Most of the time, Leonard allowed him to see about his duties without interference. Damien genuinely appreciated this, as he didn't think he'd have been able to accomplish as much as he had if he had to worry about explaining the how and why of his every action.

He knew his brain worked in unconventional ways. Actions that would have seemed counterproductive at best and heinous at worst to others were just par for the course for him.

Establishing spy rings and contacts among noble households, as well as removing the most dangerous members of society, was a difficult and thankless task. Still, Damien accomplished it all with a smile on his face. He did it for a reason, after all. He had seen the Light.

Occasionally, however, his friend, mentor, and leader gave him specific tasks. He was still afforded some leeway, but most of his steps were already prepared ahead of time, and this was when he realized just how far ahead Leonard had seen.

Being the most diplomatic of the War Council, he was the obvious choice when it came to entreating with foreign countries on the few occasions the Grand Marshal couldn't be present, and Old Lia's meddling didn't suffice.

Waiting for the foreign ship to moor with his assembled group of clean-shaven soldiers that had slowly started acting as a barebones diplomatic corp, Damien was forced to reassess how well he had understood the Light's Chosen again.

The brisk sea breeze tugged at his robes, and he watched the ship maneuver into place with precise movements, evidently aided by a water mage he couldn't quite detect.

The vessel was sleek and imposing, bearing the crest of the Brander Republic—a silver sunburst set against a field of deep blue. Painted in a single spell by a high-tier artist, if Damien wasn't mistaken.

You don't see this kind of thing often in Haylich. Very few people care enough to bother, and the price is just not worth it for an almost identical job. But Brander is all about subtle and overt messaging. It makes sense they'd send the first diplomatic mission to the Revolution decked in enough understated wealth to make a Duke green in envy. It doesn’t hurt that it’s the kind of wealth that cannot be stolen.

It was a subtle declaration that Damien made sure to take note of. He had already prepped for this mission by reading through all the available tomes, but Brander's high society was almost entirely unknown in Haylich beyond speculation and foolish tales. The merchants that traded through the Serpent Sea helped put together a battle plan, but they didn't have all the answers he wanted. For that, he needed to be more direct in his pursuits.

The ship came to a smooth stop, and a gangplank was lowered. As was the custom for men of the sea, the captain and the dock master exchanged a few words in broken Elven, coming to an agreement quite quickly since the tax had been waived as a gesture of goodwill.

One by one, members of the delegation began to disembark. Most of them were as Damien expected—diplomats clad in stylish yet practical robes adorned with symbols indicating their roles and areas of expertise. He saw emblems representing local history, language, and law studies—precisely what to expect for such a delegation. It made him nervous.

However, two figures stood out from the rest. The first was a teenage girl with short green hair and black eyes, her robes marked with the insignia of an acolyte of Metal Magic. But what drew Damien's attention wasn't her age but the intricacy of the symbols on her attire—she was far more advanced than her youthful appearance suggested if his cobbled understanding of their internal rankings was correct.

That's always a problem with relying on second or tertiary evidence. You can only infer so much before you start hitting a wall.

The second figure was a stark contrast to the girl. An old man descended the gangplank with an air of frailty, his movements slow and deliberate. Compared to the other diplomats, he appeared to be the least interesting one, and indeed, the men Damien had begun to teach seemed to share this assessment as they studied the others intently.

Yet, it was his plain robes that made Damien's eyes narrow in suspicion. Midnight black, with a single silver eye stitched onto his chest—the All Seeing Eye. Damien wasn't an expert on Branderi mages, but even he knew that only the most skilled and dangerous were granted the honor of wearing that symbol. This man was no mere diplomat, if he was even an elder and not an illusion mage playing around.

Damien's instincts urged him to focus on himself. Leonard had warned him that there would be a special guest, and he had no doubt this was it.

Not a hint of excess mana escaped the man. Only enough to paint him as a frail elder barely capable of sustaining his body. The incongruity with his presence on such a critical mission alone would have singled him out as a person of interest.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

As the last of the delegation stepped onto solid ground, Damien stepped forward, offering a shallow bow—enough to be respectful but not deep enough to be mistaken as subservience.

"Welcome to Treon," he said smoothly. "I am Damien, a humble Vicar of the Temple of the Light, and I have been assigned to ensure your stay here is both comfortable and productive."

"Thank you for welcoming us, Mr. Damien. I am Enteran Yullen, and I speak for the whole delegation when I say we are here with the greatest hope that our relationship will continue to grow." The tallest diplomat answered, pulling Damien's attention away from the old man.

If he's letting the others speak, he might want to play a game. Or he might actually just be here to observe… No, it’s something else.

"I wholeheartedly share your sentiment, Mr. Yullen," Damien said, briefly meeting the man's eyes. He then turned to the others, acknowledging them with nods before gesturing to the soldiers standing at attention nearby. “These men will see to your luggage and ensure everything is brought to your new residence."

Before the soldiers could move, Yullen halted them in their tracks with a raised hand. "That won't be necessary, Vicar Damien. Our needs have already been arranged." His tone was polite but firm, leaving little room for argument.

Damien raised an eyebrow, slightly off-kilter by the refusal. He wasn't accustomed to being so casually dismissed in his own territory, but he quickly recovered, recalling Leonard's advice to go with the flow. "Of course," he replied smoothly, waving the soldiers back. "If you have any further needs, however, do not hesitate to ask."

The diplomat inclined his head, and Damien turned to lead them away from the docks. The journey to the noble district was marked by his showing this or that local sightseeing spot, save for the occasional polite exchange between the Branderi and the few townsfolk brave enough to approach them. The city was still adjusting to its new rulers, and the sight of foreign diplomats was yet another reminder of the changing times.

Still, no one made any trouble, and they quickly arrived at the manse that had been set aside for the delegation. It was a stately building, its stone facade bearing the marks of old wealth and power. Damien had ensured it was well-prepared, with luxurious furnishings and ample space for their work.

"I trust this residence will meet your needs," Damien said as they reached the entrance, gesturing for them to enter. Yullen paused, scanning the building with an unreadable expression before he nodded. "It will do, Vicar Damien. We appreciate your efforts."

The manse was grander than one might expect for a temporary residence, but that was precisely the point. He wanted the Branderi to feel the weight of Haylich's wealth and power, even if the Revolution's hold on the city was still fresh. Its size should also mean greater ease in slipping people in, though something told him it wouldn't be easy.

As they moved from room to room, Damien gestured to various amenities. "A full staff of local volunteers has been arranged for your convenience. They are well-versed in both Branderi customs and the particularities of our city. Should you need anything, they are at your disposal."

The delegation members exchanged glances, their faces revealing little. Just as Damien was about to continue, Yullen stepped in. "That won't be necessary, Vicar Damien. We will handle our own affairs."

The refusal was swift and final, and Damien noticed the subtle gesture that accompanied it—a slight hand movement from the old man in the midnight robes. The other diplomats didn't seem to notice, but it was apparent now that he was looking.

Damien met the elder's gaze, catching the glint of something unspoken in his eyes. It was a look of acknowledgment, and the old man gave a slow nod.

Damien said nothing more on the matter, merely adding another oddity to the tally, and chose to lead them through the rest of the mansion instead. He showed the diplomats the opulent dining hall, the well-appointed meeting rooms, and the private quarters that had been carefully prepared for each delegation member—just as he had hoped. This led to some muttering as the men wondered how he had known in advance about their number.

All the while, he maintained his composed demeanor, masking the undercurrent of unease he felt at being subtly rebuffed twice in a matter of minutes.

Finally, the tour concluded in a spacious drawing room with large windows overlooking an inner garden. Damien turned to the delegation, offering a small bow. "I hope you find everything to your satisfaction. Please take this time to rest and recover from your journey. Our discussions will begin tomorrow, focusing on the proposed trade agreements between our nations."

The diplomats stated their thanks, and Damien made to leave. However, as he reached the entrance hall, a strange sensation tugged at him—an almost imperceptible pull that led his feet to a side room he had not intended to enter.

Opening the door, he was not entirely surprised to find the old man and the young green-haired acolyte already seated within. The room was modest compared to the rest of the mansion, its walls lined with bookshelves and a single window letting in the soft afternoon light.

The elder looked up as Damien entered, his face an unreadable mask. The girl, however, let out a small, disappointed snort. "I told you he wouldn't be surprised," she muttered petulantly.

Damien remained placid, closing the door behind him with deliberate care. "I was expecting something of the sort," he said calmly, meeting her dark gaze with steady composure.

"You must like danger, Vicar Damien. Not many would walk so confidently into what might seem like a trap."

Damien inclined his head slightly. "Experience has taught me to expect the unexpected. And to face it head-on. Darkness rots and festers if not cleansed with the Light."

The girl leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "Well, you're not as much fun as I hoped," she said, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.

"I aim to please," Damien replied with a hint of dry humor. "Now, what can I do for you both?"

"I am Marzio Etinus, and this is my granddaughter, Lamberta." The old man replied, "We have heard much about the Revolution, about its rapid rise and unexpected military victories. You seem to have turned the tide against forces many thought unbeatable in your condition."

Damien smiled faintly, recognizing the opening move in what promised to be a complex game of verbal sparring. "It's a pleasure to meet you both. We have been fortunate, Mr. Etinus. And we have been guided by a leader with unparalleled vision."

Lamberta's eyes narrowed slightly. "Fortunate, you say. But fortune only carries one so far. There is something more at play here beyond mere luck or skill. Is it true that your leader has never lost a battle?"

Damien's smile didn't waver. "The Grand Marshal is indeed undefeated. His understanding of warfare, both conventional and otherwise, is unmatched."

"Unmatched," Marzio echoed softly as if tasting the word. "A bold claim. I like boldness. Let's hope I'll like this bold man just as much."