Around the same time, the Crypt of Gray Lights was enveloped in a brief silence.
Dawn had broken and the sun had climbed high in the sky by the time it was all over. Even Kafzen was exhausted.
And there’s still so much cleanup to do.
He cast his gaze down at the floor of the Crypt of Gray Lights, which sunlight never touched, even at the height of noon. Three corpses lay there, all members of the Twelfth Order of the Holy Knights. Each had a different appearance: a young man dressed like a street vendor, an elderly man in a military uniform, and a woman in the luxurious dress of a noble.
The only thing they had in common were the violent wounds inflicted upon them in battle.
“We suffered three casualties this time?” asked a raspy voice from behind Kafzen.
It belonged to an old man known only as the “Elder of Ink.” Even Kafzen didn’t know his real name—or rather, it no longer existed. He had erased all records of his existence at the time of the Federated Kingdom’s formation.
“It appears to have been quite a fierce battle,” the elder continued. “I am impressed you managed to recover the bodies.”
“Our unit cannot afford to leave them behind. Of course, you know that, Elder.”
This was a matter of strict protocol for the Twelfth Order of the Holy Knights. They didn’t gather the corpses out of respect for the deceased, but rather to prevent the enemy from obtaining sensitive information from them. The human body was a treasure trove of secrets: the contents of one’s stomach, sacred seal engravings, concealed weapons, even the signs of rigorous training could all prove vital. By retrieving their dead, the Twelfth Order ensured that no such clues would fall into the wrong hands.
“The enemy appears to be closing in on the Crypt. They got close this time.” The Elder of Ink cast Kafzen a sidelong glance.
The Crypt of Gray Lights was located in a corner of the First Capital’s largest temple, the Gray Cradle. It was connected to the royal palace via an underground passage and had been chosen for the safety and ease of access it provided their master, First Prince Rehnavor.
This time, they had picked up a whiff of someone searching for their headquarters, and it seemed they had gotten very close. The three on the floor had fought and died to protect that information.
“Yes, it was a close call,” Kafzen acknowledged. “It appears we must take measures to ensure our safety.”
“Shall we change locations?”
“Good question.”
Kafzen was purposefully ambiguous. Even when addressing the Elder of Ink, he couldn’t afford to reveal his true intentions. He did not have the luxury of speaking the truth.
“Let me give it some thought,” he added. Though in reality, he had already made up his mind.
It was too dangerous to continue using this place. They would need to reconsider having Rehnavor visit their secret base in person, as well. A more discreet method of receiving instructions would be necessary going forward. Kafzen would have to apologize to the prince about that. A new Crypt of Gray Lights would have to be found, and with the northern expedition about to begin, they would require a larger network of personnel, too.
The enemy will surely try to infiltrate our new recruits.
Shutting them out would hinge on Enfié’s ability. Was it even possible? They were about to face an even more difficult struggle—a shadow war fought by the Twelfth Order of the Holy Knights. And depleted resources would further strain their ability to continue supporting the penal heroes.
“The work we do is so fulfilling, Elder. Wouldn’t you agree?”
But before he the old man could answer…
“Captain!”
The door to the Crypt of Gray Lights burst open to reveal a man dressed in a cassock like a priest. But no ordinary priest could have gained access to this place.
“It’s an emergency!” he shouted. “Level One!”
The Elder of Ink’s face hardened, while Kafzen chuckled wryly. Whenever a serious problem arose, he always made that same expression.
Level One was a code phrase indicating that somebody had died—specifically, somebody important. And in almost all cases, it meant that they had been assassinated.
“Level One? Who? Don’t tell me Nicold Ibuton—”
“Commander-in-Chief Cresdan!”
Kafzen fell silent. Cresdan. He was a military commander who was supposed to be at Galtuile Fortress, finalizing plans for the spring offensive.
“He was found dead in his room at Galtuile. No signs of external injuries. He was coughing up blood, so it is believed he died of illness.”
“…I’m sure.”
Assassination seemed the most likely explanation, especially since the timing couldn’t have been worse. This would undoubtedly affect their plans for the spring offensive—but something else concerned Kafzen even more.
“Who is taking over for him?” he asked, his voice tinged with a faint glimmer of hope. But Kafzen knew better than anyone that such prayers were never answered.
“Governor-General Marcolas Esgein received the majority vote from the Allied Administration Division.”
Depressing news, to say the least. This was one of the drawbacks of putting the military under civilian control. Decisions were often made without considering what was happening on the ground. One could also focus too much on such things, of course.
Marcolas Esgein looked like a brilliant military commander on paper, with an impressive track record and a string of victories under his belt. He had even successfully recaptured the Second Capital. His reputation among the military was excellent. Kafzen, however, had a different opinion: Esgein was merely skilled at forming factions and stealing credit for other people’s achievements.
“The First Capital can’t have been just a distraction.” said the Elder of Ink in a consoling voice. “We simply cannot counter every move the enemy makes. They are far too massive and powerful. That’s all there is to it. To believe we can always deploy the most suitable personnel to every position is nothing more than wishful thinking.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
Kafzen knew they had won the majority of their recent battles, and he believed they had managed to prevent any fatal blows to humanity. They had defended the Crypt of Gray Lights, suppressed the eastern rebellion, and avoided attacks on the harbor facilities. By preventing the destruction of the First Capital and installing Nicold Ibuton as archpriest, they now had the option of sending the Holy Knights on expeditions, too.
The assassination of a military commander was merely a small defeat in the overall conflict. The important thing was to minimize the damage caused by that single move.
“You’re right, Captain Kafzen. This job truly is fulfilling,” replied the Elder of Ink, and Kafzen’s lips curled into a sadistic smirk.