Ch 12.2

A tense silence settled between Aisha and Nosmos after their exchange, the air thick with unspoken threats.

Aisha was the first to move.

She turned her head slightly toward Gina and Fina, her voice firm and controlled. “Get those things out of here.”

Gina blinked in disbelief. “What? But what about the fight?”

“There will be no fight,” Aisha replied sharply. “Both of you, return to your rooms. Now.”

Gina’s tail bristled. “We don’t obey you, Aisha.”

Tevu let out a quiet breath, stepping in before the defiance escalated further. “Do as she says,” she ordered, her tone steady but decisive.

Fina did not argue. She grabbed Gina’s wrist and tugged firmly. “Let’s go already.”

Gina resisted for a heartbeat longer, glaring at Wallus, at Nosmos, at the entire insult of the situation—then finally relented. The floating knives and porcelain shifted in formation and followed them out like a retreating tide of steel and ceramic. Once they exited, the room felt marginally less volatile.

Kazyak’s claws remained extended, her glare fixed on Wallus. “I still want a piece of him,” she growled. “You better not stop me.”

Tevu stepped in front of her and placed a firm hand against her shoulder. “Wait. Let her speak first. If we strike Nosmos here, we ignite something far larger than this cabin. The guild won’t survive that. So stand down—for now. Please.”

Kazyak clenched her jaw, claws scraping faintly against her gauntlets. “Tch.”

But she lowered her claws.

Across the room, Wallus watched the internal fracture with open amusement, while Nosmos adjusted his gloves again, as if the storm had merely passed over him rather than threatened to consume the room.

Aisha let out a quiet breath and gave Tevu a brief glance of gratitude. Without Tevu stepping in, the situation would have already spiraled beyond repair.

She stepped forward, placing herself squarely between Nosmos and her sisters.

“Mr. Nosmos,” she began evenly, “it is surprising to see you here. I was under the impression that all guildmasters were summoned to Despora for the Warlord’s Summit. Disobeying a Warlord’s summons is not a trivial matter. It is, if I recall correctly, punishable by death.”

Nosmos’s eyes narrowed for a fleeting second before his expression smoothed.

“I am currently unwell,” he replied coolly. “That is why I did not attend in person. My right-hand man represents my guild in Despora. He is more than capable. There is no need for you to concern yourself.”

Aisha’s tail flicked once behind her.

“How unfortunate,” she said softly. “Down with illness, yet still personally conducting inspections to ensure foreign guests are treated properly. Your dedication is truly admirable, Mr. Nosmos.”

“He’s lying—” Kazyak muttered under her breath.

Tevu’s hand immediately covered her mouth. “Quiet,” she whispered. “Let her handle this.”

Across the room, Wallus leaned back and began idly picking at his teeth with a toothpick, as if the entire exchange were an afternoon diversion.

Nosmos’s patience thinned. “Enough of the sarcasm. What I have witnessed is a guild threatening accredited envoys of the Church. That constitutes hostility against the continent’s diplomatic relations. I will report this to the governing guild council and ensure appropriate penalties are enforced.”

“Do as you believe is right,” Aisha replied without flinching. “But before that, answer me one thing. How did you enter the Pavilion?”

Nosmos arched a brow.

“If an esteemed guildmaster such as yourself were visiting, protocol would require notice. Yet you were already here, seated comfortably. So I ask again—how did you get in?”

“Through the front gate,” Nosmos said flatly. “I have nothing to hide.”

Aisha studied him carefully, her hand resting lightly against her chin.

He does not appear to be lying.

If he came through the front gate, someone must have admitted him. But why was I not informed? Why did none of the attendants report it?

Aisha’s gaze shifted briefly toward Wallus. The timing of Nosmos’s presence was too convenient to dismiss, yet she could not accuse without proof. So she changed her approach.

Drawing in a steady breath, she spoke with controlled clarity.

“The issue is this, Mr. Nosmos. Since Mr. Wallus and his men began residing here, there have been repeated provocations toward our girls. More importantly, the mental and emotional condition of the courtesans assigned to serve them has deteriorated severely. One of them—Nisa—took her own life.”

Her voice did not waver, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

“There were no visible physical injuries. The city guards confirmed as much. However, the girls have become withdrawn, fearful, and unstable. They are not eating properly. They tremble at night. Something changed after they began serving Mr. Wallus.”

She turned her eyes directly to Wallus.

“That is why my sisters came here—to question him. Yes, their approach was… brazen. But they are grieving. They are angry. A sister died. It is only natural that emotions are raw.”

Then she faced Nosmos again.

“I will discipline them for their conduct. However, an investigation is necessary, and Mr. Wallus must cooperate with it. As a governing guildmaster of this city, I ask you to oversee the matter impartially. Help us uncover the truth and deliver fair judgment.”

Her words shifted the battlefield.

No longer an accusation. A formal request.
Nosmos was being invited to stand as an arbiter rather than a shield.

Wallus’s brows twitched faintly as he glanced sideways at Nosmos. The shift was subtle, but real. If Nosmos agreed to oversee the inquiry with neutrality, Wallus’s position would tighten considerably.

Open refusal would cast suspicion. Open aggression would appear defensive.

The trap had quietly reversed.
Now it was Nosmos who had to choose where he stood.

Nosmos understood it as well. His pale eyes cooled further.

“Tch,” he exhaled lightly. “Do not attempt to elevate me onto some pedestal of impartial virtue. I was approached first by Mr. Wallus regarding how he and his men have been treated here.”

He shifted his gaze toward Tevu.

“There was also the matter of one of your sisters assaulting his crew in his absence, beating them to a bloody state. Mr. Wallus was, by all accounts, generous enough to overlook that offense.”

Tevu’s aura stirred faintly around her wrists.

“They laid hands on our servants without consent,” she said through clenched teeth. “Were we supposed to applaud them for it?”

Nosmos’s stare hardened into something cutting.

"This is a brothel," he said matter-of-factly. "Such behavior is an inherent occupational hazard here. Men will flirt; men will test boundaries. None of that excuses beating guests half to death. If your girls are so fragile, perhaps they should reconsider their line of work."

Kazyak’s claws flexed again, but Tevu kept her still.

Nosmos continued without pause. “From what I have gathered, they did not force themselves on anyone. It was one of your girls who attacked them. Mr. Wallus intervened to save his men and chose not to press charges. The compensation he requested—additional service—was mild compared to what he could have demanded.”

Wallus gave a faint, humble shrug, as if burdened by his own generosity.

“And yet,” Nosmos went on, “in return for that restraint, he receives further hostility. Armed confrontation within his quarters. Accusations without evidence.”

His gaze returned to Aisha.
“You speak of investigation and justice. But so far, I see only emotion, not proof.”

The balance shifted again—fully in Wallus’s favor.
Tevu felt the walls closing. If this continued on words alone, they would lose.

And Wallus knew it.

Kazyak’s restraint finally snapped.

“It seems Wallus has you by the balls,” she spat, her voice thick with contempt. “You’re not even pretending to be neutral anymore.”

Nosmos’s gaze turned razor-sharp.

“Watch your filthy mouth,” he said coldly. “You emotional harlots act first and think later. I operate on evidence. Initially, I did not fully believe Mr. Wallus’s complaints. But after witnessing you storm in here armed and openly threaten him, you have done more to prove his case than he ever could.”

His stare bore into her.

“You accuse him of driving a girl to death, of harming your courtesans, yet you present no proof. Do you have any? Or is this merely hysteria dressed as righteousness?”

Kazyak’s knuckles cracked as she slammed her fist into her palm. “After we beat both of you senseless and toss you out, let’s see if the girls suddenly recover. That should be proof enough.”

Wallus placed a hand theatrically over his chest. “You see? She still threatens us in front of a governing guildmaster. I fear for my men’s safety.”

“Do not worry,” Nosmos replied without looking at him. “As long as I stand here, no such thing will happen.”

Meriath, still leaning against Tevu for support, lifted her head despite her injuries. “That’s enough talking,” she said hoarsely. “We can take this old man, too.”

Nosmos’s composure cracked for the first time. “Old man?” he repeated, a vein pulsing faintly at his temple. “You dare—”

Aisha stepped forward immediately, cutting through the rising storm.

“That’s enough,” she said sharply. “All of you.”

Her ears were rigid, her voice firm but strained.

“We cannot descend into violence every time we are cornered. That is exactly what they want.”

Her eyes flicked between her sisters, pleading for reason.

“If we strike now, we confirm every accusation made against us. We lose the guild. We lose our standing. We lose everything.”

The room trembled with suppressed mana. Fury coiled beneath the surface like a storm barely contained. And at the center of it all, Wallus remained seated, watching with quiet satisfaction as the Pavilion fractured from within.

Kazyak ignored Aisha entirely and stepped forward, claws glinting.

“Oh, please,” she said with open contempt. “This man is nothing more than a guard dog for the Church.”

Nosmos’s patience snapped.

A faint orange glow ignited around his fists, circular sigils forming and rotating in layered rings. Heat radiated outward, distorting the air.

“Step back,” he warned, voice low and lethal. “Do not claim I failed to warn you.”

Kazyak felt the killing intent pouring off him, and instead of retreating, she grinned.
“Try me, old man.”

“Stop!” Aisha shouted.

Nosmos moved first—but before he could attack, the floor beneath him exploded upward. Earth surged and wrapped around his body, forming a stone tomb that locked him in place from the neck down. A jagged spear of rock halted inches from his throat, poised to sever.

“Tevu?” Aisha breathed.

Tevu stood with her arm extended, eyes hard. “I’m sorry. I don’t see another option.”

For a fraction of a second, silence.

Then the stone shattered.

Nosmos punched through the earthen prison as if it were brittle clay. The orange aura around his fists flared brighter, heat rolling off him in waves as fractured rock scattered across the floor.

“I hope you understand what you’ve done,” Nosmos said coldly.
“You brought this upon yourselves.”

Wallus rose from the couch at last, brushing dust from his sleeve.
“Well,” he said lightly, “I suppose we settle this the old-fashioned way.”

He spread his arm outward, and a dark, pitch-black portal tore open behind him, its edges writhing with shadow.

Kazyak bared her claws fully. “Just the way I like.”

Tevu lowered her stance, stone mana gathering around her fists as cracks spidered across the floor beneath her.

Aisha stood frozen for a heartbeat as the last thread of diplomacy snapped. The careful balance she had tried to maintain collapsed under the weight of pride, fury, and provocation.

Meriath limped on her injured leg, yet her posture remained defiant. She flexed her talons and met Aisha’s gaze with steady conviction. “Snap out of it already, Aisha. We tried peacefully but failed,” she said quietly. “Now we do this the old way—together.”

Aisha closed her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them again, hesitation was gone.
“So be it.”

Mana surged around her as she stepped forward beside Tevu and Kazyak. Across the room, Nosmos’s fists burned with orange sigils, heat warping the air around him. Behind Wallus, the dark portal churned like a wound torn into reality.

The moment teetered on the edge of no return.

Then—

The door burst open with a sharp thud.

Every head turned.

A lone figure stepped inside.

A human girl clad in a black tunic and headdress—the unmistakable garb of a nun from the Church of Virtues. The hem of her attire swayed as she halted just inside the threshold. A faint bruise marked her lip, and a shadow of swelling lingered along her cheek, but her blue eyes burned with clarity and fury.

Chloe.

She stepped further into the cabin as if walking into a courtroom rather than a battlefield.

Her gaze swept across the assembled figures—the flaring mana, the shattered stone, the dark portal, the rigid tension coiling between tribes and envoys alike. She took it all in within a single breath.

Then she spoke, her voice steady and edged with authority that did not match her small frame.

“Out of all of you… Which one is the man named Wallus?”