We had finally arrived at headquarters.
Our march through the corridors of the suspended castle took place in leaden silence.
Passing the receptionist without a word, we fell into step behind Mélo, who led us with a sharp stride toward the second floor.
As we climbed the stone steps, out of the corner of my eye I kept watch on the grimaces of pain distorting Lucas’s face with his every movement.
His back was nothing more than a raw, open wound.
I was waiting for the right moment to say a word about it to the commander.
Reaching the second floor, we entered an austere, stripped-down office.
Mélo sat behind her desk and, with a wave of her hand, signaled for us to sit down before beginning her interrogation.
“You executed your mission well, and you managed to get out without my intervention,” she began in her flat, monotonous voice.
“Give me a precise debriefing of what happened at the port.”
Listening to her, I noted that she maintained that icy, ruthless tone we knew so well.
I spoke up, striving to mask my nervousness:
“Well, as you said, we accomplished our mission, Commander.
Upon arriving at the port, we were surrounded by a militia of parents who wanted to reclaim…
the merchandise.
We had to fight as best we could to carve a path and secure the cargo.”
I deliberately kept silent about the appearance of that mystical stranger.
I refused to voice what had truly happened with him, and above all, to admit a disturbing truth: that man knew the secret name of our organization.
Mélo stared at me for a long moment, her piercing eyes locked onto mine, before deflecting her gaze toward my companion.
“And your friend…
he is quite silent.
What is wrong with him?”
Indeed, Lucas remained unnaturally calm.
His eyes were glued to the commander, his jaw clenched tight.
He was undoubtedly trying to show no sign of weakness, but the state of his flesh demanded intervention.
I had to speak if I wanted him to receive care.
“Lucas was injured during our escape,” I declared.
Mélo crossed her hands on her desk, her Sprigan face showing not the slightest shred of compassion.
“What happened, exactly?”
At the very instant I opened my mouth to forge a plausible lie, my heart squeezed violently.
The sensation was of unimaginable violence, as if an invisible, gargantuan hand were crushing my internal organs in a red-hot iron vise.
A searing agony stole my breath; I bent double, nearly collapsing to the floor.
It felt as though my blood vessels were going to burst from one second to the next.
Through the ringing flooding my ears, the commander’s voice echoed once more, distant yet relentless:
“What happened?”
I painfully forced my head up.
As I caught her gaze, I noticed that her usually stoic face was split by a subtle, satisfied smile.
In that instant, the truth struck me head-on.
I finally understood the source of this torture.
The Blood Covenant.
That magical, inviolable pact etched into our skin was acting as an invisible executioner.
The moment one attempted to deceive, lie to, or betray the entity to which they were bound, the spell brought the culprit to order.
If I persisted in my concealment, the covenant would execute me without warning, consuming me from the inside.
But the cursed covenant had read right through me.
Overpowered by pain and understanding that death awaited my next lie, I capitulated.
As soon as I caught my breath, I spilled everything, telling Mélo the raw story without omission-about the civilian wielding Fantasia at a terrifying level.
When I fell silent a few minutes later, quiet settled back into the room.
Mélo considered me for a moment, her smile gone.
“I see…
Very well, thank you for your report.
You may return to your quarters.”
I stood frozen, waiting for the rest of her instructions.
Nothing came.
The woman’s indifference revolted me.
“But, Commander…
What about Lucas’s injury?
You can clearly see he is enduring agony.”
Mélo shot me a dark glare, a glint of warning shining in her dark eyes.
“You are soldiers of our organization, and at no point should pain dictate your expressions.
Here, we do not waste resources to heal recruits.
It is up to you to manage.”
A wave of heat surged through my mind.
Anger-wild and destructive-threatened to make me lose control.
I clenched my fists so hard that my nails dug into my palms.
Calm down, Drey, I repeated to myself.
Anger serves no purpose; it only reveals your flaws to the eyes of predators.
I took a deep breath and chose to attack on the ground of cold logic.
“Commander, despite our simple status as recruits, we are your manpower.
A brute force-easily replaceable, certainly-but immediately available for the league’s dirty work.
Is it truly wise from a logistical standpoint to let assets rot away when you could exploit them tomorrow?”
My tone had returned to calm, almost clinical.
Mélo observed me in silence, evaluating my audacity, then articulated:
“You have wit, Drey…
And your reasoning is pragmatic.
However, you forget a fundamental rule: within our organization, rank dictates the value of a life, and yours sits at the absolute bottom of the ladder.
We believe that injuries forge the character of recruits.
If they cannot withstand them, it means they were unworthy of us anyway.
Our Arya has no need for weak links.
Now, leave.”
Her tone hadn’t varied a single iota, still perfectly controlled.
Understanding that the discussion was closed, I helped Lucas to his feet.
We left the office to begin the long descent toward the dungeons that served as our dormitory.
Pushing open the heavy grate of the recruits’ chamber, I observed that the place was already packed.
Dozens of hopefuls to misery were crammed together in suffocating proximity.
We carved a path to the same dark corner as the previous night.
As soon as Lucas leaned painfully against the filthy wall, the questions that had been gnawing at my mind since the end of the mission came rushing back. This chapter was copied from novelping.com without permission.
I was thinking back to his supernatural speed at the port.
“Tell me, Lucas…
Your wound, do you really think it can heal without a doctor’s help?”
Against all expectations, Lucas managed a faint smile, striving to lighten the atmosphere.
“Of course it’ll be fine.
You know, Drey, I’ve collected quite a few scars since I started hanging around the low quarters.
I knew that joining Eresboros meant the treatment would be even harsher.
Don’t worry about me.
It burns like hell, but in a few days, my body will have done most of the heavy lifting.”
His words were meant to be reassuring, but the unsanitary state of the room contradicted his optimism.
“And if gangrene sets in?
Look at where we’re sleeping, Lucas.
It’s a breeding ground for infections.”
His smile vanished instantly, replaced by a glint of gravity.
“I’ll just have to cover it with a bit of ‘Fantasia’ to purify the wound, and that’ll do the trick.”
Fantasia.
That word floated between us once more, like a forbidden promise.
I knew that this elemental energy governed the mystical laws of this world, but hearing my friend speak of it with such familiarity stoked my curiosity to a fever pitch.
“Fantasia…
The fundamental energy of the universe?
Are you telling me you can manipulate it innately?
Is that why you run at that abnormal speed?
Is that how you managed to spring forth in time to save me from that civilian’s flames?”
My questions followed one after another, pressing, driven by a thirst for knowledge I could no longer conceal.
Lucas kept silent, staring at me with obvious hesitation.
His lips finally parted:
“Drey…
I don’t know if I should tell you about it.
Stirring up those things means exposing yourself to permanent mortal danger.”
That reply acted as a trigger.
It was the exact same refrain as the day I had asked him to introduce me to Eresboros.
I hated that protective attitude above all else; it cruelly reminded me of my own helplessness, of that weakness blocking my path to vengeance.
The Black Fire ignited in my eyes.
With a sudden movement, I thrust my hand forward and grabbed Lucas by the collar, pulling him close to my face.
“Stop with that!” I thundered in a low voice.
“I am not a child to be protected from the world!
What I want-what I demand-is strength!
This information is the key that will allow me to grow, to become powerful, and to finally achieve my goal.
So speak, and that’s an order.”
Lucas didn’t struggle.
He read the wild determination and cold distress dwelling in my gaze.
Sighing softly, he realized he wouldn’t squirm out of this with a clever dodge.
“Sorry, Drey…
Fine, I’ll explain what I know.”