After a quick security check, the Watcher escorted Rhod into the fortress.
Inside, the castle blazed with light. Officers and clerks hurried through the corridors in matching uniforms—teal cloaks, deep-green robes—distinguished only by the insignia at their collars and the trim at their hems.
Rhod followed his escort to a room on the second floor, directly above the central hall.
The room was small and plain. The walls were covered with maps—hundreds of them—all of the royal capital in different scales and drafts, some regional, some blueprinted like architectural schematics.
At the center stood a long table of dark red wood. Behind it sat three people.
Rhod recognized one immediately.The red-haired man in the iron mask—Manoroban, one of the four Grand Adjudicators of the Internal Tribunal.
The Watcher bowed low to the trio."Lord Moso, Lord Kais, Lord Manoroban. The Iron-Cross patrol team that entered the sewers has been brought in."
Manoroban's eyes, sharp as an eagle's, locked onto Rhod.Beside him, a green-haired middle-aged man took a drag on his rolled smoke and asked,"Only him?"
"Yes, Lord Moso," the Watcher replied respectfully. "The others are either dead or in critical condition. Containment of the threat and pursuit of the Doomsday cultists are under way."
Moso nodded."Good. Return to your post. Report new developments immediately."
The Watcher bowed again and left.The door closed with a soft click. Silence filled the room.
"Sit," said Moso, gesturing to a chair. His tone was calm, almost detached."No need to be nervous—we only have a few questions. Let me introduce us. I'm Moso, Supreme Defense Commander of the Royal War Ministry."
He pointed to the heavyset man beside him."This is Kais, commander of the outer-city defenses."
Kais, a mountain of a man, gave Rhod a nod meant to be friendly; the folds of his face made it more terrifying than kind.
"And this—"
"Don't bother," Manoroban interrupted coldly. "We know each other."
Moso raised an eyebrow. "You do?"
"Of course," Manoroban said with a thin smile. "The sole survivor of the Redstone Village migration massacre. And now—sole survivor again, this time of the Iron-Cross sewer incident. Quite the coincidence, isn't it? Care to explain why it's always you who walks away?"
His tone was sharp enough to cut. But Rhod didn't flinch.
The daytime inquiry had already earned him the support of three Grand Adjudicators, and he knew this wasn't just about a case—it was a battle of factions.As long as he stood on the right side, he had nothing to fear.
"You're mistaken," Rhod said evenly."The others aren't dead—only unconscious, in treatment. When they wake up, they'll confirm my report. Unless, of course, you're planning to finish them off while they're helpless and dump every charge on me?"
The iron mask darkened to match its owner's face.Manoroban slammed his hand on the table."You dare slander a Grand Adjudicator?"
"Weren't you the one slandering me first?" Rhod shot back. "On what grounds do you declare I'm a cultist?"
"On the grounds that I am a Grand Adjudicator," Manoroban hissed. "Judgment of suspects is my prerogative. What do you have?"
Rhod stood straighter, voice rising."To expose and cleanse the heretical Doomsday cults that threaten mankind is the duty of every citizen of Trorian loyal to fire and light!"
He thrust up a fist and shouted,"Defend the realm! Destroy the Doomsday cult! Every citizen's duty!"
It was a terrible slogan, awkward and homemade—but somehow it worked.Both commanders, Moso and Kais, broke into approving smiles.Even they thought Manoroban was pushing too far.
"Lord Manoroban," Moso said mildly, "let's first hear his account. We may glean clues—perhaps even track the cultist who escaped."
Manoroban's fury simmered just below boiling, but he knew better than to explode now.The little brat had claimed the moral high ground, and in this city, opposing the anti-cult doctrine was political suicide.
"Hmph. Words are cheap," he sneered, sitting down again. "Facts decide guilt. The guilty never escape judgment."
Moso cleared his throat. "Tell us everything from the start. Don't skip details."
Rhod took a breath, replayed the sequence of events in his mind, and began.
"Today was my second patrol assignment. Same route as yesterday. The district defense chief paired me with Raistlin, Aegor, and Karamon. Our patrol covered White-Flower Street, Stone Street, and up to Fifth Square…"
He went on, step by step—clear, structured, precise. Cause and effect aligned; nothing omitted, nothing embellished.The two commanders nodded repeatedly, even Manoroban's eyes flickered with doubt.
As the story unfolded, they leaned forward, absorbed.The sudden turns, the narrow escapes—it all played like an old war chronicle. For a moment, each of them was young again, fresh from the academy, fighting monsters in the dark.
When Rhod reached the part where the Black Priest twisted the battle with mind-control, both commanders clenched their fists in shared anger.When he quoted her furious vow to "eat excrement," they roared with laughter.And when Karamon's last desperate betrayal struck the Priest down, they exhaled together in relief.
Moso chuckled. "Young Rhod, rest easy. Your friends will live. Trust the Healing Church and the Soul Chapel—they've never failed us."
The big man Kais thumped his chest like a drum."Little Rhoddy! That filthy Priest won't get far. I'll crush her myself!"
The nickname made Rhod's skin crawl—his heart felt clogged with grease—but he managed a strained smile.
Manoroban, meanwhile, stayed silent.
Moso turned to him. "The artifact used in the profaning ritual—you have it?"
"I do."
Rhod pulled the Mist Crystal Sphere from his coat and stepped forward to hand it over.
Kais tapped his temple, opening his soul-sight, then frowned."Don't see a thing."
"Idiot," Moso snapped. "Your sight doesn't even hit nine—what would you see?"
Kais squinted sideways at his superior. "Can you see it, Grand Commander?"
Moso waved a hand. "I don't touch filth. Call in the Analysis Division."