Chapter 40

Artem deliberated for mere moments before he decided to take out sealed documents from his dimensional bag, he placed them before Santino who stared at him with a surprised look.

“What do you have here?” he mentioned towards Artem with a hint of interest.

“The remnants of Vulture’s network”, Artem worded carefully.

He hadn’t forgotten about the various amounts of documents that he had looted from Vulture’s storage room. Up until now, he had thought of using them for his own use but by being presented such a useful opportunity, he decided to exchange them for contribution points instead.

Besides, 621 wasn’t entirely trustful of the information kept within the records which had detailed Vulture’s secret dealings with all kinds of individuals.

“Network? You say…” Santino held one before him out of curiosity. “I suppose you want contribution points then”, he chuckled.

“You’re quite a resourceful weaver, now I do wonder how you happened to acquire such items”, he glanced at Artem with provocative eyes. “But, I guess that is not a concern of mine.”

Artem simply observed as the latter began reading through the documents one by one, he maintained a passive stance for he was uncertain about how the exchange would usually occur. He neither had the experience nor the information required to make a knowledgeable exchanging ground thus he simply let Santino do as he wished.

After a while of perusing the document’s contents, Santino looked at him with an unknown gleam in his eyes which seemed to insinuate a look of satisfaction concealed by a more hostile gaze.

“It would seem, that our dear friend had quite the network on him indeed” Santino remarked casually though 621 recognized a hint of displeasure in his tone. “You wouldn’t happen to know of his location now, would you?”

Artem stood firm in his façade, “I do not.”

“Heh, right of course you wouldn’t” Santino exhaled, “So, given the items at hand, by my authority as a constable, I can offer you 150 contribution points” he directed towards Artem.

“But if you give me the location of Vulture, I can add an additional 100 points” he continued with an intense glare. “What do you think, dear friend?”

Artem furrowed his brow in contemplation, He began to ruminate about the importance of Vulture to the man before him, he felt that there was more to it than he had initially thought, there was a question lingering in his mind, “What was the reason for his assassination?”

It was a peculiar thought, one that 621 hadn’t really cared about, he was simply told to kill, and he did so without a second thought. He merely thought of them as obstacles on the Order’s path but given such subtle hints at hand, 621 now understood the complexity beyond his initial thoughts.

“As I said, I don’t know of his location” Artem voiced out.

In response, Santino studied Artem with eyes steeped in accusation before seemingly giving in, “Fine, just fine” he remarked with sarcasm, “Give me your sigil” he then demanded.

621 looked momentarily confused, “Sigil?” he thought, his analytical mind rapidly deciphered the logical answer as he took out the Umbral Council’s key and tossed it over.

Santino casually caught it in his hands before taking out his own ‘sigil’. And with Artem’s curious gaze, he observed the latter exchanging contribution points via the mundane looking objects.

“There, 150 points” Santino tossed the sigil back to Artem, “Is there anything else?”

Artem thought silently to himself wondering if he should ask about the blabbering old man held captive in the shopkeeper’s odd ‘laboratory’, but he decided against it for he knew that it was likely a crucial piece of information that could damage the Order in some way thus he decided to ask a slightly different question.

“Who are the messengers of light?” he asked out of curiosity.

Santino looked at him with an incredulous glance, “You can’t be serious, you’re really asking that?” his look transformed to that of stating the obvious as if he was asked a stupid question.

“Are you a hermit? Do you live under a rock?”

Artem remained stationary, simply observing the latter’s outburst; it would seem that he had indeed been doing so for he was genuinely curious, he lacked information.

“No way…” Santino was perplexed, “You’re actually serious..Ha!” he murmured with a sigh.

“It’s a blanket term for those who align themselves with the so called ‘righteous side’. Though that term is usually used by children in their little stories, you know the same ones told by a fire? That type of thing.”

Artem, thought of the rambling old man when he heard the word “Children”, clearly there was something amiss.

“I suppose since it’s a rarely used term, you might not be aware but still, that’s like asking, why is the sky blue?”

..

621 left the Esoteric Archives behind him as he began walking towards the Sacred Vault within the hub as directed by Santino. His thoughts lingered around the latter’s words about the ‘messengers of light’, rather, he wondered the significance of the name Garion Dacre.

“Does he belong to that side?” he assumed with uncertainty. “If so, which sect does he belong to, I wonder?” There were many sects in Greiss who aligned themselves to the righteous faction, in fact he knew that almost every sect was considered ‘righteous’ by many standards. And he understood that the Order did not align itself with that faction but instead the other side.

In truth, 621 had no particular feelings towards the alignment of sides, he was impartial at best. He grew up at the Order and that was all that mattered to him, perhaps this was one of the main reasons as to why he had a skewed sense of morality.

Upon arrival, 621 was greeted by a masked attendant who cast a side-long glance at him as if studying his potential worth.

“What can I do for you, weaver” she asked with a degree of respect.

621 looked around and stared at the grand spectacle within the building of the Sacred Vault, it was furnished with extravagant furniture adorned with countless decorations of grandeur and prestige.

There were detailed paintings fastened to the walls, various kinds of artistical potteries and statues were laid out strategically to capture attention. Even the masked attendant before him wore a different kind of apparel from those seen outside. She sported a golden robe lined with a deep red design that spoke volumes.

He felt out of place.

“I’d like to take a look at the list of goods” he said with equal respect.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The masked individual before him wasted no time as she proceeded to hand him a ledger of sorts which was far cleaner than any tome he had ever held in his hands.

Inside the ledger were the names of various kinds of items ranging from equipment to potions, to skillbooks, mounts, currency, specific services, there were even residences available for exchange. As he flicked through the numerous pages, 621 was completely stunned for the amount of goods available at hand.

However, there was a problem—the cost, each item was priced too high. The cheapest complete martial skillbook he found was listed at a whopping 2000 contribution points whilst a single healing potion was priced at 50 points. With his current amount he could at most afford three healing potions.

But what most caught his attention was the metal section inscribed withing the ledger. Various types of rare ores and refined metals were listed in the ledger. He read each description with an avid sense of curiosity.

At the top of the list, the most expensive one listed at 10,000 contribution points was a single kilogram of metal called “Rhenium”, it was listed for being beneficial in the creation of strong alloys, a very rare material scarcely found.

As a matter of fact, 621 was familiar with this name as well as the others listed in the ledger for each one was detailed in his “Aurum Manipulation” skillbook. He was aware that Rhenium held superior characteristics related to melting point and heat resistance, a highly advanced form of metal that he knew was difficult to manifest into reality.

He was surprised on seeing that material listed in the ledger for it was indeed rare and highly sought after by metal cultivators and blacksmiths alike.

“It’s a shame that it costs too much” he sighed in disappointment.

He looked at the other metals in equal expression as each one listed were uncommon and scarce thus their prices were equally appropriate. The cheapest one listed was a refined form of steel at 70 points per kilogram, the only metal listed that he could afford.

After thoroughly reading through the ledger, 621 decided to buy this piece of steel for research purposes, he harboured thoughts of one day being able to materialize it into pseudo-metal.

The transaction was swift and simple as he handed his sigil towards the attendant, subtracting the costs via a peculiar looking device which looked similar to that of a socket which glowed brightly upon contact with the sigil.

Meanwhile, the attendant’s demeanour was kept professional throughout the whole process. In turn, the woman handed him a block of refined steel roughly the weight of a kilogram. 621 observed it’s bar form with interest, he could tell right away that it was refined by a blacksmith given its current nature.

It was shiny and cool to the touch, polished to the extreme with expert hands, to the extent where he could make out his own masked appearance in its reflection. Without paying it much attention, he placed it within the confines of his bag before departing in haste.

He no longer had any business in staying at the hub any longer, although he would’ve still liked to explore the different shops and services available, 621 knew that he couldn’t afford to waste time here for he was on a timely hunt for a man which seemed unknown.

In fact, he still had doubts if the man named Marcus Cornelius, was his intended target; thus he knew that it was better to find out personally than linger in the outskirts pondering. Perhaps it was a test given by the handler, to find out 621’s level of resourcefulness and wit, was he a pawn worth keeping?

621 didn’t know, all he knew was the instinct to survive, therefore, he headed out with grim determination as he leaped from area to area distorting the atmosphere around him as he erased total presence from his surroundings; leading those who wished to follow in disarray.

….

[3 Days Later]

"Who are you, kid?"

A fat recruiter grunted as he eyed 621 with a mixture of apathy and greed, wiping sweat from his brow with a stained handkerchief.

621 straightened his posture, putting on his best innocent facade. "I'm just a guy looking for a way to serve his country, sir," he replied, forcing enthusiasm into his voice.

The recruiter let out a wheezy laugh. "Serve his country, eh? You’re a bit scrawny but oh well, ain't that noble of you," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Tell me, kid, what's your name?"

"Uh, it's John, sir. John... uh... Smith," 621 stammered, hoping the generic name would pass muster.

The recruiter's eyes narrowed skeptically. "John Smith, huh? Real original," he muttered, shaking his head. "Well, whatever floats your boat, kid.”

“How old- No.. never mind, follow me", the fatty grinned.

They entered the recruitment center, where chaos reigned supreme. The recruiter waved a pudgy hand dismissively at the scattered papers and disorganized recruits. "Welcome to the empire's finest," he said with a snort. "Now, John Smith, let's talk business. Why do you want to join the army?"

621 hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I've always wanted to be part of something bigger than myself, sir," he replied, trying to sound sincere.

The recruiter let out a bark of laughter. "Something bigger, huh? Well, let me tell you, kid, war is a great thing," he said, his tone bordering on gleeful. "Blood, guts, glory... it's all there for the taking. You want that right, the riches?"

621 nodded eagerly, though inside he felt nothing. "Yes, sir. I do," he replied, his voice steady.

The recruiter grinned, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. "Good," he said, clapping 621 on the shoulder.

"Let's see here, John...Smith" the fatty said as he signed a document detailing 621's recruitment process, his stubby fingers barely gripping onto a thin stencil.

"Done, you see that lad?" the recruiter waved a piece of stained parchment around, burping to relieve his bloated stomach.

He shoved the signed document aside into a pile on his desk, the parchment disappearing amidst a sea of papers. "There you go, laddie, officially one of us," he said with a smirk, wiping his greasy hands on his trousers.

621 forced a smile, "Thank you, sir. I won't let you down," he said, trying to sound confident.

The recruiter chuckled, his jowls wobbling with the motion. "Oh, I'm sure you won't, lad. You'll make me proud out there on the battlefield," he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

As they exited the recruitment center, the recruiter clapped 621 on the back. “Now get yourself home and pack your things. You ship out tomorrow at dawn," he said, already turning his attention to the next eager recruit waiting in line.

In front of them was a scene which told hidden amounts of turmoil, hope, supressed fury and undying anger.

621 observed every detail before unravelling before him, it was as if time itself had slowed to a crawl, allowing him to witness every grim detail with clarity.

The town, once a bustling hub of life and activity, now lay in ruins, its streets stained with the blood of past conflicts. Crumbling buildings loomed overhead, their shattered windows gaping like hollow eyes, bearing witness to the atrocities that had unfolded within their walls.

Lines of struggling men, their faces etched with determination and anger, marched forward towards the recruitment center. Among them were fellow youths, their eyes barely seeing what’s in front of them, but they followed the example of those around them with supressed fear.

Preachers stood nearby shouting words of incitement, their voices raised in fervent supplication, urging the masses to embrace the call to arms. Their smiles, though hidden beneath their righteous facade, betrayed a sinister agenda, their words laced with manipulation and deceit.

“Don’t you see? MEN of Ingla! Look around you, at the devastation that the dirty NEROS have caused! Our women weep, our men slaughtered, culled at the unmerciful hands of blasphemers!”

“RISE! Men of Ingla, take swords in your hands and kill those who have stained your pride as citizens of the EMPIRE, RISE! By the will of the merciful Gods, We must fight back! Kill! TAKE! SLAUGHTER! For thy home shall be protected, no longer will our women be taken, no longer will our children be culled, RISE! Oh men of Ingla, RISE!”

“DEATH TO THE NEROS!” a preacher shouted with fanaticism.

Above the tumult of the crowd, the crack of whips and the groans of the condemned echoed through the air as captured Byzantine individuals were led to the gallows at the side. Their hands bound and heads bowed in humiliation, their state bloody. They were paraded through the streets like cattle to the slaughter, their fate sealed by the judgment of those nearby.

As they reached the gallows, the preachers' voices rose in a chorus of condemnation, their words dripping with venom and extreme hatred. They spoke of justice and retribution, painting the prisoners as villains deserving of their grisly fate.

The crowd, whipped into a frenzy by the preachers' words, jeered and spat at the condemned, hurling insults and curses as they awaited the final act of the grim spectacle.

“DEATH TO THE NEROS!” they chanted over and over.

And as the hangman's noose tightened around their necks, the air filled with a palpable sense of bloodlust, a primal urge for vengeance that pulsed through the throng like a living thing.

621 watched as the prisoners swung from the gallows, their twitching bodies swaying in the breeze. He watched as the frenzied crowd began pelting at the bodies with large scores of stones further accentuating the anger rousing from the depths of their soul.

A body was dragged to the hidden alleyways by a mob of men holding sharp instruments, its fate unknown.

In the midst of the chaos, the fat recruiter loomed large, his bloated form a grotesque parody of authority. He waved a stained parchment in the air, his words slurred with intoxication as he ushered yet another young soul into the maw of war.

The lines of men continued forward, a frenzied mass of humanity driven by desperation and rage. Their shouts of defiance mingled with the fervent prayers of the preachers, created a cacophony of sound that echoed through the streets.

And amidst it all, 621 stood, a silent observer in a world gone mad. His gaze swept over the scene before him, taking in every brutal detail with impassive detachment. In this moment, he was not a participant but a spectator, bearing witness to the darkness that lurked within the hearts of men and the twisted machinations of those who sought to exploit it for their own gain.