The Duke of Cardella's office smelled of ink and old wood, lit bright by the chandeliers powered by mana stones and the sunlight seeping through the windows.
Maps littered the desk, corners held down by bronze weights, their lines marked with fresh strokes of quill where Astoria's report had traced the battle hour by hour.
And the man who sat behind the desk - Duke Elric Hart of Cardella - was no ordinary noble.
He wasn't his father's first choice as his successor, yet he carried the loyalty of every knight under his banner.
Age hadn't dulled him - if anything, it had honed him sharper.
His golden hair, tied neatly, did little to soften the sharpness of his green eyes.
Even sitting, there was a weight about him, the kind that bent the will of everyone in a room before he ever spoke.
Known as the "Truth-Seer" in whispers, for his Esper gift that could strip lies bare.
And laid out on the desk before him were Odin's so-called Soul Armaments.
A long, sleek weapon shaped vaguely like a crossbow, unlike anything they had ever seen.
A smaller, blacker piece, compact and alien in design.
A stubby contraption with a chamber far too wide for any ordinary bolt.
A little black cube.
And then the sword… nothing but a jagged ruin of ordinary scrap.
Yet it was with this ruin that the cloaked stranger had bent the world around, vanishing and reappearing as if space itself obeyed it.
The Duke leaned back in his chair, golden hair falling loose from its tie as piercing green eyes fixed on the relics.
He said nothing for a long moment.
Then, without looking away, he spoke.
"Strange... Owning three soul armaments is unheard of. But this…" his finger tapped the broken sword, "this isn't one. And yet this feels the most dangerous of them all."
Exander, High Magus of Cardella, stood to the Duke's right like a shadow as he spoke, "My lord, it bears no runes, sigils, or any smith's mark... This is does not appear to be a work of human hands... Faries maybe?"
His gaze then lingered on the red cloak folded neatly by the chair.
Even after being torn and bloodied from battle, the cloth had cleaned and mended itself come morning.
Anomalies upon anomalies.
A man who had appeared out of nowhere, who wielded impossible weapons, who made a horde retreat - something no monster in living record had ever done.
The question hung in the air like a guillotine.
Who exactly was this Odin?
The Duke's gaze lifted from the relics on his desk to Astoria.
"What do you think of this… Odin?"
Her posture didn't shift.
No flicker, no hesitation.
And if she noticed the suspicion brewing in his eyes, she ignored it.
"I respect him for his valour," she said, expressionless. "He knew he couldn't reinforce himself, yet he drew the attention of every monster onto himself. And bought us the time we needed to reposition into the colosseum… as per his own plan."
Her tone carried no embellishment, only facts.
"And by the time we arrived to support him after repositioning our knights," she added, "he was on the verge of death. Lyra had to pull him out."
It was the longest Astoria had spoken in one breath in a very long time.
Long enough to raise even the Duke's brows.
Faris glanced at her, startled, and even the head mage tilted his head as though he hadn't expected Astoria to put Odin in such high regard.
The Duke's eyes narrowed, then shifted. "And you, Faris?"
Faris straightened. "He saved the city," he said simply. "A city of strangers."
A faint smile touched the Duke's lips, thin as parchment.
"And why do you think that is?" His voice sharpened, though his tone stayed almost polite. "Why risk himself for a place not his own?"
He let the silence hang before pressing, his gaze locking on Astoria first. "Was it out of the goodness of his heart?"
Then it turned to Faris. "Or perhaps he is some wandering hero, stumbling into glory?"
Finally, the Duke's eyes fell back to the weapons spread across the desk.
"Or…" his hand hovered above the steel, not touching, "…perhaps Odin is connected to all of this. Perhaps he is not our saviour… but the very perpetrator."
Astoria's eyes widened. "How?" She spoke just one word.
The Duke chuckled, low. "Straight as a sword. Exander, explain."
The head mage stepped forward, pushing his ever-slipping spectacles up the bridge of his nose with one finger.
His cough was soft, deliberate as he spoke -
"Ahem! We have records stating Orc Shamans possess high intelligence. Speech, reason, even rudimentary strategy. But that… " his chin dipped toward the desk, "… was not a normal Feral Beast. It was a monster."
Astoria's eyes widened further.
The Living Ledger, as many called him, smoothed a hand through his slicked-back hair and went on.
"Monsters are feral beasts forced through rapid evolution by the Cataclysm. And every monster we've ever seen… every single one… loses its mind. That's been the only consistency so far... We've no reason to believe an Orc Shaman would be different."
"And yet," the Duke added, eyes narrowing, "this one not only kept its wits… enough it to retreat alongside its army."
Faris's voice cut in, sharper than expected. "But Lyra met him by coincidence… Far from the horde. And he saved her from a gryphon."
"Speaking of which," the Duke said, gaze flicking toward the door, "where is she? I expected her presence."
"She… is still resting," Faris answered, "She hadn't slept in three days."
The Duke exhaled, long and tired. "I don't trust this Odin… Everything about him is an anomaly. I wouldn't be surprised if he could control the monsters himself… and led the horde here, only to swoop in and save us."
"Why?" Astoria asked. Just one word again, but sharp.
Exander's reply carried the sharpness of a man who relished finding fault almost as much as he loved the truth.
"Perhaps to infiltrate the upper echelons of Cardella… To be hailed as some hero… This is not some backwater town, Astoria."
"But Lady Liora would not have supported him otherwise," Faris countered. "She gave him her blessing."
"Or perhaps she saw no other choice," Exander retorted. "Counting on us to see the truth come morning."
Astoria's gaze sharpened as she turned it towards the Duke. "If you truly doubt him, then why not use your Eyes of Truth, my lord? You're an Esper. Strip away the doubt."
The Duke shook his head. "I'd rather avoid that… An anomaly like him might resist or circumvent it. And doing so would lay our suspicions bare."
"Indeed, just look at all these Soul Armaments." Exander agreed. "As I see it… We've no choice but to hail him as Cardella's hero. Unless, of course, we'd rather brand him an enemy of the state."
"You still seem unconvinced, Captain," the Duke said, studying Astoria.
"I am," she admitted.
"On what basis?" Exander pressed.
"Instinct."
The mage snorted.
Her gaze didn't waver. "And I don't remember the last time my instincts were wrong... Do you?"
Exander's jaw clenched, teeth grinding behind his lips.
"Enough," the Duke's voice cut clean. "Here's how we'll handle this…"
What followed was an hour of quiet strategy, their voices weaving plans, contingencies, and countermeasures.
It was noon by the time doors to the Duke's office swung open, pushed wide open by Exander.
And a beat later, a wheelchair rolled out, pushed carefully by Faris.
Draped in golden-threaded robes sat the Duke, his legs hidden beneath the fabric.
The corridor outside stilled as the wheelchair passed by.
Servants along the hall bent low in unison, bowing not out of fear alone but with the reverent weight of respect.
Their lord's condition was no secret, yet no one dared see weakness in it.
Faris' voice broke the air, quiet but steady behind the chair. "Big brother, are you sure this is the correct course?"
The Duke's eyes narrowed, flickering with a tiny trace of uncertainty.
"I don't know," he said. "We'll wait for the Church's reaction to Odin… and act accordingly."