Rieren, appearing in the form of Gorint Malloh, approached the meeting in time. No one suspected her appearance. Malloh had instructed her on his temperament and whose “side” he was supposed to be on, which was a bit of a conundrum since he would be on the Clanmistress’s side. Rieren needed to get closest to Mercion.

It was time to put her natural acting talents to good use.

The meeting had almost begun. Both parties were waiting for the last members of their coalitions to arrive, Gorint Malloh being one of the last important ones. Rieren’s arrival took care of that. She pushed through the little crowd around Avathene to get to her.

“You finally arrive, Gorint,” she said. “Have you brought them?”

Rieren nodded. She coughed a little, hoping that would be enough to tide over the fact that her voice was a little different from Malloh’s. “Here.”

Avathene had been referring to an item that attested as proof of the events of the assassination attempt. She had procured a piece of the Mavolen’s clothing, one whose residual Essence signature would prove that no Stannerig clan member had acted against him.

The Clanmistress was about to perform an about turn after originally claiming responsibility for the former Ordorian Clanmaster’s death. Rieren wasn’t certain how well this would be accepted by the other side, but Avathene certainly had no shortage of support, going by all those who had gathered near and around her.

Not that it truly mattered for Rieren. She wanted to be open about the truth as well, which would redirect the aggression towards her. This would in turn free Avathene to continue holding the clans together, at least until the danger of the Dreadflood had passed.

While Avathene stepped forward with her evidence, Rieren took a quick look around. Oromin was there, as were some of the other cultivators she had seen in and around the estate, including the two guards she had accosted. All were on the side of the Clanmistress.

Mercion’s group held most she didn’t recognize. Well, apart from that tall man standing just behind him. He was the one Rieren had faced directly in her attempt to free Silomene.

Of whom, Rieren found no trace anywhere nearby. Troubling.

Mercion himself looked little different from when Rieren had known him. There was a certain surety about him, if she really squinted. She couldn’t tell if that was something granted by the Gravemark Puppeteer. But there was a strange sensation power from him. A subtle heaviness in the air, like there was a secondary presence enshrouding his form.

Rieren tried to see if there was any sign of the others noticing it too. Everyone looked too tense to tell. Whatever the Abyssal was doing, it was certainly not advertising its presence directly.

She also understood why Avathene hadn’t simply yelled about Mercion’s truth to the rest of them. It would be seen as a dishonourable attack. A baseless, desperate way to discredit him without actually addressing the concerns he had likely brought up against her. No one would believe a wild claim that the Ordorian scion was being directly controlled by an Abyssal.

No, Avathene would have to play by their rules and win. Thankfully, she had Rieren to count on.

The sky above them was overcast. Its cloudy gloom made it difficult to accurately tell what time of the day it was. But Rieren, and most others here, could tell those weren’t normal clouds. No, they had an S-Grade Abyssal heading towards Falstrom.

“You may check this,” Avathene said, placing the torn flap of fabric on the ground between her and her opposition. “You will find no trace of my Essence upon it. I can assure you.”

One of Mercion’s men came forward to check it. Mercion himself paid no attention to it. He addressed the Clanmistress directly.

“You know you are not the right one to lead the illustrious Ordorian clan,” he said. “Why do you persist in this affront against us?”

Rieren paused. That was a smart line of questioning. The Clanmistress would either have to rely on the truth she couldn’t reveal, thus vastly weakening her position, or create a fabrication she wouldn’t be able to prove. A nasty situation from which only Mercion would come out the likely winner.

Thankfully, Avathene was smart enough to have seen this coming.

“It is because I have inherited the position from my dear husband, Lord Mercion,” she said with utmost grace, equanimity, and unassailability. One would be foolish to voice any doubt against her tone. If she was feeling any weakness, she showed no sign of it. “He was taken from us too early, but he knew as well as all others within the Ordorian clan that you are frankly not suited to be an Archnoble.”

Mercion’s frowned deeply for a moment, but he relaxed it into a smile. “You underestimate me, Lady Avathene. Surely even you can sense my power. I am a worthy son of the great Mavolen, scion of the Ordorian clan, and I will take my right position at its head. Your continued opposition is an insult to long-held tradition and the ways of our world.”

Avathene didn’t answer. Clearly, she wasn’t one for political showboating, which Rieren could appreciate. Instead, she waited for Mercion’s clan member to announce the results of his little investigation, which didn’t take long at all.

“The Stannerig Clanmistress is correct,” the man said, his begrudging tone making it clear he would have preferred if she had been woefully wrong. “This fabric bears no Essence at all.”

“It could have bene expunged!” someone said from the back.

Another woman brought up a different, but still reasonable, suspicion. “How do we even know it’s from the old Clanmaster’s robes? It could be from anything.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“They are right, you know,” Mercion said. “How do we know this isn’t a fabrication?”

The tension rose higher at the challenge. No one on Avathene’s side appreciated the questioning. They all knew that providing even further proof was going to be nigh on impossible. But the fact that so many of them were standing resolutely behind their mistress suggested that there were more than one who knew the truth—that Mercion wasn’t a simple scion any longer.

But his last question was Rieren’s cue. She stepped past the Clanmistress and stood in the middle of the two groups on the cusp of starting a civil war they couldn’t afford.

All eyes shifted to her, many curious but several affronted that she was imposing so directly. The old paranoia she had been trying to suppress—had actually succeeded in doing so to a great degree, if she was being honest—was now trying to resurface. Rieren viciously slammed it down.

“I can tell you how it was not a fabrication,” she said. Rieren had to speak carefully, a little slowly, all to ensure she sounded as gruff as Gorint Malloh normally did. She still received some suspicious looks, but she went on before anyone could object. “The Clanmistress hasn’t revealed the real truth that can exonerate her from such baseless accusations.”

“What real truth?” one of Mercion’s attendants asked.

Mercion himself looked slightly worried. She didn’t know how much he knew about the events that had gone on during the night of the assassination attempt, specifically relating to the events within the Stannerig estate.

But then, if the Gravemark Puppeteer had been manipulating the former Clanmasters, it might know all about Malloh and Rieren’s actions.

“Speak, Malloh,” Oromin said. “What do you mean?”

Avathene’s eyes were shuttered. She had no wish to give up Rieren’s secret. Stalwart as she was, she couldn’t renege on the promise she had made. But she also recognized that her honour would spell her defeat, allowing an Abyssal to claim the highest seat of power in the Shatterlands. They couldn’t have that.

As such, the Clanmistress stayed silent with a neutral expression. Rieren didn’t blame her in the slightest.

“The only thing the Clanmistress is guilty of is sheltering the one who truly killed the former Ordorian Clanmaster,” Rieren said. “A visitor from another region, a lowly Sect disciple in this timeline but a perilous cultivator in the last, who I myself have worked with. She is the one who killed Mavolen Ordorian. The one known as Rieren Vallorne.”

There were questions abound. Several asked who even Rieren was. Others lambasted her for even daring to suggest such ridiculousness. But there were grim, knowing looks even among the ranks of those who supported Mercion, including himself of course.

Rieren turned to face Mercion directly. “She used to work with you, yes? The one you carried around in your little party to assist wherever you deemed necessary on the frontlines. It is surprising that you do not know her whereabouts, or that you would invite such a woman into our lands at a time like this.”

Mercion couldn’t deny it. Not when several of the ones behind him knew it full well to be the truth as well. “I didn’t know she would be such a liability.” He frowned. “If it is indeed the case, do you have any proof of it?”

“The murderer yet resides on this very mountain, certain in her hubris that she will remain protected. But we can confront her right this moment and verify the truth for ourselves.”

“Where is she?” the woman who had cast aspersions on the Clanmistress’s proof asked.

“At the Enlightenment Locale.”

“Then we can indeed confront her, provided she has not already been warned.”

“We do not need to travel,” Rieren said. “She has been summoned here already.” She pointed a hand behind the Clanmistress’s group and raised her voice to be heard. “Bring her forward.”

And in that moment, where everyone’s attention was thrown to the spot where she had pointed, Rieren acted. Throughout her little speech, she had manoeuvred herself so that she was positioned a mere pace ahead of Mercion, who was a few paces ahead of the rest of his party.

In other words, they were both in the perfect position.

Rieren relied on all the strength, speed, and reflexes that her increased stats provided. She twisted around and pulled out her sword from her storage ring. A fraction of a second later, as her Enchantment started dispelling at her overly rapid motion, she stabbed the Receptor sword into Mercion’s midsection.

There were too many reactions to take note of. Screams and shouts, surprise all around rapidly turning into anger and manifesting in all the powers those around them possessed.

But Rieren paid attention to one thing only. The dull clang her sword had made when entering Mercion’s body.

She grinned. The sword she had been looking for was within him.

The little gathering exploded into motion. Surprising no one, the Clanmistress was the first to react. She had already summoned whatever technique that transformed her into the half-serpent, and a long snake shot at Rieren from behind.

At the same time, other cultivators made their powers. There were too many to note. Oromin had his strange silvery mist coming into play. Some of the other Stannerig clan members had summoned their serpentine techniques as well. Several of the Ordorians had summoned various lighting around them, all blitzing into existence with the relevant thunder.

None of them mattered. Not the Clanmistress, nor anyone else who followed suit. Rieren had planned the incident perfectly with Gorint Malloh.

Several mirrors materialized around at the exact instant that she had stabbed Mercion. Some appeared behind her, some appeared in front, a few even cropped up on either side. They were enough to divert or reflect any negative attention Rieren suffered from the other cultivators in the area. All the various powers were thrown back in the direction they had come from.

Mercion glared down at her. Lighting flickered to life around him. “You dare—”

Rieren wasn’t about to allow her prey to stop her so easily. Her Domain had already been active since her Enchantment was in place. She had summoned the steam-borne geyser.

With a great whoosh, a column of overheated, vaporizing water threw both her and Mercion high into the air. If her stab had been surprising, this completely eradicated any possibility of him fighting back. His skin scalded under the immense temperature and he was blinded as water got into his eyes, nearly drowning him as it hammered into his face and nose.

All the better for Rieren since she was well-versed in keeping control in the geyser. She had used it far too often by now. This allowed her to keep enough control to thrust her hand into the wound she had opened and grab the relic within Mercion.

With a heavy tug, she pulled out the old sword with a gush of blood. There. She had recovered the one thing she needed from this entire debacle.

Mercion had recovered just enough to summon a quick lightning bolt to attack Rieren with, but she was still in full control of her abilities. A quick use of Earthfall Blade was enough to deflect the bolt away.

He kicked himself free from her, growling and snarling animalistically. More lightning flickered along the length of his arm before shooting at Rieren.

She wasn’t anywhere near fast enough to counteract the bolts themselves. Pure lightning was too fast. But all Rieren had to do to protect herself was keep an eye on the positioning of Mercion’s arms. So long as she moved her own arms accordingly, she was already in place to deflect away the bolts.

Rieren might not be fast enough to catch lightning, but she could certainly keep up with Mercion. In fact, with Tidal Summons active and all the boiling water around them, a quick lash with her leg sent a wave rocketing at Mercion.

He was struck square in the injury Rieren had dealt him. With a growl of pain, he was flung backwards as they both began to fall after reaching the peak of their ascent.