The Inquisitors did not sit. Their leader—a dark-skinned woman with albaso braids falling past her shoulders—stood with her hands clasped behind her back. The two flanking her were a study in contrasts: a pale man with sharp grey and close-cropped hair, and a petite lady with olive-skin and epicanthal folds, her expression utterly blank. All three radiated stillness. Not the stillness of peace—the stillness of coiled serpents waiting for prey to move.
"We'll stand, my lord," the woman replied. Her voice was calm, polite and professional.
"Very well." Alaric said, clasping his hands in the table.
"Then tell me why you wished to see me."
Layl's hands unfolded her hands from her back and bowed.
"Before that, my lord, allow me to thank you."
"For what?"
"For permitting us to stay within your estate. Many inns within Blackhaven remain damaged from the attack and are yet to run again."
Her gaze briefly shifted toward the the window.
"We appreciate the hospitality."
"You are agents of the kingdom," Alaric replied. "It would be improper not to extend it."
Layl straightened and smiled faintly.
"Still, we are grateful."
There was a brief pause before she continued.
"We have gathered sufficient information regarding the incident in Blackhaven."
"And?"
"We will be returning to the Inquisition to submit our report."
Alaric tilted his head slightly.
"So soon?"
"Yes, preferably before the close of today. We, will leave after speaking with you."
His eyes lingered on her face.
"I see. And have you discovered anything?"
Layl answered evenly.
"We have already documented our findings and presented you with a copy."
Alaric did not respond.
But internally—
He doubted that.
The Inquisition did not travel across half the kingdom simply to observe, take notes and leave quietly.
No.
They were here for something else.
And in the quiet space between heartbeats, Alaric's mind began assembling the larger picture.
The Kingdom of Aerthos had not always been stable. Even after fighting wars with neigbhouring kingdoms and demarcating itsown territory, internal rule was a problem.
Millenia ago, in the days remembered as the Era of Heroes, power had rested solely in the hands of kings.
Absolute power.
Absolute authority.
Absolute corruption.
It had been one of those kings—ironically remembered as one of the wisest—who realized that a single ruler could not shoulder the weight of an entire nation without eventually breaking under it or breaking said nation.
So he did something revolutionary.
He divided the kingdom's power into three arms. The Royal Family and their appointed ministers would serve as the 'Executive' arm, responsible for governance and the direct administration of the kingdom. The Privy Council would act as the 'Legislature', drafting and shaping the laws that defined the nation. And the High Court would stand as the 'Judiciary', interpreting those laws and judging those who broke them.
A triangle of authority.
Though the royal family still held the majority of power, the other two bodies shared pieces of it, not enough to overthrow the throne but enough to restrain it. Laws alone meant nothing. A law was merely a promise, a condition that promised relief if it was upheld, but people would never submit to conditions, if there was no fear of consequence. Which raised the eternal problem.
Who enforced the law?
If enforcement belonged solely to the King, then the throne could crush any opposition, becoming tyrannical. If it belonged to the Courts, judges could imprison people they wanted out of the way. If it belonged to the Council, legislators could silence dissent and manipulate laws for thier own gain. And if it existed independently— then eventually soldiers would realize they no longer needed kings or a council or judges.
The solution the ancient king devised had been ingenious. Create three enforcement bodies, bind each to one arm of state, and force them to watch one another while making sure that they could only act under very specific and controlled conditions.
The Royal Enforcers, serving the King directly, became the sword and shield of the throne. They protected borders, maintained civil order, and executed the king's commands.
The Punishment Division, serving the High Court, managed prisons, executions, and the kingdom's sprawling penal systems. They ensured that once judgment was delivered, consequence followed swiftly.
And, the Inquisition, serving the Privy Council, acted as auditors of integrity—investigators sent to expose corruption, conspiracies, and legislative misconduct.
Three guardians, three heads of a hydra, each staring at the others from different angles.It was meant to answer the oldest question in governance.
Who watches the watchman?
In the beginning, it had worked. But centuries passed. The system weakened. What had once been cooperation became suspicion. A silent Cold War.
Enforcers watched Inquisitors.
Inquisitors watched Punishers.
Punishers watched everyone else.
And ambitious nobles quickly learned how to manipulate the situation.
Jurisdictional disputes.
Procedural audits.
Investigations that were not truly investigations at all, just weapons, excuses, tools to undermine rivals. The system still functioned, but the gears were grinding themselves into dust.
And Alaric knew that this was exactly what was going on right now.
The Inquisition could not be deployed without a majority vote of the Privy Council. Which meant several council members had deliberately authorized this investigation.
Which meant—
They were looking for dirt on him. Using the chaos in Blackhaven as an excuse.
Alaric returned to the present in less than a heartbeat.
Layl continued speaking.
"I see."
Alaric leaned back in his seat.
"If possible," he said casually, "Could I ask you to stay until tomorrow."
Layl raised an eyebrow.
"Our cooks are preparing a grand dish tonight."
The man's eyes flickered with interest and his olive skinned partner's gaze shifted slightly.
Layl did not move.
"I appreciate the invitation," she said calmly. "But we cannot delay."
Alaric sighed softly.
"A pity."
Layl tilted her head.
"My lord… before we leave, there is one matter."
"Yes?"
"The murder weapon."
Alaric blinked.
"Pardon?"
Layl began walking slowly around the table toward him.
Her steps were measured.
"The spear used to kill Hunter Chief Roric Thorne."
Alaric watched her approach.
"It has gone missing. Curious, isn't it?"
Her voice was gentle, almost conversational.
"One might wonder why such a critical piece of evidence vanished."
'Ah, there it is.'
She was fishing for a reaction.
Alaric remained completely still. Layl continued her slow approach.
"Unless someone removed it intentionally."
The air in the room grew heavy.
She stopped beside him and continued calmly.
"Perhaps someone wished to hid something concerning the attack."
She glanced at him. Alaric did not look at her.
"Or perhaps someone orchestrated the chaos from the beginning."
Instantly, a strong pressure dropped over the chamber like a curtain. Alaric spoke quiely but every instinct within their bodies told them to escape. Only problem was, they were paralysed in place.
"You should watch yourselves."
The temperature seemed to drop.
"The fact that I have been cooperative does not give you permission to test me."
He turned his head slowly toward her.
"I am a Lord."
His voice remained calm.
"And a Saint."
The other two Inquisitors stiffened as he spoke.
"You," he said softly, "are Votaries so don't push your luck."
The pressure intensified.
"Ask yourselves this."
His eyes sharpened.
"If I truly wished for those unfortunate events to occur…do you believe I would need to orchestrate them?"
Silence.
"You know my accolades."
"You know I could massacre entire cities."
The pressure grew suffocating.
"And if I wished for chaos…"
"…do you believe I would hide behind schemes?"
He leaned closer.
"I am not like the other nobles, but do not mistake that for weakness."
His gaze swept across them.
Then—
The pressure vanished completely.
Layl inhaled slowly.
"I understand."
Her voice remained calm.
"I was merely asking questions."
Alaric turned away.
"Safe travels."
Layl bowed slightly.
"Before we depart… is Sir Eddie Gable around?" She asked, stopping at the doorway.
"He went to inspect patrol routes. I do not know if he has returned." Alaric replied.
"I see."
Layl bowed again.
"Then we will take our leave."
The three Inquisitors exited the chamber.
"Good riddance." Alaric said with a grunt and folded his arms.
Outside the chamber, the three Inquisitors walked in silence until they reached a empty corridor.
Then Yulan, the petite lady rounded on Layl.
"What were you thinking?" she hissed, keeping her voice low.
"You know who that man is! Why the hell would you do that?!"
Layl shrugged, adjusting her cloak. "I was making sure he was innocent."
"By accusing him?" The man—Dmitri—rubbed the back of his neck, still pale.
"That was insane. Even for you."
"He didn't kill anyone," Layl said simply.
"If he had, he would have reacted differently. Guilty people get defensive. They explain. They justify. He just... sat there."
"And nearly crushed us with his presence," Dmitri muttered.
"Forgive me if I don't find pleasure accompanying you on assignments."
Yulan palmed her face.
"You have a bad habit, Layl. A really bad habit."
Layl ignored her. "What about the spear?"
Dmitri blinked.
"You're asking now? After we almost died?"
"We have enough information," Yulan said.
"The spear itself was difficult to analyze because of the blood on it. Roric Thorne's residual Trait is still active—it masked any clues we might have found. It's so thoroughly coated that it's almost as if he intentionally washed it with his blood while dying."
Dimitri snorted.
"That's absurd. Who would do that? Wouldn't a person want their murderer punished?"
Yulan frowned.
"Unless..." Dimitri's eyes widened.
"Unless he was preventing a secret from coming to light. What if Roric Thorne wanted his death to remain a mystery? What if he was hiding something?"
Yulan punched him in the shoulder.
"Ow!"
"Don't mock the dead, Dimitri."
"I wasn't mocking! I was theorizing!"
"Yeah, theorizing my ass.''
"You don't have any though."
" Huh."
Dmitri looked away, suddenly feeling the urge to appreciate the walls while Yulan drew her arm back and was about to ounch him.
Layl waved a hand.
"Both pf you should stop fooling around. All possibilities are valid till proven otherwise so for now, we'll never know."
They rounded a corner and stepped into a courtyard. Thier bags were already beside the door. Yulan absorbed them into a spatial storage pouch and put it in her pocket.
A boy was training with a sword under Eddie Gable's watchful eye—the Lord's son, Elias, moving through forms with a precision that seemed wrong for his age. Nearby, a girl sat in the grass, hugging her knees, watching with empty eyes.
Jamie Thorne, daughter of the deceased. Layl's gaze lingered on her.
"I wonder," she murmured, "if she was the one who took the spear."
Dimitri laughed.
"Now you're being absurd."
Yulan nodded.
"She's just a child, Layl. A grieving child. She probably doesn't even know what a spear is."
Layl didn't respond. She was watching the girl's eyes—empty, yes, but also... aware. Present in a way that grief usually wasn't.
As if by instinct, Jamie turned and their gazes met. For a heartbeat, something passed between them. Recognition, perhaps. Or challenge. It was impossible to say. Then Jamie looked away.
Layl shook herself. "We should go."
Dimitri grinned. "Speaking of going—isn't that your former master?"
Yulan's expression brightened.
"And future father-in-law," Dmitri and Yulan leaned in, speaking in unison.
Layl's composure cracked.
"He's not—"
Layl's face flushed dark enough to show even through her skin.
She smacked them both—Dmmitri on the arm, Yulan on the shoulder—hard enough to make them wince.
"We're behind schedule.We're leaving!" Layl said and stalked toward the gate.
"Yes, ma'am," they chorused and followed, rubbing the sore spots.