All in a day's work

In the familiar room adorned with daring furniture, a mysterious figure appeared alongside another.

Returning to his apartment at the Silver Thistle, Jack settled into his usual seat at the tableside, his new marionette standing motionless beside him. A mischievous smile flickered across his lips as he steepled his fingers, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.

The reap was fruitful, though there were moments where the risk ran high.

He tapped a finger against his chin in idle thought. Viève appeared, just as expected. And then, there's this one…

His gaze shifted to the blank-faced man seated nearby.

Formidable, he mused, studying the lifeless figure with cold scrutiny. But his matchup was unfortunate.

Jack leaned back, exhaling softly before closing his eyes. Slipping into the embrace of divination, he let his consciousness drift into the tides of the unknown.

In an instant, visions unfolded before him.

Erynos… Nois… Trafficking… Blood…

His eyes snapped open, the weight of newfound knowledge settling in his mind. He straightened slightly, refocusing on his marionette, the threads of information aligning themselves into clarity.

An Angel of the Ancient Nois Family… overseeing his descendant's operations. The images sharpened—the underworld dealings, the flow of people, the quiet despair lining the routes across continents. A front for human trafficking… multiple locations, all funneling toward a singular destination in the Southern Continent.

His brow furrowed.

This reeks of something greater. A connection to that being's trade… or perhaps that brainless dunce's ritual. A quiet sigh escaped him. I'll have to dig deeper.

Setting those concerns aside for now, Jack shifted his focus. His fingers twitched slightly as he turned his attention back to the marionette before him.

The abilities of a Bloody Archduke were a sight to behold. At this stage, their control over blood and emotions transcended mere manipulation—it became an absolute dominion, an unshakable authority over the visceral and the intangible. Their very existence was a danger to any who sought to unravel them. A single attempt at forming a connection—through divination, prophecy, or any means of intrusion—could be twisted against the trespasser. The Archduke would mark them, corrupt them irreversibly, unless special measures were taken.

They were conductors of emotion, their influence capable of invoking sudden, overwhelming bursts of sentiment—be it rage, sorrow, or ecstasy—bringing their victims dangerously close to losing control. More insidiously, they could plant a Seed of Malice within those who bore ill will, turning that resentment into a tether, a means to return even after suffering fatal destruction. As long as malice existed in the world, a Bloody Archduke could always find a way back.

Their bodies could shift into a black-red viscous liquid, a form of pure, living corruption. Merely looking upon it twisted the mind; touching it scrambled sanity and eroded the soul. Any unfortunate enough to be infected by a Bloody Archduke's blood would become little more than ghoulish thralls, extensions of their will, and the Archduke needed only a single dormant blood cell—planted unnoticed within flesh—to seize control completely.

And of course, all prior abilities were elevated to new heights. Their Devil Transformations were more resilient, imbued with unique properties from the qualitative shift. Their sulfuric flames burned hotter, spreading wider with greater potency. The mere weight of their words—through Language of Foulness and Blathering—could now bend reality with even greater ease.

Jack exhaled, shaking his head slightly as he concluded his initial analysis. A true terror to behold, he mused, fingers drumming idly on the armrest. Too unfortunate he was matched against a Sun Angel. One of the few counter forces capable of suppressing such a foe.

Sun and Twilight—two of the rare few that could properly neutralize an Abyssal predator of this caliber, albeit in different ways. Viève's Ocean of Light had not only weakened Erynos, but had relentlessly purified his corruption, stripping away his most insidious advantages. Worse yet for the Archduke, it had prevented his revival, ensuring his attempts to return were little more than fleeting echoes of despair.

Jack leaned back into his seat, the corners of his mouth tilting ever so slightly. Add his Spirit Body Threads being taken by me, and it was over before he even realized it.

Jack reached into his Traveler's Bag, fingers brushing against the inconspicuous glove nestled within. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled it free, placing it alongside the silver gauntlet on the table—the latter handed over by his marionette.

A sharp glint flickered in his eyes as he regarded the two artifacts, his lips curving into a smirk. How could I pass up such a prize amidst the chaos?

His fingers tapped lightly against the wooden surface as he recalled. The moment we entered the Angels' clash, I knew Vesper was done for. And sure enough, once he was reduced to nothing more than remnants, this little treasure lay waiting among them. A pity for him, but a fine reward for me.

Without hesitation, Jack closed his eyes and extended his hand over the two artifacts. A pulse of spirituality surged outward as he performed a divination upon their properties, the threads unraveling before him.

For a few fleeting seconds, his mind drifted, visions flashing in rapid succession—scenes of battle, blood, and silent oaths sworn in twilight's embrace. The weight of power, sacrifice, and unwavering purpose clung to the artifacts like an echo of the past.

Then, his eyes snapped open.

The knowledge settled within him, clear and absolute.

Twilight Oath. A relic corresponding to the Twilight Giant Pathway, specifically a Sequence 3 Silver Knight.

The abilities of Twilight Oath revolve around three primary abilities:

First is Silver Armor. By activating the artifact, the user can summon a full-body plate of silvery-white armor that seamlessly melds with their form. It does not hinder movement or add weight, acting as an extension of their body. The armor is exceptionally resistant to both physical and mystical damage, regenerating itself from harm over time. However, this comes at a cost—each restoration draws upon the user's stamina and vitality, gradually wearing them down in prolonged battles.

The second is Silver Rapiers. By channeling twilight energy, the user can condense silvery-white beams of light into the form of swift and nearly imperceptible rapiers. These projectiles move with extreme precision, capable of piercing through most defenses. They can be directed at will, launching in rapid succession to overwhelm an enemy. Their biggest strength lies in their speed and stealth, making them difficult to perceive before impact.

the third is Twilight Bind. If the user desires, they can willingly encase another in the Silver Armor, whether to protect an ally or to restrict an enemy. In the latter case, the armor constricts, suffocating and immobilizing the target. However, once invoked, the user must maintain constant spiritual output to sustain the binding. Should their focus waver or their stamina deplete, the effect will break.

Twilight Oath also carries its burdens. Extended use leads to extreme exhaustion, potentially rendering the wielder incapable of movement. If the Silver Armor is completely shattered, it cannot be reformed until the user recovers sufficiently. Attempting to maintain it beyond the user's limits causes internal injuries and accelerates physical deterioration and decay.

Jack ran his fingers along the silver gauntlet's surface, feeling the faint remnants of power it still carried. This is a fine artifact, if I could say so myself. His smirk deepened as he tapped the metal lightly. If not for this, Erynos wouldn't have lasted as long as he did.

His gaze flickered toward the marionette sitting beside him, its lifeless form exuding silent obedience. With this in my arsenal, I can tackle some heavy hitters head-on, even if only temporarily.

The thought amused him, and his grin widened. He leaned back slightly before shifting his attention to the second artifact—the unassuming yet insidious glove resting beside Twilight Oath.

Jack's fingers hovered just above its surface as he invoked another divination, his spirituality extending into the void. As before, fragments of history surfaced in his mind, layered in deception and distortion. Truths twisted into lies. Lies shaped into reality. A power that did not simply deceive—it rewrote perception itself.

Opening his eyes, he let the name settle on his tongue.

Glove of Profaned Truth.

An artifact of the Error Pathway, tied to the Sequence 3 Mentor of Deceit.

The glove is a relic of deception and subversion. It grants an innate ability to identify vulnerabilities—not just physical flaws but inconsistencies in logic, mystical constructs, and defensive formations. This awareness enables the user to mislead opponents into making critical errors while subtly altering perceptions, turning deception into a tangible force. The glove can even distort natural laws, momentarily convincing reality itself to yield to falsehoods.

Its most potent ability is Theft, which allows the user to steal up to three Beyonder abilities in an instant, prioritizing the last three used by the target. These stolen powers are temporary, lasting for an hour before it dissipates.

However, those who rely too heavily on its deception may find themselves trapped in their own illusions, unable to distinguish truth from false.

Jack let out a quiet chuckle, his fingers drumming against the wooden table. It's not as perfect as I'd want it to be, but it's good enough for now. He exhaled slowly, letting the weight of his recent acquisitions settle in. As I always say, this pathway is nothing but convenient.

A slow grin curled on his lips as he relished in his rewards. The Glove of Profaned Truth and Twilight Oath—both powerful tools, both secured amidst chaos. With a flick of his wrist, he stashed the glove back into his Traveler's Bag. The gauntlet, however, he handed back to his marionette, watching as the lifeless figure absorbed it into its form with quiet obedience.

His gaze drifted toward the dim light flickering against the far wall, the last embers of a candle casting long, distorted shadows. Now…

The Church wouldn't let this slide. That much was certain. Viève's presence alone was proof that his actions had drawn their scrutiny, and with a battle of that scale, there was no doubt they'd start a hunt for him.

Good. That means I've made a name for myself. Or better yet—Victor Hale had.

Jack leaned back into his chair, fingers laced together in thought. He wouldn't linger here. Huttel was compromised. The Church's reach would tighten soon, and the last thing he needed was to walk straight into their net.

I'll skip the next town and head straight to the city beyond it. That way, he'd avoid the heavy scrutiny of those closest to the Church's investigations. 

He still had his objectives, and despite the unexpected shift in plans, he wasn't going to abandon them. For now, he'd lie low, acting as he had before—passing through more peaceful cities, keeping his trouble to a minimum.

As for the sudden disappearance of Elias Graff?

Jack smirked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small slip of paper. It means nothing. That was the beauty of fake identities—they were just that. Fake.

With a flick of his fingers, the paper ignited, curling into embers before vanishing entirely.

Satisfied, he reached into his Bag and pulled out the Sightseeing Guide, flipping it open and holding it high as his form shimmered.

One hand rested on his marionette's shoulder, its form shifting in unison with his own.

A moment later, they vanished from Huttel Town, swallowed by the depths of the Spirit World.

… 

In "His" office as usual, Nivlek Sauron was finishing more documents upon "His" table.

Tsk. No matter what I do, these damned papers never end, he cursed inwardly as he heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," "He" answered, "His" tone flat and perfunctory.

A clergyman from the Church entered, standing with practiced formality before presenting an envelope. "Good afternoon, General. I come bearing a report from Your Excellency, Saint Viève. She emphasizes its urgency."

Nivlek's brow arched slightly at that. Without a word, "He" took the envelope from the man's outstretched hand, dismissing him with a casual wave. The clergyman bowed and promptly left, closing the door behind him.

As silence returned, Nivlek twirled the envelope between "His" fingers, leaning back into "His" chair. "His" branch in the military had always maintained close ties with the Church, often coordinating efforts to eliminate heretics and dismantle secret organizations within Intis. This was, of course, an arrangement "He" sought out himself.

Things had been relatively quiet as of late, a few small-scale operations, nothing out of the ordinary. But for Saint Viève herself to issue a report of urgency? That warranted attention.

Tearing the envelope open with a swift motion, "He" unfolded the letter and scanned its contents.

"His" eyes widened—briefly. It's been barely a week, and that bastard has already stirred up this much trouble? For fuck's sake.

The irritation faded as quickly as it appeared, "His" mind shifting into analysis. Clearing out an operation like that… that's just like him. But the Nois Family? And in that region? "He" frowned. It has to be for "Her". Probably…

"He" let out a slow breath through "His" nose, pressing "His" fingers to "His" temple in thought. If that were true, then this would escalate quickly. I'll need to make the necessary arrangements ahead of time.

Without wasting another moment, "He" pulled open a drawer, retrieving a blank piece of parchment and a quill. "His" hand moved fluidly as "He" wrote a letter.

Finishing, "He" folded it neatly and set it on "His" desk, summoning a messenger.

 A few seconds later, the atmosphere in the room shifted.

A damp stillness overtook the space, the very air seeming to quiver as something pressed against the edges of reality. Then, with a series of faint clicks, thin, bristled legs emerged from the void, weaving forward with unsettling grace. A grotesque, multi-eyed spider manifested before the desk, its many layered faces shifting—watching.

Its gaze locked onto the letter in Nivlek's hand.

"He" offered it without hesitation.

Silken strands coiled around the parchment, pulling it into the creature's grasp before it withdrew, vanishing back into nothingness as if it had never been there.

Nivlek exhaled lightly, rolling "His" shoulders as "He" leaned back once more.

Let's see if this messenger is as efficient as mine.

As "He" stood up, moving toward "His" cabinet to pour "Himself" a glass of tequila, the atmosphere in the office dampened once more. The air twisted subtly, folding in on itself, as the familiar spider emerged from the void. Its multi-eyed faces twitched erratically as it extended its furred, many-jointed legs, a sealed letter carefully clutched in its silken grasp.

Nivlek took the letter with a raised brow, watching as the creature vanished just as swiftly as it had come. "He" smirked faintly, swirling the amber liquid in "His" glass before bringing it to "His" lips.

Ho, it is fast. Good to know he isn't lazy, he mused, taking a slow sip before setting the glass down. With a flick of "His" fingers, "He" unsealed the letter and began reading.

The words sprawled across the parchment in familiar script.

"Ah, it seems the news runs quickly, and your connection to the Church is better than expected. Anyhow, there was a trafficking operation happening, concealed beneath the actions of folly mob behavior, all sent to a remote place in the Southern Continent. Further investigation is required for more insight."

"If you wish, you can go there yourself, hehe. I have a lingering feeling that you desire a good hunt, and it is a bit bittersweet that I took the lead ahead of you."

"Keep me posted if you do so. I would hate for you to have all the fun by yourself."

A muscle in Nivlek's jaw twitched as "He" finished reading. "His" fingers tightened around the parchment before "He" flicked his wrist, reducing it to embers. The ashes disintegrated in the air, leaving no trace.

So it was him. Tsk. I can't be left behind so much—it's about time I also enter the fray.

Reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment, Nivlek dipped "His" quill into ink, swiftly writing out the necessary information. The letter was concise yet direct, outlining the latest intelligence, its implications for the higher-ups. Once satisfied, "He" sealed it with "His" insignia before setting it inside "His" coat's inner pocket.

"He" drained the remainder of "His" tequila in a single motion before adjusting "His" uniform and heading toward the door. The halls were quiet, save for the occasional murmur of officers discussing mundane assignments. With precise, unhurried steps, Nivlek made "His" way toward "His" subordinates' office.

As "He" entered, two officers—Colonel Vale and Lieutenant Colonel Caine—immediately snapped to attention, saluting "HIm".

"Good afternoon, General," Vale greeted, his expression sharp with respect. "What can we do to honor 'Your' visit?"

Nivlek returned their salute with a curt nod. "Good afternoon, Colonel Vale, Lieutenant Colonel Caine. Inform the higher-ups and prepare yourselves—I will be absent for the following days. There was crucial information brought to me from the Colonies in the Southern Continent, which I will be overseeing personally."

As "He" spoke, Nivlek reached into the inner pocket of "His" coat, retrieving a sealed envelope. The wax bore "His" personal insignia, ensuring its authenticity. "He" extended it toward Vale, who took it with careful precision.

"This contains the relevant details for the higher-ups. Deliver it immediately," Nivlek instructed, his tone leaving no room for delay. "Until my return, I leave the remaining duties in your hands."

Both officers exchanged a brief glance before nodding in acknowledgment.

"Understood, General," Caine replied, his tone steady.

Satisfied with their response, Nivlek turned on "His" heel and strode out of the office, exiting the premises without another word. As "He" stepped beyond the grand entrance of the Military Headquarters, the crisp air met "His" skin. Without breaking stride, "He" reached into the layers of reality, pulling himself seamlessly into the Spirit World.

A cascade of ethereal colors swirled around "Him," hues shifting like living ink across a cosmic canvas. The distorted landscape stretched and bent, guiding "Him" effortlessly to "His" home.

I'll pack properly before moving to West Balam. I need to follow up on some clues I received days ago, Nivlek concluded, stepping forward with unwavering purpose.

A storm was brewing, and "He" intended to be at its center.