Chương 60: Chapter 59 Edited

Cale I was never much for bureaucracy. That probably wasn't surprising, considering I grew up in the Wastes. The only thing that ever passed for government out there was a warlord who held territory until someone stronger took it from them. Authority was personal and temporary, earned through violence and survival instead of titles and committees. I promised I would come and give a statement, and I keep my promises.

That was another thing you learned in the Wastes: you didn't have anything if you didn't have your word. That was how I found myself riding through the city with Sarien in her MMV, staring out the window and wondering if I should just walk away.

"You don't have to do this," she said.

"They can't force you." I shook my head.

"I told them I'd come. So I will." She watched me carefully.

"You think they need to hear it from you."

"They need to understand what the Priest actually represents," I said.

"They stopped the attack, and they don't know why it was happening or how he was able to build a fairly impressive force in one of the more secure locations in the Dominion. That fact matters. They can't let it go." Sarien nodded.

"From what I can tell, based on my contacts in government—""You mean the people you bribed," I cut in, amused.

"Yes. The people I bribed," she said without shame.

"From what I can see, they were preparing some kind of conversion mechanism. Turning people into weapons. Human bombs, but nastier. Something to do with a conversion of the soul into Aether. Icky." I nodded slowly.

"That tracks." She frowned.

"You've seen this before."

"On different worlds, yes," I said.

"Same playbook. The Priest specializes in destabilization through terror. He likes watching systems tear themselves apart."

"So it really wasn't about the girl," Sarien said quietly, "or even the princesses."

"Probably not completely," I replied.

"If he is anything, he is elegant in his execution. It was probably all connected to some decree. That isn't even the biggest problem." Sarien turned to look at me with her big, expressive eyes.

"That doesn't sound good." I chuckled in spite of myself.

"It rarely does."

"So…" I looked out the window.

"The biggest problem is who the Priest is. He's a messenger. A destructive sadist. Smart, ruthless, and he takes pleasure in the work and what it produces." I turned to look at her.

"He isn't the one looking for the outcome, though. Someone hired him to do that. Which means they hired a crazy person for a specific result and didn't care what came of his methods." The rest of the ride passed in silence. Sarien stopped off a few blocks away, far enough that no one could claim she escorted me directly. We'd made sure the meeting was late. Quiet. Off-cycle. When we reached the drop point, Sarien asked, "Do you want me to pick you up after?"

"No," I said.

"Someone's probably going to try to follow me. I'll need to disappear for a bit." She smiled faintly.

"Be careful."

"I always am." I had agreed to give a statement to de-escalate the situation. I was already regretting it. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. I paused on the street as Sarien rode away. How was I even supposed to show up to this? If I walked in wearing my Arclight uniform, they'd think I was insane. If they believed me, there was no chance the secret would hold. My face would be plastered across the World Tree Lattice before I could blink.

The thought had actually kept me up for a couple of nights. I ultimately decided to compromise. I brought the scrapsteel mask in its base form and the other elements of the uniform, for lack of a better term: the matte black combat outfit and the dark cloak. I retreated from the road once I was sure no one was watching and pulled the cloak into place, adjusted the dark fatigues, and finally pulled out the scrapsteel mask.

In its base form, it looked like ordinary steel, which was probably one of the most magical things I owned. I thought briefly of the day I received it, hoping idly that she was watching me and proud of what I had become. I took a deep breath and put on the mask, then fastened the black cloak and made my way. The building rose ahead of me sooner than I expected — stone, glass, ward-latticed, and heavy with quiet authority. And just like that, I was there.

I walked through the outer corridors of the administrative complex and passed clusters of people in tailored suits — bureau heads, investigators, policy advisors. Important people, at least on paper. They looked nervous. Almost all of them had weapons within reach: Aura blades half-manifested, Technica pistols drawn and held low. One man stood out — an Arcanum-focused caster with both hands wrapped in crackling lightning, a mid-range combat spell I was intimately familiar with.

I raised my hands slowly and let the mask shift, just enough to expose my eyes.

"I'm the Ghost of the Wastes," I said evenly.

"I'm here to talk." They lowered their weapons reluctantly, and they did lower them, which is a win in my book. It wasn't all at once, and you could see the conflict in their eyes, and eventually people stopped pointing deadly weapons in my direction. I didn't let my guard down either. These weren't administrators by temperament. They were the sort who stabbed first and justified it afterward.

The fact that they didn't immediately try something told me they were scared, and that was probably the only reason this was still civil. I walked calmly toward the opening of the building. No one stopped me. Hell, no one even talked to me. The corridors beyond were quieter and warmer, and I had to wonder if it was intentional. Soft lighting and sound-dampening wards, the kind of environment designed to make people feel reasonable, safe, and most importantly, cooperative.

It was a comfort strategy if I ever saw one. I wondered if that was why they decided to have the meeting here. It was a good idea, as long as no one mistook comfortable for controllable. The doors at the end of the hall opened without being touched. Inside, the room looked less like an interrogation chamber and more like a private lounge. Deep couches arranged around a low table. Shelves of books lining the walls, most of them old enough to be real.

The ward lattice here was present and subdued, humming quietly instead of pressing in. Aiden Vanta was already there. He stood near the far side of the room, posture straight, hands clasped behind his back. Knight bearing, even out of armor. His eyes met mine immediately, and he did what the Captain did. He winked at me. I tried not to roll my eyes, and it was a good thing they couldn't see my face, because they would have seen the legendary mercenary smiling. Beside him sat a woman I recognized at once.

Pila Manoy. Sharp-eyed. Immaculate suit. Deep blue blazer tailored to perfection, matching slacks, heels that clicked softly when she shifted her weight. Her hair was the same dark blue as her eyes, cut clean and deliberate. She was striking in the way that made people pay attention whether they wanted to or not. She watched me like a ledger waiting to be filled. Aiden spoke first.

"You made it," he said quietly.

"I said I would," I replied. He nodded once.

"Yes. You did. It's good to see you again, Mr. Ghost." I tried not to snort. Aiden was a terrible actor. Pila gestured to the chair opposite her.

"Please. Sit." I didn't remove the mask. I didn't sit right away either. Instead, I stepped fully into the room and let the doors close behind me. The wards adjusted, subtle and noticeable, sealing the space into something private and very carefully monitored. Only then did I move to the chair and sit, cloak settling around me like shadow. Pila folded her hands on the table.

"For the record," she said calmly, "you are not under arrest."

"Good," I said.

"I wouldn't have stayed otherwise." Aiden exhaled through his nose, something between a sigh and a laugh.

"This is off the books," he added.

"I've checked. There are no recordings or Lattice captures beyond attendance confirmation."

"Smart," I said. Pila tilted her head slightly.

"We're here because a lot of very powerful people want answers, and because even more of them don't want the wrong ones getting out." I met her gaze through the mask.

"Ask," I said. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Aiden looked at me, not as a knight or official, but as someone who had once walked out of a battlefield alive because of me.

"You stopped something big," he said.

"And you did it alone."

"Not alone. I was the first," I corrected. That earned me a look from Pila that suggested she was already revising several assumptions. She tapped one finger lightly against the table.

"Then let's begin," she said.

"And let's do it carefully." I leaned back slightly and readied myself. I had come here to make sure they understood exactly how bad the situation had really been, and what needed to happen in the future. I needed to explain exactly why they shouldn't make the same mistake twice. So I started to talk.