CHAPTER 68: A BREWING CONSPIRACY

Lawrence exhaled the smoke from his lungs and closed the laptop in front of him. He was currently seated at his office desk with the light dimmed. He turned around in his seat and frowned. A man shrouded in a dark cloak was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Are you happy," Lawrence spoke with a hint of annoyance.

The cloaked figure nodded. "Yes, thank you for cooperating."

Lawrence sighed, "it's not like I had a choice..."

The cloaked figure ignored his feelings and walked over next to him. "Maybe so, but it was the right choice." He unfurled the curtains covering the window, allowing the light of the sun to enter the gloomy room. "Although the suspicion is still there, this will allow us to buy time."

Lawrence's frown deepened. "What the hell are you all planning? Is this related to that Elizabeth lass?"

The cloaked figure continued to stare out of the window. Hover vehicles zipped by as the numerous city lights warped around his body, as if light itself could not pierce through his shadowy veil.

"Lawrence... How much have you investigated us?"

He took a puff from his pipe. "Since the incident with Elizabeth... I know you are currently working with the Lysange family. But I still do not understand. Why are you using your name as a shield? Even if the blame was shifted toward the Valencourt family regarding that massacre you committed, not much would have changed."

"You are certainly right. Not much would have changed for the Valencourt family. They are still under a lot of fire and another piece of wood added to the flames wouldn't have been that big of a deal. However, that is only if we are looking at this from inside a vacuum."

"What... What do you mean?"

The cloaked figure's voice echoed across the room. "This empire; it is bound to collapse soon. The pieces are all moving accordingly. Your role today will play a significant part in spreading the chaos I desire."

Lawrence squinted his eyes. "You... You don't mean..."

"The Angel of Repose will finally be given the chance to blow the trumpets of war."

...

Hermes was now inside another cab that was flying off toward the Ironclad Mercenary HQ. Placing his arm next to the window, he began to gaze outside. Countless spires and lights decorated the skyline of Astrum Aeternum, captivating his view. Suddenly, the buildings unfolded, giving Hermes a clear angle of Librarium Celestium.

The age-old holy relic sparkled in the radiant golden illumination. Its radiance outshining even the very stars. The air was veiled in a golden aura while cosmic force emanated from the strategically positioned obelisks. The runic symbols etched into their masonry gave off a faint light. Hermes couldn't help but remember his conversation with Lucky.

'Somewhere inside that colossal structure, Elizabeth is being held prisoner... From what I have heard, the inquisition holds no mercy for heretics...' His throat felt parched. He shook his head and grit his teeth. 'No... I am sure they have at least treated her somewhat well. She is a noble after all...'

Suddenly, the cab driver shifted his steering wheel downward. The entire hover vehicle began to descend, coming to a stop beside an unfamiliar street. He turned his head and nodded at Hermes.

"Alright, sir. We have arrived."

Hermes nodded back at him and swiped his badge to pay the fare. He quickly got off from the 'Stellar Chariot', as they were called. Seeing it speed off, Hermes began to look around him. The street he was currently in was in the lower districts. The scented candles he had grown used to were scattered around in a disordered manner. Mud and grime could be seen present on the roads, as well as numerous cracks and potholes.

Straightening out his collar, he propped the bag holding all his belongs over his shoulder and began to walk around. As he was looking for where Mason and his crew resided, he could hear different conversations from the passersby.

Some talked about work and how their wives nagged at them. Others talked about a recent street fight that had occurred. But what grabbed his attention the most was hearing the reactions people had to the story he heard on the television.

"The Angel of Repose strikes again, huh? Though this time, it seems somewhat... Random?"

"What do you mean," replied another person in the crowded sidewalk.

"Well, isn't he usually a man of the people? His targets this time are kinda lame..."

"Yeah... I wish he would come and get rid of my boss instead. That bastard still refuses to pay me!"

"Idiot! That's not what I meant! I mean, don't you remember the last time he was on the news?! The bloody bastard murdered the lords of 3 lesser families! All in a single night and each of his targets was in a different place! The man is clearly a magician! Those bloody nobles were in a fit of rage when it happened, haha!"

"I remember... The upheaval that caused was insane..."

Hermes continued to walk in the same direction as them. 'Whoever this Angel of Repose is, must be extremely high level...'

The discussion rambled on about the notorious assassin, revisiting numerous tales of his exploits over the past 25 years. What really caught Hermes' attention was the caliber of his targets. Each individual taken out by the Angel of Repose was so high profile that merely stepping into their territory spelled almost certain doom. Yet this enigmatic figure seemed to dispatch them with unsettling ease.

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These stories turned him into a sort of folk hero for the downtrodden, who viewed his deeds as righteous. It didn't help that the victims were predominantly either deeply corrupt politicians and aristocrats or exceedingly dangerous crime bosses.

Over time, he ascended to a celebrity status among the lower classes, weary of exploitation by the wealthy. Even esteemed families like the Valencourt house, though perceived as paragons of virtue, had their fair share of detractors who wished that the Angel of Repose could dispose of.

But with news of his latest killing spree spreading, many of his former supporters found themselves bewildered. The targets this time were nowhere near the stature of his previous victims. Some even doubted the authenticity of the reports, speculating that perhaps someone else was operating under the guise of the Angel of Repose.

His previous kill count tended to align very coincidentally with enemies of the Lysange family. Many investigators and other prominent figures had reasonable suspicions that the Angel of Repose may have had some sort of relationship with the Lysange family. But all of this changed with the recent massacre. In an unexpected plot twist, the group of rogues he had murdered had a relationship with the Lysange family. During his ride in the cab, Hermes had listened to the radio station, which was broadcasting an update to the story.

According to a spokesperson from the Lysange family, the group of rogues were in actuality agents on a secret mission that was being conducted on behalf of the church. The spokesperson refused to comment further than that which only drove many to brew more and more bizarre conspiracy theories.

Because of his actions that night, his image of being an impartial folk hero who delivers justice to all who are corrupt was somewhat cemented, but at the same time, some also began to suspect that there was more to him than just being a figure of righteousness and justice. That maybe he belonged to a different faction, one that the Lysange family was investigating.

No matter what the truth was, widespread confusion had already spread. With the killings happening so close to the homes of very prominent government figures, the flames of suspicion had already been sparked. Many citizens were already noticing how drastic the policies had become since Linarias' ascension to the throne, but now, the instability had grown to even the lesser nobles.

Hermes walked across the street, with the crowd of pedestrians headed the same way. He could notice how many shops were closing early. It was obvious to him that even those in the lower districts have become afraid of the recent changes. If entire massacres were occurring in the aristocratic districts without anyone being able to notice until the aftermath was visible, then how could they be certain that nothing will happen to them either? Especially not with the way the inquisition was currently handling things.

After a bit of walking, he spotted the sign he was looking for. It was exactly as Lance had described it. Their sigil, a helmet that was adorned with cracks, was etched into the sign hanging from their gate.

The Ironclad Mercenary HQ was exactly as he had expected. A large warehouse that was abandoned that Mason and his crew had renovated. According to what Lance had told him, it used to be the den of a local drug lord that Mason had managed to kill in his earlier years. He was able to acquire the rights to it and turned it into their home.

Hermes smiled to himself and rang the doorbell. A sound came out of it, one that he was familiar with.

"Yo, Hermes! You're already here?"

Hermes replied, "yes. I just got done with my business. May I come in?"

"No problem, man!" The gate swung open, prompting him to enter inside. After walking his way to the warehouse entrance, a man twisted the knob and greeted him. His black hair and emerald green eyes were just as he remembered them.

"Lance, how have you been?"

He shook Hermes' hand. "I've been fine. Come, let me take you to where the others are."

Hermes walked inside the entrance with Lance. He went from smiling to having his mouth shaped like an 'O'. Unlike its rough exterior, the warehouse looked nothing like a warehouse. Lavish furniture and beautiful decorations lined the walls. Expensive chandeliers hung from the tall ceiling. It was as if Hermes had entered a celebrity penthouse. The only notable distinction being the absence of separate rooms; the entire expanse lay open before them, which Hermes found to be normal for a warehouse.

Lance smiled. "everyone who comes here for the first time has the same reaction. Mason may be a brute, but he sure has taste, doesn't he?"

Hermes coughed. "You are right. I thought he was the type to sleep in a cardboard box."

"Pfff, I can definitely see why you would think that."

They walked toward the lobby, where Mason and a bunch of his mercenary buddies were hanging out, watching the television. Over at the other side of the open warehouse, a large hover tank was being hung tightly by chains. John was busy doing repairs to it. Lance immediately yelled to grab their attention.

"Hey, guess who is here!" Mason and the rest immediately tilted their heads in his direction. Embarrassed, Hermes waved at them awkwardly. Mason got up from the couch and began to laugh.

"Kid, you finally made it! I thought you would never come here again after I made you pay for my drinks!"

Hermes grinned, "I was considering it."

Mason made his way to him and patted his shoulder. "Hey everyone, I know that not all of you were present during our previous mission with the Valencourt family, so let me introduce you. This little guy here is Hermes Wilson. Don't underestimate him, he is a gold rank mercenary!"

"Oh, he looks fairly handsome..." The young woman's voice carried across the lobby as she observed Hermes. Seated on one of the couches with her feet crossed, her grin was evident despite the luscious purple hair framing her face. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she assessed Hermes' physique. "Well built too... Hm, I don't like men with glasses though... What a shame..."

Hermes pushed his glasses up and turned to Lance, whispering, "who is she?"

Lance smiled. "don't be fooled by her appearance. If you get close to her, she might just eat you alive."

"I can hear you, y'know," she shot back, glaring at Lance. In the blink of an eye, she vanished from the couch and reappeared with her arms wrapped around Hermes' chest.

Startled, Hermes could only manage a bewildered silence. 'When the hell did she get there?! I didn't even see her...'

She continued to touch his body, "oh wow, it seems your chest muscles are still in the process of developing. Have you only started training recently?"

Mason, observing the scene, frowned. "Merlin, cut it out. You're scaring him."

Releasing Hermes, she stepped back with an apologetic expression. "Oh my, apologies." Despite her contrite tone, Hermes sensed she would have persisted if Mason hadn't intervened.

Facepalming, Lance muttered, "I knew that would happen..." Hermes turned to him, still reeling from the sudden encounter.

"How did she... Move like that? Was it a 'Blink' spell?"

Lance nodded. "Yes, but not exactly. It's her own version of the 'Blink' spell. Merlin here is a Stage 7 Mystic. Specializes in the element of space."

'Makes sense... I couldn't even track her movements...'

She quickly teleported back to her seat and began to sip on a glass of wine. "Hermes Wilson, was it? My name is Merlin. Nice to meet you."

Hermes nodded at her awkwardly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, too."

She giggled, "You don't have to be so stiff around me..."

'You saying that will only scare me further away from you...'

Suddenly, Mason clapped his hands, jolting Hermes out of his reverie. All eyes turned towards him, except for one person Hermes didn't recognize, who was peacefully dozing on the couch. Sensing the weight of the collective attention, Mason cleared his throat.

"Alright then. Now that Hermes is here, we can start talking about our part in the upcoming operation."

End of Chapter