Unrepentant

The afternoon sun filtered weakly through the tall, arched windows of Lord Magistrate Lachlan’s private chambers, casting long, angled shadows across the stone floor.

Inside, the room was thick with the mingled scents of medicinal herbs, blood, and charred flesh. Lachlan sat cross-legged on a cushion in the center, his back bare, a sheen of sweat covering his bald head. Despite the agony of the treatment, his face remained set, unwavering. His saber lay across his lap, a silent reminder of the battle that had left him in this state.

One of the aides, standing just out of the way, found his eyes drifting to the Magistrate’s body. Lachlan was not what he appeared to be. Beneath the robes he normally wore, which gave him the appearance of a man grown soft with indulgence, was a frame built from pure muscle.

His gut, while prominent, was not flabby but solid, the abs beneath pressing outward like tightly packed bricks. It was no wonder the Lord Magistrate eschewed armor; his body was armor enough.

His chest and arms, massive and defined, barely moved as the court Alchemists worked around him.

The Healers tended to the raw burns on Lachlan’s sides, two angry, gaping wounds that stretched from his ribs to his back. Four Healers, a Priest, and two Alchemists labored with unceasing focus. Their hands moved in steady rhythm, draining pus and applying salves, peeling away the charred flesh to reveal the damaged tissue beneath. Lachlan’s eyes remained closed, his breathing calm, as if the pain were merely an inconvenience.

The aide shifted his gaze, his thoughts slipping back to the events of the morning.

Rhysling had been thrown into chaos with the sudden appearance of an Airship cutting through the sky. Not just any Airship—a colossal vessel marked with the sigil of a burning bird. The Heavenly Flame Sect had arrived, and the Airship bore the scars of haste, its hull battered from a reckless flight that should have torn it apart.

Then came the roar—Sectmaster Royce’s voice, filled with unrelenting fury. “Lachlan!” The name echoed through every corner of Rhysling, and the citizens below looked up to see a pillar of fire erupt from the Airship. The flames stretched higher and higher, growing into wings that began their descent upon Castle Rhysling, threatening to reduce it to ash.

But Lachlan had been ready.

The Artificer’s Guild had helped him prepare defenses against an attack like this. [Ice beacons], strategically placed throughout the city, flared to life the moment the flames appeared. Massive barriers of ice formed, layer upon layer, intercepting the fiery assault as it plunged toward the castle. The flames raged, crashing through the first few barriers with ease, but with each one shattered, the fire lost some of its strength.

At the final barrier, the Sectmaster and Grand Elder, side by side, broke through, their combined fists aimed at Lachlan. The aide recalled that split second when reality seemed to hold its breath.

Lachlan had stood there, his saber raised, blocking their attack with a force that sent a shockwave across the courtyard. His feet dug into the stone, but he didn’t falter. Two half-Third Step Flame Elementalists had thrown their full power at him, and he had met them with nothing but his blade.

Lachlan had been pushed back roughly, his saber ringing out as he deflected blow after blow. The burns he now suffered were the result of a momentary decision—to let the Sectmaster and Grand Elder strike him, to absorb their fury and force them into a corner. The aide could still hear his voice ringing out over the battlefield: “Terrifying my city, attempting to destroy it, and two cuts of my flesh is the restitution you have chosen. Stop this barbarous foolishness and speak like thinking men!”

But the Flame Elementalists had not listened. Fueled by their rage, they continued their assault, pushing Lachlan back. Their flames had melted the stone beneath their feet, turning walls into molten slag. Lachlan had fought with a precision and power the aide had never seen before, carving deep gouges into the earth with each strike of his saber.

What came next, however, had turned the tide of the battle.

In the midst of the chaos, Lachlan had seen his people—the innocent citizens of Rhysling—caught in the flames’ wake as the fight spilled over into the streets. He saw two children struggling to pull an elderly man to safety, their own skin blistering from the heat. He saw a couple, locked in a final embrace, consumed by fire as their screams pierced the air. That was the breaking point.

The aide shivered as he remembered what happened next. Lachlan’s body had swelled with power, his frame expanding, his muscles bulging to twice their normal size. He stomped the ground, shaking the earth beneath him, and unleashed a downward slash so powerful it severed the Sectmaster’s arm and the Grand Elder’s leg in a single motion. The force of the strike didn’t end there. The arc of his blade extended, slicing through the Airship that had loomed above, cleaving it in half before continuing upward to tear the very clouds apart.

In that moment, all of Rhysling had stood still. The Heavenly Flame Sect, so sure of their dominance, had been brought to their knees in the blink of an eye. As their Airship plummeted to the ground, Sectmaster Royce and the Grand Elder finally relented, realizing the devastation they had caused and the power Lachlan had revealed.

The aide remembered the faces of the citizens afterward. They had begun the day in terror, but now, their fear had transformed into something else entirely—an electric thrill ran through the city. They had witnessed the impossible.

The Lord Magistrate, their protector, had stood against two of the most famous cultivators within the Empire and emerged victorious. Word was already spreading: Rhysling might soon be home to its first Third Step warrior. The prospect filled the people with awe, and even more so, with hope that no one would ever dare cause trouble in their home.

A hiss of breath escaped the aide’s lips as one of the healers peeled away more burnt flesh from Lachlan’s side. Yet the Lord Magistrate remained still, eyes closed, his expression untroubled. The aide couldn’t help but marvel at the man’s strength. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps Lachlan was destined for greatness beyond any imagination.

Then a knock on the chamber door came as a surprise, breaking the heavy silence of the room. A young servant, trembling slightly, stepped in, bowing low before addressing the Lord Magistrate. “M-My Lord! News from Sichal! Senior Ji is making contact through Town Lord Poliana's [Limited Echo].”

Lachlan’s eyes opened, sharp and focused, the weight of his presence filling the room once more. His voice, calm but commanding, cut through the air. “Tell Senior Ji that I am coming immediately.”

The aide straightened, sensing the shift. The day was far from over, and Lachlan was far from done.

Silas’s needle sliced into Poliana’s throat, tearing open the narrowing airway with crude brutality. He watched as her chest shuddered, the barest hint of air now able to flow through her ravaged windpipe. Her body twitched in reflexive agony, though the poison coursing through her veins kept her silent.

“I'm running out of paralytics,” Silas thought with a sense of mild irritation. “I should brew some more.”

His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he straightened up. His voice, softly rasping yet cutting, filled the room. “I do hope a lesson can be learned here. Running away to immediately speak to your accomplice is never a smart idea.”

With a flick of his wrist, Silas reached for the mask concealing the left half of Poliana’s face. As he peeled it away, he was greeted by a network of scars etched into her skin. But there was something else. Something out of place. His eyes narrowed in curiosity.

“Well, what is this now?” His fingers brushed against the hollow space where her eye should have been. He leaned in closer, noting the faint glint of red embedded deep in the socket. With a swift pull, he extracted the object, a slick squelch accompanying the motion. Blood spurted from the gory hole in defiance, but what truly captured Silas’s attention was the crystal clutched between his fingers.

A Life Crystal.

Poliana’s body seized as if trying to scream, but the poison held her in its iron grip. Her pain had no outlet, leaving only the grotesque sound of blood hitting the floor.

Silas whistled softly, turning the Life Crystal over in his hand. “Why would the Town Lord of Sichal have a Life Crystal jammed into her eye socket?” he mused, more to himself than to her. He crouched beside her prone body, his tone almost conversational. “I'm guessing the cracked [Limited Echo] is your previous official one that got 'accidentally' damaged, yes? After all, these things aren’t easy to come by.” His gaze flickered to the barely functional crystal she had used earlier. “Quite clever, cracking it just enough to request a replacement while maintaining short distance functionality.”

Before Poliana could react, Silas’s fist crashed down, connecting with her temple in a sharp blow. She slumped into unconsciousness, her body limp and compliant. He stood up, wiping the blood from his knuckles.

“To live or to die, how infuriating it is when the choice is robbed from you,” he thought grimly as he stepped away from her.

Moving toward the intact [Limited Echo] device on the other side of the room, Silas drained the Life Crystal he had torn from Poliana’s head. The red stone glowed with a faint hum accompanying it, powering up the [Limited Echo], connecting to its counterpart in Castle Rhysling.

A few moments passed before the face of an official, clad in the robes of Rhysling, appeared on the orb. His expression shifted from boredom to concern as Silas’s figure came into view.

“I bring dire news from my investigation,” Silas informed the man, his voice steady but grave. “This must be conveyed to Lord Magistrate Lachlan immediately.”

The official, visibly unnerved by the tone, nodded quickly before the image faded from view. Silas let out a small sigh, allowing himself a brief pause before he turned back to Poliana.

He approached her unconscious form, drawing a vial from his satchel. The antidote would neutralize the poison, but it was far too late to prevent permanent damage. She would live, for now. Whether that would remain true depended on the circumstances yet to unfold.

Injecting the antidote into her neck, Silas watched as the color slowly returned to her face, her breathing becoming less ragged. His mind wandered, considering whether keeping her alive would be more useful in the long term.

The [Limited Echo] lit up once more. This time, the face of Lord Magistrate Lachlan filled the orb. Silas was genuinely surprised to see the faint traces of grey beginning to seep into Lachlan’s eyes, a clear sign that the man was approaching the qualitative transformation of the Third Step.

Silas’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Are congratulations in order?”

Lachlan, despite his weary expression, managed a small smile in return. “It is still uncertain whether I will fully cross the threshold,” he admitted, “and the price of my fortune has been paid by my citizens.”

Silas raised an eyebrow. “The Heavenly Flame Sect?”

Lachlan’s smile faded, replaced by a solemn nod.

Silas frowned. “They launched an assault while Lady Emma was still recovering in the castle?”

“Wrath can blind us all,” Lachlan replied, his voice heavy. “I’d wager they acted on emotion rather than a deliberate attempt to harm their own.”

“That’s a more comforting thought than assuming incompetence or malice,” Silas mused, “but unfortunately, I bring worse news.”

Lachlan’s chuckle was resigned, his head dipping slightly. “Please enlighten me, Senior.”

Silas turned the [Limited Echo] to face Poliana’s prone body, her neck still oozing blood from the wound he had opened. Lachlan’s expression shifted instantly, his eyes widening in shock. He shot to his feet, his movement so abrupt that some of the wounds on his torso began to reopen, darkening his bandages with fresh blood.

Silas’s voice remained calm. “The Town Lord of Sichal attempted to orchestrate a rather distasteful event for this Ji. After I pointed out some irregularities within the town, she contacted an accomplice in an attempt to…impede me.”

Lachlan swallowed, his unease clear. “I had received word that the auction’s perpetrator was caught by you last night… Senior Ji, what foulness has struck Sichal?”

“The kind that shall hopefully not be my problem,” Silas thought to himself, though he masked his true feelings as he began to recount the events since his arrival. From his initial encounter with Poliana, to his fight with Umbres, and the strange behaviors among the citizens—every detail was laid out, though not without embellishments.

Silas painted himself as a dutiful inspector, ignoring the reality that much of his short time here had been spent covering his tracks in Rhysling or waiting for his allies, Nyx and Zinnia, to feed him information.

By the end of his recounting, Lachlan looked haunted. He muttered, “Most Knowledgeable give us reason… Heresy and corruption… Senior Ji, do you require additional forces? I fear I’ve asked you to walk into the dragon’s den.”

Silas shook his head. “None will arrive in time. I must act swiftly to find her accomplice. I cannot execute an Imperial official without permission. How do you wish for me to handle the Town Lord?”

Lachlan hesitated, his brows furrowing. Poliana was technically his senior in time served, though junior in rank. After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Lock her up. And stay safe, Senior Ji. I wish you good fortune in your hunt, on behalf of myself and the Imperial Family.”

Silas nodded once, cutting the transmission. He glanced at Poliana’s prone form, then back at the [Limited Echo]. With a low, amused chuckle, he muttered, “Always such a fun time being ‘lawful.’”

His gaze returned to Poliana as he approached her again, his mind already spinning with the next move. Back in Rhysling, Lachlan clenched his hands together tightly, frustration gnawing at him. “Just my damned luck,” he muttered.

As he reached for the [Limited Echo] to inform the Imperial Palace of Senior Ji’s report, a knock came at his door. “Sectmaster Royce requests an audience, my Lord,” a servant’s voice called out from behind the door.

Lachlan sighed heavily, his hands falling to his sides. Another fire to put out.