The exterior of the Village Hall was a sea of shifting bodies and raised voices. It seemed as though every resident of Neue Fiona had abandoned their daily chores with a single, burning purpose: to catch a glimpse of the "Monster of the Archnemesis" in the flesh.
The scene was chaotic. Victims of years of cold cases and unsolved tragedies stood at the front, their tear-stained faces twisted in protest as they hurled insults. Local media scrawled feverishly in their notebooks, capturing every minute detail of the suspect's appearance while weaving in the decades of dark rumors they had gathered from the crowd. Even a few local tourists stood on the fringes, their faces pale and bewildered by the sudden explosion of tribal fury.
Hermes walked with a quiet, measured pace. Beside him, Elder Kilo marched with his chest puffed out, playing the role of the humble hero who had finally liberated his people from a shadow oppressor.
Hermes let out a long, exhausting sigh. The elves are truly desperate. To think they'd manufacture a spectacle of this scale just to pin me down. It's almost impressive.
"Master, there are so many of them," the slime whispered in his mind, her voice bubbling with a dark, sugary glee. "I can't wait to eat them all. Should we start a new recipe? I think 'Angry Villager' has a nice crunch."
"No. Stand down," Hermes commanded sharply. "We aren't doing that. It isn't part of the plan, and I need you to stay calm. Don't try anything that could ruin the narrative."
The slime subsided, though she let out a faint, disappointed hum.
Good, this is a perfect development, Elder Kilo mused, glancing sideways at his captive. Humans are so beautifully predictable; they took the bait without a second thought. The more they torment him, the more the weight of their hatred will crush his spirit. He must be trembling under that mask.
"Everyone, please! Give us a path!" Kilo called out, his voice smooth and projecting. "You are only delaying the moment of justice. Do not worry, people of Neue Fiona—the local government shall punish this madman for his crimes against humanity. Follow our request and let us pass!"
The villagers, moved by the Elder's perceived authority, stepped back obediently, parting like the Red Sea to let the procession through.
Crimes against humanity? Hermes felt a pang of ironical amusement. Using the power of the mob to execute a character assassination using words like 'humanity.' This old elf is making me genuinely nauseous.
The heavy oak doors of the Hall swung open. Inside, the sudden entry of the armed militia and the hooded prisoner sent a shockwave through the lobby. Staff members froze mid-task, and visitors gasped, clutching their paperwork to their chests.
Ilona, the head receptionist, remained remarkably composed. She adjusted her glasses, watching the group approach her desk with professional detachment.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Ilona said, her voice cool and steady. "What can the Hall do for you today?"
"I would like to file a formal case," Elder Kilo announced, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged lobby. "I am requesting a national court trial for a public enemy of this village."
"Against whom?" Ilona inquired, her pen hovering over a ledger.
"Hermes Archnemesis," Kilo declared, pointing a dramatic finger at the boy beside him. "The Don of the Archnemesis clan."
Wow, this elf has a real flair for the dramatic, Hermes thought. He missed his calling as a stage actor or a high-priced spokesperson.
The lobby erupted into hushed, panicked whispers. Ilona's lips curled up ever so slightly—a micro-expression of amusement that vanished as quickly as it appeared. As a professional, she knew her role.
"That is significant news, Elder Kilo," Ilona said, sliding a thick stack of parchment across the polished desk. "However, protocol is protocol. You will need to file an official request and provide a summary of charges if you wish to proceed."
Kilo didn't hesitate. He picked up the quill and, with a subtle flick of mana, caused the ink to dance across the page, filling the lines in seconds. "There. It is finished. Is there anything else?"
Ilona picked up the document, reviewing it with a practiced eye.
"Pardon the interruption, Milady," Kilo added politely, "but have you seen my brothers? I was under the impression they came here to report to the Chief."
"Yes," Ilona responded promptly. "They are currently in the main office with the Chief. They are in the middle of a briefing regarding important reports on several cold cases."
While they handled the bureaucracy, Hermes let his eyes wander. He saw the few villagers inside the building trembling at the sight of his mask. Some looked away immediately, a cold sweat breaking out on their necks, terrified of catching his gaze.
"I wonder why they're so afraid?" Hermes murmured, his voice low.
"Oh, Master," the slime giggled. "You do love a good joke."
Ilona finished her review and handed the file to a subordinate. "Elder, would you like to see the Chief? I can notify him personally."
"No, that won't be necessary," Kilo declined with a stiff bow. "I wouldn't dream of disturbing such an important meeting. I will pay the processing fees now." He reached for his magic wallet.
"There is no fee for this request, Elder," Ilona corrected. "The main office will cover the expenses, given the gravity of the arrest. According to protocol, we will convene a court trial with the council to judge the suspect in person. For now, please escort him to the secure waiting room. I will notify you once the Chief has made his decision."
"Then we shall not waste your time further. Thank you, Milady," Kilo said, placing a hand over his heart and bowing before turning away.
"You're welcome, Sire," Ilona replied, bowing respectfully. As they walked away, her smile finally reached her eyes. Wonderful. The Underboss will be overjoyed to hear this. The pieces are finally moving.
"Boys," Kilo barked at the militia. "Take him to the waiting room. Now."
"Yes, sir!" the two guards nodded. They gripped Hermes's shoulders tightly, their fingers digging into his muscles, and began dragging him toward the grand staircase.
Perched on the rooftop of a small convenience store directly across from the Village Hall, a young girl peered through a pair of makeshift paper binoculars. She adjusted her grip, her eyes tracking the militia as they dragged the hooded "Don" through the heavy oak doors.
"Hermes Archnemesis... this definitely wasn't part of the Grandlord's grand design," the informant whispered, a sharp, jagged grin cutting across her face. "But seeing you reduced to such a shameful, pathetic state? This is easily the best day of my life. Ho~ho~ho!"
She lowered her binoculars, her expression flickering with a brief shadow of frustration. "I don't know why my big sister is being so stubborn about coming with me, but I won't give up on her. Your luck is bleeding out, Hermes. But don't think for a second our battle is over. This isn't the finale; it's just the prologue. The real destruction only begins once the war starts."
She knelt, tracing a complex pattern on the roof tiles. With a soft incantation, a large Celtic symbol of a dark moon began to glow, imprinting itself onto the surface.
"I won't let my big sister die in a scene as pathetic as this one," she muttered, her voice cold. "Let's just wait until the right time comes into fruition."
As she spoke, her form began to blur and waver. Within seconds, her entire body melted away like black smoke, carried off by the afternoon breeze.
The Emorial Inn
At the same moment, the atmosphere inside the Emorial Inn shifted from tense quiet to breathless awe. Down the grand staircase descended a woman of such staggering beauty that the guards stationed in the lobby felt the air leave their lungs.
Venus Aphrodite, the High Priestess of Neue Fiona, walked with a majestic, rhythmic grace. She was flanked by her lady-in-waiting attendants, with four servants trailing behind to carry the long, snowy train of her skirt.
Ylla moved ahead, pulling open the heavy double doors for her liege, while Daliah barked strict instructions to the staff to clear a wide, unobstructed path.
As Venus stepped into the sunlight, the world seemed to dim around her. Despite her eyes being veiled by a translucent white garment, every man who looked upon her felt an instantaneous, magnetic pull. Her lips, a deep, enticing red that mirrored a fresh rose in a morning garden, were set in a calm, stoic line.
Her clerical vestments were a masterpiece of Ratican craftsmanship: a golden cross rested against her stomach, catching the light with every step, while an octagon-shaped diamond emblem hung from a necklace around her throat, signaling her status as high nobility.
The male villagers nearby immediately began to lose themselves in reverie, while the women—usually prone to jealousy—found themselves won over by her sheer elegance. They envied her statuesque silhouette, but they couldn't help but be captivated by the aura of divinity she projected.
"The carriage will arrive momentarily, my liege," Ylla said, her voice dropping to a respectful, polished tone.
"Thank you, Ylla," Venus responded softly.
"Milady, I truly believe we should wait inside," Daliah suggested, casting a wary eye at the growing crowd of onlookers. "We are attracting far too much attention out here."
"No, let us wait here," Venus rejected the idea with a polite but firm tilt of her head. "Sir Richarde's troops have already secured the perimeter. We must trust in their ability to protect us, even in a situation as volatile as this."
"Are you... testing them, Milady?" Daliah asked, her brow furrowing with worry.
Venus pressed a delicate index finger to her lips, a playful yet regal glint appearing in her expression. "Lady Daliah, remember: I am not the type of woman to put lives at risk without cause. But a Queen never takes action if the Chess Player doesn't move the pawn forward for a reason."
Daliah's face flushed a deep pink at the angelic, cryptic response.
"Greetings, Your Excellency!" a booming voice interrupted. Sir Richarde marched forward, his armor clanking as he came to a halt and gave a sharp, formal salute. "It is my greatest honor to serve as your escort to the main office. If I may say... your beauty is like an angel descended from the heavens. You are a goddess who captures every mortal heart with a single glance—including this poor soul."
"It is a pleasure to meet you again, Sir Richarde," Venus said. She lifted her skirt slightly and lowered her head in a graceful, respectful bow. "Thank you for the compliment, and I truly appreciate you lending us the brave warriors of the Fourth District. I am also deeply sorry for your loss. The soldiers who gave their lives to save us from the enemy... I will never forget their courage. May Gaia, the Goddess of Neue Fiona, accept their souls and forgive their sins. I am profoundly grateful to be standing here because of you and your men."
Richarde, usually a stalwart commander, turned a vivid shade of crimson. He scratched his cheek, looking everywhere but at the Priestess. "Oh, no... please, raise your head, Milady! I'm nobody special, just a representative."
"Oi, your face is turning red," Daliah noted, folding her arms across her chest and huffing with a sudden, sharp pout.
"C-could it be? Are you jealous, my love?" Richarde's embarrassment vanished as he pivoted to Daliah, grabbing her hands and staring into her eyes with sudden intensity. "This is the first time I've seen you like this!"
"Hey! Move away, you pervert!" Ylla snapped, stepping between them and forcibly shoving Richarde back to create space. "Calm your libido! You are standing in front of Her Excellency!"
"My apologies, I didn't mean to lose my head," Richarde said, though he didn't look very sorry. "But please, Lady Ylla, don't stop me from flirting with my girlfriend next time."
"I am not your lover yet!" Daliah sighed, rubbing her forehead in exasperation.
Venus watched the bickering trio, covering her mouth as she let out a soft, musical giggle.
I wish Sir Aljen were more like Sir Richarde—so open and possessive, she thought wistfully. I want him to be that intimate with me in public.
"Milady, please accept our apologies for his rude, childish, and mannerless behavior," Ylla said, bowing low with her hands clutched over her heart. "We will punish him later and teach him a lesson he won't soon forget."
"Ylla, you don't have to apologize. It's fine," Venus said, her smile warm and genuine. "He's just being real. Sir Richarde is only expressing his devotion to his crush. It's actually quite fun to see such honesty. Lady Daliah is very lucky to have such a devoted suitor."
At that, it was Richarde's turn to look sheepish, while Daliah quickly covered her face to hide a blush that refused to go away.
"M-m-m-milady, stop teasing us! Ugh, it's all your fault, Richarde. Take responsibility!" Daliah stammered, her face a bright crimson. She turned away sharply, giving him the cold shoulder, though she couldn't hide the twitch of a smile.
"Ouch! Hey, stop crying already, I'm sorry!" Richarde scrambled to comfort her, gently petting her back with a clumsy, earnest tenderness. However, their rare moment of domestic bickering was cut short by the arrival of Rafel Uno and his security detail.
"Good evening, everyone," Rafel announced, his expression uncharacteristically grim. "I've come to escort the female representatives to the main building. For those who haven't heard the update, the Chief has issued an immediate command: all district representatives must gather in the assembly hall to serve as the audience and potential jury for the court trial of Aljen Mura—who is allegedly suspected of being the Lord of this territory, Hermes Archnemesis."
The announcement hit like a physical weight. Gasps erupted from the guards and servants, but Venus remained strikingly composed, her posture unyielding.
"Wait, there must be something wrong here," Ylla cut in, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What about Her Excellency? Surely she is required to be present in the court as the High Priestess?"
"Unfortunately," Rafel said, shaking his head as he checked the scroll in his hand, "this is exactly what the issued order states. Her name was not included in the summons."
I see, Venus thought, her mind racing behind her veil. The enemies are trying to barricade the battlefield. They know that if I am present, I can tilt the scales. They're afraid of what I am capable of.
"Sir Rafel Uno," Venus said with a polite, melodic calm. "There would be no problem if I simply... paid a visit to the courtroom, would there?"
"No, there shouldn't be," Rafel answered properly. "There must be an error of judgment in the order, or perhaps the scribe simply forgot to add your title to the document. If you are determined to join the trial, I suggest you file an official request at the main office upon arrival, just in case."
"It is good to hear that," Venus whispered to herself. The office will have no legal right to refuse a High Priestess's petition.
Just then, a sleek four-wheeled vehicle pulled up in front of the inn. The driver stepped out, moving with a disciplined grace, and immediately placed a hand over his chest in a deep show of respect to the Priestess.
"Oh, my! I'm so glad you're alive, Mambo!" Venus cried, her joy breaking through her regal facade.
"Me too, Master. I'm glad you are safe," Mambo responded, his face lighting up with a genuine, happy smile.
Venus clutched her hands together, beaming at him. The sight was so ethereal that even Rafel found himself blushing, which only served to make Ylla glow with silent fury at the young commander's reaction.
"I'm sorry for arriving late," Mambo explained. "I left my comrades from the Church to secure this vehicle the moment I heard you were awake. I wish to act as your personal driver and escort to the main office."
"It's fine, Mambo. We aren't in a hurry, and you aren't late at all," Venus reassured him. "But since you are here, we should make haste. We don't want the audience to wait. Ylla, Daliah—please, accompany me inside the car."
The two ladies hesitated, exchanging a quick, uncertain glance. However, seeing the genuine plea in Venus's eyes, they both nodded decisively and climbed into the plush interior of the vehicle.
The Village Hall – Waiting Room
Meanwhile, inside the stone-walled waiting room of the Village Hall, Ilona entered to give a final update to the Elder.
"The trial will begin around seven this evening," Ilona instructed, her voice crisp and professional. "Everyone is advised to stay here and prepare for the final summons."
"Thank you very much, Milady," Elder Kilo said, bowing his head.
"I am only doing my job, Sire. Security will escort you in shortly. Please be mindful of your actions and listen carefully to the guides," Ilona said, her smile turning slightly more mysterious. "By the way... here is the item you requested. You are now authorized to practice with the [Mendacium]. Please use it properly."
She handed him a small, intricately carved object. Kilo's eyes widened, and he practically shook with glee as he took the relic. "Oh, I will never forget this favor!"
"You're welcome. It is merely an artificial tool, so it won't cause permanent harm to the suspect—yet," Ilona said, her gaze sliding down to the masked teenager sitting quietly in the corner. "The true relics are kept in the court for safety, but that tool still guarantees seventy percent accuracy in detecting lies from the target."
"What? Do I have something on my face?" Hermes asked, his voice steady despite the talk of truth-forcing relics.
Ilona moved closer, leaning down until her lips were inches from the side of his mask. "Let me give you a piece of advice," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "Remove that mask when you face the Council. Or else... we will use force to remove it ourselves."
She pulled back, smoothed her skirt, and headed for the door. "Please excuse me. I have unfinished tasks. Farewell."
The door clicked shut, leaving Hermes alone with the Elder.
"You are remarkably calm, Hermes," Kilo noted, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the wooden table. "Despite her beauty and her threats, you didn't flinch. But no matter how tough you think you are, a shell is still just a shell. The force of nature will always break it, and you will be scattered across the sea floor as a piece of nothing."
"But sometimes," Hermes deflected, his tone dry, "there are shells as unbreakable as a concrete wall. Only the deliberate work of a man can destroy those, and only if he has the right tools."
"A concrete wall is still weaker than an iron one," Kilo countered, his eyes narrowing. "And even a copper spear can penetrate its heart if the strike is true."
"Perhaps," Hermes added smoothly. "But no matter how 'weak' it is, it's what hardens a man's heart to fight a war. For centuries, the concrete wall has served to slow an enemy's advancement and keep the helpless safe. It's the foundation of infrastructure. Civilization starts with the bricks of concrete, Sire."
Elder Kilo closed his eyes, momentarily silenced by the boy's wit. He gave a sharp, dismissive sigh.
"I won't apologize for making a scene, but there is no turning back now," Kilo said, his voice dropping the pretense of friendliness. "I hope you aren't going to cry when the verdict is read. This is just business. Don't take it personally."
"I'll handle the case just fine," Hermes reassured him, leaning back in his chair. "You don't need to be sarcastic. This 'Aljen' here is actually quite good at facing situations like this."