The sun shone gently over the capital city of Arinhold, its golden rays bathing the stone-paved streets in warmth. Merchants called out to passersby, children laughed in the alleys, and the city bustled like any normal day. But hidden behind the peaceful façade, dangerous games were being played.
Lucien walked calmly through the crowded street, his cloak fluttering slightly in the breeze. He smiled at a little girl who ran past him with a sweet, innocent giggle. His eyes, however, held no joy—only calculation.
He had just returned from a secret meeting with one of the minor nobles who had ties to the Church. A meeting where he didn't say much, but made sure the noble said everything. One carefully planted doubt, one fake compliment, one casual observation—Lucien had mastered the art of saying little while making others reveal much.
"Always make them think it was their idea," he whispered to himself as he passed a bakery.
Inside the shop, the smell of warm bread reminded him of his childhood—when his mother used to buy the cheapest loaf and still smile like it was a feast. That smile haunted him now. Because that smile was gone. Because the people who killed her still walked free, pretending they were righteous.
But not for long.
Lucien stepped into a small, run-down tavern at the edge of the slums. It wasn't much—wooden floors, a few broken stools, and cheap ale. But it was quiet. And more importantly, it was where he would meet someone important today.
In the far corner, a young man waited with nervous eyes. He wore the robes of a low-ranking Church clerk, and his hands trembled slightly as Lucien approached.
"You came," Lucien said, sitting down without invitation. His voice was soft, almost kind.
The clerk nodded quickly. "I—I brought what you asked. Records, names… even locations of the smaller strongholds. But if they find out I—"
"They won't," Lucien interrupted gently. "You did the right thing. The Church doesn't protect the people. It protects itself. You've seen that with your own eyes, haven't you?"
The clerk's lips parted, then closed. He swallowed hard and gave a small nod.
Lucien leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You're not the only one who sees the rot beneath the surface. More are waking up. And when the time comes, those who helped… they will be remembered."
The clerk's fear softened a little. Lucien placed a small coin purse in his hand and stood up. "Stay quiet. Act normal. I'll contact you again."
As Lucien walked out of the tavern, the shadows seemed to lean toward him, as if drawn to his silent presence. Another seed planted. Another piece moved on the board.
He wasn't trying to fight the Church head-on—not yet. That would be foolish. No, Lucien was building something far more dangerous: doubt.
In the castle's inner court, Lady Seraphina watched Lucien from a distance. She had been curious about him for a while now. The way he spoke so softly yet seemed to command attention. The way even the coldest maids smiled when he walked by. And the way he always seemed to be in the right place… at the right time.
She didn't trust him. But she was intrigued.
Later that evening, as the moon rose above the towers, Lucien stood in his small rented room. A candle flickered beside him as he laid out several parchments across the table—notes, sketches, lists of names.
He took a deep breath and allowed himself a moment of silence.
"Almost there," he whispered.
Each connection he built, every lie he twisted, every truth he carefully held back—it was all part of the plan. The power he gained wasn't through swords or spells. It was through people. Through knowledge. Through careful control of perception.
Lucien didn't want them to fear him yet.
Not until it was too late.
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End of chapter 21