Cabinet of Hate

The sky broke gray over Gran-Devana.

The chimneys of the Middle Ring, still damp from the previous night’s rain, slowly spat spirals of smoke that mingled with a fog rolling down the city’s hills and seeping into its narrow streets. The dry reek of burnt coal wove through the mixed, at-once fresh and unpleasant odors of a marketplace already packed at dawn.

Daniel walked with steady steps, this time without his cane, disguised as an ordinary citizen. Flanking him were Gupta — draped in a dark cloak that made him look like a decaying intellectual — and Thanatos, the latter in his usual jester’s garb.

Sallustia kept close, eyes sweeping every corner.

By Daniel’s order — given that the day’s approach was pure charisma and deceit with a dash of diplomacy — Lais had been left at Tinuso that morning. If a magus were discovered among them, they would certainly be accused of abusing the thaumaturgic arts.

“As we’re trying to sway public opinion, we have to start with the markets” Thanatos explained, authoritative on the subject and keeping his voice low. “That’s where people gather, and rumors run faster than gold in a smuggler’s hand.”

Gupta nodded, adjusting the leather satchel stuffed with handbills Thanatos himself had written in a dramatic typeface with bold accusations. Each sheet insinuated that the Swords Party plotted against the Senate, that they wanted to establish a dictatorship and turn the city into a headquarters for the new Millennial War they planned to ignite.

Nothing proven, but people didn’t need proof. Only convincing stories.

“The masses believe what they hear three times” Thanatos went on, smiling with irony. “First with doubt, second with fear, third with anger. Our job is to get to the third as fast as possible.”

Daniel glanced at Sallustia, who remained silent. She always walked a step behind, as if expecting an ambush at any moment.

“I don’t like this” she murmured. “Spreading lies is dangerous.”

“The truth doesn’t serve us now” Grace replied without looking back at her. “We just need to delay the Swords. A week, maybe two — long enough for the Coins Party to rally support and destabilize Prebito’s network in the Outer and Middle Rings.”

They turned a corner and reached the Artificers’ Square, where blacksmiths, carpenters, and tool merchants called out prices beneath the clamor of hammers and saws. It was a place of hardened men, used to heavy work and rough humor.

There the word “revolt” sounded more natural than “election.”

Thanatos climbed onto a wooden crate and began to speak, his shrill voice cutting through the market’s din.

“Citizens of Castra Devana!” the jester cried, holding up a flyer. “I bring urgent news — news the powerful want to hide!”

Several heads turned. Soot-streaked blacksmiths paused their hammering, while at a stall on the square’s edge a fishmonger wiped his hands on his apron and stepped closer, curious.

“Do you know what the Swords Party is planning?” Thanatos continued, voice rising. “To overthrow the Imperial Senate! They want to turn this city into a forward post for war, governed by generals’ edicts and mercenaries’ blades! A new war with precedents found only in the mythic texts of our Age. We’ll be slaves to men-at-arms in their pay. And for what? To fight an enemy that doesn’t even exist?! No! It’s a lie — they want to enslave our consciences!”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

Grace studied the onlookers carefully, a tentative smile of approval beginning to form. He could see the artist’s phrases landing in the citizens’ ears like a spark on a haystack.

“Does anyone dare say it’s a lie?” Thanatos raised another handbill, as if reading the coup minutes of the conspirators themselves. “Then why does Senator Prebito pay foreign mercenaries to guard his warehouses in the Outer Ring? Warehouses… of arms! And why do soldiers loyal to the Swords intimidate merchants who won’t support their party?”

Someone in the crowd spat on the ground. Another began grumbling about rising taxes. Rumors mingled with old frustrations, fermenting into anger.

Then the group heard the first shout of challenge.

“Traitors!” The voice came from the far side of the square. “Coin Party sellouts!”

The crowd parted as roughly a dozen men advanced in determined steps. They wore ordinary clothes but carried clubs and chains wrapped around their fists. At their head came a taller man in a well-cut coat, moving with calm steps and a severe expression.

In the weak morning light, his proud presence imposed itself on the rabble and brought an immediate hush.

His face bore grave, almost aristocratic features that set him apart amid the throng: high cheekbones, an angular jaw, and narrow eyes with slightly drooped lids that lent him a constant air of assessment, as though measuring every detail around him. Thick, arched eyebrows cast a firm shadow over his gaze, reinforcing the austere cast.

A long, straight nose ended in a sharpened tip, and his brown hair, combed back, stayed disciplined, though a few rebellious strands fell naturally across his brow and broke the rigidity of the whole. But it was the thick, well-groomed mustache, discreetly curled at the ends, that completed the figure — a calculated touch of vanity, matched by a high-collared light shirt, a dark scarf knotted elegantly, and a sober coat; all clean, trim, impeccable.

He stopped a few paces from Thanatos, speaking in a low, firm voice.

“You dare spread lies about honorable men.”

Daniel stepped toward him, Sallustia at his heels.

“And who accuses us?”

“You may call me Vega” he introduced himself without hurry, offering a bow edged with scorn. “I was tasked with ensuring that truth prevails in this city.”

Gupta let out a short laugh.

“A very well-paid truth, I’d wager.”

The agitators’ leader ignored him. His eyes stayed on Grace, as if he already knew Daniel was the leader.

“Gather up those handbills” he ordered. “And clear out of the square — or things will get worse for you…”

Thanatos spread his arms in a theatrical gesture.

“You’ll silence us with threats? Is that the future the Swords Party offers?”

Some in the crowd murmured agreement. Others backed away, sensing imminent risk.

Vega sighed, slowly pulling off his leather gloves.

“I’ll warn you only once more.” He raised an open hand in a calculated gesture, and his men formed up, brandishing clubs. It was immediately clear they were no amateurs.

“After that, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

Sallustia was already preparing to summon her sword when the first stone flew.

No one knew from where — perhaps one of the agitators, perhaps an excited onlooker — but it struck Zanma Gupta’s shoulder, and he roared with pain.

Chaos erupted.

Mercenaries surged at Grace’s group, and the crowd screamed in true frenzy — some running off, most joining the brawl for the sheer thrill. Thanatos hopped off the crate to dodge a club, and Sallustia grabbed Daniel by the arm.

“To the alley! Quickly!”

They fell back as Vega advanced with disturbing calm amid the confusion, slipping past punches and shoves like a man strolling through a garden on a sunny day.

“Take the Custos Tecit!” he ordered, voice low but sharp as a kiss of steel.

Grace’s heart kicked. They didn’t just want him out — they wanted him captive. Perhaps worse.

The quartet reached a side street — and ran into a patrol of the Custodia Civilis. Seeing the melee and hearing cries of “traitors!” from Vega’s men, the soldiers instantly raised their spears to block the way.

“In the name of the Empire!” the patrol captain bellowed. “Drop your weapons and surrender!”

“We’re the victims here!” Daniel tried to explain, but another stone flew and smacked a guard, who had no interest in sorting blame.

“Arrest them all!” the captain ordered.

The alley became a trap. From one side, guards advanced with spears and shields in battle formation; from the other, the Swords’ agitators closed the ring, guided by their mercenary leader’s stern gaze — every bit as professional at battle as the city’s guards.

Sallustia raised her right hand, and the surrounding air warped. Black chains rose from the ground, braiding themselves in circles. At their center, her colossal blade — adorned with purple flames — took form.

The paladin-slave closed her fingers around the grip. The dry, abrupt sound of metal tearing echoed through the alley as the chains snapped.

“Daniel — behind me!”

Gupta smashed a vial on the cobbles; a green cloud billowed fast, stinging everyone’s eyes. Thanatos shoved Daniel down a narrow passage between two houses while Sallustia covered the rear, the blade hissing against the guards’ spears.

The paladin-slave drove into the Custodia Civilis line. She wielded the sword in both hands, body pitched forward, blade low, nearly skimming the ground — a stance more predator than any sword drill a common soldier might know. When the first guard thrust his spear, Sallustia swept her blade in a wide, rising arc, the stroke so quick it threw sparks from the shaft before splitting his helm with brutal precision.

Without breaking rhythm, she pressed on in broad, feral movements, each step paired with an off-balance sway that deceptively hid the lethal speed of her attacks. A guard tried to catch her flank, but the paladin-slave lashed out with a horizontal cut that split his shield in two.

The blade carried through and ripped the cuirass beneath. The metallic roar rang down the narrow lane, making the soldiers falter, reconsidering a mid-range fight with growing fear.

She didn’t stop. Lifting the sword overhead — its flame details seeming to ignite for real — she lunged in a spinning leap that swept two men at once. The impact hurled them against the wall; the armor parted like paper, their bisected bodies collapsing into pools that stained the alley walls crimson.

When the captain tried to flee, she ran in irregular but swift strides and brought a descending blow that dropped him onto the wet stones, his skull split in two.

Leaving witnesses would be deemed failure.

At the end, she held still, sword still raised, body in combat posture. Faced with the carnage, Vega’s men also wavered. Only their mercenary leader didn’t recoil instinctively, measuring the paladin’s technique with more composure than any man should possess before such a brutal scene.

But alone, he was no match for Daniel’s bodyguard. He knew it — and therefore withdrew, casting one last somber look at the paladin-slave.

Grace had run to the far end of the passage with Gupta and Thanatos and kept hidden at a spot that gave him a view of the fight’s worst moments. Ahead, he heard the poisoner and the jester panting — Zanma still coughing from the sudden effort while his companion laughed nervously, peering over his shoulder for Daniel or Sallustia.

“Did we lose them?” Gupta asked, still breathless.

The traveler from another world stepped from hiding and shook his head, startling the pair.

“No. Sallustia cowed them by cutting down the patrol — but that kind doesn’t give up easily” he said, glancing around with a grim expression.

From the way he assessed the clash between the paladin-slave and the Custodia Civilis, Daniel knew Vega was no mere brute. His calm, precision, and the way he coordinated his men amid the riot’s chaos revealed something more dangerous than raw force: intelligence.

And now he was hunting them through the streets of Castra Devana.