Quint Rauss [13]

Quint stared out the window as he sat in the car, lost in thought. Beside him was the girl who had been by his side since childhood, while his master drove in silence. They were heading to a place his master had called the headquarters. As the scenery passed by, Quint's mind drifted to a memory from years ago...

"Is killing a bad thing, Father?" Quint had once asked during one of their weekends together.

His father glanced at him before responding with a question of his own. "What makes you ask that, Son?"

Quint shrugged. "My teacher said taking another person's life is a sin," he said, turning to look at his father. "But you and your troops are considered heroes. You're even given medals and rewards."

His father chuckled, ruffling Quint's hair. "Your teacher isn't wrong. In a perfect world, where there's no evil, killing would indeed be a sin."

Quint frowned at his father's words, confusion flickering in his eyes.

"But life isn't as simple as black and white," his father continued. "You can't categorize everything so easily. Do you know how many shades exist between pure black and pure white?"

Quint nodded. "Greys."

"That's right. And the world is full of greys. In fact, there isn't a single human being who is purely white or completely black."

Quint processed that for a moment before asking again, "So… killing isn't a sin?"

His father smiled. "You're still looking at it in black and white."

"I don't understand."

His father leaned back, considering for a moment. "Let me give you an example. Let's say you're a judge in a court. A man has murdered someone. Would you consider him guilty?"

"Of course," Quint answered without hesitation.

"But then you find out the man killed his victim because that person raped his daughter. Do you still believe he was completely wrong?"

Quint didn't answer immediately this time. He fell into deep thought before replying, "Well… not really. I can understand why he would want revenge."

His father nodded. "Now, let's add another layer. The victim raped the daughter because she humiliated him in public, mocking the size of his manhood. How guilty is the man now?"

Quint's frown deepened. "That's… complicated."

"It is," his father agreed. "And that's the reality of life. The world is full of complicated situations like this." He reached over and tousled Quint's hair again.

"Look at me and my men," his father continued. "We've taken lives. We did it because if we didn't, they would've killed us… or worse, they would've slaughtered innocent people."

Quint tilted his head. "You mean this country?"

His father chuckled. "No. Another country. One far from here."

"Then why would you care?" Quint asked, confused.

His father's smile thinned slightly. "I don't. But the leaders of this country did. And I am just a soldier who follows orders."

"Was it hard… taking lives?" Quint asked.

His father exhaled slowly. "It's harder than you think. Especially when you kill the wrong people. Some of my men had mental breakdowns. Many developed disorders after the war."

Quint's expression sharpened. "How do you kill the wrong people?"

His father's jaw tightened slightly. "In war, there are many ways to kill. Sometimes, we're ordered to wipe out an entire district or city with explosives. Innocent people—women, children—are caught in the destruction. Other times, enemies take civilians as shields, forcing us to choose between killing both or letting the enemy escape."

The more his father spoke, the heavier the atmosphere became. The confident, easygoing Colonel General Rauss seemed momentarily weighed down by ghosts from his past.

-

"What are you thinking, Boy?" His master asked, glancing at Quint through the rearview mirror.

"Nothing," Quint replied, meeting his master's gaze briefly before looking away.

"Do you have second thoughts?" His master pressed.

Quint frowned. "No." He understood what his master was referring to, but he had no doubts.

His mind drifted back to six months ago—right after he won the Close Combat category for the sixth time and the Marksman category for the third. That night, his mother had hugged him tightly, telling him how proud she was. Then, in the quiet of his master's living room, she had started a serious conversation.

"You'll be seventeen soon. Have you thought about what you want to be?" she asked.

Quint nodded. "I have."

"And what is it?"

"I want to be a soldier."

His mother's eyes softened slightly. "Like your father?"

Quint hesitated before shifting his gaze toward his master. "Master said there are other kinds of soldiers besides joining the military."

"That's true," his mother agreed, studying him carefully. "So, what kind of soldier do you truly want to be?"

Quint's frown deepened. "One that doesn't take lives randomly." He exhaled, recalling a conversation with his father. "Father once told me about his men—how some of them broke mentally after war, how they struggled after killing innocent people. I don't want that. But… is it possible to be a soldier and avoid those things?"

His mother smiled. "Well, my soldiers don't go to open war."

Quint's eyes widened. "You have soldiers?"

She nodded, her smile never fading. "I do. Your father fights in open wars, but my soldiers fight in secret wars. They kill exactly who they're ordered to kill—no mistakes, no collateral damage. If they do make a mistake, they won't have a chance to regret it. Because they… simply disappear."

Quint stared at her, processing the weight of her words. "Secret wars?"

"Yes, Dear. There are far more wars happening than what you see in the news. These wars exist under the radar, in complete silence, leaving no trace behind."

Quint felt a rush of excitement and awe. The revelation shattered his previous perception of war, making his father's world seem almost simple in comparison.

His mother watched him carefully. "Are you interested in joining my soldiers?"

Quint didn't even hesitate. "I am," he answered, a spark of ambition lighting up his eyes.

-

Following his master, Quint stepped through a massive French door, serving as the entrance to an even more colossal building. The structure was more akin to a mansion—or perhaps even a castle. Once inside, they found themselves in a vast, long corridor, as wide as a two-lane road.

"Wow..." The girl beside him murmured in fascination.

Quint remained silent, but his eyes mirrored the same awe. The walls on either side were pristine white, adorned with enormous framed paintings. The marble floor beneath them was covered with thick, luxurious rugs. High above, elegant chandeliers hung at intervals, casting a warm glow throughout the hallway.

"Can you guess how rich the person who owns this place is?" the girl whispered to Quint.

"This is one of the castles owned by Lord Neckloghn," his master answered instead.

"Who?" The girl tilted her head.

"Lord Neckloghn," his master repeated, turning slightly to smile at both teenagers. "But he doesn't live here. He is a High Seater of another chapter. It's customary for each High Seater to provide a headquarters for other chapters."

"So who does live here?" The girl pressed further.

Quint frowned slightly. He felt she was asking too many questions, but his master remained patient, merely smiling as he replied.

"No one, Miss. This place serves solely as the headquarters of our chapter."

"Chapter?" she echoed in confusion.

"Yes, Miss. A chapter."

"Headquarters of what?" This time, it was Quint who asked.

"The organization," his master answered simply.

Before Quint could ask more, his master stopped in front of another French door on their right. Reaching inside his suit jacket, he retrieved a black mask and secured it over his eyes and nose. Then, pushing open the door, he announced in a composed, authoritative tone:

"Poison Master and Marksman have arrived."

Side by side, Quint and the girl stepped inside. The room was just as magnificent as the corridor. In the center, a set of elegant couches was already occupied by several teenagers, all of whom turned their attention toward Quint and the girl.

"So, only the Bomber is left," a woman seated beside a teenage girl remarked in a cold, detached tone. Like Quint's master, she also wore a black mask.

"We're here, we're here," a man responded quickly. The hurried sound of footsteps echoed behind Quint and the girl, prompting them to step aside. A middle-aged man—also masked—entered, accompanied by a brown-skinned teenage boy.

The boy grinned awkwardly at the others. "Hi," he greeted, scratching the back of his head.

"Alright, everyone is here," a man wearing a silver mask announced, rising from his seat. "I will call the Madam." With that, he strode toward a door at the far end of the room.

Two minutes later, the man returned—not alone. Behind him, a woman entered, her presence instantly commanding the room. Quint's eyes widened slightly. Even though the golden mask covered the upper half of her face, he was certain—it was his mother.

Yesterday, she had told his father she was attending a high school reunion for the weekend. Yet here she was.

"Madam..." The adults in the room promptly stood, some even pulling the teenagers beside them up as well.

His mother approached the group, her expression calm yet exuding authority. "Hello, prodigies. Welcome to the organization," she greeted smoothly before taking a seat in one of the armchairs. As her gaze traveled across the gathered teenagers, she flashed a perfectly trained smile and addressed them one by one.

"Strategist."

"Hacker."

"Melee Fighter."

"Mind Bender."

"Bomber."

"Poison Master."

Her gaze lingered a second longer on Quint before shifting away.

"And… Marksman."

Quint remained still, his mind racing.

"I am one of the seven High Seaters of The Conduct of Olympos. You may all address me as Madam," his mother introduced herself.

The Conduct of Olympos—that was the name of the organization. Yet it was strictly forbidden for any member to speak or write its name, except for the High Seaters within their headquarters. These High Seaters were the ultimate decision-makers, each representing a powerful country or continent—each leading a "Chapter." But these were things Quint would come to understand much later.

For now, he could only keep his jaw from dropping. His mother had always been charismatic and authoritative, but never had he seen her like this. The woman before him now felt like an entirely different person from the one he called "Mommy."

Her voice broke through his thoughts.

"Every fifteen years, we gather the best prodigies… and you are them. You are about to become the next Royal Knights—our ultimate soldiers."

She smiled again, though there was something unreadable behind it.

"However… before you can truly claim that title, you must prove yourselves."

Her gaze swept over them once more.

"You will each be given a mission. Only by completing it will you be officially recognized as the Royal Knights of Olympos."

@@@@@ AUTHOR's NOTE @@@@@

In this chapter II was a little bit more blunt in giving information about the organization. If you notice, I rarely gave blunt hint and information to my readers. I think it is more fun to connect the dots by ourselves, isn't it ? ;) I just want to remind you that everything that happened is connected one to another. Everything ! So, don't skip little details while you enjoying the story ;)