金瓶梅第2部

Tycon assured the Archbishop that Centurion Zenon had a chance to survive. When she asked for the methods, Tycon chose to keep most of the information private. He did have to promise the woman that the power source was spiritual in nature-- specifically not necromantic or void-borne.

Because of Tanamar's open rejection of dwarf Harkus, Natalya explained in full... In doing so, she chose to ignore the complaints of both of them. The woman did as she pleased... which was probably what made her so difficult to deal with.

Some fifty or so years ago, Harkus had something of a career, training the Tyrion elite. He would craft weapons or armor for them, and then instruct them in their use, sometimes imparting rare synergistic skills. One man, in particular, took the name Orcus-- a reference to his respected teacher. That man became the strongest Avenger known to the Church of the Eternal Flame since the beginning of their written history... a title only held by him and Maximus of Ezyria.

Orcus was celebrated in public, hailed as a hero and cultural icon. A fantastical opinion at the time was that the other nations would never dare to invade, solely because of Orcus' existence.

And unbeknownst to the Tyrion public, that Orcus took on another title. He was the single greatest champion... of the Snake Cult.

Orcus was a hero... and that legacy remained. As a villain, the Church called him something else... the Oathbreaker.

Swayed by the Snake Cult's ideals, the Oathbreaker turned against the Church, leading a violent revolt with his signature weapon, a greataxe with a haft made from a massive snake spine. In the skirmishes that followed, more Church Acolytes, Clerics, and Champions were killed than in any single event in Tyrion history. He was finally defeated by a group of Avengers, mortally wounded... but the damage had already been done.

In the Holy Country, the dead remained dead.

Living in shame for his student's misdeeds, Harkus adopted two children, orphans from the Snake Cult War... their names Tancred and Athanasius.

Trained for war... trained for righteousness and the importance of never breaking their oaths... they would eventually come to find their teacher's sordid past. After what was likely to be a series of wild and useless misunderstandings, Harkus chose self-exile, leaving the two young footmen abandoned to House Vanzano.

Tension remained between Tanamar and dwarf Harkus... not that Tycon particularly cared for it.

If anything, he was glad that Tanamar's skills were a result of training-- not something the footman was naturally talented at. Tycon was a person who valued hard work. He did not have the talent to grow quickly without it.

...Invictus member Pale came to mind... However, the boy remained honest, humble, and good-natured, therefore was tolerable.

Tycon didn't care for the history lesson, either. That had nothing to do with him.

He asked Natalya for his Ranger back.

As she judged Tycon to have suitably fulfilled the details of her mission, she granted him her favor.

Tycon bid Archbishop Crucis and dwarf Harkus farewell. He was fairly pleased.

Tanamar, not so much.

Harkus remained furious at being owed coin... but Tycon proved far faster than the dwarf could chase.

...

⟬ Two bells later. ⟭

Tycon descended into the deepest levels of the gladiator pits. A few hundred years past, they were used almost exclusively for prisoners, debtors, and slaves. Tycon imagined that the fights involving them were boring... but taught some sort of moral lesson.

Over the years, wanton slaughter became less popular... and the advancement of healing techniques and magics reduced the likelihood of critical injury. This enabled gladiatorial combat to become a sport, a sensational show... The death of popular fighters became synonymous to killing living, breathing advertisements.

Dark, disagreeably damp, and musty, Tycon saw Lone behind prisoners' bars. He was speaking to one of the attending guards, a thin uniformed man carrying a torch and a club.

"What's the meaning of this?!" Lone shouted, "Why am I being jailed... again?! I didn't do anything!!"

The bronze-skinned gentleman rattled the rusty bars of his cell. It seemed like if he used enough force, they would break fairly easily. He was stripped down from his gladiator armor, wearing what appeared to be a simple cloth.

...It reminded him of the cloth-wrap used for small children, the purpose to retain urine and fecal matter.

Tycon wondered if he wore that by choice.

"That's what they all say, bub," The guard sneered... "You're the first to insist that you belong to the legendary Sol Invictus guild, though."

The guard jabbed at Lone through the cell bars with his club. Lone slipped the jab reflexively.

"But... but I am," Lone pouted.

It appeared that the young man didn't even notice he was attacked. That was likely a remnant of his training. Tycon would sometimes attack him mid-conversation...

"Sure thing, 'Lord Ranger'... Ahaha..." The guard mocked, running his baton against the rails.

Lone released the bars before his fingers were clubbed, "Just... tell me why I'm here..."

"Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat to reveal his presence. "You are here, Mister Lone, because plans have changed."

The guard raised his shoulders, turning in a panic, "Who the--"

Emerging from the shadows, Tycon met the human's gaze... staring him down, "I'm here to claim this man."

The guard panicked. Seeming to forget that he already held a perfectly functional blunt weapon, he swiped his torch at Tycon's face... which he did not even need to dodge. Cursing to himself, the guard then dropped his club and reached for the sword on his side.

Tycon snatched the man's wrist and rotated it outward. The guard's knees buckled from the pain and he reflexively used his opposite hand to tap Tycon's arm.

Because Tycon was a polite gentleman, he released the fellow.

"H-how did you get down here?" The guard spat, cradling his injured wrist.

Tycon frowned... "I used... the stairs. I don't understand what you're asking."

"I think he's asking who let you down here, Boss," Lone offered, always willing to be helpful.