The Poisoned Chalice
Time: 19:00 (Evening).
Location: Southern Sector Border (White Avenue) & Neutral Zone.
Night in Zero Point City was usually noisy from Valdor's industrial thumping or Aurum's never-sleeping techno music. However, at the Southern Sector border, silence wasn't merely the absence of sound—it was a decree.
Here, the streets were paved with white marble reflecting artificial moonlight with painful purity. The air smelled sweetly nauseating—the scent of blooming Moon-Lily flowers, thick and sticky like syrup in the lungs. This was the territory of Aethelgard Theodocy, where even dust was afraid to fall carelessly.
I stood at the gate of their garden, flanked by my two "wings" that harmonized like oil and water.
To my left, Rian. He wore a slightly oversized formal suit (borrowed from the Senate storeroom), making him look like a little kid wearing his father's clothes to court. His hands hugged his work tablet tightly as if it were a riot shield. His eyes moved wildly behind thick glasses, scanning every shadow on the marble pillars.
To my right, Kara. She had bathed (thank God, the prison smell was gone), wearing a black Senate security uniform whose sleeves were forcibly torn to free her muscle-bound biceps. She carried no weapon—because her fists were weapons—but her gaze was sharp as a wolf forced into a sheep pen.
"This place smells like corpses sprayed with perfume," Kara grumbled, spitting into the clean marble gutter. Her spit left a satisfyingly contrasting stain.
"Please don't spit, Head of Security," Rian hissed panicked. "That's a diplomatic etiquette violation article 4 paragraph 2. We could get deported before entering."
"I'll spit where I want, Bookworm. Unless you want to lick it," Kara retorted.
I smiled thinly. They were already getting along.
"Focus," I commanded, my voice cutting their argument. "We're not here for a picnic. Pontifex Silas invited us for a 'Reconciliation Dinner'. In political language, that means he wants to poison us, take us hostage, or brainwash us."
"Probability analysis of poison: 85%," Rian murmured, tapping his tablet quickly. "Aethelgard has a history of using herbal neurotoxins undetectable by taste or smell. I've prepared three types of broad-spectrum antidotes in your right suit pocket, Praetor. Please don't drink anything purple."
"And I'll break the neck of anyone who moves weirdly," Kara added, cracking her knuckles with a loud crack sound in the night's silence.
I nodded.
"I need one more position," I thought, considering the still-lopsided structure of my Shadow Cabinet. "I have a Brain (Rian) and Muscle (Kara). But I don't have a Healer yet. Or a Treasurer. Aethelgard controls medicine and poison. If I can steal one genius from this snake nest... my cabinet will be complete."
The garden gate opened soundlessly, as if pulled by ghosts. A hooded priest in white robes appeared. He bowed deeply, a movement too smooth for an ordinary human.
"The Pontifex awaits you at the Sacred Gazebo, Grand Praetor. Please."
We stepped into Sanctum of Grace.
The garden was beautiful, but terrifying.
Giant pale-colored flowers grew creeping on ancient pillars, their petals pulsating slowly as if breathing. Weeping angel statues crying blood (a cheap but effective red water magic effect) stood at every corner, their stone eyes seemingly following our movements.
We were led to an open gazebo in the middle of a lotus pond. There sat Pontifex Silas.
He looked like a living painting. Perfectly falling long blond hair, a soft face radiating unnatural calm, and a white silk robe glowing faintly under moonlight. On the table, a lavish vegetarian dinner and a crystal teapot containing purple liquid were served.
Silas stood, stretching out his arms. His movements were slow, measured, and full of... gravity.
"Welcome, my Brother," his voice was soft as velvet, but somehow, it sounded clearer than the wind. "I heard you were busy 'cleaning' house. I thought it was time we talked heart to heart, before you decide to freeze one of my priests too."
I sat facing him. Kara stood upright behind me, ready to pounce. Rian stood beside me, his tablet recording every word.
"Nothing needs freezing if no one bites, Silas," I answered calmly, though my hairs stood on end. "What's this invitation for?"
Silas smiled. A smile too wide, too friendly. He poured the purple liquid into two silver cups.
"Moon-Lily tea," he said. "The best vintage. Calms the soul, opens the mind."
He offered one cup to me.
Kara stepped forward a step, her hand tensing. Rian whispered, "Purple. Don't drink. It's Class A hallucinogen."
Silas chuckled, a sound like small bells. "Loyal guard dogs. And a paranoid secretary. You choose friends wisely, Wynter. You're building a fortress, aren't you?"
Silas drank his own cup in one elegant gulp.
"But a fortress needs a foundation. And I heard... your Cabinet is still lopsided. You have a brain and muscle, but you don't have a soul."
I stared at the cup. The purple liquid swirled slowly.
"This bastard knows I'm recruiting," I thought. "Of course. His spies are in every hospital."
"Get to the point, Silas," I said, pushing the cup away. "Valdor plays with muscle. Aurum plays with money. What do you play with? Faith?"
Silas put down his cup. He stared at me.
Suddenly, the world tilted.
Not physically. But sensorily.
The sound of crickets in the garden died abruptly. The wind stopped blowing. The moonlight seemed to become brighter, focusing on Silas. He looked... radiant. Not magical light, but as if his existence became more "weighty" than the objects around him.
His charisma exploded.
I felt a strange urge in my chest. A sudden desire to trust him. A desire to... bow my head?
"What is this?" I thought panicked, gripping the table edge. "Pheromone perfume? Mental magic? Why do I feel like a scolded child?"
Silas leaned forward. His pale blue eyes stared deep into mine, as if stripping away my doubts.
"I play with Truth, Wynter," he whispered. His voice didn't enter through ears, but echoed directly in my skull bones. "Something that can't be punched, and can't be bought."
He raised his left hand towards Kara, a slow, provocative gesture.
Kara, feeling threatened by this strange aura, leaped forward with lightning reflex.
"Don't touch him!" Kara shouted.
Her fist that could shatter concrete flew towards Silas's face. Fast. Lethal. Zero distance.
But Kara's hand passed through Silas's head.
Like punching smoke. Or water shadow.
Kara staggered, fell hitting a chair from losing balance due to her own punch's momentum that hit nothing. She stared at her own hand in horror.
"What—? I hit him! I felt it!" Kara shouted, panicked. "My hand went through!"
Silas smiled thinly. His face intact. No scratches. He didn't even blink.
"How rude," he said softly. "Don't you know physical violence doesn't apply to the blessed?"
I was transfixed.
"What the hell was that?" my brain spun, trying to find Mana logic. "An illusion? No, Rian said his sensors didn't detect optical illusions. Kara punched empty space that should have been flesh. How can he be there but not be there?"
This wasn't elemental magic I studied in class yesterday. No element could make you a ghost in broad daylight. This was... weird. Wrong. Violating physics laws.
Silas stared back at me, ignoring Kara still in shock on the floor. The pressure in the air grew heavier. I felt small. As if he was a giant and I was just an insect.
"I see you're struggling, Praetor," he said, his tone full of nauseating sympathy. "You're trying to unite hating factions. A noble task. But exhausting, isn't it? Alone on that cold tower peak? Without anyone understanding your burden?"
He pointed towards the monastery behind him.
"Don't you need help? Someone who could... treat your team's wounds? Someone who could ensure they stay loyal, not just because of salary, but because their souls are bound to you?"
"I have many talented 'sheep'. Doctors, poison experts, psychologists. All loyal, obedient, and very... useful. I could lend you one. Free. Consider it a sign of friendship from a caring neighbor."
That offer sounded so logical to my ears. Yes, I need help. Yes, I'm tired. Yes, I should accept.
My inner voice screamed agreement. It felt so comfortable to surrender and accept his help.
I bit my tongue hard. Pain woke me from that trance.
"This is manipulation," I realized. "He's using artificial charisma to force my agreement. He wants to plant an asset. He wants to give me a Medic who also functions as a spy. Or worse... someone he's already brainwashed into a fanatic."
I stared into Silas's eyes. There was absolute conviction there. The conviction of a madman.
"And in return?" I asked, my voice hoarse.
Silas smiled wider. He knew I was fighting his influence, and he seemed to enjoy it.
"In return... I just want you to open your eyes," he said.
He leaned closer, violating my personal space.
"This world isn't just about what you can freeze or burn, Wynter. There are higher powers. A greater plan. Can't you feel it? The different vibration when you're near me?"
He didn't name his energy. He only hinted. Teased. As if he held a secret key to the universe and was testing if I was worthy to hold it.
My heart pounded. My gut screamed danger. This man wasn't just a priest. He was a dangerous fanatic. He spoke as if he were God's representative, and more terrifyingly... he had the power to prove it.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Priest," I answered coldly, putting on my mask as strongly as I could. "I see a broken world that needs fixing with hands and budgets, not with mystical riddles."
Silas stared at me for a long time. He looked for signs of lying. He looked for signs of acknowledgment. He looked for... holy fear.
Finally, he leaned back. The pressure in the air vanished suddenly, as if he had just turned off a light switch.
Disappointment crossed his face.
"Such a pity," he murmured. "I thought... ah, never mind. Perhaps you're indeed not ready. Perhaps you're just... a lucky young man with strong magic."
He sounded relieved, but also belittling. As if he had just confirmed I was merely a strong ant, not a fellow lion. That I wasn't "on his level."
"About my offer," Silas continued, returning to friendly politician mode, his holy mask back on. "If you need a Medic... I can send Sister Elara. She's our best botanist. Consider it a gift."
I stood up. My legs still trembled slightly from the earlier charisma pressure.
My brain worked fast.
Silas wanted to infiltrate a spy. If I refused, he'd send another, whose face I wouldn't know. An unseen spy was more dangerous than a spy standing at the front door.
And again... I needed a Medic. I needed someone who could make antidotes if Titus decided to poison my coffee tomorrow morning.
"Keep your friends close," I thought. "Keep your enemies in your bedroom."
I stared at Silas. I let a slight cold smile appear on my face.
"Send her," I said suddenly.
Rian choked on his own breath. Kara turned to me, shocked. "Praetor?"
"Send Sister Elara to my office tomorrow morning at eight," I continued, ignoring my team's protests. "If she's as good as you say, she'll be useful. But remember one thing, Silas..."
I leaned forward, staring into his strange eyes.
"Once she steps into Nexus Hall, she's mine. If I catch her sending love letters to you... I'll return pieces of her body in an offering box."
Silas wasn't offended. His smile widened, full of subtle victory.
"Of course, Praetor. She's yours. Body and soul."
I turned, my robe rustling.
"Let's go."
We walked away from the gazebo. Kara still stared at her own hands, confused and angry. Rian hugged his tablet tightly, his face deathly pale as if he'd seen a ghost.
"You're insane," Rian whispered as we were outside the gate. "You just invited a venomous snake to our bed. Sister Elara... rumor has it she once dissected a monster alive without anesthesia."
"I know," I answered flatly.
I stared at the dark night sky above Zero Point City.
"But a snake you see is better than a snake hiding in the grass, Rian. Let her in. We'll watch her. And when she's careless... we'll use her poison to kill our other enemies."
I lit my Zippo lighter. A small flame danced in the darkness, the only thing real and honest tonight.
My cabinet was almost complete.
The Cowardly Genius.
The Mad Muscle.
And now... The Holy Traitor.
"The game begins," I whispered to the flame.