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Her breathing was shallow as I tucked her into bed. The alcohol and the effects of my concoction had left her vulnerable, not physically broken, but comfortable enough for her mental defenses to falter. I looked at Frederica and felt a coldness that wasn't about gratuitous revenge; it was about strategy. Information is power, and she was a walking repository of lies.

I slowly approached, more to avoid startling her than out of mercy. I touched her wrist and activated the copy of the ability. For a few minutes, I had the complete access that only those born with Total Appraisal deserve, and then, for the first time, I saw Frederica in terms that went beyond the veneer she'd displayed in the Golden Deer's private room.

It wasn't just a resume and numbers. They were maps of fear, hidden desires, cowardly shortcuts, buying and selling points, the contacts she had used to manipulate the trajectories of those who passed through the guild. I saw the notes that marked when and how she had delivered information to Margarida, the bribe paid to the soldier, the coordination with Oliver, even the plan to isolate me during the raid against the boars.

I closed my fingers around my own hand until I felt the white knuckles. The vision evaporated, the copy temporary, and there, in the silence of the room, the shadows became our audience. I could have humiliated, broken, or hurt her. I chose to strip away the masks.

— Frederica . — I spoke slowly, my voice controlled.

"I want to hear the truth, now. No games. Explain everything: your involvement with Marguerite, what the king promised you, and who else knows," I told her.

She opened her eyes with a shaky clarity. There was guilt, fear, and cold calculation. For a second, I considered giving her a half-hearted answer. Instead, I decided to show her that I knew, not just that I suspected, but exactly what she did;

I gathered up some papers I'd rummaged through in her drawers—receipts, notes, crossed-out names—and spread them out on the table. She looked at me and swallowed. Her expression changed: calculating pride gave way to apprehension.

“You lied about the limits of my copy,” I said.

"You said that by stealing the fifth skill, I would lose control. You made that up. Why?" I asked her.

She tried to delay, looked at the ceiling, and murmured that it was a "precaution," which served to contain him. I shook my head. Lie.

"You served the princess's plan because she offered something you wanted. You facilitated the meeting with Oliver, provided the slave trader. And bribed a soldier to ensure my delivery. Did you do this because...? " I was saying.

Her face changed. For the first time, I saw raw fragility, not just fear, but a twisted affection.

— Margarida… — Frederica whispered , her voice breaking.

—I… I like her. Not the power, not the gold… her. I thought that with her, I would have a place. I thought that protecting her would protect me. — he replied Frederica .

It was a confession that carried more sin than justification. Misdirected love, ambition disguised as devotion. I let silence work; it was my most effective weapon.

“So you helped plot my downfall for love?” I repeated, with icy irony.

"You paid soldiers, manipulated heroes, planted lies... all to gain favor in the shadow of a princess who sold her own honor." I mocked her.

She tried to counter, saying the king had pressured her. No one had told me everything; I'd already seen the terms, the figures, the modus operandi. But there was another truth I needed her to assent to: who else was behind the alliance? Was Albert an accomplice? Just Marguerite? Or was there a larger faction?

Frederica hesitated. Fear made her voice tremble.

"The king… ordered me… to maintain control. He knew enough to ensure I cooperated. But it was Margarida and I who engineered the part that handed you over to the merchant. The soldier was given coins to not interfere. The king demanded 'results,' and I offered a convenient way out." Frederica then confessed.

Perfect. The pieces fell into place. I stood up and, without raising my voice, offered the only avenue she understood: exposure or utility.

“Listen carefully,” I said, bringing my face close enough to hers that my eyes were the only horizon.

"I can make you disappear, not physically, but socially. I can expose every bribe, every exchange, every name written on the notes I placed on the table. I can hand everything over to the group, to the interim king, to the market press. Your life of comfort ends. Or you work for us. Take the guild's money, everything you can get, and disappear from this place with us. Join our group tomorrow at the Golden Deer. Meet me there with everything packed. If you cooperate, I'll keep the rest for you; if not... I'll open your drawer for everyone to see," I threatened her.

I saw panic mixed with hope. It was incredible how, stripped of their masks, even the most experienced manipulators became simple creatures: security dealers.

"What if I have no choice?" Frederica murmured.

— What if I get caught? — Frederica asked

—Then you will have chosen,—I said coldly.

"You will be an exposed traitor. There will be no going back," I said without mercy.

She bit her lip and finally nodded. It wasn't a clean victory, it wasn't poetic justice, but it was control. I wanted information, allies under surveillance, and a way to turn the tables on those who had betrayed me. Frederica was a shortcut to networks, to records, to people I thought I'd never have access to.

Before leaving her, I took the key from her pocket—I knew where she kept the combinations—and carefully left, locking the door again. I left a short note on the table, written unambiguously:

"You have until dawn. Bring what you asked for. Don't try to bluff me.

— Araya ”

The next morning, when I returned to the Golden Deer, Frederica was there, no longer the confident, provocative woman, but laden with bags, eyes downcast, lacking the confidence she'd displayed before. She handed me what she'd promised: coins, documents, contacts. Each item was a piece of truth that I would use with surgical precision.

Zairos ' house . It wasn't a scene of glory, it was logistics: we unloaded the bags, I checked them, cataloged the information, and positioned her in a safe but guarded corner. There was a price for everything: for her, the humiliation of losing her shelter, for me, the hand on the control I needed to move forward.

As I walked away, I felt the fine line between justice and cruelty. There was a lot of mess to clean up, and I was willing to use tools I myself would condemn if things were different. But in that moment, there was no pure morality, only survival and precision.

She looked up for a second, and in that split second I saw true fear, not the kind you buy, but the kind that corrodes every last thread of arrogance. I felt a brief, mediocre satisfaction, and moved on to find the rest of the group. We had a tattered kingdom to reorganize, and personal scores to settle.

I got out of the wagon carrying the bags Frederica had brought. When I pushed open the door to the Zairos ' house , everyone's face froze for a second before exploding into a mixture of surprise, disgust, and curiosity. I led her to the center of the room and set the bags on the floor. She entered behind me, hunched over, her steps slow, her eyes downcast, nothing like the haughtiness I remembered.

I took a deep breath and announced bluntly.

"She brought what she promised, " I announced.

Ryn was the first to react. His eyes narrowed, his smile wasn't kindness but calculation. He approached with voracious curiosity, pulled out one of the packages, and opened it, pulling out small envelopes, coins, and a crumpled list. When he saw the names, his eyebrows rose.

“Interesting,” Ryn murmured.

“This is worth its weight in gold,” Ryn continued muttering.

Ayano didn't smile. She stood still, assessing the scene as she always did: a cool assessment of risk and reward. Her eyes rested on Frederica with the neutrality of someone measuring a piece for the board.

“She kept her part of the deal,” Ayano said shortly.

— Let's see if the other part fits as well. — he continued. Ayano .

Kalea , who rarely missed an opportunity to humiliate someone with rhetoric, got straight to the point, with a mixture of sarcasm and pleasure:

“Look at that… the great manipulator, now carrying bags like one of our own. What a spectacle,” he said . Kalea in an ironic tone.

Margarida went pale when she looked up and saw Frederica . Her first reaction was visible: a tightness in her face, a flash of embarrassment. Then her posture changed; there was a layer of resentment. She clearly hadn't expected to meet the one who had helped her so much, and who now appeared so vulnerable.

— You… — Margarida murmured, her voice short.

"What exactly did you do?" continued Margarida.

Yukiko , for her part, looked on with shocked eyes that slowly turned to anger. Still pale from what had happened on the platform, she now saw before her the woman who had participated in her social downfall. The wound was not just political; it was personal.

"How did you dare?" Yukiko 's voice trembled .

—How dare you plot this against him? — he said Yukiko .

Frederica barely lifted her face. Shame and fear had erased any arrogance. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and drawn out:

"I... I did what I was paid to do. I chose..." she stammered and stopped.

It was obvious that words failed him.

I placed one of the lists on the table, pushed the envelopes into the center of the circle, and spoke with controlled coolness.

"What you brought proves your cooperation. These are the transactions, the names, the contacts . It's not just bribing soldiers, it's connections with merchants, routes, passages. I explained what I want: honesty and helpfulness. You see that," I said, mocking her.

Ryn sniffed the evidence with the hunger of a man finding a treasure map. Ayano read it in an instant, her expression hard. Kalea chuckled, a purveyor of justice. Yukiko swallowed, and Margarida clenched her fists, biting her tongue, not out of remorse, I thought, but out of wounded pride.

There were murmurs. Some wanted to lynch, others wanted caution: information like that is worth more alive than dead. I felt the weight of the decision; it is precisely at that moment that opportunism separates from justice.

“What do you want to do with her?” I asked, looking around.

“She can be a piece or a problem,” I continued.

Ayano was the first to respond, objectively:

"Use the information. Then decide. Exposing it now could burn sources. She knows where the king kept certain things. She knows paths we don't," he said. Ayano .

Margarida, still with the trace of betrayal on her face, spat:

— She betrayed me… — and Margarida's voice trembled, more from anger than pain.

—But she also helped me with things that… — Margarida stopped, as if it were indecent to admit dependence.

"I don't know if I want to see her humiliated. I want answers. I want guarantees," Margarida added, completely undecided.

Yukiko , her fists clenched, finally spoke, the pain turning into determination.

— First interrogation. Now. And if she lies, if she hides something, we'll expose everything. I won't allow any more blood to be spilled over lies. — he said Yukiko .

Ryn crossed her arms, already counting: allies we could use, names we could move, enemies we could obliterate. Kalea thrilled at the prospect of swift and unvarnished justice. Ayano was already listing escape routes and collection points. Everyone had a role, and Frederica had become both problem and resource in equal measure.

I looked at Frederica , who was now trembling slightly, her eyes teary, unmasked. That scene brought me back to what had motivated it all: measured pulls, closed doors, a world of power masked by courtesies. I felt, without fanfare, that I held the reins. Not out of blind vengeance, but out of efficiency: controlling the narrative meant controlling the next move.

"She will answer my interrogation," I said, my voice calm. " Ryn and Kalea will check the routes and accounts. Ayano , you verify the authenticity of the documents and map the people mentioned. Margarida, if you wish—and you do—you will be an observer. Yukiko , I don't ask you to forgive me, just to save your knife for the right moment."

They nodded, each in their own way. There was tension in the air, but also focus. Frederica looked up for the first time and stared at me—not haughtily, nor defensively: with the weight of someone who understands the choices she's made. I saw there remorse, fear, perhaps the hint of a reckoning that hadn't yet died. But most of all, I saw that, stripped of her masks, she was vulnerable—and we, still stained with war and betrayal, ready to decide her fate.