The scheme was more elaborate than Kylian could have guessed—and it was a great deal fouler too.

Despite himself, Kylian couldn’t help but be impressed by the ingenuity of the grander plan.

First, the criminal ring acquired capital through their debt schemes. With that acquired capital, they bought buildings from failing businesses throughout Varant, particularly in the industrial quarter.

Geoff, one of the ring’s founders, provided the capital for the operation to procure equipment, used his good reputation to convince craftsmen to help them properly construct the tunnels.The normal bustle and volume of the industrial quarter covered up the sounds of construction.

The ring targeted the vaults of particularly well-to-do merchants. The waitress, who was popular in the upscale tavern they frequented, eavesdropped upon their conversations, and used her charm to draw out seemingly innocuous details: such as their busiest days and hours, and when they’d be preoccupied with shipments.

Then, a path of least resistance would be found to attack that merchant’s vault, using the exceptionally extensive catacombs. Having already built access points all over the industrial quarter, they mapped out the catacombs relative to the ground level, and dug routes to the targeted vaults accordingly.

Most ingenious to their plot was the recruitment of a master stonemason. Upon the successful break-in and burglary of a vault, the stonemason would craft a flush replacement for the section of stone floor they’d broken through.

By the time merchants realized they’d been stolen from, it was often months after the actual theft.

The ring had in fact been using ‘The Book of Hidden Paths’ as a simple way of coordinating labor without ringleaders needing to meet up. Unfortunately for Ciecout, it had nothing to do with the ciphered messages being posted to the front of the cathedral’s bulletin.

That was apparently his fellow priests.

Upon realizing the crypt led into the catacombs, Kylian promptly wielded his authority to interrogate all figures of authority within the cathedral, whereupon the truth came out: Father Zuicaisse and Brother Clarence had been ‘playing a prank,’ taking advantage of their confrere’s paranoid spirit to lead him by the nose.

Posting messages hinting at sinister plots, and unlocking doors or switching keys and such as their notes indicated, they knew that Ciecout would become so convinced of the conspiracy that he couldn’t help but bring it to the attention of the bishop who already had a disdain for Ciecout—and believed that Ciecout was vying to become bishop himself.

Zuiscaisse, it seemed, wished to be named as the bishop’s successor, and hoped that Ciecout’s relentless pestering in relation to a heretical book would get him excommunicated, or at least sent to another diocese.

Ciecout was, understandably, devastated.

“I hope that… you do not take their betrayal too harshly,” Kylian said.

“What do you mean they had no relation to the plot?” Ciecout asked Kylian, ignoring his words of comfort.

“Er…”

“They must be obscuring their involvement,” Ciecout said, tone ardent, eyes stuck on his own ciphers. “They wish to be tried for a lesser crime.”

“The ring members deny ever corresponding with the priests,” Kylian said.

“Then… the criminals could be protecting their own,” Ciecout said.

“When they were more than willing to speak against each other?” Kylian asked.

“This makes no sense,” Ciecout said, dejectedly. “How can they not be a part of it? You’re telling me I didn’t predict the burglary? That it was all a coincidence?”

“As hard as it is to believe, that appears to be the case,” Kylian said, though he didn’t sound very certain himself. “It’s remarkable enough that it would be foolish to dismiss you. I’m merely telling you what the evidence seems to say, at this moment in time.”

“You’re suggesting that further evidence will reveal their involvement,” Ciecout said.

“... Possibly. Are you, er, in emotional distress from their desire to tarnish your name?” Kylian asked.

“This is typical for a diocese,” Ciecout said with curled lip. “If they truly wished me excommunicated, they should have pursued far surer avenues.”

“...I don’t believe you should so openly remark upon that,” Kylian said. “At any rate, the fact of the matter is your assistance did foil a plot to steal from the cathedral’s crypt—and we did retrieve, what appears to be, a piece by Noué Areygni.”

The ring had stolen a painting from the lower tomb of Noué Areygni’s mausoleum—which they had tunneled into from the catacombs. Believing the painting was the one they’d been searching for, they’d left satisfied.

Unfortunately, the painting wasn’t Noué Areygni’s portrait at all—it wasn’t even a portrait. And as far as the missing corpse, every member of the ring swore they had no clue.

“That’s what I understand the least,” Ciecout lamented. “Not only do we not have the legendary portrait, we don’t even have her body!”

“... There were at least jars of desiccated organs in the lower tomb,” Kylian said, a little stumped himself. He grimaced, thinking about how he and Ailn had discovered that fact. “That indicates that a corpse… should have been in the mausoleum at some point.”

Though, lacking any proper coffin, where that corpse would have been was a mystery. It didn’t seem as if there was a ‘spot’ for it anywhere in the mausoleum.

Had someone stolen the corpse? Or…

----------------------------------------

Ailn never got a chance to talk to Ciecout about the portrait.

Head resting against the carriage door, Ailn debated whether he wanted to eat first, or go straight to sleep. Even the slop from the mess hall sounded good right now. That said, he also felt like he could pass out on his feet.

Across from him, Renea looked just as tired—but something was troubling her.

“A mission to find reincarnators?” Renea asked Ailn.

The two of them were in the coach of state, which had come to retrieve them once a herald had informed the castle of their whereabouts.

It was already a few hours past dawn. The two of them had been out all night.

“That’s right,” Ailn said.

“You said you… talked to God,” Renea said, her eyebrows knitting, and her lip starting to purse a bit.

“I’d say he was more of a middle manager? This one was a little ‘g,’” Ailn said, thinking about how the teen god was actually rather diminutive. Ailn started fiddling with his wrist and doing his wincing frown. “Seemed like he had his own share of troubles.”

That was the honest truth. Exactly what kind of divine hierarchy there was, Ailn had no idea. But the young god clearly wasn’t all powerful, or he wouldn’t constantly look like his dog just ate his homework.

And, evidently, there were explicit rules that constrained him. That suggested he was subject to some form of higher order.

Or maybe he was just limited by the mechanics of the world itself. Even if he was head engineer, that didn’t mean he had perfect control over his own machinations.

“I see,” Renea said. Her shoulders relaxed a bit. But she still looked unhappy. “This sounds … even more dangerous than what I thought you were doing.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Which was?”

“I thought you were… trying to be some kind of detective superhero,” Renea said, scratching her cheek and looking sheepish.

“Really now,” Ailn said absentmindedly, turning his gaze out the window. Looked like they were about to reach the castle. He gave some thought to how his behavior looked from her perspective, and found himself laughing a bit. “I’m amazed you thought I was that good of a person.”

“You are, Ani,” Renea said. She said it rather impassively, as if she was correcting an honest mistake.

“Who?”

“That’s what I’m calling you.”

“...Ani, huh?” Ailn didn’t have much to say to the nickname—or to her assertion that he was a good person. They fell into a silence that lasted until they reached the castle. “...Looks like you really worried your aunt.”

Ailn gestured. There, at the front gates, was a weepy Ennieux.

“Our aunt,” Renea said, tersely.

“...Right. Well, there she is,” Ailn said.

Ennieux was waiting for the carriage by herself, while behind her and within the gates, dozens of knights were in formation—strangely, facing away from the arriving carriage.

“That’s… a rather strange formation to receive you in,” Ailn said.

“They shouldn’t be receiving me at all, since I’m not the Saintess,” Renea said, biting the nail of her thumb. “Oh… oh no.”

Ennieux flung open the carriage door and threw her arms around Renea.

“Why this… folly, Renea?!” Ennieux had clearly been weeping, but that didn’t stop her from lecturing while she glared at Renea through hurt, bleary eyes. Pausing every few moments from the lump in her throat, Ennieux’s speech had a sporadic flow. “Is it merely… is it the spirit of rebellion?”

Ennieux’s glare turned on Ailn.

“And you! Barely a week since she’s been stripped of her holy role, and you’ve already led her astray—truly, a magnificent feat!” she shouted, sounding genuinely angry. “Why should you show discretion, simply because she looks up to you? She’s just your little sister after all! What concern is it of yours if she’s prowling through the industrial quarter in the dead of night, clutching a sword? Why not introduce her to all of your malefactor friends? Care to apprise us of any other felons, Ailn eum-Creid? Perhaps she should acquaint with an arsonist!”

“... Sorry,” Ailn said, averting his eyes.

Her accusations were largely off-base, but it was true Ailn had acted in ways that courted Renea’s dangerous behavior.

If he’d taken the time to understand her a little better, he would’ve been able to predict how she’d act.

For one, he didn’t think she’d be so attached, already. Despite herself, she was probably overlapping Ailn with her real dead brother, in her mind.

Besides that, Ailn had no idea she’d act so recklessly, when prompted by anxiety. No matter what, it wasn’t normal to follow someone into a dark tunnel without knowing what was in it, and to be blunt she wasn’t normal, either. A decade of having Sophie protect her on the battlefield likely warped her sense of self-preservation.

Really, Ailn could be forgiven for not picking up on all of the atypicalities of Renea’s personality.

The real problem was he’d been too cavalier towards her struggle with bereavement. Regardless of whether she’d do anything dangerous, Ailn should have acted more carefully not to prod her fear of loss. Even if she hadn’t followed him, it would have meant she was simply suffering silently in bed from fear and anxiety.

So, Ailn did feel responsible. Unfortunately, however, this wouldn’t be the last time he had to do something dangerous.

Meanwhile, Renea seemed to sink into her seat from Ennieux’s breathless lecture. Head tilted all the way down, shoulders shrank and hands clasped together, she looked just like a teenager who’d been caught breaking curfew.

“I’m sorry…” she mumbled.

Her niece’s and nephew’s seemingly diffident response curtailed Ennieux’s anger. Her upset still evident in her shaky breaths, she simply looked away with crossed arms, standing right there at the door of the carriage while she calmed down. There was a good minute of awkward silence.

To Ailn’s embarrassment, for that minute, it genuinely felt like she was his aunt.

“Let’s head inside,” Ennieux said. Her voice wasn’t exactly warm, but she seemed to be making an effort not to sound cold. “There are other urgent concerns.”

Turning away without looking at the two of them—but lightly pushing the carriage door to its widest open angle—Ennieux went on ahead. Renea made a face, having understood what ‘concerns’ her aunt was referring to.

“I think Sigurd’s probably back,” Renea said. She was starting to panic.

“That bad, huh?” Ailn asked, a little disconcerted as he dismounted the carriage.

“Yes! You have no idea!” Renea shout-whispered, lingering for as long as possible at the carriage door.

“There really isn’t anyone normal in your family…” Ailn muttered.

“Our family!”

----------------------------------------

There was only one person who would compel all the knights together like this. Every knight in the castle, regardless of their daily duties, was gathered, to the point that the knights nearly spilled out of the forecourt and beyond the front gates.

Kylian shifted uncomfortably at the sight, dismounting his horse before crossing the threshold of the gates. He hesitated a moment, his foot upon the stirrup, at the thought of leaving his horse there—but his better sense told him now was not the time to ride leisurely to the stables, nor to loom above his superior from atop a steed.

Sigurd would not take kindly to that.

“Sir Reynard, you were fully aware that Renea wasn’t to leave the castle?” A voice rugged and resonant criticized the knight who had not only escorted the youngest child of the eum-Creids against the orders of the regent, but had in fact lost sight of her within the city.

“Yes sire, I did. I have no excuse.” Reynard was kneeling in front of Sigurd, head bowed deferentially.

“Your pay will be docked by a third for the forthcoming year,” Sigurd said. "And you shall resume runs donned in armor about the castle, alongside the rest of the knights during the morning training.”

“That is too lenient, sire,” Reynard stated, his voice honest. The graveness of his expression underscored this was not merely chivalric obsequiousness, but an attitude of remorse and repentance unfeigned.

“Then make it half your pay, and double the runs of your fellow knights.” The resonance of Sigurd’s voice became cutting when blended with guttural intonation, like the teeth of a sharp saw.

Kylian had mixed feelings about Reynard’s indiscretion. He sympathized with his decision to escort Renea out of the castle—he might have been tempted to do so himself, if he were in Reynard’s position.

And truly, Renea should have known better. She was versed enough in the formalities of court to understand the harsh consequences her actions would bring upon Reynard. It was not his place to judge his liege, the fact of the matter was that even lords and ladies had their obligations to their vassals.

The vassal could not hold them responsible—it was both the privilege and burden of nobility that they should properly rule each other and themselves, as surely Sigurd would do as regards Renea.

All that said, things had certainly turned out for the best, thanks to the combination of Reynard and Renea’s decisions. Kylian, for all his aversion to superstition, felt deep in his bones that occasional serendipity was the reward for good character.

As for Reynard’s punishment, the docked pay was appropriate, if harsh; the armored runs, however, were meanspirited and counterproductive given Reynard’s wounded knee. All it would do is take a fine knight and deteriorate his abilities—what use was there in training like that?

Kylian blended surreptitiously into the ranks of the knights, yet Sigurd did not fail to notice his arrival.

“Sir Kylian,” Sigurd said. “You have my gratitude. You’ve retrieved, and saved the lives of both of my meritless siblings. Although…” Sigurd trailed off, looking momentarily disconcerted. “At any rate,” he continued, after regaining his composure, “it is a fine thing that will see you an increase in your wages of ten and five percent.”

“Thank you sire,” Kylian stepped forward and kneeled.

“Stand, Sir Kylian,” Sigurd said. “It sets a confusing example for an exemplary knight to kneel beside an offending one.”

Kylian dutifully stood, offering a short bow before taking three practiced steps backward into the ranks of the knights, careful not to turn his back on his lord.

“As for aforementioned siblings,” Sigurd narrowed his eyes, casting his gaze toward the front gates.

Renea, the principal offender, was still loitering outside them, while Ailn stood with crossed arms beside her, with a countenance that could be described as churlish.

Ennieux was also in the direction of his gaze, having stepped into the space behind the knights yet still within the gates. Her hands clasped in front of her, and her back stiff, her eyes were cast low in deference, but where she’d chosen to stand—at the front of Renea and Ailn—was implicitly protective.

“Your Highness, Sigurd—Renea and Ailn have returned safely,” Ennieux announced. “After all our anxieties and apprehensions, is this not a most auspicious turn of events?”

Sigurd glanced at Ennieux, but deigned not to respond, his gaze moving flagrantly past her and settling upon Renea.

“Renea, step forward,” Sigurd said coldly.

Renea walked slowly through the gates, leaving Ailn behind. The knights’ ranks parted for her while Reynard remained kneeling—which surely was painful for his knee.

“Your Highness,” Renea said quietly, also looking at the ground.

The last time these two siblings had spoken, Sigurd could not act so imperiously. As the Saintess apparent, she had outranked him who was a mere regent.

Yet both were versed enough in decorum—and Renea’s self-esteem had plummeted enough—that she showed no resistance towards her diminished rank, and Sigurd wasted no time in asserting his.

“Do you even comprehend the disgrace your prolonged deceit has inflicted upon this family?” Sigurd said.

“...I have sinned greatly,” Renea said, quietly. “I am sorry.”

“The judgment of your soul, and the education of your spirit… is between you and God,” Sigurd said. “I won’t speak of the matter any further.”

He was unexpectedly restrained, Kylian felt—perhaps even considerate. In the past, Sigurd would have flown into a vehement lecture. Parsimonious with his words, and reticent with his reprimands, Sigurd’s measured approach to confronting Renea hinted at recent strides in maturity and grace.

Renea let out a shaky breath—not quite relieved, but hopeful. That made Sigurd’s next words all the more crushing.

“Renea. At the end of this month, on the day of the wolf, not only will Sophie be officially added to the family register—you will be formally removed and disowned. You… will no longer bear the name eum-Creid.”