To say the least, I feel uneasy. The Break continues to swirl, offering no refuge. Even with my prana at rock bottom, in Sliding, I'd be miles away within a minute. But it seems fate has chosen today for me to face trouble head-on. And this unexpected guest practically oozes trouble. Or rather, TROUBLE!
The silence stretches over three heartbeats. Nobody is in a rush to clarify anything for the stranger. To be more accurate, Zanh Kiem had already started to speak, but a slight movement of the revolvers made him swiftly reconsider. Nein and Rui come to their senses, but instead of aiding their boss, they position themselves behind the "twins." Tunk and Rock act as if they've just arrived and found themselves here by accident.
The only one ready to act is Maya - I can feel it in the tension of her muscles. No, I can't allow it! Knowing her temperament and the guilt she carries, I simply can't. I straighten up, release the girl, gather my strength, summon all the courage I possess, and take a step forward.
The stranger's focus shifts to me, and his revolvers lower. Yes, for some inexplicable reason, he just lowered his weapons.
"Nobody summoned the Darkness," I manage to say without coughing from the dryness in my throat. "It was the Darkness that came for me."
"Temptation..." The man in the cassock utters this single word, and it falls like a sandbag into the road dust.
Ignoring everything else: the machine guns held by the "twins," the paralyzed Maker, the messengers from the House on the Hill - the stranger tucks his revolvers under his robe and approaches me in ten long strides. His hood is so deep that I can't see his face; he reminds me of Darth Sidious. Not only in his attire... From under his hood, barely perceptible, on the edge of discernment, an unfathomable night swirls.
For five extended seconds, he peers into my faceplate, as if trying to see something only he knows, and then drops to one knee.
"Si... Sir. Milady," the stranger speaks, bowing his head before me. It seems he is addressing only me, yet veils it as though he's also acknowledging Maya. "This is a great honor for me."
Having completed his enigmatic ritual, he stands, and I can see the unusual cross on his chest. A bronze, flaming crucifix.
Those who purge the Darkness from souls.
The Inquisition...
As if having only the Palm of Bodhidharma wasn't enough for me!
"I have no right to demand from you..." The envoy of the Holy See seems momentarily at a loss for words. "Break Knights," he finally finds an appropriate descriptor, though it's odd that he hesitated over such a simple matter. "Any report," he continues. Why does it feel like when he addresses the two of us, he's only really speaking to me? Something seems off with my perception today. It feels like I'm the focal point of everyone's attention. "Nevertheless, I humbly ask for some clarification."
Humbly, sure, huh! His voice doesn't resonate with humility at all. The inquisitor is peculiar: on one hand, he seems like a character ripped from the pages of books about awe-inspiring church servants; on the other, there's an indefinable oddity about him. Darkness envelops him, he seems to merge with it, yet when he stands near me like this, I sense no danger. Contrarily, something nudges me to trust this man. Could this be some form of enchantment? Regrettably, with almost no prana left, I can't engage my ability to verify it. Besides, I doubt anyone would dare attempt such a psychic influence with a Maker in proximity. Speaking of Zanh Kiem, despite the inquisitor having stowed his weapon, the sensum remains stationary. His group is fully battle-ready, awaiting an order or signal from their leader. It's all so baffling. Monastic combat groups and the Inquisitorium should be allied entities, so why this tension? A conflict of interests? Perhaps. But what could be the cause?
Thoughts race, and the silence prolongs. Moreover, I don't want to incur the wrath of such a powerful organization - fundamentally, we're on the same side. However, this appears to be the first "official" encounter between the Break Knights and the Inquisition, hence the necessity for formality.
"You know how to address us, but we're unclear on how to address you," I reply, my tone icy, laced with annoyance.
"Legate Abel de Diaz," comes the straightforward response from under the hood, devoid of Eastern bows or other courtesies.
Legate? Why use such an archaic title, prevalent in the days of ancient Rome? Hold on. I'm mistaken. It likely refers to "papal legate," implying a fully authorized representative of the Holy See in any given territory. Essentially, a special envoy executing a specific mission.
"Legate Abel, please be more explicit. What clarification are you seeking?" I can't help but express my irritation. Despite the presence of the Maker and representatives of formal power, it's me who's expected to respond! This provokes an outburst, which, as usual, I regret as soon as the words escape my lips.
"Ahem," a surprised sound emerges from under the hood. Apparently, the bearer of the flaming crucifix isn't accustomed to such responses. "I'm investigating an extraordinary surge of Darkness, the epicenter of which is right here. It was so intense that I felt it in the heart of Wilflaes, almost thirty kilometers from here."
"It was a localized anomalous Breakthrough. The Break gave rise to a powerful Dark adept. The Breakthrough is closed. The Darkness has departed."
"That's not all," the Inquisitor isn't shaken by the mention of the Breakthrough, although it's hard to determine anything for certain when his eyes are shrouded in the darkness of his hood. "I'm not your enemy, Sir Maestro."
His implications seem clear. But should I reveal that I understand, or feign ignorance? No, annoyance and anger seldom make good counselors during negotiations, so I respond candidly.
"I was offered Strength and Power. I declined."
"Temptation by Darkness," the legate nods. "But even that's not the full story."
"I was offered Knowledge and a Path. I declined."
"Temptation by Light." Am I mistaken, or does the Inquisitor seem pleased to hear about my refusal? "I understand. I accept this explanation. Thank you for your responses."
"And that's all?" Zanh Kiem finally intervenes. "What about the usual Inquisitorial practice of interrogations using unconventional means?"
The man in the hood shifts his stance in a manner familiar to me from fencing, positioning himself so he can see both the Maker and me.
"How should I address you, young man? What name were you given for this mission, the leader of the Third Palm?"
The question briefly disconcerts the sensum, but he recovers and responds.
"Zanh Kiem."
"Very well, Zanh Kiem, the word of the one who chooses to be known as Maestro is sufficient for me." Why does he regard me in such a manner? Does the Inquisitor possess knowledge about the Break Knights that I'm yet unaware of? Or, aware of my blades' properties, does he know I cannot lie? "However, I do have some questions for you," he adds after a pause, "of a professional nature."
The sensum doesn't flinch, even though these words certainly carry the insinuation of that "interrogation using unconventional means."
"This isn't the appropriate place or time," the Maker withstands the pressure of the Inquisitor, his voice steady yet resolute.
"Here, I determine when the time is right, and the location is fitting," the Papal Legate retorts sharply. Then, utterly disregarding Zanh Kiem's response, he turns to the Duke's messengers. "Mr. Rock." The curator addressed by the Inquisitor straightens. "It's time for you to go deaf."
Without contesting, the shapeshifter immediately climbs into his car, shuts the door, and a moment later, hard rock music begins to throb from within. While I doubt the blaring music and closed car doors pose a significant impediment to a shapeshifter's hearing, it appears that Mr. Rock will go to great lengths to ensure he hears nothing.
"As for you, Mr. Tunk, your security clearance is sufficient," the Inquisitor's attention pivots back to the head of the Third Palm. "So?"
I'm unfamiliar with the internal dynamics between the clergy of the West and East. Evidently, there's a generally accepted hierarchy, judging by which Abel de Diaz ranks higher than Zanh Kiem. I draw this conclusion based on the fact that, despite his apparent reluctance, the Maker starts to recount his tale. He narrates succinctly, yet without omitting any details, about his observations, the death of Hyungang Tu Chong, his inability to discern any ethereal traces, the insight that struck him, and the transference of the sensum to the Break. The one detail he omits is my Spark, saying only, "Thanks to the unique capabilities of Maestro, it was possible to create a bridge." The Inquisitor listens calmly, appearing unfazed by the peculiar circumstances, accepting them as they are. However, as soon as the head of the Third Palm mentioned the alchemical traces, the legate grows tense. After listening to the end without interrupting, the Inquisitor barrages the sensum with questions. He then extracts a simple canvas bag from under his robes, rummages through it, and retrieves a weather-beaten old notebook bound in leather. Opening it almost halfway, the legate presents the pages to Zanh Kiem.
"Those traces that you observed, which of these drawings match them?"
"None, there are none like it," the Maker shakes his head in denial.
De Diaz flips to the next page.
"Also none."
Another page turn.
"Nothing here either."
"Not similar in the slightest?" The more the Inquisitor hears "no," the more taut he becomes. But it's a kind of anticipatory tension, like that of an experienced hunter who has been told about a unique and unknown beast.
"The third and ninth drawings bear some remote similarity, but the shape and thickness of the lines aren't the same," I can't see what's drawn on the pages, but I can grasp their conversation. "In what I saw, there was a certain floral motif. No, not any specific flower — this is a general impression. And it felt more harmonious, natural somehow, without the abrupt or distorted proportions present in those sketches you showed."
"Interesting," De Diaz mutters under his breath as he stows the notebook in the bag. "Thanks for the help." Then, the Inquisitor straightens his back and speaks in a formal tone. "The one who calls himself Zanh Kiem, you almost crossed the Threshold." At these words, the sensum, who until now had maintained a calm demeanor, visibly recoils. "In your quest for Retribution, do not forget about the Path you have chosen."
"Thank you for your guidance, Pastor," the Maker says, bowing deeply with utmost respect.
"However, you have been well taught, and you listened attentively to your mentors," the Inquisitor says in a more relaxed tone. "Just never forget: The Path does not justify. And yes, your Seer, boy, is in trouble."
"I know."
"Can I help?"
"If you don't mind."
"Then call her."
"Rui! Come here!" Without hesitation, Zanh Kiem gives the order.
Moving slightly sideways, obviously apprehensively, clutching the tube in her hands, the girl approaches the inquisitor. As soon as she arrives, Abel de Diaz lifts his robe and wraps both the Seer and himself within it. There is a faint whisper, so unintelligible that even a shapeshifter in full transformation probably wouldn't discern it — and then the robe falls, releasing the girl.
"Do you feel better?" the Inquisitor asks with a note of genuine compassion.
"Yes. Thank you." Rui responds with a low bow in the traditions of eastern etiquette. Her current demeanor is devoid of any trace of her previous rebellious teenage guise.
The legate turns to Maya and me.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
"Milady," de Diaz addresses the girl-Knight, "I have no intention of infuriating you." He's right — Maya is visibly on edge. "Agent Rui is a Seer with the unique talent of the Master of Secrets. She draws power from others' secrets and weakens without them. I just shared one of my own with her. And yes, if you have a secret, milady, feel free to tell her. Due to the nature of her Gift, Agent Rui cannot share your secret with anyone at all."
"Sorry," Maya says, retreating a step, as if caught doing something reprehensible.
"You're holding up well, milady, considering the losses you've endured. But irritation and anger aren't the guides you need now." Without transition, the Inquisitor addresses me. "Sir Maestro, I would like to request an audience with you. Not now, but after some time. Would that be acceptable?"
Meet him one on one? Is that what he's suggesting? "Audience" — a peculiar word choice; maybe French isn't his first language? I consider the advantages and disadvantages and reply.
"I do not mind."
"I'll coordinate a meeting through Mr. Rock. Now, it's time for me to leave," the Inquisitor turns to the shapeshifter standing by his car. "Mr. Tunk, when is the next flight to Rome?"
"Give me a moment," the representative from the House on the Hill answers, taking out his phone. He fiddles with it briefly before reporting, "In fifty-two minutes. But you might want to take the next flight — you won't have time to..."
"I will," the Inquisitor interrupts, already heading for the sports car in which he arrived.
"Are you leaving us already?" I detect a hint of mockery in Zanh Kiem's voice.
"I need to dig into the archives. Review old records," Abel de Diaz shakes his head. "You know, those pieces of paper sometimes hold fascinating things." The Inquisitor responds while already getting into the supercar. "And yes, Mr. Tunk, I'll notify you upon my return to Novilter. As for this car and its driver, I'll handle everything, and there will be no complaints. Zanh Kiem, it seems this investigation won't be swift. Don't rush to resolve everything all at once, as you and your colleagues typically do. In this case, brains and knowledge weigh more than brute force and even the abilities of a Maker." The head of the Third Palm nods gravely at these words, as if they carry more meaning than I perceive. "Sir, milady, it was a pleasure to meet you," he says with a slight bow, addressing Maya and me, before closing the door.
I had no time to react to this farewell — the sports car immediately spun around in a small patch of free space and vanished around the corner.
Before the dust even had a chance to settle, Zanh Kiem jerked his shoulder and asked, "Mr. Tunk, are we going to just stand here?"
"What? No, of course, please, get in!" The Castle's representative snapped out of his daze, quickly opening the doors of his SUV.
The head of the Third Palm slid into the seat next to the driver, while Maya and I naturally took the back seats; the girl was even quicker to jump into the car than I was.
"Where are we headed, bhante?" The shapeshifter asked, starting the car with a simple push of a button.
"For now, head towards the highway. I'll give directions as we go. The trace is weak, and I can hardly sense it. Don't rush — try to drive smoothly." Zanh Kiem acted as though the Inquisitor's unexpected visit and his unpleasant questions had never occurred.
Unlike the hybrid engine of the van we arrived in, this black SUV was equipped with an all-electric motor, so it started up almost silently.
"Miss Maya," the sensum addressed her without turning his head. "You've shown tremendous patience, but I sense you're on the verge of erupting. Don't hesitate; ask your questions. If any are inappropriate, I'll tell you directly."
"What is going on here?" Maya attempted to sound cold and distant, but her lack of experience betrayed her, and her underlying anger was easily discernible through her feigned indifference.
"And why am I not surprised that would be your first question?" The Maker sighed, likely attempting to mask his laughter. "Eshin's attack and the death of Hyungang Tu Chong triggered a series of events. Both the East and the West recognize you, the Break Knights, as a force protecting the world. Frankly, Eshin has become a thorn in everyone's side. Many would give their right hand for a chance to eliminate them once and for all. For once, this elusive clan made a major mistake. Previously, even their most heinous actions didn't affect everyone, so people thought, 'How lucky I am that it didn't happen to me,' or secretly rejoiced when a competitor was harmed... Now, matters concerning you, the Knights, might actually unify everyone. And when you factor in your specific skills, the chance to retaliate transforms from a ghostly possibility into a very real one. My group officially arrived in Novilter to investigate the death of the Abode of Knowledge's abbot, but in truth, we are here to hunt Eshin. However, why the West sent the head of the Ordo Campeadorus, rather than a group from the Ordo Malleus, who have a similar function to the Third Palm, is a mystery to me."
What? What did he just say? Campeadorus?!! Did I mishear something?
"Abel de Diaz," the representative of the House on the Hill chimed in from the driver's seat, "arrived in Novilter before the attack."
"Thank you," Zanh Kiem responded, sounding a tad surprised by the remark.
"I have a clear order," the shapeshifter explained. "No secrets in this case — we're operating openly."
"Turn right," the sensum instructed with a slight gesture of his hand. "Master Maestro, did you understand the significance of Mr. Tunk's statement?" he asked without turning his head.
"Yes," I responded. But noticing the puzzled look on the girl sitting next to me, I elaborated. "They're trying to tell us that in this matter, we, the Break Knights, are equal players to them, not just pawns."
Or at least, they're attempting to convince us that's the case. Otherwise, the Castle's representative and the head of the Third Palm wouldn't be so forthcoming in our presence.
"For now, let's continue straight along the coast," Zanh Kiem instructed again before asking, "Any more questions, Miss Maya?"
"Yes!" The girl didn't hesitate. "Why did you follow the orders of the Inquisitor? Aren't you equals?"
"Ahem... It's nuanced, young lady, nuanced. If Abel de Diaz had introduced himself as a representative of the Ordo, then yes, we would be equals. But he presented himself as a legate, the eyes of the Holy See in Novilter, which places him at a slightly different level. You could compare me to a colonel, and Pastor Abel to a general, a representative of the headquarters of the supreme commander, albeit an allied one. This is, of course, a rough interpretation, but it's more or less accurate."
I'm certain Zanh Kiem is aware that Maya's father is in the military, and such an analogy would make the most sense to her.
"Turn right here," the sensum commanded, and the car smoothly maneuvered into the turn. "Any more questions?" Clearly, I wasn't mistaken. By taunting Maya, the Maker is amusing himself — he seems to genuinely enjoy this process.
"Why did you and your group react so strangely to the appearance of an ally?"
"I can't deny your observational skills, young lady." I couldn't see, but I could sense the sensum's smile. "The fact is that even we find it difficult to step over some dogmas and prejudice."
Zanh Kiem fell silent, clearly goading the girl. He wasn't mistaken; she held out for about five seconds before giving in and asking, "Dogmas?"
"Exactly!" It seems this conversation is providing a distraction for the Maker from contemplating his encounter with the "colleague." "Like all of us, Abel de Diaz is Gifted, but another nuance comes into play: he is a Dark Gifted."
"D... Dark?" Maya stuttered, asking for clarification, while I understood why I had felt such palpable darkness when looking under the Inquisitor's hood.
"Yes, a Dark Adept, you heard correctly."
I noticed that the shapeshifter didn't seem at all surprised by this revelation. Intriguing. He had mentioned earlier that the Inquisitor had arrived before us. Had they perhaps met before today?
"But isn't the purpose of the Inquisition and the Palms to combat the Dark Ones?" Maya was being true to herself, persisting to the very end once she set her mind on something.
"That's a somewhat simplified understanding, young lady. But yes, in broad terms, it's correct. That's why my people reacted as they did to the arrival of our 'colleague.' The Diaz clan is actually the only dark lineage that serves not themselves, but the church. But it's one thing to know about such a lineage in theory, and quite another to meet them face to face. If I myself was frankly uneasy in the presence of the Legate, what can you expect from the others?"
"I can't wrap my head around this!" Maya seemed greatly perturbed by these revelations.
"The West has always been more liberal or, perhaps, more pragmatic than us," Zanh Kiem shrugged, though it was unclear whether he was condoning or condemning this approach.
"Can we trust him?"
Maya's direct question even made me choke a little. Surely, she couldn't be so blunt! Or could she?
"Without a doubt. The Legate reports directly to a Creator, and if we shouldn't trust them, then who can we trust?" I detected surprise in the Maker's voice. No, I must have misheard. "Any more questions?"
"No. Not for now. I need to think."
"And that's the right approach!"
Even the shapeshifter cracked a smile at Zanh Kiem's words, and I couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. It was a good thing the girl couldn't see my face due to the dark visor of my motorcycle helmet.
"Stop!" After a few minutes of silence, the head of the Third Palm ordered. The SUV obediently signaled and pulled off to the side of the road. "Mr. Tunk, what are these buildings?"
The Maker pointed towards a large complex of industrial buildings with wide pipes emitting a light smoke.
"That's Waste Processing Plant Number Three. Commissioned three years ago, it's the world's newest and largest plant of its kind!" The shapeshifter spoke with a note of pride in his voice.
"I'll step out for a moment. Not for long." Zanh Kiem opened the door. "You all wait here."
After stepping out of the car, the sensum straightened up to his full height, stretched, and then remained still in the same position for nearly a minute. Then he crouched down, touched the ground with his palms, took a deep breath, and shook his head. After that, he returned to the car.
"Dead end," the Maker stated with an overtone of clear regret as he closed the door behind him. "Mr. Tunk, we can turn around. And send an investigation team to this Plant Number Three." He then elaborated, "The murder of Hyungang Tu Chong wasn't without repercussions for Eshin: they lost a significant number of people, including a few shapeshifters. Their remains trace back here. Unfortunately, my abilities don't reveal anything more. Perhaps your investigation teams will find some leads."
"Alright, we'll dispatch forensics," the representative of the House on the Hill acquiesced.
"It appears Abel de Diaz was right after all; this case won't be resolved quickly," the sensum sighed, conveying apparent disappointment.
"Did you doubt his words?" I couldn't resist asking this time.
"Dark Adepts lack the connection with the Universe that is characteristic of other sensums, hence foresight is unavailable to them," he explained, and then added, "They operate purely on logic and cold calculation. So there was a real chance that he could've been wrong. But no, he wasn't mistaken." As he finished, Zanh Kiem wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Are we heading back?" asked the shapeshifter.
"Yes," the sensum's reply was curt and concise.