Aralynn stepped forward, slipping the Imperial rank brooch from her backpack and holding it up for the captain to see. The rest of the party lingered behind her.
"Captain."
The man started to bark something—"What do you want? You were with the dwarf earlier, weren't you? You look sensible, I—" The words caught in his throat the moment his eyes landed on the brooch.
His expression froze. Then, stiffening, he dipped his head. "My apologies, ma'am. I didn't realize you served in the Emperor's Army." His gaze flicked over Aralynn's clothes. "Though… if I may be so bold—the empire is still at war. Why are you not in uniform?"
Aralynn's lips curled into a sweet, fake smile.
[Devil's Sweetness Lv. 1 has been activated!]
Her voice flowed smooth as silk, threaded with the faint pull of suggestion. "I was granted leave to escort these travelers," she lied without hesitation. "We had an encounter with some rather unruly dwarves, and my uniform was… unfortunately ruined in the process."
That part, at least, was true—her combat uniform was in tatters from the fight. She'd almost died. She shuddered just thinking of it.
Whatever the case, the skill worked.
"I see. Well, ma'am, just a couple of minutes ago, a few rogue mages started casting Fireball and Ignite spells haphazardly around the city. While we don't know their intent, it's suspected that they were trying to target the residential areas. Terrorists, I dare say," he spat.
Aralynn shared glances with her party members. It was rather… in tune with what the Brass Hand was received as. Though if they were to target a city, surely they wouldn't target innocent civilians?
"Captain, is there a pattern so far as to what they're targeting? Groups of a specific demographic, perhaps?"
The guard captain paused and thought about this for a short while. "None that I know so far, ma'am. That might have to come after all the fires are put out. However, it seems pretty darn indiscriminate to me."
"I… see." Maybe it's not the Brass Hand, then? We've only been with them for a relatively short while, but their mission is protecting the downtrodden. Surely they didn't do this? And if they were… their definition of protection is a bit…
Perona sidled up closer to Aralynn. The half-elf's telepathy ability popped up a chat window in front of Aralynn.
[Perona: Ask if he thinks the mages are affiliated with anyone. If it's the Brass Hand, we should at least get an understanding of their feelings towards them.]
"Captain, one last question. Do you think that these arsons are related to any particular groups? Just for reference, to be sure to steer clear of them during our travels."
The guard captain scoffed. "Oh, boy. Of course I know." He lowered his voice before continuing. "If you look at every single door. Every single one! There are deeper scorch marks in the shape of an open hand. These mages were hired by the Brass Hand. They're a pretty well known terrorist organization that's been growing massively in number."
Aralynn and her party shared 'oh shit' looks. Looking closer, the doors did indeed have that symbol.
The guard captain dropped his voice even lower, his tone edged with bitterness. "Between you and me, ma'am, the Brass Hand isn't just some rabble of malcontents—they're terrorists, through and through. And dangerous ones at that." His gaze hardened. "They dress themselves up as champions of the downtrodden, sure. They spout all that rhetoric about justice and change. But it's nothing more than a mask for their schemes."
He gestured sharply to the city burning around them. "You call this helping the oppressed? Look around you. They're not lifting people up—they're dragging them further into misery. This isn't even their first strike. I've seen the reports. Whole villages left in ruins. Civilians slaughtered—real innocents, not nobles or merchants with shady dealings. Families. Children. Ordinary folk. It doesn't stop there. Kidnappings, assassinations, bombings—you name it. I've dealt with several Brass Hand members in my time. They've all thought that they were truly doing the right thing. Brainwashed, more like it. They call it cleansing the impurities, and say that sacrifices must be made."
The guard captain shook his head. "Either way, they've struck again and again, all across the province."
Aralynn and the party were left speechless.
"Thank you, captain. That'll be all. Good luck with the fires," Aralynn managed.
- - -
The party wandered sullenly along the cobblestone path. The sky was choked with smoke and the rosy sunset was fire red, sinisterly reflecting the state of the city. They were each lost in their thoughts, but Hadarai was the first to speak.
"I remember speaking to Irene," he started. "All the way back at that tavern. She said that we had enemies. Could this be one of those cases? Were the strikes to take them out to stop them from impeding on our missions to save the people?"
"Then again, those strikes seemed indiscriminate. I'm a man of faith. Was everything that we've done so far wrong?"
"No, then lady Astrea would have said something."
"What is going on?"
"Have we been villains this entire time? Robbing that casino. Did the Brass Hand just want to get their hands on that deck to use it for themselves? Then protecting Celran's ship. What were they hiding that needed to be escorted so badly?"
"Why?"
"I don't understand anything. I want to hold true to the Brass Hand. I'm a simple man, after all. Loyalty is everything."
The dwarf looked at the party with pleading, uncomprehending eyes. It was true. Hadarai had been a man of faith for his entire life up until this point, and he trusted that everything that he did was right—he'd always strived to do the right thing, after all.
He was a follower of Astrea, the goddess of Law and Justice. How could he not try to be in the right?
There was silence.
Then, Grango spoke as he thought of something. "...Do you remember what The Messenger told us back on the Blue Locust? That message. Or—well, parts of it, at least. Beware the hand of twisted justice, the light that blinds, the smile that deceives. Was she speaking of the Brass Hand? It'd make sense, wouldn't it? Twisted justice?" Grango gestured to the columns of billowing smoke.
Perona spoke tentatively. "Well... how trustworthy do you think that guard captain is? I mean, there are a couple other explanations for this. The Brass Hand wouldn't openly display the symbol, so someone could just be trying to frame them. After all, they've killed corrupt individuals and performed back-handed dealings—it would almost blend right in."
Amon spoke carefully and slowly. "It's possible. Those strikes that he could've mentioned are all based on the fact that the Brass Hand did it. They could have been framed. The guard himself could have been given false information or could have lied to Aralynn."
The Devilfolk eyed Aralynn warily. After she'd shown her brooch from the Army, they'd barely talked, much less tried to broach the sensitive subject. Aralynn was thankful for that, though. The less she needed to talk about the army, the better.
"That still doesn't explain Lord Zephyr's message, though."
"I doubt that the gods would have any reason to lie, and I don't know about you all, but I felt her power. I doubt she was a fake."
"Unless she was, and an illusion given off by some twisted higher being just to mess with us."
This last bit struck Aralynn with the weight of a mountain. If The Messenger was a trick, then… was what she said about Rhys all a lie?