Chapter 419: Changing the Lie with a Lie
"So, here we are..." Luke muttered as the two of them stopped in front of a two-storey house. At the entrance stood two warriors, both bearing the unmistakable aura of third-circle cultivators.
Luke greeted them with a grin. "Sir Bernerd, Sir Brian—how’s life treating you?"
"Good," one of them replied simply. Cassian guessed this was Bernerd—the taller of the two, with a black spear strapped across his back. Despite his towering frame and imposing presence, there was a softness in his eyes when he spoke. He glanced at Cassian and asked, "And who’s this guest you’ve brought along, Lucas?"
Luke gestured toward Cassian with casual ease. "This is Cassian. Met him at the arena. He’s got an interesting proposal for the captain."
The other guard, a middle-aged man with a silver spear—a hefty weapon with a wide rectangular blade—fixed Cassian with a colder look. His tone carried none of Bernerd’s warmth. "What proposal?"
Luke’s smile tightened, a faint irritation flickering in his expression. "I’m afraid I can’t share details with Sir Brian before discussing them directly with the captain."
Bernerd, looking bit thoughtful and ignoring the silent tension between Luke and Brian, finally said, ’Well, if it’s that important, don’t let us get in your way...’"
As luke smiling took Cassian in while cassian also gave both of them a nod, as he entered the house. The air inside was different—still, heavy with dust, yet not abandoned. It carried the faint warmth of a place where laughter once lived.
The house felt lived-in, more like a family home than a temporary den for cultists, as cassian looked around more, besides the low table stood two small wooden chairs, their backs carved with curling vines and flowers—delicate work that no rushed hand could have managed. The table itself carried the quiet history of use: faint scratches left by restless fingers, pale stains where soup had once spilled. Yet its surface still held a soft sheen, as though someone had cared enough to keep its memory alive.
Leaning against one corner was a child’s training sword, no more than half a man’s forearm in length. Its wooden blade had been sanded smooth, the handle wrapped in faded cloth dyed a cheerful blue. Someone had gone to the trouble of carving delicate patterns along the hilt—spirals and stars—making the toy as beautiful as it was simple.
On a shelf nearby rested dolls, not carved from wood but stitched by hand, their faces marked with uneven yet earnest smiles. The seams showed care, the tiny dresses neatly hemmed. One doll’s hair was made of coarse black thread, another of golden yarn, their arms stretched wide as if waiting to be picked up again.
Beside them sat a leather ball, worn soft at the seams. A faint scuff on the wall nearby hinted at where it had once been thrown again and again, laughter echoing in the air.
Cassian lifted the sword from its place, running his fingers over the wooden hilt. The grip had been worn smooth by countless hands, yet the carving along it remained clear—delicate lines of metal forming the shape of a dragon coiled around the blade. It was beautiful, the kind of work only a master could leave behind.
"Your captain made this?" Cassian asked, glancing at Luke. He remembered Luke saying their squad leader wasn’t like the other cultists.
Before Luke could reply, a voice drifted from deeper inside the house. "Even if I had crafted it, I couldn’t give it the memories it carries."
The tone was heavy with sorrow. A tall man stepped into view—long golden hair framing a face softened by wire-framed spectacles, his eyes shadowed with quiet grief. Cassian felt the faint trace of mana clinging to him, subtle yet undeniable. A Fifth Rank, at least. Not that the man wore the robes of a mage—his plain clothes made him look more like a professor Cassian might have seen in the academies of Magisteria City, rather than a mage in a cult’s ranks.
"Squad captain..." Luke said with a slight bow, his usual wide grin spreading across his face. His slit-like eyes opened a bit wider, a flicker of eagerness showing as though he wanted to impress his captain. "I’ve come with an opportunity to give that old bastard of the Staranglers a proper blow..."
The man’s kind smile twitched at the curse, but he kept it composed. "From the ’old bastard,’ you mean Master Kirk, right?"
Luke nodded enthusiastically.
"And the opportunity," the squad captain continued, his tone calm but curious, "you mean the young warrior you’ve brought with you?"
Luke nodded again and briefly explained Cassian’s intentions—careful not to go into unnecessary detail. Cassian noted the man’s gentle demeanor; the mage introduced himself as Ronan Kael. Despite his kind appearance, Ronan’s presence carried a quiet weight—he was clearly someone accustomed to command and careful judgment.
Ronan regarded Cassian with mild interest, not prying into motives. "I won’t ask why you wish to make her your slave—so long as you don’t intend to harm her," he said, his voice even. "But if you succeed, and allow me to question her afterward, we will aid you in challenging Master Kirk. With Fenja—and your freedom—as the stakes of that challenge."
"That’s fine," Cassian nodded. He only wanted her to answer questions, nothing more.
Ronan’s face brightened with a warm smile. "Good. Then tell me—when do you want to fight?"
"If possible... even now," Cassian replied, his confidence catching Ronan slightly off guard. The squad captain’s eyes narrowed, scanning him carefully, as if searching for the reason behind such certainty. How could a First Circle warrior be so sure of holding his own against a Second Circle fighter?
Ronan’s gaze shifted, curiosity tinged with suspicion. "If I’m not mistaken, you arrived here yesterday with Lady Brigid, yes?"
Luke blinked, clearly surprised, and glanced at Cassian.
Cassian simply nodded. "Yes."
Ronan’s expression shifted, intrigued, as he asked again, "And I’m not mistaken—you are her slave as well?"
The question visibly shocked Luke.
"Yes..." Cassian replied with a quiet sigh. He realized he’d have to concoct another reason for wanting Fenja as a slave. Luke was easy enough to mislead—he didn’t know Cassian well—but Ronan’s sharp gaze suggested he could already see through half of it.
"I apologize for not being upfront with you earlier, Luke," Cassian said, keeping his tone measured. "The truth is... my mistress requested that I make certain strong individuals my slaves. It’s to help her with something—what exactly, I don’t know."
Luke blinked, momentarily flustered, before nodding slowly. "Can’t be helped. Orders are orders from your master. But... does that mean all that... kinky stuff you mentioned was a lie?"
Cassian gave a small, guilty smile and nodded. Ronan, watching the exchange, couldn’t suppress an amused grin. He had likely already guessed much of why Brigid wanted strong people under her control—a revelation that would surely surprise Cassian if he knew Ronan’s insight, "I might know why she asked you to do this?"