"Care for thyself above all, for shouldst thou fall to ruin, how then shalt thou serve Leopold?" -Book of Sommer, Signa IIV.

"You're late." The well-aged man grumbled, walking a step behind Isabel, his back permanently arched from decades of looking down at people. The two walked lavish white marble halls with colorful glass windows depicting a figure passing on a crown and a book to impoverished people, passing a few gossiping maids who quickly shut up upon recognizing them.

"Relax, old man. We ran into a problem."

"Problem or not, the fact of your lateness does not change. Nor does the fact of my status as your Overseer. Need I remind you of the right titles to use?"

They stopped in front of a large double door, easily as tall as the ceiling. Isabel turned to face the man with a sigh, carrying heavy bags under her eyes due to days of travel and combat.

—This guy...

"Apologies, Lord Meister Aubarch. I will do better in the future."

"Aye, you will."

With a final grumble, the old man waved his hand as the grand doors slowly creaked open, revealing a lavish room. Knights manned the walls, standing evenly apart. In the middle was a large war table with a map. Surrounding it stood three people, one of them at the head of the table.

Isabel carefully examined each of them. Her eyes landed first upon a fat old man with pink cheeks standing at the front of the table. He was missing his right eyebrow and wore a monocle over that same eye. He had a big gut almost reaching his thighs, the white robes barely able to hold it in. He had no hair and looked quite displeased.

—Pope Alexander. A pig through and through. All he needs is a mud puddle and he'd be right at home.

Next, her eyes were drawn to a large man stroking his sharp goat-like beard. In contrast to the perfect floor, he donned heavy plate armor. It was dented in some places, cut across in others. The man clearly didn't shy away from combat, nor cared enough about his appearance to wear more fitting armor for conferences like this one. His face was all mangled, as if the armor wasn’t convincing enough of that fact.

—General Sobik. A dangerous man one would best stray from. I've known people like him. I know what makes them tick. Violence to them isn't just one method of communication—it's the whole arsenal.

A smile drew the young girl’s attention away from the general. It was the calm, kind look of the king which always caught her off guard amidst this pool of sharks. He adorned a royal red robe and a golden crown. He had gentle features, thick eyebrows, and long blonde hair greying at the tips. His old age was showing.

—The King, Arthur Luxemburg. A good man caught in the church’s sights. One wrong move and he and his family are outcast, at best.

"Ahem."

The voice of the pope drew Isabel’s attention as she approached the opposite end of the table, with Lord Meister Aubarch settling beside the king.

"You're late."

"So I was told."

Isabel deflected, causing the pope to sneer.

"Gentlemen, back to the matter at hand," the king’s voice boomed, despite him not raising it.

—A royal quality, most certainly. Such a voice takes considerable speech training to achieve. Been there, done that.

The general pointed at the map of Edengard, his finger tracing an invisible line to a blacked-out section towards the bottom.

"While I agree the beastmen are a threat that needs to be swiftly dealt with through systemic eradication, we have bigger matters to attend to."

The pope adjusted his monocle, examining the blacked-out section more closely.

"You don't mean?!"

"Frankly, I do. The scouts report seeing activity in the borderlands. While it isn't major yet, I believe sending an expedition would benefit us greatly in the future."

"You mean to say the cult somehow survived?" the king interjected, running a careful hand across his majestic beard.

"We are not certain," the general replied.

"Nonsense!!" the pope piped up, furiously leaning across the table before continuing.

"Cult or not, the beastmen have gained more territory in the last few months than they did in the last ten years! They must be dealt with at once, lest we wish to lose more ground! People have already begun falling out of faith with our glorious system!"

The three men of authority looked to Isabel, awaiting her input.

Isabel looked to the Lord Meister, envious of his privilege of silence. He simply shrugged.

—Ugh. Unbelievable.

"I think we should lead an expe—"

The moment Isabel was about to give her answer, the room froze. All color dulled to none, losing its appeal. Something encircled her heart, squeezing it lightly.

—Leopold...

"Stay away from the cult. Reject the general’s offer and focus their attention on the beastmen. Do not let them stray from the right path."

—Yeah? And what if I don’t?

"Don't play me for a fool, Ethan. We both know what's at stake. Don't we?"

The pressure increased momentarily, as Isabel experienced the effect of what she assumed counted as a heart attack—a tight pain in her chest, powerful enough to drag a man to his knees—and would have done so were it not for time being at a standstill.

—F-fine, I get it..! 

And just like that, time resumed, and color returned to Isabel’s world.

"Ignore the borderlands, probably just a fad. 'Care for thyself above all, for shouldst thou fall to ruin, how then shalt thou serve Leopold?' -Book of Sommer, Signa IIV."

Isabel recited perfectly, causing the room to unanimously nod.

—I guess all it takes for these men to agree on a matter is to throw around the name of their god with some fanciful chanting. Noted.

"With that in mind, this meeting is adjourned. Lord Meister, General, make sure to coordinate with Isabel as the head of the Inquisition on the next steps to take."

The pope clapped his hands once, as the knights surrounding the room hit the ground with the butt of their spears in perfect timing.

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