"I'll be out for a minute." Without waiting for any reactions, Zanh Kiem exited the headquarters.
True to his word, the Maker returned after a mere three minutes. The room had remained silent in his absence. Maya played absentmindedly with her phone, Nein appeared deep in thought, and the curator of the capital's criminal life rocked in his chair, reminiscent of a bobblehead toy.
"I need to speak with Master Maestro privately," announced the head of the Third Palm as he reentered the headquarters. "I believe this container is soundproof?" He paused as he received a confirming nod from the Castle representative. "Mr. Alir, please disable all recording and surveillance devices."
The shapeshifter turned to the terminal, swiftly navigating the console to input a command. "Technically, this goes against protocol," Alir remarked as he pressed enter. "But I understand the necessity."
"It'll be brief, just five minutes," the head of the Third Palm reassured, positioning himself at the entrance and intentionally leaving the door open.
The message was clear. Nein was the first to take the hint, exiting swiftly, with Maya and then Alir following suit. Alir's departure was notably unflustered. Once they had all left, the Maker closed the door, glanced around, and swiftly located my Projection.
"Master Maestro, I can confirm the listening devices are disabled; my ability assures me of this. I need to discuss something with you, though it may be more of a monologue given your current position." He was clearly referencing my inability to respond from the Break, and my reluctance to manifest in reality right now. "I made inquiries about the package sent to you from the Abode." I had been listening keenly already, but now I was all ears. "It's a sizable package, weighing eleven kilograms. I'm unaware of its contents, and the acting rector of the Abode wouldn't dare open a package sealed as such, no matter how much he's pressed. I'd like to discuss that seal. Recall, I mentioned certain details about Abel de Diaz during our meeting. The package wasn't sealed with the symbol of his Ordo, nor a personal seal, nor an inquisitorial mark. It bears the seal of a papal legate, an emissary of the Creator. I assure you, Master Maestro, whatever is inside is safe for you. Knowing you, I understand your caution, and given how you saved Rui, you have reasons to be. But let me clarify the broader situation. This won't take long."
"Despite the Break Knights' capabilities, your anonymity is somewhat overstated. If required, my group could discern your identity or any other raig's within days. There are few like us in the world, countable on one hand, but you get my point, right? If it's absolutely essential, then... A collective decision was made to not hinder the raigs from safeguarding the World, as long as no larger world order issues arise. 'Collective' implies agreement from the West, East, and South. We also acknowledge the reality: identifying a raig doesn't mean controlling them." A playful smile danced on his lips. "Of course, this agreement doesn't extend to other factions, only the Servants. Entities like the Novilter security, especially Mr. Rock, are eager to discover all the city's Knights, and they have valid reasons."
Massaging his temples, the head of the Third Palm took a moment before continuing, "To be frank, if raigs were just ordinary individuals with unique abilities, each one would have had a detailed file by now, even describing their breakfast from two months prior. A couple of careless raigs could be easily swayed through threats or bribes, making the identification of others just a matter of time and technology. However, you're termed 'Knights' for good reason. The Break transformed you. Most raigs would rather perish than yield to intimidation. There are exceptions, but what's without them? Furthermore, consider your swords, whose full capabilities remain a mystery to everyone, perhaps even to yourselves..."
"Generally, no one has found a surefire way to recruit the Break Knights. Honesty, transparency, clarity, and straightforward agreements are what seem to work best with you," The Maker commented, a hint of pleasure evident in his tone. However, he quickly became solemn again. "It wasn't made public, but two months ago, an eastern monarchy tried to forcibly control raigs by threatening their families. The outcome was disastrous: the ruling dynasty was overthrown, the capital experienced an uncontrolled Breakthrough, and the death toll was over twelve thousand, including ninety-two shapeshifters and seven Knights. These Knights died trying to halt the invasion after they were forced to annihilate the nation's leadership due to threats. Thankfully, the Breakthrough was localized and didn't pose a worldwide threat like Bremen did. To prevent a recurrence and shield the Knights from further exploitation, we considered founding a new Palm, and the West proposed a distinct Ordo. The leader of this Seventh Palm would be Hyungang Tu Chong." Zanh Kiem's expression darkened at the mention of the name. "But let's be clear, my words don't imply you can fully trust every Servant. The world isn't simply black and white. Non-intervention is one thing; manipulating you for personal gains is another. It's internal rivalry, to put it bluntly."
"Now, onto my request. If there's no personal significance attached to the Legate's package for you, could you inform me about its contents? This inquiry isn't about you, Master Maestro. It pertains to Abel de Diaz. We're hunting for any detail, however minor, that could illuminate this enigmatic individual. Currently, we know he's over two centuries old and has eliminated numerous notorious Dark Adepts, among others. His Ordo has always remained separate from regular church politics. Now, it's revealed that the Steel Eradicator holds the esteemed position of the Legate of the Holy See. The West is engaging in some undisclosed strategy, and the stakes appear high." He's recruiting me, and blatantly so! "I realize you've already been burdened with much: Knighthood, Breakthroughs, Eshin, among other things. However, the choice remains yours. I also request that you collect the package immediately. There's little else of interest here right now. Conversing with you via Maya is, let's just say, cumbersome. I gather you have issues with your disguise, so return when it's resolved. Or better yet, take down my phone number." He rattled off a series of digits, which I endeavored to memorize. "The package is at the Abode of Knowledge in the abbot's chamber. There are no surveillance devices, and nobody will enter the room for the next few hours. That's a strict order. You have my word. If you've comprehended my message, shift to the right for acceptance or to the left to decline."
What do I stand to lose? Besides, I can always choose not to disclose the contents of the package, claiming they are personal, or just give a resounding "no" without offering any justification. True, I have a certain fondness for this man, who possesses immense authority and even greater capabilities. Yet, when push comes to shove, I'd without hesitation send him, all these Palms and Ordos, along with their Creator and the Dark Ones, packing. Church politics hold no allure for me! My plate's already full with my own issues. After mulling over the pros and cons, I shift to the right.
"Alright," Zanh Kiem says, letting out a deliberately exaggerated sigh of relief. "I await your call, Master Maestro; I'm eager for your response."
After a short pause, realizing that the Maker has said all he wanted to, I head towards the closed door, seeking Maya's attention. I had to circle around her five times to get her attention since she was engrossed in a discussion about the Dark Adept's escape with an investigator from the Third Palm.
"You're heading out to retrieve the package now?" She surmises correctly.
"That's right."
"Okay," Maya responds, and then, as if mustering her courage, she hastily says, "If you ever need my help, just know that I'm always..." She trails off, a sudden embarrassment preventing her from continuing.
"Thank you," I reply genuinely, acknowledging her offer. "But your presence is required here now."
"I understand," she replies. Was there a hint of sadness in her tone?
"Stay strong! And remember, you don't have to bear everything on your own. Call on others when needed. Even Crixus, as much of a pain as he can be, would surely jump at the chance to help, not to mention other raigs."
"Crixus," Maya's face contorts with distaste at the mention of the name. "I'm not fond of him, but since you recommend it... I'll try to see him in a new light."
"Maya," I begin, treading on delicate ground, "Why do you trust me so much?"
She hesitates, her face flushing deeply, even in the Projection. "I... I just trust you. I can't really explain it." She clasps her hands, searching for the right words. In a soft whisper, she adds, "You remind me of my father, only... better."
"I apologize for asking; it was intrusive and unnecessary," I immediately regret my imprudent question, seeing its impact on the young Knight.
She tries to brush it off, "It's okay." But her eyes tell a different story. I sense it's time to leave the conversation behind.
"Nein is looking for you. He seems worried," I quickly try to steer the conversation in a different direction, sensing her eagerness to latch onto any distraction.
"Yes! We left off on an important note. Should I go?"
"Of course."
She departs from the Break, her relief palpable.
Why do I have such a knack for ill-timed questions? Why did I even ask her that? If she wanted to tell me, she would have, in her own time. Reminding myself of the leader of the Sharp Knives who chastised his men as "degenerates," I now feel that term fits me well. At least I managed to end the conversation before causing further damage. Lesson learned.
Enough of that, I shake off the regret. I need to focus. As I move through the city in Sliding, then through the central park, I take a circuitous route to my apartment, ensuring no one is watching.
Rushing straight to the Abode of Knowledge without a disguise is out of the question. Trust has its limits, and after the events of today, I'm on high alert. With so much death and turmoil, and with hours still left till midnight, I decide to take a break.
Stripping off, I step into the shower, alternating between blasts of hot and cold water. While Projection can be clarifying, there's something about the physical sensation of water that's grounding. The shower helps, pushing the vivid images of the bloody scenes to the back of my mind, making them less intense. Even though I've witnessed so much, the horror of it all never really becomes routine.
I took a whiff of my current attire. Given that I had been in the Break all this while, they seemed fresh. Yet, out of caution, I tossed them into the washing machine. Retrieving my motorcycle suit from the dryer, I braced myself and sniffed. A strong odor of alcohol solution wafted up, causing my eyes to sting. Holding my breath, I hastily put on the suit and helmet. Once the visor clicked shut, I knew I couldn't stand the smell for long. My only consolation was that I wouldn't be in reality for an extended period. A quick glance in the mirror reassured me of my appearance before I transitioned into Projection.
With that, I was set to retrieve the package. As for the stench? I'll bear with it. My only source of knowledge about possible surveillance was Zanh Kiem. Even if the Maker believed he was being honest, there was no guarantee that things were as he stated. The Third Palm's leader might not be the sole player, especially amongst the eastern clerics. Call me overly cautious, but I won't be changing that trait anytime soon. One oversight could send my life spiraling, making me a puppet in someone else's hands.
I took every precaution as I left the apartment, choosing a more secretive and longer route. Battling through thick concrete and dense brick walls, I emerged nearly three blocks from my home. To avoid detection by fellow raigs, I stuck to the ground rather than hopping across rooftops.
Midway, a familiar, thin voice hailed me, "Maestro!" From a nearby building's roof, two familiar silhouettes waved excitedly.
Ignoring them didn't seem wise. So, in a few leaps, I joined them on the rooftop.
"Greetings, young ladies," I greeted Torah and Kael with a playful bow.
"How serendipitous to find you here," the sister in red armor replied, her face lighting up.
"And what brings you two here?" I deflected, posing my own query.
"We're here for a forensic examination," the one in gray brigantine shrugged. "There's an issue with some chemical analysis results, and we're awaiting the revised ones."
"Any news on Crixuss and Halley's negotiations with the Castle?"
"Just a while ago, there was a heated argument ongoing," Kael chuckled.
"It seems they'll be at it till dawn," Torah chimed in.
"That's unexpected. What's the issue?" I inquired, genuinely surprised.
"Halley is insisting on dedicated living spaces for first and second-year college and university students," Torah explained. "From what we gather, it's a tall order. Yet, he's adamant. They've debated over ten solutions already."
"But we're optimistic," Kael added. "Both sides genuinely want to reach an agreement."
"How's Crixus holding up?"
"He's doing surprisingly well," Kael chuckles. "He's steadfastly supporting Halley, citing such concrete legal examples that Mr. Rock occasionally consults lawyers for clarification."
"And how do you two know all this?"
"We're curious girls," the maiden in red armor responds with a hint of mystery. "Women have their secrets."
"Alright, alright." I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender. "I get it."
"So, where were you headed?" Thora circles back to her initial inquiry.
"Where?" I briefly recall the Knights' reaction to the Maker's appearance at the port and respond candidly, "To the Abode of Knowledge. Care to join?"
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"Oh!" Both girls instinctively step back. "No, thank you! We've got our hands full here." Their reaction was both sweet and entirely expected.
"It was great catching up," I say, "but I really need to get going."
"Of course!" Tora speaks for both of them. "We just wanted to say hi when we saw you."
"Until next time!"
"Good luck, Maestro!"
I wave goodbye, descend swiftly, and vanish from their sight using Sliding.
Quite the encounter! Yet, it proved insightful. Those girls are far more intricate than I initially perceived.
The familiar, well-maintained castle park comes into view. I retrace my previous path and effortlessly vault over the stone fence, entering the monastery grounds.
I look around and notice novices walking around with downcast expressions. Wait, where to now? I don't fancy checking every door. Ah, there's the abbot-Seer. As I understand, a sensum of his stature can't visually detect a Projection unless they possess a specific talent. However, they should sense a touch from the Break. Approaching, I touch his shoulder. He startles, scans his surroundings, and then, seemingly realizing something, inquires, "Knight Maestro?" I touch his shoulder once more in affirmation. "I've been expecting you. Come, the package awaits."
Our walk is brief. The Abode of Knowledge only seems expansive at first glance; its actual size is quite modest.
We halt before a closed oak door.
"You may enter and retrieve the package. I appreciate your courtesy in signaling your arrival," he says. With a bow, the monk departs, leaving me to my task.
Taking a deep breath, I step through the door.
Contrary to my expectations of a monastery cell, this room closely resembles a book dealer's study. Massive shelves, laden with both brand-new publications and ancient manuscripts, line the walls. An office desk occupies the room's end, holding a shut laptop and a state-of-the-art gaming chair. Beside the laptop lies a photograph of Hyungang Tu Chong, Maya Grim, Max Kraas, and Thomas Sivorsky.
Three of the four are gone.
Eshin...
Bastards...
I will find...
I will get to you...
Monsters...
No...
Even worse...
Rats...
I exit the Break.
I couldn't care less if there's surveillance here.
DAMN IT ALL!
I touch the photo. Max, Thomas, you were pioneers, guarding our world from the Breakthroughs. Yet you didn't fall in battle, mission in hand. You were taken by treacherous poison. Hyungang Tu Chong, you were the beacon for young Knights in a world they couldn't grasp, and now you're gone too.
Rats... Eshin... Bastards!!!
"Your sacrifices won't be forgotten, Break Knights and Raig Mentor," I whisper to myself, even if no one else can hear. This is more than just words. It's a vow.
A vow I make to myself.
I shift my gaze downwards.
Right. I'm here for a package.
Bending over, I examine it. A hefty bag reinforced with kevlar threads, it could easily house a hockey player's gear —minus the stick. A combination lock, sealed with wax imprinted with an unfamiliar emblem, secures its zipper. A folded note rests atop the bag. I grab and read it.
"Belongs to Break Knight Maestro. Code: 1041."
Straight to the point. Do I inspect its contents here? Better judgment tells me not to do it here. Lifting the bag, I find it heavy but manageable. I sling it over my shoulder and transition back into the Break.
To my relief, the package shifts with me and doesn't crash to the ground. Locating the abbot takes no time; I touch him to get his attention.
"Leaving so soon? May the Light guide you," he says with a bow.
With formalities out of the way, it's time to focus. Where to inspect the bag? Not at home, for sure. A secluded cave on the coast comes to mind. Hidden from the beach's view, it's unreachable from the sea without special gear. Plus, it's not too far. However, with the speed of Projection, distance rarely matters anyway.
Sliding...
In a mere four minutes, I'm there.
I materialize and set the bag on the cave's rocky floor. To unlock the combination, I need to remove my gloves. Was the code "1041"? The number feels familiar, yet I can't place it.
I'd braced myself for anything —maybe even finding the famed Colada inside. That, honestly, would have worried me the most. But the bag's contents? Utterly unforeseen.
The first item is a matte black helmet adorned with subtle silver veins. Its tinted visor, unmistakably bulletproof, suggests state-of-the-art design. It's breathtakingly gorgeous, as if meant for an angel, not a mere mortal. It's clearly modern, akin to what Crixus sports in the real world. Yet, comparing them is like juxtaposing coal and a diamond cut by a master jeweler —both carbon-based, yet worlds apart in value and allure.
Next, I extract a full set of clan armor, from boots to gloves, including a lamellar bib crafted from a material that feels exquisite to touch. The entire ensemble, predominantly dark with silver accents, blends seamlessly into the cave's shadows due to its artfully designed pattern. I'm confident that this armor would offer nearly perfect camouflage in the twilight of the city.
Buried at the bottom is a hefty manual. Emblazoned on its front in five languages reads: "Protective Weaponry Set, 'Shield of the Holy See.' User and Maintenance Guide."
As dusk settles in, reading becomes a challenge, yet I meticulously pore over every word.
After immersing myself in the manual for what feels like half an hour, I close it, resting against the cold stone of the cave.
Such a boon this is! Admittedly, the protection against bullets, blades, and other hazards doesn't excite me much. But the other features! Concealing one's physique, a voice modulator, resistance against every form of scanning, and aura shielding. With this armor, to sensums of Seer rank and below, the wearer would energetically resemble a mere bush! All of this achieved without relying on electronics. Factor in thermoregulation, self-cleaning, sweat resistance, and odor-blocking capabilities — coupled with oxygen tanks, one could even dive up to forty meters deep. The science behind it, bereft of electronics, eludes me, yet the manual leaves little room for doubt.
On the manual's last page, the slightly unsettling "Instance 1" is inscribed. On the inside cover, elegantly written in French, reads:
"Yours by right. Abel."
How, indeed, would I reach out to convey my gratitude?
This gift is precisely what I've been missing. How did he discern my needs? Perhaps, as Zanh Kiem once mentioned, his age —over two centuries —grants him an uncanny ability to read people like open books.
I'm convinced there aren't any tracking devices in the armor, making it safe for use. This belief isn't rooted in logic, but rather, it's a hunch from my nascent Spark.
Speaking of which, the Spark. It irresistibly draws me to the armor. Lightly grazing the breastplate, I sense something peculiar. It feels as though an inscription lies there, yet my eyes detect nothing. I transition into the Break and let the Spark illuminate my understanding. An inscription surfaces on the armor:
"Nomen Meum"
Merely two Latin words.
Translated, they mean "In My Name."
Yet, the deeper implication eludes me. Nonetheless, this armor, bearing marks of the Inquisitorial lineage but enhanced with the latest clan innovations, surpasses contemporary designs by leaps and bounds. This isn't a testament to advanced science, but rather, the craftsmanship of a Master-Maker, an artifactor. Given this context, such an inscription seems fitting.
I can't hold back. Swiftly, my old suit is discarded onto the rock, and I don the new armor, following the provided instructions.
Wow! It feels so unique! I don't sense its weight, and the helmet is nothing short of miraculous. The armor fits like a second skin, not hampering my movements in the slightest. Had Izao's physique been more agile, I could have effortlessly done a split or executed a flip.
For the next five minutes, I find myself dashing around the cave. The thought of removing this masterpiece doesn't even cross my mind. I never want to part with it. Ever.
Abel, you crafty devil! You've read me so well, despite our brief interaction. I'll never hand this over to anyone.
It's mine!
Purely mine!
It's not just about its comfort or the protection it offers.
It's deeper than that.
This armor, for me, feels like Gollum's "precious."
It's flawless.
It's undeniably mine.
And now, I truly resemble a Knight, endowed with the armor I've yearned for in the Projection.
Without hesitation, my old suit is packed away.
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
I slip into the Break.
In a mere ten minutes, I'm back home.
Exiting the Break, I find myself standing before a mirror.
Is that truly my reflection?!
Staring back is a formidable figure, one you wouldn't dare to challenge or contradict. Beside this, clan commandos appear as meek as kittens compared to a roaring tiger. This awe-inspiring aura emanates from the armor, even despite Izao's fragile form.
The figure staring back doesn't resemble a man, but rather a battle-hardened android from a supremely advanced civilization. Its very presence seems to whisper, "They've come for you. Your prayers are your only hope." And all this while devoid of any Inquisition insignia. It's an impression that sends shivers down your spine.
Originally, I'd contemplated storing the armor far from home, but now, I can't bear to part with it. It'll stay here. I recognize this as a vulnerability, but I'm helpless against it. Besides, I'm sure I can find a spot for it in this apartment.
After the initial admiration subsides, my thoughts drift to Zanh Kiem. What should I say to him? Then again, why ponder this? If I step out in this armor, he's bound to see it eventually. I'll just play along, pretending to heed his advice.
I stow away both the bag and my motorcycle gear.
Lastly, I configure the voice modulator.
And dive back into the Break.
Buildings, walls, sewage systems, and streets blur past.
Soon, the port comes into view, followed by a dense forest. I search for a secluded yet noticeable location for a private conversation, free from eavesdroppers. Finding the perfect spot, I double back to the cargo port's precincts. As anticipated, the central office remains cordoned off by the police and appears abandoned, but the phones are still operational. I locate an empty, windowless office room and dial the number provided by Zanh Kiem.
"Yes."
"Let's meet in a ravine a kilometer east of the old drain. Look for a tall tree with a forked top. You can't miss it."
"Fine. In five minutes."
After ending the call, I chart a course back to the forest, careful to avoid being seen by Maya. I yearn for a private conversation with the Maker, which justifies my roundabout route.
When I'm certain that the leader of the Third Palm has arrived at the ravine alone, I step out from the Break.
"Maestro?" The sensum questions with a hint of surprise, his eyes darting over my new attire in bewilderment.
"Indeed."
"So that was the contents of the package," the Creator muses, stroking his chin. "It makes sense. A straightforward yet essential disguise. Abel de Diaz is certainly not one to be short on logic." As he says this, he takes a couple of steps forward, halting just a meter away from me. "But wait... How is this possible?"
For the first time, genuine astonishment registers on the face of the Third Palm's leader.
He's taken aback. Totally floored, as if he's just witnessed a divine apparition. He slowly settles down on a weathered rock, cradling his head in his hands.
"Oh! Radiant Heavens!.." he murmurs.
"What's the matter?" I ask, feeling a wave of anxiety at his extreme reaction.
"You're aware of what you're donning, right?"
"Yes. It's the Inquisitorial armor from the 'Shield of the Holy See' series."
Zanh Kiem erupts into a fit of hysterical laughter. It takes a good half minute before he regains his composure. "'Shield of the Holy See'... Well, technically, you're not wrong... But is that all you know?"
"Is there something else I should be aware of? Is this some devious ploy by a Dark Adept?"
"It's more than that," Zanh Kiem says, rising to his feet. "May I?"
"Of course."
"In My Name!" he whispers in awe, then collapses back onto the rock. "How can this be?!"
"Could you please clarify?" I request, trying to maintain a semblance of calm.
"Just give me a moment to gather my thoughts," he replies. Taking a few deep breaths, he finally addresses me. "You wear the armor of the Angel class. Only five of these exist. Each bears the blessings of all three CREATORS. Yours is named after Metatron, also known as the First Angel or the Voice of God."
"And?"
"And? Don't you get it?"
"No."
"Really?"
"Really!"
"Alright, let me spell it out," he says with a deep sigh. "While wearing this armor, you're beyond the reach of any earthly or spiritual authority. As a Servant, I am bound to obey your every command, unless it directly contradicts a decree from HIM." He points skyward. "If any directive from my superiors conflicts with your wishes, I will disregard it. You could walk into the town square full of people and open fire without facing consequences. Even if you were to assault the Castle and slay the duke, you would remain above reproach, assuming you come out alive. In this armor, you're the embodiment of divine will, Maestro."
"What?" His revelation leaves me so flabbergasted that I find myself collapsing onto a rock beside him.
"Maestro," he implores, his voice tremulous, "could it be... Are you the reincarnation of Jesus of Nazareth?"