Viktor grimaced as he hauled the drunken fool to his feet.

  Not because of the weight, as Lloyd was lighter than his appearance suggested, but the stench, the foul reek of rotten flesh marinated in liquor long spoiled, which oozed from every pore of the man’s skin, soaked into his clothes, and clung to him like a fetid aura.

  Alcohol had never been Viktor’s thing. He didn’t drink and he disliked people who drank too much. There was nothing appealing about the drunkards. Not their appearance, not their behavior, and definitely not their smell. So the moment Lloyd’s boots scraped across the ice, he quickly stepped back, putting enough space between them so that he could breathe without gagging.

  “Let’s go,” he said flatly, shooting a glance at the shambling wreck beside him. He had no intention of offering any support. If the man tripped and kissed the snow, then so be it.

  To his surprise, somehow Lloyd not only managed to move forward, but also walk in an unexpectedly straight line, while throwing a smug grin his way.

  Viktor snorted and turned away. “Where’s Jeanne, anyway? Still at the castle?”

  “Yes, but I doubt she can hold out much longer. The cold is getting worse every day. I bet she’ll show up here within two weeks, unless she suddenly gets fond of freezing to death for some reason.”

  “She is a pyromancer. She can manage,” Viktor said. Then again, with how her power worked, it was nearly impossible for her to start a fire without burning the whole place down.

  “Funny thing,” Lloyd said, rubbing the mole on his chin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her use magic to light a fire. She always pulls out flint, just like the rest of us. Strange.”

  Figure.

  “What happened to the gorgon contract? You two have tossed out all the scales and bones or what?”

  “Well, no. Jeanne has gathered everything and packed it up nicely. She said she’d bring it to the Guild to collect the reward whenever it was convenient. But she’s not in a rush. The coin wouldn’t last her long anyway, so no point in a trip back and forth.”

  “At least it can keep her in Daelin through winter.”

  “True enough.”

  The sun was starting to bleed out of the east and smear the clouds with streaks of gold. Beneath the dark red sky stretched the old Imperial Road, flanked by crooked houses that crammed tight like convicts in a cell, their roofs sagging, their walls rotting under a skin of mold and moss. Still, a damn sight more pleasant than the insult to the eyes that was Rhea’s neighborhood.

  “By the way,” Viktor said casually, as if the following topic were not at all what he had aimed to ask right from the start, “do you know the Druidesses?”

  “Oh? You saw her?”

  Viktor’s brow furrowed. “Saw who?”

  “The woman with the tattoos. One on her cheek, another down her arm. I saw her in the mess hall. She was sitting with some strange company.”

  Ah. Those people. Viktor remembered them, the eclectic party of four adventurers. The mountain of a man from the Eastern steppe, the bald Southerner with skin of obsidian, the young woman with two oversized buns on top of her head, and finally, the tattooed woman with raven hair. So that was a Druidess, huh?

  “I heard they make magical potions,” Viktor said. “And they were originally part of your Order.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I also know a young mage from the Brotherhood of the Verdant Shade. Heard they split off from the Emerald Order as well.”

  “That’s also true.”

  “So what happened? Why did people leave?”

  “Curious now, are we?” The white-haired man grinned, casting him a sidelong glance. “Well, I did have a feeling you liked stories like that. Still... you didn’t seem particularly fond of the one I told back at the castle.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Oh, come on.” Lloyd waved a lazy hand. “You stormed off like someone had pissed on your soup.”

  Viktor stiffened but said nothing. Of course, he wasn’t wrong to be angry, considering the nonsense this man had been spouting about Celestia. But losing his temper like that was unwise. Only a fool showed more than he meant to, and he didn’t like being a fool. But it was too late now; the damage was done. The question was, how to deflect without giving away anything important.

  Thankfully, Lloyd moved on before he had to come up with an excuse. “Oh well, I’m not going to pry. Anyway, if you are interested in the Order’s history, I can tell you. Bit of a long story, though. Might take a while.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “No problem,” Viktor said. It couldn’t be worse than the one told by a certain mummy, could it?

  A rooster gave a half-hearted crow somewhere in the distance as they crossed the town center. From here, he could see the shop where the Southern man sold his meatwraps. The shutters were tightly shut, but if the place was open when he came back, maybe he would grab one. He would eat it on the way home, finishing it fast, making sure Claire never knew.

  “Where do I begin?” Lloyd mused as he officially stepped onto the east side of the town, the prettier side. Here, the streets were cleaner, the fences were straighter, and the walls were more vibrant, though the snow had long since killed all the color. “You know the Emerald Order has got a famously rigid code of conduct, right?”

  “I know. That’s why I had doubts you were really a member.” Viktor grinned at the white-haired man. “You’re not an imposter, aren’t you?”

  Lloyd barked a laugh. “Please. What would be the point of pretending to be an Emerald Mage? No real privileges unless you’re really high up, while the obligations are, well, endless. Though, to be fair, the rules don’t bother me that much. I don’t mind wearing green, I don’t mind helping people, and thankfully, the Order doesn’t forbid drinking.”

  “Can’t say the same for the poorer ones,” Viktor said with a shrug. He recalled Rhea’s sister, a mage from that supposedly illustrious order. Her profession was meant to be noble, devoted to helping the sick and the suffering. But she herself lived in poverty, drowned in debt. In the end, she was lured into his dungeon, and he killed her.

  “Well, you can’t really heal the world without an army of selfless idiots, can you? The Order mostly recruits from the poor, from the families they’ve helped. Kids with awe in their eyes after saints in green robes saved their dying mother grow up dreaming of wearing green themselves. But once they’ve actually grown up, they realize that they’ve signed up for a job that doesn’t pay. For life.”

  Viktor let out a chuckle. “That happens to you too?”

  “Hell no. I knew exactly what I was getting into. I wanted to learn the Order’s magic, and I figured obeying their rules was a fair enough price. So here I am.”

  “Come to think of it, you’re staying at the Emberwood Inn, right? A bit pricey for a humble servant of the people. Do you have a good side job? Or are you one of those higher-ups you’ve just mentioned?”

  “Of course not. I just have a rich dad.”

  Fair enough.

  “Anyway, how does any of this answer my question? Did the Order start cracking because the low-ranking members got fed up?”

  Lloyd shook his head. “No, they’re powerless to do anything. And if someone does snap, they would just take off the green robe and leave.”

  Viktor arched a brow. “Isn’t that against the rules?”

  “Technically, yes. But the Order doesn’t really punish anyone for quitting. Nobody enforces that rule. If you just disappear quietly, no one will come after you. People stay because they think leaving is shameful, not because they’re scared of consequences.”

  Which means the shameless have nothing to fear. Viktor couldn’t help but think of a certain brunette.

  “They joined for ideals. They stayed because of guilt. But rebellion? No. The schism didn’t come from the rules that weighed on the common members. It came from the parts that inconvenienced the higher-ups.”

  “Oh?”

  Lloyd turned to him with a grin. “Have you ever thought that an Emerald Mage was boring?”

  “Well, I do think you guys have a pretty limited spellbook,” Viktor replied with a shrug.

  “Exactly,” Lloyd said. “The Order’s whole mission is to help people, so our magic is purposefully made to do just that. The rules are very strict about what spells we can learn and use. Again, no one bats an eye if a low-ranking mage bends the rules a little now and then. But if a senior gets caught stepping out of line, well, they risk losing everything. Status, rank, privileges.”

  “So some of the higher-ups want to push past the limits?”

  “Yes. Mages are mages, they all thirst for knowledge, for power. Once they’re freed from trivial stuff like starving or paying rent, their ambitions grow. They look at other wielders of magic, the pyromancers and the aeromancers, the Riftwalkers and the Cabalists, and think, ‘Why not us?’ I mean, just look at the Brotherhood and the Druidesses. They merely study different branches of the same discipline, which means, in theory at least, we can do everything they can. But we are not allowed to, because the rules forbid us.”

  “Who made those rules anyway?”

  “Now you’re getting close to the real answer. But let me ask you something first, do you know who leads the Order?”

  Viktor had no idea. He had run into plenty of Emerald Mages in his previous life, sure. The Order was one of the biggest organizations in the world, yes. But he had never paid much attention to their internal structure. Why should he care? They were neither his allies nor his enemies. They treated everyone the same, regardless of allegiance. They were politically neutral. They stayed out of conflict. Well, many of their low-ranking members ended up broke so they turned to adventuring, taking a deadly side job because their main job didn’t pay, but he digressed.

  “No.”

  “They call themselves the Enlightened Twelve,” Lloyd said, a mocking tone in his voice. “Getting a bit arrogant, don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t know? It’s said the Forgotten Gods were twelve in number. Whether that’s true or not, I couldn’t say, but many people believe it. So when the Order’s leaders picked that exact number...”

  Viktor nodded. “They’re thinking they’re gods.”

  “They might not say it out loud, but I’m sure they smirk at themselves in the mirror when no one is looking,” Lloyd said. “But you know what? Officially, they’re not the ones at the top. The Matriarch—our dear Mother—sits above them. The Twelve are only her servants, appointed to help her run the Order.”

  “The Matriarch, huh?” Viktor remembered seeing a huge-ass statue of that holy woman during a visit to one of the Order’s sanctuaries. The mythical figure who supposedly founded the Order thousands of years ago. “It’s just ceremonial, right? She’s long dead. So the Twelve are the ones with actual power.”

  Lloyd’s grin twisted into something mischievous. “What if I told you... she’s still alive?”

  Viktor blinked. “Metaphorically?”

  “I mean alive alive. As in still breathing, still watching, still giving orders.”

  What?

  For a moment, he wondered if the guy was still drunk, while Lloyd gazed at him in amusement, clearly enjoying his confusion. Then, instead of giving any explanation, the white-haired man looked around.

  “Hey, this place looks kind of familiar.”

  Well, yes. They were very close to their destination now. A sign swung just ahead, marked with the curling branches of the Emberwood Inn’s crest. All they had to do was turn right at that intersection, and the inn would be no more than a dozen paces away.

  So this is where the story stops? Viktor sighed. Right here?

  Apparently, Lloyd had picked up a thing or two about cliffhangers from a certain undead priest.

  But then the man said, “Why don’t we head inside before continuing our chat? No point freezing our asses off out here.”

  “Sure,” Viktor said, already moving.

  Also, thanks to the accelerated release these past five weeks, Book 2 has just been finished on my , so check it out if you want to read ahead.