🛡️ This is the Way.
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This is the Way.
"Honored guests from afar—please allow me to offer my sincere apologies."
Not long after, a group of H'kig ascetics hurried out of the valley. The moment they met face-to-face, the man in front led the others in a hand-to-chest bow.
Max Vizsla and the others removed their helmets and gave a slight nod in return. "No worries."
"Ruben. Simon." The leader called out the two young sentries from earlier. "What have I taught you?"
"Doctrine is faith for within the order—used to restrain oneself, not to restrain others." One after the other, they bowed with a hand to the chest toward their bishop and toward Max and his group. "Bishop, we were wrong. Guests from afar—we're sorry."
("Tch. Hypocrites. When it mattered, I didn't see you using doctrine to restrain yourselves—weren't you still ready to run off on a starship?")
Max Vizsla smiled and inclined his head. "Young men—recognizing your mistake in time and correcting it: this is the way."
"Your magnanimity is as vast as the galaxy." The H'kig bishop bowed again. "Ruben, Simon—thank the guests at once."
"Thank you for your generosity."
Max nodded once more, then looked to the bishop with a smile. "Won't you invite us in to sit?"
"Oh—our discourtesy." The bishop plastered on a smile and personally gestured the way. "Please."
"Bishop, after you."
"If I may ask—how should I address you?"
"Max. Max Vizsla." Max gestured to either side. "Christopher Rayne. Kaelden Johnson. And you, Bishop?"
"No bishop, no 'my lord,' none of that," the bishop said with hurried, ingratiating waves of his hands. "If Lord Vizsla insists, just call me Bel."
The report Ruben and Simon had delivered was too terrifying. Before they even reached anything like a parlor or hall, Bishop Bel—sweating like rain—finally cracked and started speaking as they walked.
"Lord Vizsla, about your request to purchase drinking water and food…"
"That isn't urgent." Max Vizsla lifted a hand and stopped, that familiar showy smile curling at his lips. "The Governor has given me two options. Option one: pay one million Republic credits for your coordinates. Option two: pay five million credits for you to disappear. Bishop Bel—which option do you want me to choose?"
"Th-this…"
Seeing Bel stammer, Max very considerately patted him on the back. "Bishop, I knew you'd find this difficult."
"Y-yes, yes. Thank you for understanding…"
"So I've already made the choice—and I won't put you on the spot!"
"Y-you…"
Max Vizsla flashed scissors first, then paper, grinning. "I chose option two. Five million."
"Lord—no, you can't do this!" Bishop Bel lunged forward and clutched Max, tears and snot pouring down. "Why must it come to this? Why must it come to this? H'kig's sins don't deserve that—my lord!"
"Bishop, the definition of 'disappear' is… very flexible." Max chuckled. "I suggest we find somewhere to sit and talk. Hahahaha…"
Under the cannibalistic stares of the other ascetics, Max Vizsla laughed openly, seized Bishop Bel by the hand, and strode forward. Cosplaying as a big villain was—he had to admit—ridiculously cathartic.
…
Not long after they sat down inside a cave hollowed into the valley wall, under Max Vizsla's warm, gentle smile, Bishop Bel—already rattled to the bone—tremblingly signed on behalf of the H'kig sect:
The Comprehensive and Progressive Agreement for Trans-Galaxy Partnership (CPTGP).
"As for the agreement… right now it only has a title." Max said pleasantly. "When I think of specific clauses later, I'll notify you separately. Sound good?"
"Of course, of course…"
Max Vizsla didn't overdo it. After signing the CPTGP with Bishop Bel—and helping him "purify" the H'kig sect's faith—Max took Chris and Kaelden back up the mountain to eat with Big Brother Black Lightning.
"After all, I'm taking five million credits from the Governor. If I do nothing, that's just unprofessional. Hand over the two starships you used to land here twenty-nine years ago. I'll blow them up, record it, and send it to the Governor as proof. How about that?"
"Ah… th-this…"
"Hm?"
"Excellent—excellent. In my opinion, that's an excellent plan!"
"See? Great minds think alike." Max Vizsla nodded approvingly. "Also: a starship is a pinnacle of advanced technology. Anyone who can operate one is deeply poisoned by technology—plainly an apostate within your sect. Hand over all those apostates too, and I'll take care of them for you in one go."
"Whew…" Bishop Bel let out a long breath, bowed with a hand to his chest. "As you will."
"Bishop." Max manipulated the Force and lifted Bel—chair and all—into the air. "My control of the Force is still pretty mediocre. You wouldn't lie to me about handing over every last tech-poisoned apostate, would you?"
"Of course not—of course not," Bishop Bel said, white-knuckling the chair as he fought not to beg. "Purging impure apostates is… is what a bishop should do. Y-you may rest assured."
Max pulled Bel close, rotated him half a turn so his back faced Max, then set him down gently and whispered by his ear:
"You've kept those two starships well-maintained for easy escape, haven't you? If tomorrow I don't see them lift off into space, my fleet's exercise program will be cancelled. The new program will be orbital bombardment. One way or another, you have to let me give the Governor an answer."
"Understood. Understood—I understand completely."
"Good." Max patted Bel's shoulder. "Pleasure doing business, Bishop."
The next day, when Max Vizsla saw two LH-3210 freighters rising from the lowlands into the sky… he changed his mind.
"Wenban—have the flagship patch my comms back to Cloud City. Logistics Command."
"Roger. Patching now."
"Chief, this is Sorp Vizsla. Your orders."
"This is Max Vizsla. Minister—have we received the transfer from the Galand Governor's Office?"
"Report, Chief: we've received a one-million-credit deposit from the Galand Governor's Office. They say they'll send the remainder after confirming the insurgents have 'disappeared' completely."
"Good. I authorize you to forward that entire one million to the company that produced our Beskar Steel Security corporate promo. Tell them to cut, within one week, a promotional clip showing two LH-3210 freighters being destroyed by my Navy First Fleet. This one million is the deposit. Upon delivery of the final cut, pay an additional 1.5 million as the balance."
"Understood. Executing immediately!"
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🛡 Star Wars: The Rise of Mandalore
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