“…So how’d it go?” asked Venetim.
Tsav was pouting in his room.
Venetim had been on his feet since dawn, with all sorts of tasks to attend to. He’d only just made it back to the barracks as the sun began to set. He’d completely missed the Sword Offering and only caught a glimpse of the cleanup crew after it was over. But Tsav’s expression was enough to tell him how it had gone.
Venetim was eager to confirm his plan’s success. That was why he was here, in Tsav and Dotta’s room. Dotta, however, was conspicuously absent. Only Tsav was around, sprawled out in his bed.
“The Sword Offering is over, right?” Venetim asked. “Did Dotta actually fight?”
“Yeah,” Tsav muttered as he sat up. His usual carefree demeanor was nowhere to be found. “Dotta fought…and it was a total disaster. The crowd was heckling him and the other guy like crazy. It was pathetic! Just two exhausted dudes with sticks whaling on each other the whole time! And I don’t know what happened to Dotta, but his left arm was broken before the match even started!”
Tsav spoke with increasing intensity, his voice rising.
“I mean, that swordsman called Yubaet, like, he couldn’t even hold his stick properly. It was such a lame match! A total waste of time and money!”
“Wait… Dotta’s opponent was injured as well? So he really did go out and ambush the others…” Venetim scowled. He hadn’t expected this, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be scolded for someone else’s mistake. “Do you have any idea what happened last night, Tsav? I didn’t get to ask Xylo about it. He was in a really bad mood when he got back.”
“Nope! Not a clue!” Tsav’s reply was refreshingly frank as he picked up a newspaper and crumpled it into a ball. “Anyway, it was like watching two little kids fight, so it’s no surprise everyone was booing. But I guess you could say they were evenly matched! Dotta wore himself out and gave up in the end, and Yubaet was so beat up, he had to forfeit his next match!”
Tsav snorted derisively. It must have been quite a disaster. Tsav hadn’t seen the match himself, but if the two had seemed evenly matched, it could only mean one of two things: Either Yubaet had been severely injured the night before, or he was going really easy on Dotta.
“At least Dotta gave us a good laugh at the end. After the match, that redhead broad grabbed him by the neck and dragged him off somewhere.”
“Oh…” Venetim could easily imagine it.
“I think her name was Trishil or something. Anyway, she looked mega pissed. I bet she whipped Dotta’s ass after that. Probably had to send him straight to the hospital when she was done. I mean, his arm was already broken.”
“Y-yes… I hope he’s still alive…”
“Yeah, I bet you do, since you’re the one that has to do all the paperwork when someone dies.”
“Indeed.”
As the commander of the penal heroes, at least on paper, he had the unenviable task of juggling various administrative duties—or more accurately, of finding ways to circumvent them. And since the penal heroes were treated as military assets, any damage incurred outside of battle required a substantial amount of paperwork.
“So?” asked Tsav. “How’d things go on your end?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, with Dotta’s match. You’re the one that had him participate, so I figured you talked to his opponents and fixed the match or something.” Tsav laughed. “I lost a ton of money, though! I have, like, zero funds left! That means no going out and enjoying myself. All my exciting plans for Luffe Aros are ruined. Can’t believe Adelat Fuzer lost.”
Adelat Fuzer had been the favorite to win by a big margin. Venetim breathed a sigh of relief at this news. Tsav really had no luck when it came to gambling.
“Does that mean the second favorite beat him?”
“Yeah, Heine Bukah Tanze from the Tenth Order nabbed the win! She was actually the third favorite to win after all the hype, though.” Tsav looked up at the ceiling. “Dotta got so much hype before the match, he raised her and Yubaet’s odds… Argh! I should’ve bet on her!”
“That’s too bad,” Venetim muttered. This was only the first of many gambles they’d be making. Just thinking about it filled him with dread and made his stomach twist.
When Venetim heard Tsav’s predictions, he’d put his money on Heine. The real challenge had been manipulating the odds to secure the maximum payout. But thankfully, that was something Venetim specialized in.
The fact that Dotta was a penal hero had guaranteed him a lot of attention, and Patausche’s impressive display the previous day had further bolstered their unit’s reputation. Naturally, Venetim had helped out by penning various articles and spreading unfounded rumors to sway public opinion. In the end, Dotta’s odds had plummeted, while those of the other participants had soared.
According to insider information from the Holy Knights, however, it would be a toss-up between Adelat Fuzer and Heine Bukah Tanze. Therefore, Venetim had decided to bet against Tsav.
Had Tsav won, Venetim was planning to propose a high-stakes gamble to swindle him of all his winnings, but thankfully, that would no longer be necessary.
At least we’ve secured the necessary funding, but…
The thought of what lay ahead made him feel nauseated. If they were going to win this election, he’d have to face off against people a lot tougher than Tsav.
“Oh, you look pretty down, Venetim! Don’t tell me you bet on Adelat, too?!”
“Yes, something like that.”
Venetim put on a strained smile and evaded the question. That expression usually made others assume the worst and leave him alone. He’d learned from experience that people tended to like it when others were miserable. Or at least as miserable as they were.
“That’s life for you, man.” Tsav lifted the bottle of booze in his hand. “I found Dotta’s secret stash, and if he’s in the hospital, I figure he won’t be needing it. So here’s to all three of our losses! Come on, let’s drink.”
“That does sound nice.” Venetim grabbed the bottle with a forced grin. If he didn’t drown his sorrows now, he’d be tossing and turning all night. “Oh, but before that. Tsav, did you look into what I asked?”
“Oh, about Gwen Mohsa? Of course I did. Who do you think I am?” Tsav gestured to himself with his thumb. “There’s no doubt about it. They’re working with the coexisters. Their enforcers are already on the move. Hell, they even attacked me, so there’s no doubt about it!”
Not so long ago, back in Ioff, they’d clashed with thugs pretending to be Gwen Mohsa assassins. In reality, they were just assassins hired by the Adventurers Guild. But this time, Tsav assured him, they were the real deal.
The Gwen Mohsa were a religious sect who professed unwavering loyalty to the goddesses but who were cast out of the Temple for heresy. Venetim didn’t know much about their beliefs and couldn’t have cared less. But there was one thing he did know: They posed a significant threat. After all, they were the group that raised Tsav.
“They’ve been underground so long, they’re just itching to kill. They increased their number of enforcers, too. They’re probably about to go on a rampage. I tortured three of the guys that tried to kill me until they cracked, and they basically confirmed it.”
The word “torture” sent a chill down Venetim’s spine. He knew that Tsav was more than capable of torturing him, too, if he felt like it.
“What exactly are they planning? What kind of ‘rampage’ are we talking about? Xylo is very curious about their next move.”
“The three I questioned were basically nobodies. They knew, like, almost nothing. So I’m not sure just yet what they’re up to.”
“I guess you’ll have to keep investigating.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna look for their hideout in the meantime. Pretty sure I know where it is already, though.” Tsav spoke casually, as if what he was suggesting wasn’t absurdly dangerous.
“Then I can count on you to continue looking into the matter, yes? Of course, I’ll be sure to pay extra.”
“Love doin’ business with you! Heh-heh. You made the right choice coming to me. They’re still being really cautious. Anyone else would have been caught and beaten half to death.” Tsav swiped the military notes out of Venetim’s extended hand. “They’re legit sick in the head, too. They’re even keeping faeries as pets now.”
“What…? I thought Gwen Mohsa used to be a sect within the Temple. What happened to worshipping the goddesses? Doesn’t using faeries go against everything they believe?”
“Ha-ha-ha! Yeah, well, they’re getting really desperate! They’re so dead set against using the goddesses as tools for war that I bet they’d rather surrender to the Demon Blight and let them wipe out humanity. I mean, the whole organization was already on its way out when I was growing up, so I’m not really surprised.”
Venetim was at a loss for words. It seemed Gwen Mohsa’s obsession with the goddesses bordered on the apocalyptic.
“Tsav… If they were our enemy, would you be able to take them on?”
“What? I mean, I could probably beat any of them one-on-one…”
“No, that’s not what I mean. For example…what about the people that raised you? Or a mentor? Would you be able to fight them?”
“Ohhh! That’s what you meant? Heh-heh-heh!” Tsav chuckled jovially. “I already took out everyone but my mentor, so you don’t have to worry about a thing.”
Venetim was once again rendered speechless. The workings of this man’s mind were a complete mystery to him.
“Oh hey! Do you wanna hear about my tragic past?” he asked. “It’s a story about the sweetest little boy in the world—a boy named Tsav—saying good-bye to the parents who raised him! It’s famous for its heart-wrenching ending.”
At that point, Venetim realized his fatal error: He’d set Tsav off. And once the man started talking, there was no stopping him.
“Hmm… Where should I begin? First, as you know, I essentially had three parents, and one of them…”
Venetim braced himself for an all-nighter.