Chapter 4
Peace in Our Time!
Part 1
“So they made their way to the deepest level, did they?” Fenrir mutters amid the white fog.
In front of the undamaged equipment, there’s a pool of blood and two sets of footprints.
“They should have been able to destroy the devices. Did they realize we didn’t have enough magic? No, even if they did, it would have been safer to destroy it anyway.”
The bloody footprints go right past the devices and on to the door beyond them.
“The door won’t open until the seal’s been undone. What did they even come here for?”
Fenrir walks over to the door with Diablos’s right arm sealed behind it. That’s when he notices that the defense mechanism’s been triggered.
“Did Lily drive them off?”
It’s the only explanation that makes sense to him.
Whatever the case may be, though, it won’t be long before the Shadow Garden makes their next move. He’s running low on time.
“…My, my. It would seem you’re in a bit of a bind.”
All of a sudden, a voice echoes out from the fog.
Fenrir whirls around and lashes out with his sword. The force of his slash parts the fog.
He sees a priest standing in its place.
The priest gives him a thin smile. “Ooh, scary.”
“Oh. Petos. It’s you. Next time, at least tell me you’re here. I was about to kill you there.”
“It’s been too long, Fenrir—fifth member of the Rounds. I see your blade is as sharp as ever. I could feel my blood run cold.”
“Hmph.”
Fenrir launched that attack fully intending for it to be lethal. If he’d been operating at full power, there’s no way Petos would have been able to block it.
However, there isn’t a scratch on him. What an infuriating man Petos is.
“If we fought seriously, I have little doubt you’d trounce me,” Petos offers.
“Like you’ve ever fought seriously in your life, young Petos—tenth member of the Rounds,” Fenrir spits back at him. “So, what do you want?”
“I saw you were in trouble. I thought I’d lend a hand.”
Fenrir scoffs. “And you think I’d take help from a fiend like you?”
Petos’s smile deepens. “A fiend? You wound me. I’m but a humble servant of the Cult.”
“I’ll ask you again. What are you doing here, Petos? If we wanted someone to shoot the breeze with, neither of us would be the other’s first choice.”
Fenrir turns the hostility way up, and the grin vanishes from Petos’s face. “The Fenrir sect’s repeated failures have begun causing problems for the Rounds Table.” He casts a quick glance at the cylindrical devices. “The right arm’s sealing is behind schedule.”
“We’re about sixty percent of the way there.”
“Sixty, hmm…? As I’m sure you’re aware, the Sanctuary’s destruction set the left arm free. We’re expecting to produce even fewer Beads this year.”
“So Aurora is rejecting us.”
“Indeed she is, and more so than in years prior. She’s rejecting us at every turn. In all likelihood, being set free is causing her to regain her sense of self.”
“Well, that’s a problem. How many Beads are we looking at?”
“Nine…and that’s if we’re lucky. It might be as few as eight. The one silver lining is that thanks to the Shadow Garden culling our ranks, we don’t need as many…but I suppose that’s indelicate to say.” Petos breaks into a chuckle. It’s unclear what he finds so funny. “If the Bead production falls below our estimates…or if we end up appointing a new member, then there won’t be a Bead for you this year.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, Petos.”
Fenrir unleashes a murderous slash. It slices through Petos’s jacket and leaves a thin trail of blood running down his neck.
“Ooh, careful there,” Petos cautions.
“How dare a neophyte think you’re my equal.”
“The decision was the Rounds Table’s. I’m merely the messenger. See it as a sign of how seriously the Rounds Table is taking the Fenrir sect’s blunders.”
Fenrir clicks his tongue and quells his bloodthirst. “Was Loki behind this?”
Loki is the leader of a faction that’s been at odds with Fenrir’s for years.
“Loki was…present at the discussion, certainly.”
“And you threw your vote in with him, didn’t you? You were scared that if it wasn’t me, it would be your Bead on the chopping block.”
“Oh, perish the thought. I am, as always, your faithful ally.”
Fenrir scoffs at Petos’s reply. “If people want to point fingers, this is the whole Cult’s fault for not taking the Shadow Garden seriously enough. Those first reports were, what, five years ago? You know, those attacks by an unknown group on our carriages carrying the possessed. If we’d put them down then and there, then they never would have grown to the scope they have today.”
“Perhaps you have a point.”
“The Cult’s immortality has made it complacent, and now they’re as dull as fatted swine. The twelfth seat was always empty, but now we’ve lost Nelson and Mordred, too. I swear, the Rounds’ quality is dropping by the day. The only reason you’re on the Rounds is to replace the tenth seat that Shadow killed two years back. Someone of your caliber should never have been allowed to become a member.”
“I suppose in a sense, I have the Shadow Garden to thank for my current position. They really do have my utmost gratitude,” Petos says mockingly. “Apologies, that was a slip of the tongue. In any case, though, the Rounds Table is finally making their move. They’re taking things quite seriously now.”
“Ah yes, the plan… The Shadowhunting Jaw, was it?”
“Do you think it will work?”
“It doesn’t bring me any joy to see Loki spearheading the operation, but this should be a valuable opportunity. We need to nail down whether Shadow’s strength is the real deal.”
“You suspect it isn’t?”
“I didn’t say that. If it is real, though, it seems a little difficult to believe. Either he’s using an artifact of legend, or he’s from another Realm, or maybe he possesses the same technology the Cult does…”
“And what if he’s just an ordinary man?”
A fearless smile flashes across Fenrir’s face. “Then he’s a man who’s reached the peak of martial prowess. If that’s true, then I need to see it for myself. Whatever the case, it’s been hundreds of years since the Rounds Table has offered me support. Sooner or later, you’ll learn exactly why that is.”
“I see… Then as the rookie, I suppose I’d best keep my mouth shut and follow your lead. I do have a part to play in the plan, however minor it may be.”
“Don’t mess it up, young Petos.”
“I could say the same to you, Fenrir. If you fail to free the right arm, if the ruins fall into the Shadow Garden’s hands…”
Petos trails off mid-sentence and braces himself. The magic pouring off Fenrir is truly ominous.
“You forget who you’re talking to, Petos. I am Fenrir. Long have I held the Rounds’ fifth seat, and long have I held my pride. One way or another, I’ll see that arm unsealed.”
“I would expect nothing less, sir.”
“We will revive Diablos and, in doing so, attain true immortality. I won’t let anyone question the methods I take to achieve that end. Even if I have to break this nation in twain.”
“…All that matters are your results. That’s why I came here. To help.”
“I already said, I don’t need help from the likes of you.”
“The Rounds Table has made their decision. Please, don’t hesitate to make use of these artifacts.”
The artifacts in question are a gaudy set of collars with something resembling a clock hand attached to each one.
“What are those?” Fenrir asks.
“New artifacts, fresh from the Cult labs. It looked as though you were having trouble gathering magic, so we thought these might serve you well.”
“…I’ll use them if the mood strikes me. That aside, I find it hard to imagine you came all this way just to run a simple errand. What’s really going on here?”
“I’m merely following orders. I am nothing if not devoted to the Cult. Now, to change the subject a little… Have you ever seen a gold-haired therianthrope in these ruins?”
Petos asks the question casually, like he’s simply making small talk, but Fenrir hears something in his tone. This, he intuits, is the real reason Petos came.
“A gold-haired therianthrope? I’m not sure…”
Fenrir hasn’t forgotten the golden Seven Shadows member, not by a long shot. However, he sees no particular reason to share that information with Petos.
Fenrir’s gaze meets Petos’s.
Petos is the first to break eye contact. “If you spot her, do let me know.”
“Is there something special about her?”
“Oh, nothing worth mentioning. I’ll be seeing you.” Petos scuttles off into the fog.
“A gold-haired therianthrope… Petos acquired a sample by wiping out the Golden Leopard clan. That was what earned him his promotion to the Rounds. Could it be? Did one of them survive?”
Fenrir looks at the cylindrical devices 60 percent full of magic. Petos has just confirmed that he’s free to use whatever methods he deems fit.
He bares his teeth in a grin.
“Now this is getting interesting.”
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