The underground was in ruins.
What had once been a sprawling marketplace filled with merchants, fighters, and desperate customers had become a scene of devastation. Stalls lay overturned, their contents scattered across the stone floor, while shattered crates and broken furniture littered the narrow pathways. Abandoned belongings remained where their owners had dropped them, and the occasional dark stain marked places where someone had been dragged away or struck down.
The Faith had taken control of the tunnels.
Acolytes dressed in pale ceremonial robes moved throughout the underground, searching the abandoned stalls and inspecting the remaining buildings. Some carried sacks filled with confiscated goods, while others escorted groups of frightened civilians toward designated holding areas.
Those unfortunate enough to have been caught using mana were separated from the rest.
Their protests echoed through the tunnels.
But nobody answered them.
"I already paid!"
A man's voice rose above the commotion.
"I paid the Church three days ago! You can check the records!"
Two acolytes dragged a struggling merchant away from his stall. His clothes were covered in dirt, and a thin trail of blood ran from his forehead where he'd apparently been struck during the initial raid.
"Your payments do not excuse violations of the Redeemer's law," one of the acolytes replied.
"But you said we could operate here! I've been paying for months!"
The acolyte struck him across the mouth.
The merchant stumbled, nearly falling before the second acolyte tightened his grip.
"Silence."
"B-But-"
"Do you intend to question the Redeemer's judgment?"
The merchant froze.
His mouth remained open for a moment before he slowly lowered his head.
"...No."
"Then be quiet."
The acolytes continued dragging him away.
Nobody intervened.
Throughout the marketplace, similar scenes unfolded as the Faith confiscated goods, detained suspected offenders, and dismantled what remained of the underground's operations. Merchants who had spent years paying the Church for permission to conduct their business now found themselves accused of violating the very laws their payments had supposedly allowed them to avoid.
Their protests meant little.
The Faith had come to collect.
And collect it would.
At the center of the occupied marketplace, the Faith had established a temporary headquarters.
A large white tent stood in what had previously been an open trading area, its thick fabric stretched between sturdy wooden supports. Several lanterns hung from the framework, casting warm pools of light across the interior and illuminating the elaborate golden designs embroidered along the tent's entrance.
Unlike the surrounding marketplace, the inside was remarkably clean.
A large patterned carpet had been laid across the uneven stone floor, concealing the dirt and grime beneath it. Several smaller rugs overlapped near the entrance, forming a path toward an enormous wooden desk positioned at the far end.
The carpet was thick, its intricate red and gold patterns contrasting sharply with the gray stone visible beyond its edges. Even the wooden supports had been covered with pale fabric, giving the temporary headquarters the appearance of a ceremonial chamber rather than a command post hastily assembled in the middle of an underground raid.
The desk itself was immaculate.
Documents were arranged into neat stacks, their edges carefully aligned. Several writing instruments rested in a polished wooden holder, while a small golden ornament depicting a radiant sun stood near one corner.
Behind the desk sat a man.
His name was Ivan.
And he was a Collector of the Faith.
His appearance was strikingly different from that of the ordinary acolytes moving throughout the tunnels.
A magnificent white robe covered his body, its heavy fabric falling in long, immaculate folds that pooled slightly around the base of his chair. Intricate golden embroidery traced the edges of the garment, following the sleeves, collar, and hem in delicate patterns resembling intertwined rays of sunlight.
The wide sleeves hung loosely from his arms, their openings lined with additional golden ornamentation. Beneath the outer garment, several layers of pale fabric were visible, each carefully arranged so that none appeared wrinkled or out of place.
A white hood rested over his head, framing a smooth golden mask that concealed his entire face.
The mask possessed no recognizable human features.
There were no lips, no nose, and no visible expression. Its polished surface curved gently outward where a face should have been, catching the warm light of the lanterns surrounding his desk. Narrow openings hidden within the design allowed him to see, though from the outside, it appeared as though the man possessed neither eyes nor any other distinguishing features.
Around his neck hung a long black stole.
The dark fabric descended along either side of his chest, reaching nearly to the floor. Elaborate golden patterns decorated its surface, forming intricate religious designs that contrasted sharply against the white robe beneath it.
At the center of his chest rested a circular golden emblem resembling a radiant sun.
Its polished surface gleamed beneath the lanternlight.
His hands were covered by fitted black gloves, the dark material extending beneath the sleeves of his robe.
Not a single part of his skin was visible.
Ivan sat comfortably in an enormous wooden chair, its tall back rising well above his shoulders. One arm rested against the chair's carved armrest while the other remained on the desk before him.
Several documents lay scattered across its surface.
Reports.
Inventories.
Lists of confiscated goods.
And names.
Ivan examined one of the papers in silence.
Before him stood a young acolyte, his head lowered respectfully as he delivered his report.
"Thirty seven individuals were detained during the initial sweep, Sir Ivan. Of those, twelve were confirmed to have used mana within the restricted area."
Ivan turned a page.
"And the others?"
"Twenty were released after questioning. The remaining five are being held for further investigation."
"Very well."
Ivan reached toward the document.
But before turning the page, he noticed something.
A small smear of dirt stained its lower corner.
His gloved fingers stopped.
For several seconds, he simply stared at it.
Then he slowly raised his golden mask toward the acolyte.
"...Who prepared this report?"
The man stiffened.
"I-I did, sir."
Ivan looked back at the document.
"I see."
He carefully placed it aside, separating it from the other papers on his desk.
"Have it rewritten."
The acolyte blinked.
"S-Sir?"
"The report."
Ivan gently adjusted the remaining stack of documents, aligning their edges with the side of his desk.
"I would prefer that documents presented before a servant of the Redeemer not arrive covered in filth."
The acolyte immediately bowed.
"Forgive me, Sir Ivan!"
Ivan nodded.
"See that it doesn't happen again."
"As our Redeemer wills!"
The man hurried out.
Ivan watched him leave.
Then retrieved a clean cloth from a drawer beneath his desk and carefully wiped the fingertips of his glove, despite having barely touched the stained parchment.
Only afterward did he return to his work.
For several minutes, the only sounds came from the distant commotion outside and the occasional rustling of paper.
Eventually, footsteps approached.
"Sir Ivan!"
The Collector didn't look up.
Four acolytes entered the tent.
Their robes were dirtied from the operation, and several carried sacks containing confiscated goods. One held a small wooden box beneath his arm, while another carried a bundle of weapons tied together with rope.
They stopped several paces from the desk.
Then bowed.
"Reporting from the eastern tunnels, sir!"
Ivan continued reading.
"Proceed."
The leading acolyte straightened.
"We've completed our search of the eastern marketplace. Several merchants were detained for operating without authorization, and we confiscated a number of prohibited items."
He gestured toward the others.
The acolytes stepped forward and placed their findings on the carpet.
Coins.
Jewelry.
Small containers.
Weapons.
And several objects wrapped in cloth.
Ivan glanced toward the collection.
"Anything of significance?"
"We recovered several unauthorized mana artifacts, sir. Most appear to be of poor quality, but we've secured them for examination."
"Good."
Ivan turned another page.
"And the individuals responsible?"
"Those who resisted were detained. The others have been identified and released pending further investigation."
"Very well."
He placed the document on the desk.
"Anything else?"
The four acolytes exchanged glances.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
Ivan noticed.
His gloved fingers stopped moving.
"...Well?"
The leading acolyte swallowed.
"N-No further confiscations, sir."
Ivan leaned back.
"Then you're dismissed."
The acolytes bowed.
"As our-"
"Ah!"
One of the men suddenly raised his head.
The others froze.
Ivan slowly turned his golden mask toward him.
"...Yes?"
The acolyte hesitated.
"There was... one more thing, sir."
Ivan remained silent.
The man swallowed.
"During the initial pursuit, we encountered a suspicious individual attempting to flee the underground."
Ivan tilted his head.
"An individual?"
"Yes, sir."
"Explain."
The acolyte straightened nervously.
"He was wearing a cloak, and he was carrying two other people. We attempted to apprehend him, but..."
He hesitated.
Ivan waited.
"...He escaped."
Silence.
The Collector remained perfectly still.
Then he slowly leaned forward.
"Escaped?"
The acolyte lowered his head.
"Yes, sir."
Ivan placed both hands on the desk.
"I see."
His voice remained calm.
"Then it appears you require additional training."
The four acolytes stiffened.
The leading man's face drained of color.
"S-Sir?"
"If four of our faithful cannot apprehend a single man burdened with two others, then perhaps your training has been insufficient."
Ivan folded his hands.
"Wouldn't you agree?"
The acolytes exchanged terrified glances.
"N-No, sir! I mean-yes, sir! But that's not-"
"Not what?"
The man swallowed.
"The individual used mana, sir!"
Ivan stopped.
Then slowly tilted his head.
"...Mana?"
"Y-Yes, sir!"
The acolyte nodded rapidly.
"He used some kind of movement technique! We attempted to pursue him, but he was far too fast!"
For a moment, Ivan said nothing.
Then his gloved fingers tightened against the desk.
"...And?"
The acolyte blinked.
"S-Sir?"
"And?"
Ivan's voice rose.
"If he used mana within these tunnels, then why in the Redeemer's name did you not follow him?"
The acolytes flinched.
Ivan slammed his palm against the desk.
BANG!
The documents jumped.
"THE RUNES!"
The four men recoiled.
"THE RUNES WOULD HAVE RECORDED HIS LOCATION!"
Ivan stood halfway from his chair.
"Every unauthorized use of mana within these tunnels is detected! Every activation is recorded! Every movement can be traced!"
He pointed toward the men.
"AND YOU FOUR FOOLS SIMPLY ALLOWED HIM TO ESCAPE?"
"N-No, sir!"
"THEN WHERE IS HE?"
The acolyte trembled.
"We... we don't know, sir!"
Ivan's hand struck the desk again.
BANG!
"USELESS!"
The men bowed their heads.
"Forgive us, sir!"
"FOUR TRAINED ACOLYTES! FOUR SERVANTS OF THE REDEEMER! AND NOT ONE OF YOU THOUGHT TO FOLLOW THE RUNES?"
"S-Sir!"
A small voice interrupted him.
Ivan stopped.
His mask slowly turned.
One of the acolytes standing near the back had raised his head.
He was younger than the others, and his face had become almost completely pale.
His lips trembled.
"B-But, sir..."
Ivan stared at him.
"...What?"
The young acolyte swallowed.
"The runes..."
His voice cracked.
Ivan remained still.
"Speak."
The acolyte lowered his head.
"...They didn't activate."
Silence.
Ivan's raised hand slowly lowered.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Then his voice returned.
Quiet.
Almost gentle.
"...What did you say?"
The young acolyte trembled.
"The detection runes, Sir Ivan. They... they didn't activate."
Ivan slowly sat back down.
His golden mask remained fixed on the boy.
"Are you certain?"
The sudden change in his tone caught the acolytes off guard.
The anger had vanished.
There was no shouting.
No pounding against the desk.
Only a calm question.
The young acolyte hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Y-Yes, Sir Ivan."
Ivan leaned forward.
"Explain."
The acolyte swallowed.
"The individual used some kind of mana technique to accelerate himself. We saw it clearly, sir. There was a burst of light, and then he disappeared down the passage."
Ivan didn't interrupt.
"But the runes never activated."
The boy glanced nervously toward the others.
"We checked the nearby sensors immediately afterward. We thought perhaps the detection system had been damaged during the commotion."
"And?"
"They were functioning normally, sir."
Ivan remained silent.
"We checked again. There were no records of mana usage at that location. Nothing indicating that the individual had activated a technique."
The young acolyte lowered his head.
"But we all saw it."
The other three nodded hastily.
"Yes, sir!"
"We witnessed it ourselves!"
"There was definitely mana!"
Ivan didn't answer.
His hands rested motionlessly on the desk.
The golden mask stared toward the four men.
Seconds passed.
Then more.
The acolytes exchanged uncertain glances.
None dared speak.
Ivan hadn't moved.
Not even slightly.
His head remained tilted toward the young acolyte, and his black gloved fingers rested against the polished wood.
The silence stretched.
One of the men swallowed.
"Sir...?"
No response.
"Sir Ivan?"
Still nothing.
"...Impossible."
The word was barely audible.
The acolytes froze.
Ivan slowly folded his hands.
"The runes do not overlook unauthorized mana."
His voice was quiet.
"They recognize its presence. They record its activation. And they identify those who violate the Redeemer's restrictions."
He leaned forward.
"Even the smallest release of mana is sufficient."
The young acolyte nodded.
"Y-Yes, sir."
"Then explain to me..."
Ivan's fingers tightened.
"...How a man could use enough mana to escape four acolytes while remaining completely invisible to them."
Nobody answered.
Ivan remained motionless.
There were ways for certain individuals to pass through the Faith's detection systems without triggering an alarm.
Authorized individuals.
Those entrusted with privileges that ordinary believers were never permitted to possess.
But such privileges were not granted lightly.
And certainly not to men fleeing through the underground while carrying two unidentified individuals.
Unless...
Ivan's fingers stopped moving.
For several seconds, the Collector stared into the distance.
Then he whispered:
"...A traitor."
The word lingered.
A traitor.
Within his jurisdiction.
During an operation under his command.
Someone had used mana openly, escaped his acolytes, and disappeared without leaving a trace.
And now, if the matter reached the priests before he had an explanation, it would be his name attached to the failure.
Ivan's fingers slowly curled.
He had spent years maintaining order.
Years ensuring that those beneath his authority understood the consequences of disobedience.
Years faithfully carrying out the Redeemer's judgment upon those who violated His laws.
And now four fools stood before him, casually reporting that someone had circumvented the very system entrusted to his care.
His golden mask slowly turned toward the leading acolyte.
"Do you understand what you've done?"
The man trembled.
"S-Sir?"
"You've allowed someone to make a mockery of the Redeemer's authority."
Ivan slowly rose from his chair.
"And worse..."
His voice lowered.
"...You've allowed it to happen under my command."
The acolytes instinctively retreated.
Ivan stepped around the desk.
"Do you have any idea what the priests will think when they learn that a Collector failed to recognize a traitor operating within his own territory?"
Nobody answered.
"DO YOU?"
"N-No, sir!"
Ivan's chair scraped backward as he suddenly straightened.
SCREEECH!
"A DAMN TRAITOR?!"
The four acolytes recoiled.
"THERE'S A TRAITOR OPERATING WITHIN OUR OWN TERRITORY?!"
His voice thundered through the tent.
"AND YOU USELESS FOOLS FAILED TO REPORT IT?!"
"S-SIR!"
"HOW LONG?"
The young acolyte stumbled backward.
"H-How long, sir?"
"HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN?"
"Only since the pursuit, sir!"
"AND YOU WAITED UNTIL NOW TO TELL ME?"
Ivan advanced.
His long white robes swept across the carpet, the golden embroidery catching the lanternlight as he approached.
The acolytes instinctively retreated.
"S-Sir, please! We didn't understand what had happened!"
"YOU DIDN'T UNDERSTAND?"
Ivan's voice cracked with fury.
"A MAN USES MANA WITHIN OUR DOMAIN, THE RUNES FAIL TO RECOGNIZE HIM, AND YOU DIDN'T UNDERSTAND?"
The young acolyte trembled.
"W-We thought-"
"YOU THOUGHT?"
Ivan lunged.
His black gloved hand closed around the young man's throat.
"Ghk-!"
Before the acolyte could react, Ivan lifted him from the ground.
His feet kicked helplessly above the carpet.
The other three froze.
Ivan held the man at arm's length, his golden mask inches from the acolyte's face.
"Tell me."
His voice had become dangerously quiet.
"Are you a traitor too?"
The young man clawed at Ivan's wrist.
"G-Ghh-!"
"Are you?"
Ivan tightened his grip.
"Are you in league with him?"
The acolyte shook his head frantically.
His face reddened.
Then darkened.
"Did you deliberately conceal this information from me?"
The man's legs thrashed.
"Or perhaps..."
Ivan leaned closer.
"...You wished for death?"
The other acolytes stood motionless.
None dared intervene.
Ivan's voice rose again.
"YOU DARE WEAR THOSE SACRED ROBES WHILE CONCEALING A TRAITOR FROM THE FAITH?"
The young man's eyes bulged.
His mouth opened and closed uselessly.
"YOU DARE FAIL OUR GOD?"
Ivan shook him violently.
"ANSWER ME!"
The acolyte tried.
But no words came.
Only a strained, wet gasp.
His fingers scraped desperately against Ivan's glove, searching for some way to loosen the grip crushing his throat.
His face had begun turning purple.
Foam gathered at the corners of his mouth.
His movements became increasingly frantic.
Then
A faint light appeared.
Yellowish white.
Barely visible.
It flickered around the young acolyte's fingers.
For less than a second, a thin strand of mana gathered around his hand as he desperately attempted to pry Ivan's fingers from his throat.
The light vanished almost immediately.
But everyone saw it.
The other three acolytes went rigid.
Their eyes widened.
One instinctively covered his mouth.
Another stumbled backward, nearly losing his footing against the edge of the carpet.
The third stared at the young man's hand, his lips trembling as though he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to speak.
He had used mana.
Within the restricted underground.
Against a Collector.
Against Sir Ivan himself.
The young man hanging from Ivan's hand seemed to realize what he'd done.
His struggling stopped.
For a brief moment, he simply stared at his own fingers.
Then toward Ivan.
His eyes widened further.
He understood.
Ivan hadn't moved.
His golden mask remained fixed on the acolyte's hand.
For several seconds, there was complete silence.
"...Oh."
The word was barely audible.
Ivan slowly raised his head.
"...So that's how it is."
The acolyte began shaking his head frantically.
"N-Ngh-!"
Ivan tilted his mask.
"You would use mana..."
His voice was quiet.
"...Against me?"
The young man's eyes filled with tears.
He tried shaking his head again.
Ivan continued.
"Against a Collector?"
His grip tightened slightly.
"Against one entrusted with carrying out the Redeemer's will?"
The other acolytes lowered their heads.
None dared speak.
Ivan stared at the young man.
Then slowly exhaled.
"...I see."
His voice had become almost sorrowful.
"Even now, when confronted with your failures, you would raise your power against the very authority that has sheltered you."
The acolyte struggled weakly.
Ivan shook his head.
"How disappointing."
He loosened his grip.
The young man's body began to drop.
But before he could reach the ground, Ivan's other hand shot forward.
His fingers caught the collar of the acolyte's robe.
With one swift movement, he pulled the sacred garment free.
The pale fabric slipped from the young man's shoulders, leaving him in the plain clothing beneath it.
Ivan gathered the robe into his arm.
The acolyte struck the carpet.
THUD!
He immediately curled onto his side, clutching his throat.
"HAAAH!"
Air rushed into his lungs.
He coughed violently, his entire body trembling as he struggled to breathe.
For several seconds, he could do nothing but gasp.
Then he slowly raised his head.
Ivan stood above him.
The Collector held the removed robe carefully in one arm, ensuring that none of its fabric touched the floor.
The young man's eyes widened.
He understood.
His gaze darted from the robe to Ivan's golden mask, then toward the other three acolytes standing nearby.
None of them moved.
None even looked willing to meet his eyes.
The young man tried crawling backward.
His legs barely responded.
"P-Please..."
The word emerged as a broken whisper.
Ivan looked down at him.
"...You are no longer worthy of wearing the Redeemer's garments."
The acolyte's breathing quickened.
His fingers dug into the carpet as he desperately tried to pull himself away.
"P-Please, n-"
Ivan raised his leg.
The movement was so sudden that the young man barely had time to react.
THUNK!
Ivan's foot drove straight through the acolyte's chest.
The impact crushed through flesh and bone, pinning the man to the carpet for a brief instant before Ivan withdrew his leg.
The acolyte's body jerked.
Then fell still.
Blood spread across the carpet beneath him, seeping into the intricate red and gold patterns that had been carefully arranged only hours earlier.
Ivan lowered his foot.
His immaculate white robes remained untouched.
Not a single drop of blood stained the fabric.
No mana had been released.
There had been no need for it.
The Collector had simply struck him.
And the man was dead.
For a moment, Ivan stood over the body.
His golden mask slowly tilted downward.
He examined the spreading stain.
Then sighed.
"...How unfortunate."
The remaining acolytes stared at him.
Ivan carefully adjusted the sleeve of his robe.
"That carpet was brought here this morning."
Nobody answered.
"And now look at it."
He shook his head.
"Such a waste."
Then he turned toward the remaining three acolytes.
They were frozen.
One stared at the corpse.
Another had begun shaking so violently that his teeth clicked together.
The third couldn't seem to look away from Ivan's golden mask.
The Collector regarded them silently.
Then spoke.
"Find them."
His voice was gentle.
The acolytes flinched.
"Find the man who escaped."
He took a slow step forward.
"Find the two individuals he was carrying."
Another step.
"And bring them before me."
The men nodded frantically.
"Y-Yes, sir!"
"Of course, Sir Ivan!"
"We'll find them!"
Ivan raised one hand.
They immediately fell silent.
"Or..."
He tilted his head.
"...Kneel."
The acolytes stared.
Ivan's voice remained soft.
"If you are incapable of fulfilling the duties entrusted to you, then kneel now and accept your judgment."
He gestured toward the body lying on the carpet.
"There is no shame in admitting that you are unworthy of serving the Redeemer."
His golden mask slowly turned toward each of them.
"But there is great shame in continuing to waste His resources while pretending otherwise."
The men trembled.
Ivan spread his hands.
"So I ask you..."
His golden mask tilted.
"...Will you serve?"
The leading acolyte suddenly clasped his hands together before his chest.
The others followed immediately.
Their heads lowered.
"A-AS OUR REDEEMER WILLS!"
Ivan watched them.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he slowly lowered his arms.
"Good."
He stepped aside.
"Go."
The acolytes hurried toward the entrance.
They nearly collided with one another in their desperation to leave, stumbling across the carpet before disappearing through the tent flaps.
Outside, their footsteps rapidly faded into the commotion of the occupied marketplace.
Silence returned.
Ivan stood motionless.
Then he looked down at the robe resting in his arm.
The white fabric was still clean.
Its pale surface remained unstained, and the embroidered edges caught the warm light as he adjusted his grip.
He gently smoothed a crease with his gloved fingers.
Then turned toward his desk.
His footsteps were unhurried.
He approached the polished wooden surface and carefully laid the garment across it.
One sleeve.
Then the other.
He folded the robe neatly, aligning its edges before smoothing the fabric once more.
Only when he was satisfied did he step back.
"Sophia."
His voice was calm.
A faint rustling came from the shadows near the rear of the tent.
Then a figure emerged.
A young woman stepped into the lanternlight.
She wore a simple gray robe that fell nearly to her ankles, its fabric plain and unadorned compared to the magnificent garments worn by the Collector. A short, loose mantle covered her shoulders, while a large hood rested over her head, casting most of her face in shadow.
Long strands of pale white hair spilled from beneath the hood, falling past her shoulders and over the front of her robe.
Her expression was neutral.
Almost empty.
A dark garment covered her neck and upper chest beneath the gray robes, while the lower portion of her face remained faintly visible beneath the shadow of her hood.
Her forearms were wrapped in pale bandages that extended from her hands to her elbows, leaving only portions of her fingers exposed.
Around her waist, a length of red and gold cord had been tied into a loose knot. Several strands hung from one side, swaying slightly as she walked.
Unlike the Collector, she wore no elaborate jewelry.
No golden mask.
No sacred stole.
Nothing that suggested particular importance.
Yet her movements were quiet and deliberate.
She approached the desk.
Then stopped several paces away.
Her hands came together before her waist.
"Sir Ivan."
Her voice was soft and respectful.
Ivan didn't turn around.
"Dispose of the traitor's body."
Sophia lowered her head slightly.
"Yes, sir."
"And clean this place."
"Of course."
Ivan glanced toward the folded robe.
"Have that cleaned and returned to the appropriate stores."
Sophia nodded.
"As you command."
For a moment, Ivan remained silent.
Then he continued.
"And Sophia."
"Sir?"
"Follow those fucking idiots."
His voice remained calm, though a trace of irritation had returned.
"I don't trust them to accomplish anything without making another mess."
Sophia's expression didn't change.
"Understood."
Ivan folded his hands behind his back.
"If they fail to locate the fugitives, or if they attempt to conceal anything else from me..."
He paused.
"...You have my permission to execute them."
Sophia lowered her head.
"Understood, Sir Ivan."
"And should it become necessary, you may use your Sigil."
For the first time, Sophia's fingers moved slightly.
A small adjustment.
Nothing more.
Then she bowed.
"As you command, Sir Ivan."
She lowered her head further.
"Glory to the Redeemer."
Ivan slowly raised both arms.
The enormous sleeves of his white robe spread outward, their golden edges catching the lanternlight.
"Glory to the Redeemer."
Sophia straightened.
Without another word, she turned toward the corpse.
Her footsteps were almost silent as she approached the fallen acolyte.
She looked down at him.
His body lay twisted against the carpet, surrounded by a spreading pool of blood.
For several seconds, she simply observed him.
Then she knelt.
Her bandaged fingers reached toward the dead man's face.
His eyes remained open.
Sophia gently closed them.
Then she placed two fingers against his forehead.
Her head lowered.
"May the Redeemer forgive the weakness that corrupted your heart."
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"May your failures serve as a warning to those who remain."
She paused.
Then continued.
"And may your soul find judgment beneath His light."
For a moment, she remained still.
Then she lowered her hand.
Without hesitation, she grasped the fabric beneath the man's shoulder and began dragging him toward the rear of the tent.
The body left a dark streak across the carpet.
Sophia didn't react.
She had offered her prayer.
Now she had work to do.
Ivan returned to his desk.
He sat down.
Adjusted the sleeves of his robe.
Then reached toward a large parchment resting beneath several reports.
He unrolled it across the polished wooden surface.
A map of the underground.
The sprawling network of tunnels stretched across the parchment, marked by passages, chambers, entrances, and the locations of the Faith's detection runes.
Small golden symbols indicated the placement of the runes, while several red markings identified areas searched during the raid.
Ivan examined it.
His gloved finger moved along the eastern passage.
Then stopped.
"...Here."
He tapped a narrow section of the map.
According to the acolytes' report, this was where the fugitive had last been seen.
Ivan followed the passage farther.
Then stopped again.
His golden mask tilted.
"...Interesting."
The tunnel ended.
There was no recorded exit.
No staircase.
No connecting passage.
Only a dead end.
Ivan leaned closer.
He traced the route again.
The same result.
A man carrying two injured individuals had escaped through a passage that, according to the Faith's records, offered no way out.
And he'd done so without activating the detection runes.
Ivan slowly straightened.
"...How very interesting."
His fingers tapped against the parchment.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
This was no ordinary fugitive.
Whoever he was, he possessed knowledge that the Faith itself apparently lacked.
Ivan looked toward the marked passage.
Then toward the symbols representing the nearby detection runes.
His fingers slowly curled.
"...A traitor."
Behind him, the faint sound of fabric scraping against the carpet continued.
Eventually, it stopped.
A moment later, Sophia returned carrying a basin of water and several cloths.
She knelt beside the bloodstained carpet and began cleaning.
Ivan remained seated behind his desk, his golden mask tilted toward the parchment spread across its surface.
A man capable of using mana without triggering the runes.
A man who had escaped four pursuing acolytes while carrying two other individuals.
And a man who had somehow disappeared into a passage that, according to the Faith's own records, offered no possible escape.
Ivan stared at the parchment.
The implications were troubling.
If the man possessed authorization to bypass the runes, then someone within the Faith was acting without permission. If he didn't, then someone had discovered a means of circumventing the very instruments through which the Faith maintained its authority.
Neither possibility was acceptable.
And worse, it had happened under his command.
Ivan's fingers tightened against the desk.
Unacceptable.
He had spent years serving the Redeemer, maintaining order and ensuring that those beneath his authority understood the consequences of disobedience. Yet somewhere within his jurisdiction, a man had openly violated the Faith's restrictions and escaped without leaving so much as a trace.
What would the priests think?
What would they say when they learned that a Collector had allowed such a thing to happen?
His golden mask slowly lowered.
"...A traitor."
The word escaped almost involuntarily.
He would need to consult the priests. Perhaps they would recognize the technique or identify someone capable of using it.
But first, he needed guidance.
Ivan slowly rose from his chair.
The heavy white fabric of his robes shifted around him, the intricate golden embroidery along their edges catching the warm light of the surrounding lanterns. His long black stole swayed gently against his chest as he stepped away from the desk.
Near the rear of the tent stood a small pedestal.
Resting upon it was a golden emblem depicting the radiant sun of the Redeemer.
Ivan approached it.
For several moments, he simply stood before the symbol, his featureless golden mask reflecting its polished surface.
Then he lowered himself onto both knees.
The long white robes gathered around him, spreading across the carpet in immaculate folds. He carefully adjusted the fabric so that none of the embroidered edges became trapped beneath his legs.
Only then did he straighten his back.
His shoulders slowly lowered as he leaned forward, bowing his upper body toward the ground in a motion so familiar that it required no thought. His arms extended before him, and his black gloved hands came together, palms facing upward, as though offering something invisible to the golden emblem.
He continued lowering himself until his forehead hovered just above the carpet, the edge of his golden mask nearly touching the fabric beneath him.
For a moment, he remained perfectly still.
"Great Redeemer..."
His voice was quiet, carrying none of the anger that had filled the tent only moments earlier.
"Forgive this humble servant for allowing such corruption to take root beneath Your gaze."
He remained bowed.
"A traitor walks freely within Your domain. One who has turned from Your light and now seeks refuge among the shadows."
His fingers curled slightly.
"Through my own failure, I have allowed this blasphemy to remain unpunished."
Ivan lowered his head a fraction more.
"Grant me Your guidance."
The lanterns flickered.
"Illuminate the path this wretched soul has taken. Reveal the darkness in which he hides, and grant me the strength to deliver the judgment he has earned."
Behind him, Sophia had finished cleaning the bloodstained carpet.
She quietly set the basin aside.
Then turned toward the golden emblem.
Without speaking, she lowered herself onto both knees several paces behind Ivan.
Her gray robes settled around her legs as she brought her hands together before her, palms facing upward. Her shoulders dropped, and she leaned forward in the same practiced motion, allowing the long strands of white hair beneath her hood to spill toward the carpet.
She bowed until her forehead rested just above the ground.
And she listened.
"I ask not for mercy upon him," Ivan continued.
His voice grew firmer.
"Only that I may carry out Your will."
His golden mask remained lowered toward the carpet, his body still bowed in reverence.
"And when he is found, may his punishment remind all who witness it that none may escape Your judgment."
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Ivan slowly raised his shoulders, straightening his back while remaining on his knees. His hands stayed together before him, palms upward, as he lifted his golden mask toward the radiant emblem.
"Glory to the Redeemer."
Behind him, Sophia followed his movements, gradually raising her head while keeping her hands extended.
"Glory to the Redeemer."
Their voices faded into the silence of the tent.
Then, together, they spoke the final word.
"Velisar."
Ivan remained kneeling for several moments longer.
Eventually, he lowered his hands and rose.
Sophia followed.
The Collector turned toward his desk, where the map of the underground remained open.
His golden mask settled upon the eastern passage.
The same passage where the unknown man had disappeared.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
Then, almost gently, he spoke.
"...You should have stayed hidden."