Sitting upon the colossal crimson throne fashioned from interlocked bone and stacked skulls, the figure crowned with a wreath of crimson laurel gazed downward along the long flight of stone steps beneath him.

  More precisely, his attention rested on the man kneeling at the foot of the stairs. The kneeling man wore a gilded helmet and a flowing red cloak, his head bowed low in submission.

  On either side of the throne stood two women holding flabella made from broad palm leaves. They rhythmically fanned the seated figure.

  Each of them covered their heads with a palla, and a translucent veil draped across her face, obscured their expressions while still allowing their eyes to remain visible.

  They were draped in revealing silks, thin fabric clinging to their figure and leaving their midriffs bare, their tanned legs exposed beneath layered folds. Gold bracelets circled their wrists, chiming faintly with each motion.

  Beside the throne stood another woman, closer than the others. She attended to the figure carefully, with patience, lifting pieces of cut fruit to his lips and offering him a goblet filled with chilled drink.

  "What is the situation, Herald Marcus?"

  Despite the oppressive heat that filled the chamber, his voice was chilling and dreadful. Each word cut through the air like a blade of ice that made the torches seem dimmer by comparison.

  The man in the deep red cloak, Marcus, knelt lower. His torso was exposed in the style of the ancient warriors.

  He removed his gold helmet fully and placed it on the stone floor. Wearing it in the presence of the higher order was an insult that could have had you killed.

  Around him, soldiers stood in formation. Their armor gleamed in the torchlight, and on their breastplates gleamed the symbol of the Order: two crossed swords, with a horned skull protruding menacingly from the center.

  Marcus’s gaze fixed on the floor, not daring to look at the Tribunus directly. He slowly opened his mouth and spoke in a respectful tone; his earlier arrogance when speaking to the lower order was long gone.

  "Lord Tribunus, the ritual to awaken the seed has been partially completed. The Curse Seed has... almost awakened."

  A cold sweat trickled down Marcus's forehead, stinging his eyes.

  ‘Curse you! Optio Benjamin! What do you mean by “almost”?

  Though his face remained impassive, in his mind, he violently cursed the man who had placed him in this precarious position.

  Despite technically holding the same rank within the hierarchy, being a Herald was often more favorable than being an Optio. After all, a messenger who carried information was far more valuable than one who merely executed orders.

  “What is its ability and color?”

  Marcus exhaled inwardly with immense relief. Sir Tribunus did not appear particularly concerned about the time wasted or the incomplete state of the ritual.

  Results mattered more than process. As long as the outcome proved useful, delays could be forgiven.

  "Lord... the object has been confirmed to possess Command Aptitude. It can issue commands and communicate with animals in its vicinity. At present, the influence appears limited to insects and small creatures, such as mice.”

  He took a deep breath, organizing his next words carefully.

  “As for the color code… it is crimson.”

  It was not confirmed yet if it was indeed crimson. However, judging by Benjamin’s words, it must be from the Violence Faction. If it were another color, that old man should have already informed him.

  “Crimson?” The Tribunus murmured, his eyebrow knitted. He rested one elbow against the armrest of his throne and leaned forward. Muscles beneath his skin tightened visibly as if to flex his cords of strength.

  In the following second, the huge man’s eyes gleamed in crimson as he laughed out loud.

  “HAHAHA—! A Curse with a Dominator’s ability! How interesting. How very interesting!”

  The sound was thunderous. His booming laughter vibrated through the entire chamber, shaking the dust from the high ceiling.

  Marcus felt it immediately. His strength surged, his energy replenished, his heartbeat quickening as power flowed through his veins.

  This was one of the abilities of a “Dictator” from the Warrior Path, called [Augmentation]. He could augment those around him, amplifying their physical strength and abilities several times over.

  Accompanied by his raucous laughter, the torches lining the walls flared violently, the flames stretching upward. Yet the soldiers did not turn or even flinch. Their gazes remained fixed straight ahead.

  However, his laughter cut off abruptly. The Tribunus raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Curse objects from the Warrior path are common enough within our arsenal. But to manifest that sort of ability while merely at the Entry stage?"

  His tone was edged with suspicion. One massive arm slipped around the woman beside him.

  The girl flinched, a minute tremor running through her frame, but she dared not utter a sound. Her eyes lowered as she obediently plucked another grape and pressed it to his lips with trembling hands.

  “Who is the one executing the ritual?” The Tribunus leaned back against the throne as he sipped from a straw held to his mouth.

  Feeling a surge of strength returning to his limbs after the Augmentation, Marcus answered with renewed confidence.

  “It is Optio Benjamin, lord. He is currently executing the phase intended to increase the object’s hospitality. Once that is concluded, only the final phase remains: The last ‘ingredient’ to bind it fully to our order.”

  The Tribunus stopped drinking. He pushed the straw away, his eyes flaring with a dangerous crimson color.

  "Optio Benjamin? Who is that?"

  Marcus tilted his head in confusion, his red hair clung damply and swayed with his motion. Sweat trickled down his temple from the heat of the chamber and oppressive tension from the figure in front of him.

  "Optio Benjamin, Lord? He is... an elderly man with polite speech and often grumpy about his low status? He used to be an imperial noble, got corrupted, and switched to our Dispute side? He joined the Order perhaps five years ago?"

  “Benjamin… Benjamin… have I heard that name before?” The Tribunus removed his hand from the girl’s hip and straightened his back, stroking his chin in thought.

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  "Was it not... Lord himself who promoted him?" Marcus ventured cautiously.

  "Me? No, that must have been another Tribunus..." He paused, his eyes unfocused for a moment. He tapped his chin, furrowed his brow, before finally snapping his fingers. "RIGHT! Optio Benjamin. That old man with gray hair!”

  “Yes, lord, that old man!” Marcus hurriedly followed suit, his voice brightening as he lowered his gaze respectfully.

  “That old guy!”

  “That old guy!”

  They both laughed together. The soldiers surrounding them maintained their discipline, though a few eyes exchanged brief, confused glances.

  Just as quickly, the Tribunus stopped laughing. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his expression darkening.

  "What Path is he?"

  "Lord, he must be from our Warrior Path? No, I am certain he is from the Warrior path. Gladiator!” Marcus answered without hesitation.

  The massive figure on the throne squinted, leaning back into the grotesque embrace of bones.

  "Warrior Path... do we really have one by that name?"

  He shifted his gaze to the ranks of his soldiers.

  "Where is Tribunus Cenrason?"

  One of the soldiers stepped forward from the formation. He crouched down and knelt on one knee.

  His crimson armor bore the marks of wear and repair, and two golden striped insignia adorned his cloak, framing a skull at the center, signifying the rank of Optio.

  He held his gold helmet carefully beneath his arm, revealing a middle-aged face carved with scars and seasoned by experience.

  “Lord, he is still within the domain of Marquis Vincent.”

  “Good. Contact him. I want to inquire about this 'old man'." The Tribunus nodded, dismissing the soldier with a wave of his hand.

  Marcus looked over the retreating soldier, then slowly craned his head up, hesitation creeping into his voice.

  "Lord... surely you don't mean..."

  The Tribunus shook his head. “In times like these, caution is our only shield. However, you will proceed as planned. Where is the ritual taking place?”

  “It is in Winterin Village, lord!”

  "Winterin...?"

  He rubbed his nose again, a look of vagueness crossing his features.

  "Isn't that place already... hmm?"

  The Tribunus scratched his head absently. The woman beside him quickly uncorked an orange-capped bottle and held it near his face. He inhaled its contents, and his expression returned to normal.

  ‘Why is his reaction so strange?’ Marcus thought, observing the man’s erratic behavior. He could clearly see something was bothering the Tribunus, though he could not determine what.

  The Tribunus took another long sip from the straw brought to his lips.

  "It should be the domain of those mosquitoes..."

  ‘The Sweet Blood Order?’ Marcus tilted his head, confused.

  Why was that name appearing here? He had initially suspected the Hysteria. Did that mean the one who attacked Benjamin was actually the Sweet Blood Order?

  Why would they be there?

  “Centurion Servius,” the Tribunus called out, his voice booming through the hall.

  “At your command, Lord!”

  From the front of the soldier formation, a broad-shouldered man stepped forward.

  A thick white beard framed his stern face, and long white hair fell past his shoulders, bound loosely at the back. Three golden stripes marked his crimson cloak, denoting his rank.

  With disciplined movements, he sauntered before the throne and knelt slowly. His head lowered in deference, awaiting the order.

  “Deliver the final ‘ingredient’ to the Herald.”

  “Sir, may I?” Marcus spoke up tentatively.

  “What is it?” The Tribunus replied without looking at him. He opened his mouth and accepted another grape from the woman beside him.

  As he bit down, he smirked, intentionally clamping his teeth lightly onto the girl’s finger. She jerked in pain, but terror kept her silent; she dared not show even a hint of recoil, nor withdrew her hand.

  “Why does the final process require her?” Marcus asked, genuine puzzlement in his voice. As a messenger, he lacked access to deeper secrets of the Order and knew little of the true background behind this operation.

  The Tribunus opened his mouth again. His brow furrowed slightly with a serious expression.

  “That harlot’s daughter... She possesses a potent inheritance of Yi essence. If we can successfully transplant an obedient Curse of the Warrior Path into a Yi vessel...”

  He smirked, a cruel glint in his eyes.

  “We may succeed in creating a Curse possessing a Deviant Path.”

  ‘Deviant Path?!’

  Marcus’s heart hammered against his ribs. Was that not merely a legend?! Those stories were supposed to be nothing more than speculation in the underworld. To think that such paths could truly exist! This was...

  “May I request reinforcements?” Marcus spoke again, unease settled in his gut. “I fear Winterin Village lies under the watchful gaze of the Church.”

  If this was indeed their objective, then other factions would not sit idle. They would undoubtedly seek to partake in the spoils, attempting to seize the Curse once the ritual was complete.

  The Sweet Blood Order, for instance, would surely ambush him when things were done. They were the mosquitoes, the master of cowardice after all.

  However, the Tribunus shook his head, extinguishing that hope.

  “Our forces are currently compromised. Our sole Legatus in Easton City sustained heavy injuries securing the ingredient. As for Alan City, it is currently under lockdown, with the Church of White concentrating its forces there.”

  He leaned onto one armrest, resting his elbow upon the bone structure as he opened and closed his massive palm, inspecting it thoughtfully.

  “The Church of Contest has also entered the fray. We have spotted them in Alan City. The White Monarch and the Crimson Monarch may have reached an agreement. We must proceed with extreme caution.”

  Tribunus clicked his tongue “Those cinaedus of the Prejudice are doing something unnecessary again. Poisoning a useless prince of all things. How dare they hinder our grand design?”

  “The Prejudice Order...” Marcus paused, falling into deep thought.

  He had heard rumors of the Third Prince hovering on the brink of death, but he had never learned who had administered the poison.

  ‘Who are they?’ Marcus had only heard of the Freemasonry, but never heard of the Prejudice. The situation in Alan City fell outside his jurisdiction, it belonged to another Herald.

  “The remaining Legati and Tribuni are currently within the Alan Kingdom, preparing for the ritual. If it succeeds, we will strike a heavy blow against the kingdom and weaken the White Monarch’s influence over it.”

  Marcus glanced around the chamber. His eyes passed over the Optio and then the kneeling Centurion before realization dawned.

  The Tribunus continued. “As for myself, I must march for Easton immediately to join our forces. Marchioness Augusta is not to be underestimated, and another Bishop is likely present.”

  ‘So this explains the gathering!’ This was far beyond the usual assembly with so many soldiers present.

  Rarely were so many gathered in one place. But since they were preparing for war, their presence here before the Tribunus made sense!

  A Tribunus stood only one rank below a Legatus, and the Order only had three Legati in total. If one were to fall, it would be a catastrophic blow to their cause.

  “Thus, the only one capable of infiltrating Winterin Village is you. Unless you wish to share your laurel with another Herald?”

  “No, Lord! I will undertake the task!”

  Marcus lifted his head immediately. How could he pass up such an opportunity? This was his chance for promotion!

  “Ensure you take several Cursed Objects from our arsenal,” the Tribunus said with a nod.

  He rose from the throne, and the women rushed to drape his crimson cloak over his broad shoulders. His cloak bore the golden skull with horns, pierced through by one axe horizontally.

  “Secure the object, and you will rise to the rank of Centurion. I await your success, Herald.”

  Marcus straightened his posture, his arms crossing over his chest in a X-shaped as he shouted with fervor.

  “Praise the Dispute Monarch!”

  “Praise the Dispute Monarch!”

  Cinaedus: derogatory word denoting a male who was gender-deviant; his choice of sex acts, or preference in sexual partner, was secondary to his perceived deficiencies as a "man".

  There is one word that I thought of when bathing, instead of Deviant Path. But I can't remember it after I get out of the bath@@. “Deviant Paths” is not a “name” of a Path. This is quite a far-fetched information, which will introduce at vol.2.

  Change the schedule to Wed, Sat, Sun (which means Tue, Fri, Sat in Western time?) This is to ensure I have two days' break, ehe. (mean 3 chap a week, yay!)

  For Patreon, may add 3 more chapters in the 10$ tier (meaning 15 chapters ahead), and maybe delete 6$ tier, but I will see how it go.

  I already done Hazel, Arriet's character art (I posted them on Discord. I'm a little shy socially). May consider posting it here if I finish Arnold and Naomi.

  I felt like I wrote too many notes at the end of the chapter. Should I do that, or go silent? Idk, I would imagine not everyone wants to know about the struggle of writing this.