Her hand slowed. She was almost guilty. Maybe even pity. But she had seen—heard—enough of him to know exactly what kind of person he was. Pity would be wasted.
"I can…"
She took a breath.
"But does it justify it…?"
A pause.
"The things you did…?"
A faint smile touched his lips.
"It doesn't."
Her hand shifted again.
"Then why?" Her voice was low. "Why did you…?"
His head tilted fully.
"Self-preservation. Just as you once said."
Her brow twitched. Memories of the Chambers—of the Blood Corpse Valley—
Her hand stopped.
"What sort of self-preservation does that—"
She hesitated. Corrected herself.
"—make an enemy of everyone around them? People who'd slaughter you for less."
A breath.
"How can you even make that make sense…?"
She went silent. She'd said too much.
"Sense?" His eyes shifted, turning away slightly. "I can't make you see the sense in it." A breath. "For even I don't…"
Silence settled briefly.
"But that's just it." His voice remained calm. "Logic does not have to be reasonable… Only effective in producing outcome."
Her breath stilled a heartbeat longer than necessary as she processed his words.
She was right.
"You are insane."
Her hands were already moving toward the sixth braid.
He simply nodded in acknowledgment.
Irritation crossed her face. "You're going to die for it."
No response.
"How… how sure are you this countermeasure of yours will work?" Her hands tightened. "How can you be sure you won't die in the arena first? Or do you think you're in some fairytale?"
The contempt in her voice was plain.
He gave a faint, distant smile.
"The Elders… they are not as creative as you might think. Powerful." A pause. "Not creative." His gaze remained forward. "Of course, I can be slightly mistaken in that assumption. But I am confident enough to see the sunrise… if your assets follow through."
Silence.
She felt the slight brush of mistrust.
"They will… I'm certain."
He simply shrugged and said nothing.
"But what about Viren?" Her voice returned, quieter now. "How… how do you plan to survive him?"
No twitch. Not even a slight rise in pulse.
"Do you even know what kind of monster he is?"
A beat.
"Do you even…?"
His smile deepened. She truly did not know how to be subtle. Or perhaps it was only where he was concerned.
"I don't." His voice was calm. "But it seems you do."
Her breath caught slightly.
"Would you be willing to share, Violet?"
Her hands stilled. She had been read. Again.
Her expression hardened.
"I'll compensate you accordingly."
Her irritation sharpened to a point.
"I don't want your compensation!" She spat it. Already furious.
"Yes." His reply was calm. "But you want me alive, don't you, Violet?"
She went still.
His hand extended back over his shoulder.
"If you would… hand it over." His smirk stretched. "Kindly."
"You bastard."
She muttered it. Already calculating her loss should she yield. She couldn't. Not now. She'd benefitted him too much already. Any more and she was nothing but a dog. He could solve his own problems. Certainly would have even if she hadn't appeared in the first place.
"No." She spat the word. "Solve your problems, you snake."
He frowned slightly.
"What if I order you…" Her eyes turned to slits. "…under our agreement terms… would you…?"
Her hand released the braid she had been so perfectly forming.
She said nothing. But the answer was clear.
She would. But with resentment wrapped within.
How honourable.
He thought it without warmth.
"I won't. But if you decide to… consider my aid in pulling you out of the hole that put us here obsolete."
Her face twisted in silent contempt.
"I don't want it."
Her hand slipped into her cloak. She withdrew a sealed bundle.
"Here."
Chion glanced at it once—
The satisfaction that would have formed from another easy win dissolved. No—sublimated out of existence.
A black-box file.
Impossible.
How? How did she continually manage stunts like this? She should be dead for possessing it. Or worse.
His eyes scanned her in quiet disbelief.
"I was curious to know what you were up against… what my investment was up against." Her voice was hesitant. "I didn't do it for you. Nor am I giving it in goodwill."
His smile returned.
"Of course."
His fingers pushed open the first page.
---
BLACK ARCHIVES: SUBJECT A0773
Entry: 1530 — Third Cycle of the I.C.
NAME: Viren Nyxvalis
STATUS X: Mantled
STATUS O: Living
STATUS U: Pureblood (79.76%)
MANTLE TITLE: The Titan of Valor
BACKLOG
HOUSE: Artyr
SUBSIDIARY: House Calistir
PARENTS/GUARDIANS: Calistir Nyxvalis, Andrea Noctis
Status: Deceased
SECONDARY GUARDIAN: Elder Riven Nyxvalis (House Artyr)
PRIMARY PROFILE
Birth: 1511, September 25
Appearance: Silver Hair, Silver Eyes (Standard)
Height: 6'9" (Standard)
Weight: 137 kg (Standard)
Final Assessment: Standard
ACADEMIC PROFILE
Major: Blade
Submajor: Moon
Final Assessment: Distinction
OPERATIONAL PROFILE
Mission Total: 93
Success Rate: 71.89%
Campaign Total: 9
Success Rate: 100%
Difficulty: BLACK ×6 — RED ×2 — BLUE ×1
Spiral Run Total: 32
Success Rate: 100%
Highblood Kill Count: 124
Standard Kill Count: 5,000 (Estimate)
Final Assessment: HIGH
CHARACTER ASSESSMENT
Psychological Assessment: 10 / 10
Discipline Assessment: 10 / 10
Doctrine Assessment: 10 / 10
FLAG HONOURS
Blade — 20
Moon — 6
Wing — 0
FINAL STATUS
Discharged: Honoured Bearer of the Thirty-Eighth
First Rank: 93rd of the Thirty-Eighth
Final Rank: 18th of the Thirty-Eighth
Titles:
The Titan of Valor
The Iron Veil
The Great Northern Gates
---
Chion took a breath. His posture shifted—slightly.
Violet hovered over his shoulder, her presence pressing in with a quiet, expectant curiosity. As though she hadn't already spent hours dissecting the same file.
He absorbed what he needed from the first page, then turned to the specifics that had forged the Iron Veil.
His eyes moved through each section with precision: detailed historical records spanning three generations, tracing back through Viren's ancestry before narrowing to the man himself.
Birth. Early childhood.
Then the fracture—
Orphaned at eight. Both parents dead in a single night of disaster, perfectly captured in the fine script of bureaucratic language.
Oh well. Tragic.
He moved on.
His academics. Reports. Assessments. Essays. Hobbies. Unstated observations buried between official lines. Soft praises. Slight concerns. Suggested corrections or reprimands.
He slowed.
These people are always watching.
And to think he'd ever wondered why betrayal never occurred.
His thoughts had caused him to linger on the page too long. Violet's gaze dug into his very soul.
Move.
It demanded.
He did. To the Mission logs.
Even the failures were… precise. That was the least he could call them. Logic—sound. Tactics—efficient. Strategy—clean. No waste. No hesitation.
He would have gone deeper—but the file thinned. Thirty-seven logs out of ninety-three.
His gaze tilted. Just enough to ask the question without asking it.
Violet's lip curled. "I couldn't exactly steal the entire thing and leave blank forgeries behind. Not without raising every flag in the archive."
He said nothing. But the thought lingered—
Or you were digging for something else.
He would not say so aloud. Not this time. Any more prophetic predictions, and he was certain she would stab him.
He moved on. To the campaigns.