Ch 11.5

The Tranquil Pavilion came to a standstill.

One courtesan moved to a window and shut it tight. Then another followed. One by one, shutters closed along the length of the building until the Pavilion sealed itself from the morning light. Outsiders had already been barred entry, but windows closing in broad daylight was unheard of.

The first day had been spent under scrutiny, city guards investigating the suicide and finding nothing. The second had passed in mourning, marked by grief and funeral rites. By the third day, everything had changed—quietly, yet irrevocably—driven by the growing power struggle between Tevu and Aisha.

And now, the tension had reached a boiling point.

Inside the Pavilion, there was nothing but dead silence.

A lone servant hurried through the corridors, her voice cutting sharply through the stillness as she shouted,
“Get inside your rooms! Lock the doors and close the windows. I repeat—lock your doors and get inside now!”

Servants and courtesans alike obeyed without question. Doors were bolted. Windows were shut tight, even as midday sunlight should have flooded the halls. No one dared step outside.

After all, the order had come directly from Tevu and the others.

They could feel it—every one of them. Something was about to break. Bloodshed loomed close, the Pavilion’s own blades turning inward, ready to clash with an enemy already inside their walls.

Beneath the Pavilion, hidden below layers of stone and silence, lay the guild’s armoury.

Tevu stood at its centre.

Tall, broad-shouldered, skin rough and sun-darkened, she adjusted the simple kimono fitted tight for combat. A mask covered the lower half of her face, dull and unadorned. At her hip hung several mana-recovery vials, secured carefully so they wouldn’t rattle. She knelt and wrapped coarse rope around her bare ankles, binding them snugly—tight enough to stabilize her joints, loose enough to move. It was an old habit, one learned from fighting underground where footing could betray you faster than an enemy.

This was her battle attire.

Nearby, Kazyak snapped a pair of metallic gauntlets over her forearms, the iron lacing biting into her skin as she flexed her fingers. She added a single healing potion to her belt more out of courtesy than need. As a transmutant mage, she trusted her claws more than steel.

The two sisters were armed to the teeth.

Kazyak glanced around the armoury, irritation etched across her face.
“Where are those two brats?”

Tevu tightened the bandage around her wrist, pulling it taut with her teeth before knotting it.
“They already took what they needed. Probably restocking upstairs.”

Kazyak clicked her tongue.
“I’d rather keep them out of this. Let the adults handle it.”

Tevu exhaled slowly.
“We’re short on hands. I’ll cover them if it comes to that, but I need you to kill Wallus. I’ll back you when necessary.”

Kazyak snorted, baring her teeth.
“Don’t worry. I don’t need help.”

Tevu grabbed her by the shoulder, grip firm as stone.
“He’s strong. Don’t get cocky—or you’ll lose your head.”

Kazyak’s jaw tightened.
“Tch. Just because you lost doesn’t mean I will.”

Tevu’s eyes hardened behind the mask.
“He’s a true mage. That’s why he’s been so bold in enemy territory. If we’re taking him down, we do it together.”

Kazyak yanked free and rolled her shoulders.
“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Stop chewing my head off.”

She stormed up the stairs without looking back.

Tevu watched her go, then let out a low breath and followed.

Upstairs, the kitchen stood abandoned.

At this hour it should have been alive with clattering utensils, rising steam, and overlapping chatter as servants hurried to prepare the midday meal. Instead, silence clung to the room like dust.

Half-washed plates lay stacked unevenly beside the sink, some still slick with grease. Bowls soaked in cloudy water gone cold. A ladle rested inside a pot that had long stopped simmering. On the stove, millet sat half-stirred in an iron pan, beginning to harden along the edges. Chopped vegetables remained scattered across the cutting board, knife left where it had fallen, as though the cook had vanished mid-slice.

It looked less like neglect and more like flight.

The announcement had rippled through the Pavilion only minutes after the heated meeting. Lock your doors. Close your windows. Stay inside.

The hearth fires had been doused in haste. The stoves were cold. Even the scent of spices felt stale, trapped in unmoving air.

In that abandoned kitchen, two figures remained.

Gina slid open every drawer with deliberate calm and gathered every blade she could find. Butcher knives. Cleavers. Paring knives. Butter knives. One hundred and twenty-five in total, laid out in neat formation across the counter, metal catching what little light filtered through the shuttered windows.

Across from her, Fina emptied the shelves. Plates, bowls, cups, kettles, porcelain dishes of every size—stacked carefully, almost respectfully, as if preparing for a banquet instead of a battle.

Neither spoke. They both lifted their hands and dragged their fingernails across their palms. Thin lines opened. Blood welled quietly.

Gina flicked her hand over the knives, droplets speckling steel. Fina did the same over porcelain, red staining white glaze in delicate patterns.

They placed their bleeding palms down—Gina over a central cleaver, Fina over a wide serving dish—and began to chant.

The air shifted. First came a tremor. Subtle. The knives quivered against the stone counter. The porcelain rattled faintly, tapping against itself like teeth chattering in the cold.

Their voices did not waver.

Mana bled into steel and clay alike, threading through each object like invisible veins. The blood markings darkened, then faded as though absorbed.

When the incantation ended, everything went still.

For a heartbeat. Then Gina lifted two fingers. Every blade rose.
Fina turned her wrist. The porcelain followed.

Dozens of knives hovered in tight formation, edges aligned outward. Plates and bowls floated behind them in layered arcs, spinning slowly, controlled. A quiet army of kitchenware, suspended in the air like a halo of sharpened intention.

Gina’s lips curved into a satisfied smirk, her tail flicking once. “Perfect.”

Fina’s expression remained composed, unreadable, but her eyes gleamed with focus.

They stepped forward.

The floating mass followed, obedient, shifting in formation as they walked—knives at the forefront, porcelain circling behind like orbiting shields.

When they entered the inner courtyard, Tevu and Kazyak were already waiting in full battle readiness.

Tevu’s stone aura pulsed faintly around her wrists, the ground beneath her feet responding to the rhythm of her mana. Kazyak flexed her claws inside her iron-laced gauntlets, metal scraping softly as daylight glinted across sharpened edges.

Tevu glanced at the floating storm of blades and porcelain orbiting behind the twins and raised a brow, “That’s a lot of knives and dishes.”

Gina grinned, rolling her shoulder as several cleavers shifted formation at the motion.
“We’ll need all the ammunition there is for this.”

Kazyak barked a sharp laugh. “Haha! Well said.”

Tevu exhaled slowly, eyeing the kitchenware with reluctant practicality.
“We’re going to have to pay for every broken plate and dulled knife. Hope you two enjoy living on dry bread for a few months.”

“What?!” Gina snapped, ears flattening. “You’re worrying about cutlery right now?”

Fina tilted her head slightly, calm as ever.
“Not that I mind. Bread is efficient.”

Tevu stared, a little puzzled.
“Actually, I am worried about paying this off.”

Kazyak snorted. “Guys, can we focus?”

Tevu turned toward the inner courtyard cabins—the guest quarters where Wallus and his crew were lodged. The air felt heavy in that direction, like a storm pressing against stone walls.

“You two stay behind me,” Tevu said, voice lowering. “No rushing ahead. No heroics.”

Gina clicked her tongue but did not argue. The knives tightened into a spear-like formation. The porcelain rotated into layered shields, hovering in disciplined arcs.

Tevu’s gaze hardened.
“Today, we remove the parasites leeching off this guild.”

The Pavilion stood silent behind them—windows sealed, doors barred, sisters hidden away in their rooms listening for the first sound of war.

In the courtyard stood four warriors: earth, claw, steel, and porcelain.
And ahead of them waited the men who thought this cabin belonged to them.

Tevu marched forward without hesitation, stone whispering under each step. The others followed tight behind her, weapons hovering, claws flexed, breath measured and ready.

The cabin looked still. Windows shut. Curtains drawn. No sound from within. Too still.

Tevu stamped her heel down. The courtyard answered.

Stone surged upward in a jagged spear and blasted forward, slamming into the wooden door. It exploded inward with a thunderous crack, splinters scattering across the floor.

Kazyak shot in first, claws extended, grin feral.
“Time to collect rent!” she roared.

Tevu followed, aura thickening. Behind them, Gina and Fina stepped through the shattered frame, their arsenal gliding in like a coiled metallic serpent—knives gleaming, porcelain rotating in silent formation.

Then Kazyak stopped. Her grin froze. Her claws halted inches from striking distance.

Tevu’s jaw tightened.

Gina frowned. “What’s the hol—”
She stepped forward and saw.

Wallus sat comfortably on the couch, one arm slung across the backrest, legs crossed at the knee as though hosting guests rather than facing an assault. His grin stretched wide, teeth flashing, eyes glittering with amusement.

And he was not alone.

Beside him, seated upright in composed authority, was a tall white-coated beastman with narrow rat-like features and cold, calculating eyes.

Tooth & Nail guild’s guildmaster.

Nosmos.

Wallus spread his hands theatrically.
“Well now… it seems the Pavilion’s elite have come personally. I can practically taste the bloodlust from here.” He tilted his head toward Nosmos with a mock-melancholic expression. “Are you seeing this, Mr. Nosmos? This is what we endure daily. My men are quite concerned for their safety.”

Kazyak’s teeth ground together.
“You bastard… what the hell are you doing here?”

Nosmos adjusted the cuff of his white coat, gaze sweeping over the four warriors and their floating weapons with faint disapproval.

“What do you mean?” he said evenly. “Am I forbidden from visiting envoys of the Church within my own city? As a member of this city’s council, it is my duty to ensure our honoured guests are treated properly.”

His thin eyes flicked to the broken door.
“And from what I can see,” he added coolly, “your hospitality leaves much to be desired.”

The floating knives tightened their formation behind Gina.

Porcelain shields angled defensively.
Tevu’s stone gauntlets hardened another shade darker.

Wallus leaned back further into the couch, perfectly relaxed.

“Well?” he said softly, grin widening.
“Are you ladies here to talk… or are you here to prove my point?”