I ain't even running something like that, though. FYI, I ain't gonna aim for the position of the president of an evil cult. Why are you tying me with your goddamn stupid cult now?"
"Blasphemy! Don't involve me with that disgusting organization!" Kilo snorted, pointing his index finger inches from Hermes's nose.
"Oi, you're the member of the cult, though," Hermes simpered, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Please don't even try to run away from this mess now, sire. At least you've easily proven your stupid statement in front of everyone."
Hermes took a slow look around, finally recognizing his surroundings. This was the Second District—the hub where people gathered information from outside the territory. He spotted the tell-tale signs of media members lurking behind the crowd, notebooks out and mana-cameras ready.
Man, what a stroke of bad luck, Hermes thought, his mind drifting to the history of his former world. This is just like the old days of the populist leaders. They'd be accused of human rights violations by the media while the higher-ups were the ones connected to the criminal organizations. They were the protectors of the drug cartels and the mafia families—protecting the people who gave them money and influence. What a crap. Mass media is rotten to the core. Brainwashing the masses is like putting a cake in front of a hungry mob who are ignorant and blinded to the truth. Ignorance is a bliss for mankind.
"I'm so disappointed with these old manipulating tactics. Nothing is new," Hermes said, placing a hand on his forehead and heaving a heavy, disappointing sigh.
"What did you say? You're spouting nonsense!" Kilo grimaced.
"Tell me, you're working with the Second Root cult?" Hermes asked, his voice weary.
"W-w-what did you say? I'm not working with the guild! Don't call it a cult!" Kilo adamantly denied.
Wow, you really corrected my statement. So it's a guild and not a cult, lol.
"Why should I? Are you dumb, old man?" Hermes jeered.
"Shut it, Hermes Archnemesis!" Kilo hissed, a triumphant smile finally breaking through. "You should know better than this. You are no longer capable of escaping this mess."
"What? Did I hit the jackpot now?" Hermes laughed harshly. "Man, being a proud member of the Elf cult must be entertaining to read in the headlines, right? Take a look around you, Elder." He pointed toward the reporters from the Romue News Department.
Kilo's face twisted in panic. "You! Militia! Militia, take him away! Drag him to the Village Hall immediately!"
The local militia, spurred by the Elder's frantic command and the sight of the blood on his robes, swarmed forward. Hermes looked at the weapons leveled at him, then at the mob that was already beginning to scream for justice.
Fuck this shit. I'm afraid my life is completely ruined today. Fuck you! Hermes thought, hanging his head.
He didn't resist as the authorities seized him. He allowed the militia to arrest him, his dignity battered as he was led away toward the Village Hall.