What shocked Ciro most of all wasn't merely their grasp of his Talent. Others had also learned of it at various points in time – only for them to be disposed of shortly thereafter. While he'd put effort into keeping his Talent a secret, its usage always came with a risk of discovery. It wasn't unreasonable that the knowledge had slipped under the gaze of his ever-watchful eye.

Rather, it was the way in which the Detective had described the word that sent a chill down his spine.

'Gravity…' Ciro bit his lip in frustration. 'The science from the World of Ink. The detective is a worthless elf clinging onto life thanks to the Grandmaster's Talent – she is of no importance. Did the Little Painter inform her of the concept of gravity? If not, then how is she aware of it? Or did the First Painter…no, he wouldn't betray the Imperial Family.'

An infuriating, horrifying thought came to him, driving enough fury into his heart that Ciro drew blood from biting his lip before his Realm healed him. "Who is your source, elf?" he demanded. "Is it the Second Painter? The Dark Sorcerer?"

The bird's only response was a cackling laughter. "Now why would I bother telling you that, Your Highness?"

Ciro's first thought was to consider collapsing the entire city into a small, dense sphere, destroying it to prevent his secret from spreading.

It was the Lord Talent that saved him from this fatal mistake, allowing him to process information far faster than how time passed in the world around him.

'It was always a possibility the rebels would learn of my Talent after my meeting with the Little Painter,' he thought. 'But I assumed he had missed the clues. Why else would they still confront me with this knowledge, then? They must understand that I am invulnerable. Why–'

With a start, the Emperor glared at ravens before him. Disgust surged within as his mind caught up to Tenver's memories. "You…are the Puppet Detective, are you not?"

The largest of the ravens, biggest among all birds present, put its left wing across its chest, as if bowing. "My name is Valeria, Your Highness. Consulting detective!"

"These ravens and crows…that is the Grandmaster's Talent, is it not? Should I assume that the Mines have sided with the rebels?"

"Ah, no, no my lord!" Valeria replied. "Rest assured, the Mines still side with the Empire. This treachery is mine and mine alone – or at least, not the Grandmaster's. I shall be executed for my theft of the Communication Ravens, surely."

The Emperor cursed as he reached inside Tenver's memory and searched for an explanation. 'The Little Painter gave her citizenship. She is content to commit treason, believing that she can escape the Mines and take refuge inside Penumbria.'

Ciro's fist tightened its grip onto itself, drawing his own blood for the second time. 'Whether the Grandmaster is turning a blind eye to this treachery, hoping for my downfall, or was genuinely outwitted by this girl…doesn't matter right now. What matters is–'

"If I destroy the city," Ciro pondered aloud, his voice surprisingly calm, "you intend to use these ravens to transmit sight of it to City Lords."

"Aye!" the Detective Raven exclaimed, spreading both wings wide as if fluttering a cape. "And that would be a problem for you, would it not?"

'Insolent commoner!'

The Raven cackled. "Your public reasoning for attacking Lord Adam is that he's a Pretender to Aspreay's title. Considering how he's not in Penumbria, massacring it would be quite…pointless, don't you think? I wonder if your vassals would still choose to follow you then."

They wouldn't. Some out of pride, some out of a delusional grandeur that they could survive his wrath. Death would visit them easily – but the Orbs I'd lose!

Ciro simply couldn't have that. And yet, unnervingly so, the detective's invisible sword of truth was aimed precisely at that exact weak point.

Valeria's strike had dealt the first real damage Ciro had received since his assassination of his brother. For the first time since crossing blades with Gregorio, for the first time ever after acquiring the Lord Talent, the Emperor felt uneasy. His mind raced faster than ever as he came to comprehend the dilemma they'd placed him in.

Another raven spoke up. This one, surprisingly, had Tenver's voice. "Your Talent of Gravity is the world's most dangerous weapon of destruction, my dear uncle…yet also the most useless."

The Valeria-Raven flew up to face the Tenver-Raven, rubbing its beak thoughtfully. "That's right!" she said, in a parody of abrupt realization. "Increasing gravity to a degree that devastated the land itself would cause irreparable collateral damage, yes?"

"Most definitely," Tenver replied, just as pompously. Both birds bowed, enunciating as if they were the leading actors in a theater play. "Can you think of anything capable of stopping gravity from destroying the very user that wields it, Valeria?"

"Allow me a second of thought." The raven tilted its head dramatically, then whipped it back nary a moment later. "Ah! Could it be…a Lord's Realm?"

"Aye!" Tenver replied, clapping its wings in an eerie echo of an applause. "So now you see why he had to assassinate my father – to inherit his Lord Talent!"

On that last point, Ciro disagreed. Gregorio's death had been for the sake of the Empire, not for his own personal power. But they were otherwise correct.

The Lord Talent should've been mine, anyhow. Reclaiming my birthright is no crime. Criminal is the man who stole it before I was alive!

Gravity was an almighty Talent, yet not one that could be used safely. In the rare occasions when someone displayed the ability, they endeavored not to use it beyond its lowest ranks, and rarely obtained enough Orbs to improve it. Very rarely, when someone did improve their control of it…they invariably ended up dead by their own hand.

What good was an ability that made your body denser than your bones could endure? What benefit was there in collapsing an entire army into a black hole if doing so would shatter the very Painted World? Although that last scenario was mere theory – those Talented who dared to use the ability of Gravity would perish before wreaking such havoc.

The Lord Talent, however…the Lord Talent changed all that.

With the Noble Guard, Ciro could survive the immediate effect of any sudden gravitational change. Perhaps more importantly, Royal Orders allowed him to shape his Realm's Laws, letting him create small pockets of reality so that his Gravity wouldn't affect anything except for the areas he so designated.

In the hands of any other, the Talent of Gravity was but a self-destructive explosive. In the hands of the one above fate itself?

It became a weapon that could shape reality itself.

Ciro was immune to Gravity's adverse side-effects, able to manifest his Talent only where necessary. An errant arrow would always be too light to pierce his body. A peasant's raised blade would always feel too heavy when pointed at their god. And even if this almighty defense were to fail, Ciro's Realm, which expanded throughout the entirety of the known world, would heal him of any injuries.

Death bent the knee before him – and thus its avatars served him beneath the name of Hangmen.

It was how he had killed the raven earlier. First by ordering the area around him to be made separate from the outside world, and then by using Gravity to essentially annihilate that area of existence. Even right now, he was manipulating the gravity around his body in order to protect himself from any acts of physical harm.

Upon acquiring the Talent of a Lord, Ciro, The Man That Made Gravity Kneel, had also acquired another title, One that only Valente's ears had ever been blessed with the chance to hear.

The Man Who Not Even Death Can Touch.

He was invulnerable, invincible, indestructible…

And yet–!

And yet…today, this magnificent strength of his, the strength that he had earned through the blood flowing through his veins…

Could kill neither Tenver nor Penumbria.

'You use your weakness as a shield, Nephew! That pathetic, miserable–'

"You need Orbs," said Tenver's crow, cackling eerily. "Your goals, whatever they are, need Orbs – this much we know. And your vassals know this as well. Even though you could destroy any city within the Empire, doing so would reduce your ever-so-important revenue stream of Orbs."

Ciro muttered a curse under his breath. Orbs were vital; the lifeblood of his life's work, each gem a step toward the future he needed to build. He couldn't afford to lose even a single Orb more than necessary. Not when the Dragon's machines already cost so much.

I need the economy to prosper, he thought furiously, for the sake of my dream!

The Emperor stepped forward, crushing more crows beneath his gravity. "Doing so would promote you from a mere failure to a baneful toxin that must be erased, Nephew." His tone was cold as winter. "Have you no mind for what my design would bring? I am the Painted World's last hope!"

"Then let us embrace despair!" Valeria declared theatrically. "My dear beacon of hope – need I remind you that justification was required for declaring war upon Adam, lest you incur a rebellion? Destroying an entire city is far beyond what your vassals could stomach. This is why you came here alone: so that there would be no witnesses."

Tenver nodded in assent. "If your vassals were to see you massacring a city of innocents when the guilty party isn't even present…why, they might foolishly, pridefully, nay, dutifully take a stand against you."

"Aye!" Valeria agreed. "Oh, they would fail, to be sure – but failing would still rob the Empire of its rightful taxes! Can the Empire afford to ruin its economy with a war like that, I wonder?"

The Emperor's laughter turned bitter. Often he had mocked enemies for lacking in strength, whether in their sword arms, their hearts, or both in equal measures. That they could not match him in battle went without saying, yet their methods often felt cowardly. Too weak to ride the chaos of war to the top.

No longer could he lay that crime at his nephew's feet. He was weak, a failure, and more – but he was willing to use the Empire itself as a shield in this duel.

Good, Ciro thought, the ghost of a smirk forcing its way onto his face. You need to do at least this much when baring fangs at a god.

"This is your move, then." Ciro rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "To hold my economy itself hostage so that I cannot execute you."

His eyes brightened with malice. "Delightful. Simply delightful. Now, for my counteroffensive–"

The Emperor of the World attempted to peer at Tenver's mind once more, but the Puppet Prince proved remarkably unhelpful. Much of this plan had been kept from him precisely to avoid what the Emperor was now trying to do. WIth a grimace, Ciro glared at the Detective Raven, but his Divine Knowledge failed to work there either.

'Her main body isn't physically present here. Searching for the Detective by reading her thoughts would be like finding one specific arrow from the night I killed my brother.'

He frowned. 'No, even beyond that…I have no idea where she is, and barely know what she looks like. I can't read her mind at all. And if she's inside the Mines, she might be far enough away to be outside my Realm.'

Tenver, of course, had been left purposefully unaware of where the detective was truly hiding. Searching his mind for answers was a fruitless endeavor.

The Emperor heaved a heavy sigh. 'Dragons of Old…did you ever have to put up with days like this? When peasants think themselves worthy of your time?'

"I acknowledge your efforts," he said, shaking his head sadly and clapping his hands. "Wonderfully played, I must say. You've put me in a position where I cannot carelessly destroy Penumbria. Doing so would reveal the secret of my Talent – which would be immaterial compared to the damage my economy would incur."

'Do they know why I need Orbs? Or is it just a general idea? I suppose it doesn't much matter.'

Ciro considered collapsing the entirety of the Eastern Frontier into a black hole to rid himself of the ravens, but discarded the idea immediately. Doing so would lose access to loyal cities like Coimbargo. Not to mention that it would execute many of his own soldiers besieging the Santuario das Chamas at this moment, including at least two Hangmen.

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To create a black hole large enough to annihilate all of Valeria's ravens, Ciro would need to commit wholly to it, accepting no half-measures. Choosing to go down this route would mean creating a pocket of gravity so heavy that the world itself would be irrevocably altered. Two cities, thousands of his men, millions of Orbs – not even light itself would escape from that destructive grip on reality, were he to spawn it.

Only Valente would survive.

'Were that the case…it would be worth considering,' he thought, slowly. 'But there's a third person with an Emperor Ranked Talent on this continent: the Puppet Grandmaster. If that abomination which thinks itself alive could survive this, and maybe even protect its Puppets…'

That would be rather close to a checkmate.

And thus the Emperor smiled, his voice echoing with a regal resonance. "Nephew of mine – surely you still remember the original issue that resulted from the Little Painter removing the Realm Walls around Penumbria?"

No sooner had the words left his lips than the silence broke under the weight of a horrifying maelstrom.

Stained Creatures, twisted and malevolent, leapt from the devastated forest, clawing their way up towards the stone walls of Penumbria. Amidst the people's growing terror, Emperor Ciro's laughter, cold and mocking, filled the air. "Now, Tenver! Can you shoot them down before your city is overrun?"

The creatures looked as if they were born from a nightmarish inkwell, bearing limbs too numerous and joints bending wrongly, moving with a fluid, unnerving grace. Their features were a blur of despair, faces indistinct and contorted into expressions of silent screams and endless agony.

And the citizens of that miserable city would feel an agony far worse within just a few moments – unless Tenver could keep the beasts at bay.

'These monsters should've taken longer to arrive,' Ciro thought, forcing the words into Tenver's mind. He wanted his nephew to know what was happening. 'But with my Talent of Gravity…well, you can imagine how easy it was to corral them like cattle. Just by making certain areas more painful to exist in than others, I shepherded the creatures towards your precious dump of a city.'

'Why?' Tenver responded, inside his own mind. 'If you're capable of this much, uncle…why not use this power to keep the cities safe? To reduce the effect of the Rot? If only you ever wanted to do so, I would have happily stepped away from the throne! Father would have too! You'd have been remembered as a legend, the greatest of Emperors–'

'I will not be remembered for confining my people inside a cage of bleak, rotting soil. Your dreams are far too small, Nephew. Mine are much grander.'

The Emperor gazed upwards. He reached to the blue expanse above and tightened his fist. 'I dream of the skies.'

The Puppet Prince didn't reply. Mayhap he had no response to this, or mayhap he could not afford to direct his focus anywhere but the horde of monsters he now aimed his bow at.

It mattered very little, anyhow. Everything would end in the next few minutes.

'Congratulations, nephew! You've convinced me that personally crushing your city would be a poor image to paint before my vassals.' The Emperor clapped sarcastically. 'Yet now Penumbria will fall to Stained Creatures…and whatever your little Painter does at the Santuario das Chamas shall be for naught. This rebellion is doomed if your city–'

The thunderous sound of Tenver's giantslaying arrows flying across one side of the city to the other silenced those thoughts.

"I PROMISED ADAM!" His scream was so loud that the Emperor suspected he'd have heard it where he stood, outside the city, even without his enhanced hearing. "I PROMISED THAT I WOULD KEEP THE CITY UNTOUCHED AND UNHARMED FOR TEN MINUTES! THAT NOT A SINGLE MONSTER WOULD DESECRATE ITS WALLS OR PEOPLE!"

Even from that absurd distance, the Emperor could tell that the Puppet's voice sounded strained, pained, exhausted.

Yet it still sounded. "AND I WILL KEEP THAT PROMISE!"

The Emperor shrugged. "Ten minutes…what's the point?" He gave the crows an amused look. "Even if you hold on, nothing will change. Surely you understand that much, at least. Why prolong the inevitable?"

This time the crows responded only with silence. Somehow, them acting like normal, silent animals was more unnerving than the alternative.

I mislike this feeling, Ciro thought. It must be corrected. If they have any plans, I will not allow them to come to pass.

But he still could not enter the city himself. Thus he instead crossed his arms haughtily, turning his neck to glance back at the shattered remnants of his carriage. "Nayt – how long are you going to lay there and pretend to be dead?" Ciro asked, with a tone of annoyance. "Your Emperor has need of you. Stand up."

With a creak and groan of shifting stone, the rubble slowly came alive as the elven Hangman, Nayt, rose from his feigned demise. He stood up slowly, brushing off the dust from his dark attire with a lazy swipe of his hands, his head tilted to one side as he massaged the ache with a grimace. It was as if he had been merely napping amidst the chaos.

"I wasn't paid to kill innocents," he grunted. "Just to escort you here."

The Emperor sighed at first, then allowed himself a brief smile. Ernanda's undying loyalty was overall preferable, but Nayt's selfishness was definitely more amusing. "Very well," Ciro conceded. "This is outside your assigned duties – so you shall be awarded an extra twenty million Orbs if you assassinate Tenver."

Suddenly, the elf's drowsiness left him. "Truly?" Nayt asked. When the Emperor nodded in response, the Hangman eyed the tower above. "His Rank is not too high," he muttered. "And there are few soldiers here to stop me. Shouldn't take me more than five minutes."

"No reason to reject my proposal, then."

"There is one." The elf gestured at the incoming soldiers, a small band of perhaps twenty sallying out to stall them. "I mislike killing innocents."

"Well, if you don't want Orbs–"

Nayt unsheathed his sword and sighed loudly. "Ah, shut up already, Your Highness," he grunted. "Never said I wouldn't do it. I just…"

The elf's dead eyes sharpened into a murderous gaze as he aimed his blade at the incoming soldiers. "...Mislike it, that's all."

As the Hangman planned to sell his morals yet again, Ciro settled into the calm self-assurance of one who had already achieved victory long ago. 'This was never a fair contest,' the Emperor considered, somewhat sadly. Although his true opponent today, as he saw it, hadn't been Tenver – but rather the Painter.

And the boy had done quite well for himself, hadn't he? In just a few short months, he'd arranged an army, organized a rebellion, and played the few cards he had to the best of his abilities. No more could have been reasonably asked of him. In truth, Adam had exceeded all expectations.

'But my pieces were simply stronger. This was no game of chess, where both sides are equal and shrewdness wins the day. You cannot hope to match my Hangmen. Never could, Little Painter.'

With a burst of concentration, Ciro summoned his Lord Talent, peering into distant corners of his vast Realm. It was exhausting as it was disorientating, but he allowed himself this vice in order to spy on the other battlefields.

The Battle of Penumbria was just about finished, anyhow.

Blink.

Solara, the adopted daughter of Vasco, was leading her troops phenomenally – and failing utterly to overcome Ernanda, the Lady of Ash.

"RESURRECTION!" Solara called out, as her life's flame was snuffed out once more. "I may have fallen, but I'll always get back up!"

"Not always," Ernanda retorted. "Only several times a day. And if my count is right…my, you're done now, aren't you?"

The Hangwoman's grin turned savage. "That was your last one."

Blink.

When the Emperor's eyes returned to where he stood, Nayt had already killed seven of the twenty-three soldiers that came to stall him. Only sixteen left.

'Poor bastards. They barely have Apprentice Ranks. Should've known better than to dance with a Hangman.'

Blink.

The Butcher of Greenisle, Vasco, was a madman on the battlefield, desperately trying to cut through an ocean of red to reach his daughter.

"STEP AWAY!" His sword swung with the force of a battering ram. "NOT A SINGLE STEP TOWARDS ME!"

Against nearly anyone else, his righteous rage might have pushed them aside. But across from him was a most unfair battlefield – Lord Crespuculo of Coimbargo and Lord Romario Revandor of Almarades, either of which would have been enough to match him.

Worst of all, leading them was the World's Strongest Man. "I cannot," said Valente, the Dark Captain of the Hangmen, in a somber voice. "His Imperial Majesty gave me a divine duty, and I…I shall see it through!"

Blink.

There were only nine guards remaining. Tenver's arrows grew more sluggish, struggling to keep the Stained Creatures from Penumbria. Perhaps four minutes had passed, at most.

'You fought well,' Ciro admitted, thinking of the rebels. 'One could say you did the best with what you were given – but that doesn't mean you were ever given the chance to beat me. This feeble rebellion is over.'

Blink.

Even their leader, the mighty Pretender, that damned Painter who possessed the world-spawning Talent, was no closer to besting his opponent.

"Where are you, Adam?" the Gryphon screamed. His fluttering wings launched a harrowing gust of death across the ruins. "I'm not done with you yet!"

The Painter gasped for air, stepping out of his hiding spot with an unearned confidence about him. "I'm right here, Eric!"

Blink.

There were four soldiers left.

'Even the Talent that created this world is no match for the might of a Hangman,' Ciro noted, both triumphantly and sadly. 'This duel was settled from the start. Talent, Rank – those are things you cannot overcome with mere cleverness.'

There was just a single soldier left.

Ciro closed his eyes.

'Let us bring this farce to a close. One by one they rise to fight my Hangman, and one by one they fall. May Nayt end Tenver's life quickly, so we may return to–'

The sound of dueling steel snapped the Emperor's eyes wide open.

For a moment, he thought his very sight to be treasonous. It was easier to suspect a trick than to believe the reality he now witnessed:

Nayt's sword being parried away.

Ciro struggled to comprehend what he was witnessing. One of the Empire's mightiest Hangmen, repelled in a clash? It simply didn't make sense!

Yet it had happened.

Both Emperor and Hangman watched the event with a similar sense of mesmerized shock. The elf stood in idle stillness for a second longer, looking at his sword hand as if expecting the weapon itself to explain why it had failed him.

Ciro, meanwhile, chose to search for an explanation in Tenver's memories. He found the answer immediately – displayed proudly in a memory that was now at the forefront of the Puppet Prince's brain, as if his nephew had been waiting for this and now welcomed him to a shared reminiscence.

Tenver's memory took place in a dark cave, illuminated by an odd set of bright stones. Two figures stood before each other, each bidding their farewells. Despite the darkness, Ciro could recognize the first figure to be the Painter, and the memory's setting to be within the Puppet Mines.

Adam grasped the other's hand firmly. "Do you think that even you would have trouble with the Hangman in a one-on-one match?"

Evidently, the question had been meant as a joke, but the man across from the Painter answered it in complete earnest. "No," he replied, a grin full of confidence spreading across his face.

"I'd certainly win."

Nayt leaped backward to dodge an incoming thrust. Before him stood a lone swordsman and his extended blade.

"Dance with me, Hangman," challenged Ferrero Acerro, the Puppet Duelist.