The meeting took some time to end. Rieren didn’t return to it. She wasn’t required, and her continued presence would only serve to distract the others. They had already used it to pummel the dissidents and the Ordorian Elders. Now, they had to make use of it.

From what Kalvia related about the rest of the meeting after Rieren’s departure, it was a resounding success. They had all been amenable to the future Empress’s outlook and receptive to her ideas. Of course, that wasn’t just because she was supposed to be the Empress, though that no doubt helped.

She had proven herself to be intelligent, thoughtful, and having the Shatterlands’ interests at heart instead of just seeking to use it for her own gains. That had been the most important part that allowed her to gain the others’ trust.

A distant part of Rieren realized that had she been any other kind of person, she might have resented how well Kalvia’s reception had been. How easily she was gaining influence and standing among the elite of the Shatterlands. That same part of her would have attributed it to the Elders and other dignitaries trying to curry favour and ingratiating themselves, true or not.

For Rieren had nearly single-handedly saved the Shatterlands from utter annihilation and had received nothing in return save suspicion and perhaps a little awe. Or fright, maybe.

But Rieren didn’t mind. Nor did she begrudge Kalvia the positive attention her friend was receiving. The future Empress clearly thrived in such situations and was competent enough to capitalize on it. All Rieren truly had an eye for was getting through the Exalted realm at a reasonable pace.

And making her way to Vanharron.

Kalvia was headed there. As was the Shatterlands. Eventually. Whatever helped the future Empress—and all her allies—helped Rieren too. As such, Rieren needed to of use to them.

Which was why, a few days later, she ended up accompanying a contingent of the people assigned by the Clanmistress to reestablish a frontier outpost further out into the Shatterlands.

But before Rieren began the journey, there was one short trip she needed to take.

“I’m glad you came to visit,” Silomene said.

Rieren nodded. It felt right to check up on her friend, and to see for herself what Lord Mercion was up to. After the incident where Rieren had stabbed him and pulled out the fragment of the Abyss from within his guts—which took the form of one of her legendary swords, the Mirrorsword—he had been placed in solitary confinement.

The healers who had worked on him had revealed that he was indeed corrupted with Abyssal Essence. They hadn’t been able to excise the Gravemark Puppeteer’s control, though. They weren’t sure how to do so in the first place.

Even Rieren had no idea. She’d seen Abyssals controlling others many times. An easy example was how Life Stiflers could take over a body with such ease.

But all cases had been permanent possessions. Once someone’s consciousness was taken over by a monster, there was no way to turn them back to being human, much like how the Abyss twisted and corrupted living beings into literal Abyssals.

“How has he been doing?” Rieren asked.

A complicated mixture of emotions ran over Silomene’s face. It was difficult to parse any single one out from among the riot. Sadness, relief, anger, a certain brittleness, and more besides. “He is calm. That is the most I can say that’s positive.”

She didn’t say anything more. Rieren wondered about the exact situation, but more from the perspective of Silomene’s feelings. She had chosen to devote herself to Mercion which… struck Rieren as odd. One person being so involved with another had to cut away time and attention from anything else. Surely Silomene had other aspirations besides Mercion.

If he even was one of her ambitions. But then, who was Rieren to judge. Just because she had little use for deeper connections with people didn’t mean others felt the same way.

“Are you alright?” Rieren asked.

Silomene started a little. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I assume Mercion is no longer treating you as he used to. That must hurt, for which I am truly sorry.”

A slow flush was creeping onto Silomene’s face. “You’re overthinking a little bit.”

“So… are you or are you not intimate?”

“Definitely overthinking.”

“Ah, I see. My apologies.”

Silomene’s face had gone quite tight. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and her eyes were fixed squarely ahead. Rieren felt a smidge bad for prying and for making her tense.

“I do care about Mercion,” Silomene eventually said. She rubbed her face a little and that strangely made the colour go down. It also made Rieren unconsciously poke at her own face, but she quickly pulled her hand away. “But not like that. The idea is a little… I suppose, provocative? Thus my reaction. But when I actually search my feelings, they aren’t romantic.”

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Rieren nodded. Not being an expert at navigating feelings, she simply listened and decided to provide affirmative support where she could.

“I like Mercion a lot. I think he is a great man. Well, was. No, still is. Argh.” Silomene ran her hands through her hair, clearly anguished. “But no, this is about me, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, for me, I just don’t think I could feel that way about anyone. The idea of it just isn’t appealing.”

Rieren nodded. “I have never appreciated the mess of it either.”

Silomene’s eyes squinted. “Are you sure? You seem awfully close to the Empress.”

Rieren cleared her throat. “A one-sided closeness.”

If Silomene wanted to return the favour and pry more, she didn’t get the time to do so. They had finally arrived at Mercion’s location.

He was being held at a large outhouse in the Ordorian grounds. Several clan members were keeping watch over him, a mixture of guards and cultivators who were all tense and had their weapons ready in case Mercion tried something.

This visit was scheduled, so they allowed Rieren and Silomene to pass through easily. Besides, Silomene was a well-known face. They wouldn’t stop her.

Mercion looked up from where he was sitting on the ground. “My guts roil at the sight.”

Rieren didn’t know how she was to feel about that proclamation. The little tug on his lips suggested he was joking, but it was a little mean nevertheless. What she truly wasn’t sure about was whether she was speaking to Mercion or to the Gravemark Puppeteer.

He looked fine enough, though. Normal. At a glance, one would never suspect that he was being possessed by some strange web-slinging Abyssal who always hid in the shadows.

Rich robes, his long brown hair tucked into a functional ponytail, and with a daub of rouge still present on his cheeks all signalled an Archnoble’s heir taking due care of himself. Something that an Abyssal ought not to have cared about.

But Rieren knew how wily the Puppeteer could be. She held no doubt that if the monster wanted to keep up the charade, it would spare no effort to make Mercion look convincing.

“Greetings, my lord.” Silomene bowed briefly. “I am glad to see you are well.”

“I’m always well, Silomene. The healers did a good job of repairing my body after…” Mercion glanced at Rieren again. “Well, my body is certainly healed. But my heart is another matter.”

Silomene pursed her lips. “I would help soothe your pain, if you would let me. But I cannot give you everything you want.”

Mercion made a scoffing sound. “Better than nothing, I suppose. And at least you have a guest with you. That’s something. A nice little change of pace.” His eyes narrowed. “Even if said guest is only here to interrogate me.”

Ah, so he was on to her then. Shrewd of him. Mercion had never struck Rieren as someone lacking intelligence, though his stubbornness got the better of him often enough to put that in doubt at times.

Rieren and Silomene took their seats opposite Mercion. The other cultivators were close enough to intervene if anything went awry, but they still gave them a little space.

“I am not here to interrogate anyone, Lord Mercion,” Rieren said. “I only wished to see how you were faring, and to see if I could help in any way.”

“Well, you could vouch for my return to the regular society, but I suppose that’s beyond your power, isn’t it? Or, better put, beyond your willingness.”

Riern shook her head. “We all know that we can’t be sure of anything just yet, my lord.”

“Sure of what? Whether I’m a monster or not?”

“Correct.”

Rieren’s bluntness made Silomene wince. On the other hand, it made Mercion’s eyes light up.

“Now that we’re clear about the issue,” he said. “How do we fix it?”

“That is the thing, yes? We know of no way to ascertain the true truth, no way to be sure if the Gravemark Puppeteer’s control ahs been removed fully or not.”

“Surely there has to be a method. After all, you yourself did it, right?”

Rieren froze. Slowly, Silomene turned to look at her questioningly, and under her stare, Rieren couldn’t shy away from the truth. Not for long. How in the world had—of course, the Puppeteer must have its own sources of gathering information. Somehow, it knew about Rieren’s transformation in the Abyss and had subsequently informed Mercion of it.

“My methods are not replicable,” Rieren said.

“Enlighten us, anyway.”

Mercion’s eagerness was a little disturbing, but Rieren obliged. She hid nothing about the grisly truth, about how the very core of the Abyss had twisted her into a being driven by nothing but ravenous impulses. In the end, she’d been forced to tear sections of herself off until she had regenerated her true form thanks to her perk.

“Just the physical form, though, yes?” Mercion looked skeptical, squinting at Rieren as though he could pry out some monster within her. “You might still be corrupted with Abyss-Aspected Essence. You might keep the physical manifestation of it hidden, spending your nights tearing it off so that it regenerates by morning and you’re back to your regular self. Seemingly.”

The fact that Silomene said nothing suggested that she had been taken in by Mercion’s suspicions as well.

“I might,” Rieren said. “Or I might not. There is little I can do to prove it. But the fact remains that I am out here while you are stuck in here. The fact remains that I did save the Shatterlands, whereas you—”

“He was doing his best,” Silomene said. “Before…”

“Of course. My apologies. Unfortunately, Lord Mercion, you are infected by the Puppeteer’s taint. There are no two ways about it. If you truly love the Shatterlands, you will understand why you need to remain here, why we cannot afford to take the chance. You will understand that this is the best decision.”

Mercion pulled himself back, face cold. “And my thoughts about my land are to be ignored, is that it?”

Rieren could only shrug. The situation was unfortunate, and that was that. It wasn’t fair to Mercion, but most of them had more important matters to take care of.

“Then forgive me if I no longer deign to care.” Mercion sighed. “To help or to share anything I have learned.”

“Lord Mercion, please,” Silomene said. “We cannot simply—”

“Leave me be, Silomene. I have learned what it means to sacrifice so much but still be left on wayside.”

“Please, it isn’t like that.”

“Silomene.”

“Even me?”

For a second, the conflict making his mouth twist appeared genuine. Then he nodded.

Silomene looked like her heart had been stomped on. Rieren gritted her teeth. Perhaps she hadn’t acted as diplomatically as she might have, but Mercion was taking it out on poor Silomene, the only friend who cared so much about him. Absorbing cruelty only to dish it out in return.

Rieren stood up. “Come, Silomene.”

The other woman clenched her fists tight. She stood up slowly, Mercion not changing his expression in the slightest.

“I will find a way out of this, my lord,” Silomene said as they left.

Rieren couldn’t be sure, but a part of her thought there was a whispered “thank you” following them out through the doorway.