Loyalty above all else. (1)

After putting Wally's theory into action, we successfully created another AI to serve as the foundation for Prototype-Pixie. However, it would still take some time before it could evolve into a soul, rendering it unusable for the time being.

Wally, meanwhile, wasn't fully combat-ready either. But after spending twelve years by my side, he had at least developed the capability to extract both himself and me from any dangerous encounter—a valuable asset in its own right.

Not that I ever designed him for battle to begin with. He was intended to be a consultant, a strategist, a sounding board. Yet with the pace at which he was growing… it wouldn't be long before he reached commander-level capabilities within Eden's ranks.

Anyway, at the moment, we were at the mission hall—preparing to take on the task concerning the cursed object.

The mission hall buzzed with life, packed shoulder to shoulder with students from all five academies, each scanning the displays in search of a mission that matched their skill level—or at least their ambitions.

The hall itself was divided into sections by rank. Missions above A-rank were locked behind digital seals, inaccessible to students regardless of how many teamed up. Those assignments were simply out of our league.

Most of the attention centered around the C-rank missions, which were projected on floating holograms with detailed briefings, environment simulations, and estimated threat levels. A handful of students with B-rank combat capabilities were forming small squads, padding their numbers with competent C-ranks to take on the riskier tasks.

Roger, interestingly, was sticking to safer ground. Despite commanding hundreds of C-rank students, he opted only for routine C-rank missions. Looks like the damage I did to his forces during the entrance exam left more than just a dent in morale.

Samuel, meanwhile, had teamed up with Yelena and a few others to tackle a B-rank mission in the Eastern Seas. That should keep them out of trouble—for now.

Tommy had rallied a rowdy pack of Hunters for what he called a "pest control" operation. In other words, an extermination mission. Knowing them, they'd leave a trail of chaos wherever they went.

And then there was Wuxin—calm, composed, and entirely alone—preparing for a solo escort mission.

Should I send someone with him? I wondered for a moment, but ultimately shook the thought away. No. It's best not to worry too much.

"Wait a minute, I know this one," Sylvia said, narrowing her eyes at Reinhardt. "He was your junior butler alongside John. But who's this?"

She shifted her gaze toward the towering figure beside him—Grunthar.

"Allow me to introduce him, Miss Sylvia," Reinhardt replied with a graceful bow. "This is Grunthar, a new addition to my squad."

Grunthar mirrored the gesture, giving a respectful nod of his own.

"Drop the formalities, please," Sylvia said, shaking her head. "We're all equals here."

"Since introductions are out of the way," I interjected with a smile, "let's move on to the mission."

At my signal, Wally extended a small holographic projection from my shoulder. The Codex flickered to life, displaying the mission's data in glowing symbols and structured files.

"Wally, if you would."

"There have been multiple sightings of concentrated curse energy near several tribal settlements on the outskirts of Ravenia," Wally explained, his voice strikingly human despite its synthetic origin. "Over the years, several individuals have gone missing in the region, and an entire platoon of Mahoons was wiped out during a previous investigation."

The hologram shifted, showing casualty reports and fragmented audio logs.

"It is now believed that a cursed object holder is behind the phenomenon. Our mission is to locate and neutralize the threat."

Sylvia raised an eyebrow. "Did you... upgrade him?"

"Something like that," I answered with a smirk.

"Ravenia is home to vampires, werewolves, and sorcerers," I said calmly, my eyes scanning the map projected by Wally. "We won't be welcome guests, so be prepared for hostility. We'll make a brief stop in the southern city before heading to the outskirts— since there's no teleportation point there directly connected to Paragon."

I turned toward each of them, assigning tasks without hesitation.

"Syl, you can scout ahead if you're up for it. Grunthar, talk to the tribal clans—see what information you can gather. Reinhardt, you're with me. We need to stock up on supplies. If we're dealing with a cursed object, I don't want us walking in unprepared."

Sylvia nodded, arms crossed as she considered the terrain.

"Ravenia's surrounded by mountains," she said. "Finding the cursed object won't be easy without help from the locals. But… I've been working on something new. A spell. It might help."

"A scouting spell?" I asked.

She gave a half-smile. "More versatile than that, but… right now I can't do much with it. Still, it might give us a lead."

We departed for Ravenia through the teleportation room—a circular chamber with a glowing blue sigil etched into the center. As we stood within the sigil's bounds, a brief pulse of energy surged beneath our feet. In an instant, a brilliant light enveloped us, and just like that, we were standing in the heart of Ravenia's Night City.

Despite it being only ten in the morning, the sky above was cloaked in darkness—no sun, no clouds, just a constant starless night. We stepped off the platform, which bore the same sigil as the one in Paragon, and began surveying our surroundings.

Soft neon lights illuminated every corner of the city, glowing steadily as if night were permanent. For a moment, the crowds fell silent upon seeing us, their eyes lingering, uncertain. But soon enough, murmurs resumed, and they went back to their business, ignoring us as if we were never there.

"Looks like the police won't be greeting us either. Should I pay them a visit, young master?" Reinhardt asked with a demonic grin curling across his face.

"Don't cause any unnecessary trouble. Bear with it for now—we won't be staying long," I replied. "We don't need their help, and if they choose not to give it, all the merit will fall to us."

We split up from there.

Sylvia and Grunthar headed straight for the outskirts to the south, while Reinhardt and I remained behind under the pretense of gathering supplies.

"Reinhardt, you take care of the supplies. I'm going to visit our friend," I said as the others disappeared into the shadows of the city.

"Will you be alright going alone, young master?" Reinhardt asked, his tone shaded with concern. "They've crossed us once already. If they see you alone, they might take the chance to act."

"I'll be fine," I said, slipping a folded note into his hand. "He's not stupid enough to cut ties entirely. And even if he tries—"

I smiled.

"—I've got some leverage."

"I understand," Reinhardt replied, giving the note a quick glance before tucking it away.

A small pool of black liquid formed beneath Reinhardt's feet, rippling like oil on water. Without resistance, he sank into it, vanishing as the liquid evaporated into the air.

"Wally, activate stealth-mode armor," I commanded.

As I activated my ability, time around me ground to a crawl. The world dulled into silence and stillness—people mid-step, mid-blink, mid-sentence—frozen in place like statues in a moment stolen from time.

Wally morphed in sync, his sleek metallic body reconfiguring around me. Within a second, he had completely enveloped my vessel in armor—seamless, quiet, and unyielding.

I moved through the immobilized crowd without a sound, heading to the northern district of Ravenia. This was the territory of the werewolves.

Unlike the more civil sectors, this part of the city was brutalist in design—massive structures built from tier-2 extraterrestrial alloy, strong enough to withstand the rage of beasts. The roads were thick, reinforced, and wide enough for transformed Lycans to sprint or brawl without damaging the infrastructure.

The residents here rarely reverted to human form. Most walked about in their monstrous state—furred, clawed, and towering, their presence alone enough to make ordinary people steer clear. It was no surprise the Mahoons held no authority here. Crime ran unchecked, governed only by strength and blood oaths.

After scouting the area, I headed straight for the mansion belonging to my dear "friend"—the one foolish enough to cut off his supply chain.

The mansion was a fortress of dark stone and polished steel, surrounded by thick fencing and a phalanx of muscular guards—all of whom were now frozen mid-motion due to my ability.

With little effort, I leapt over the gates, landing silently on a balcony. One of the windows was conveniently open.

I slipped inside and landed directly in my target's room.

And then I sat.

On a deep-cushioned, claw-marked chair.

Deactivating my ability, time resumed with a breathless snap.

The room was… surprisingly immaculate for a werewolf's quarters.

Dark oak paneling ran along the walls, matched by charcoal-black shelves stacked with old tomes and vintage liquor. A fireplace crackled gently beneath a mounted dragon statue, casting flickering shadows across a heavy obsidian desk cluttered with scrolls and half-empty glasses. The faint scent of aged leather and burnt cedar lingered in the air. Even the rug—wolf fur, of course—was combed and centered.

The door creaked open, revealing a white-furred werewolf clad in sharp, professional attire—tailored slacks, a dark vest over a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled to reveal scarred forearms. His right eye gleamed gold with predatory intensity, while his left bore a jagged claw scar, replaced by a mechanical eye glowing faint red.

He was mid-motion, about to shut the door behind him, when his snout twitched. A scent—faint but unmistakable—hit him. His movements slowed. He closed the door softly, methodically.

I deactivated my stealth mode without shedding the armor. The faint hum of disengaging magic fizzled in the air.

"Loken," I greeted, reclining ever so slightly. My masked face tilted upward in theatrical warmth. "How long has it been? A season? Two? I must say, you've redecorated… quite tastefully, too. Almost makes me forget you stopped returning my letters."

I gestured to the chair across from me. "Please, sit. Let's reminisce. There's so much to discuss."

Loken remained still for a heartbeat before reluctantly taking the seat opposite me. The cushion creaked under his weight.

"…You come into my territory unannounced," he growled, low and measured. "Doesn't that… break the trust between us?"

I leaned forward slightly, resting my hands atop one another. My voice was calm, unhurried, and laced with a soft, bemused gravity.

"Ah, trust. That elusive perfume we dab behind our ears before walking into a den of wolves. Tell me, Loken… was it trust when you pulled your supply chain like a rug from beneath my feet? When you left me dancing in the dark while your profits found new partners?"

I tilted my head.

"No… this isn't a breach of trust, old friend. This is a courtesy call."

"The prices of the products we supplied you with rose significantly," Loken began, his voice calm but laced with just enough anxiety to betray the truth. "But according to your contract, we weren't receiving enough to keep the operation running as it was. We had to find alternatives, just temporarily. Trust me on this, Moriarty—I never intended to betray your trust. I just… needed more funds to keep things under control."

I didn't respond right away.

Instead, I leaned back, my fingers lightly tapping the armrest of the chair. The sound echoed softly in the room like a ticking clock counting down toward something inevitable.

"Then you should have come to me," I said at last, my tone even but edged with disappointment. "We could have discussed your options. Found a solution. You're not the only supplier I have, Loken. You know that. I could replace you with a flick of my wrist, but I didn't."

I tilted my head slightly, eyes narrowing behind the mask.

"I didn't come here because the supply chain was broken. I came because the trust was."

I stood now, walking slowly across the room, admiring the architecture, the fine furniture, the attention to detail. My voice dropped to a more personal register—softer, but far more dangerous.

"You see, Loken… I've been thinking a lot about loyalty lately. It's such an unfashionable virtue, wouldn't you agree? These days, everyone talks about efficiency, growth, survival. But loyalty? Loyalty is inconvenient. It's not scalable. It demands sacrifice, restraint… sometimes even silence."

I turned toward him, finally letting him see the faint reflection of my face behind the visor.

"Loyalty means choosing someone even when it's not profitable. When the world's turning to ash and your claws are tied behind your back, loyalty says: 'I still stand by you.' Not because it makes sense. But because you made a promise."

I paused just a moment.

"And you, Loken… you broke yours. Not for survival. Not for a noble cause. But for a little more coin, a little less struggle."

I leaned in slightly, voice barely above a whisper.

"Loyalty above all else, Loken," I said slowly, the words thick with memory. "Loyalty above all else. That was the only code we ever truly followed."

The silence that followed was brittle. Loken's mechanical eye whirred faintly, tracking my every movement, while his organic eye—golden, but dimmed with regret—avoided mine.

"But…" I continued, lowering myself back into the chair with deliberate calm, "I'm going to give you a second chance."

His ears twitched.

"If you can complete the task I assign to you, I'll consider this unfortunate lapse behind us. The contract will be renewed. The chain restored."

Loken swallowed hard. His posture straightened instinctively, like a soldier in front of his commander. "Anything," he said quietly. "Anything to redeem myself."

A beat passed before I leaned forward, the hint of a smile curling beneath the edge of my mask. "Good. Then we have a deal."

Let's just hope, for your sake, you remember what loyalty truly costs.