Aquarius rested on the back of the sofa, appearing calm and relaxed. His words flowed like water:
"…Well, I believe you know very well what I want—as well as what the family backing me wants. But just for the sake of formality, I might as well…" He took off the bracelet without remorse and set it down on the coffee table between the three of them, picking up the cup of tea right next to it.
The two aged men looked at the glimmering bracelet with swirling energy in each bead with stark avarice. Aquarius spoke as they marveled at the mystical object, his tone calm and perfectly even.
"This is my proof of participation, crafted and granted to me by Blessen Exousia herself. It's quite the artifact, far better than anything on the market; both above and below." He said eloquently as he took a sip of his tea, letting his words brew in the aged men's mind.
After a while, he continued. "I believe you'll be quite happy with its make and quality. I had this thing graded by five appraisers just this week.
"All of them marveled at the craftsmanship! They all said that its definitely a rarity, two even suspecting that its an ancient family heirloom. Of course, you can argue that they are, in a way, an heirloom meant to be passed down from one select individual to the next, but let's leave that aside for now.
"What the most interesting about this rarity isn't its maker or materials—but the ways it can be used."
The two aged men looked at him with crystal-clear eyes shining with interest.
It was at this moment Aquarius knew his offer had been seriously considered.
He smiled faintly, keeping his calm and even demeanor.
"This city is currently undergoing a huge cataclysmic event, one which may very well change the infallible political and military aspects that this city has been working off on, ever since its destruction and reconstruction a decade ago—during King's Oblivion, the event that remade the whole world as we know it."
The two aged men nodded at the same time. After a few moments of silent rumination, Moriarty whispered something to Holmes, glancing suspiciously to Aquarius.
He just smiled in return, silently enhancing his ears and picking up bits and pieces of the old man's hushed whisper.
"…don't trust… interest… profit… possible danger… a trap… the Silata's reputation… creepy…"
'Creepy?!' Indignant, Aquarius almost gritted his teeth and punched the man in the face.
But he picked himself up immediately afterward, calming his mind with an amicable smile—the same smile he wore whenever he felt annoyed or crestfallen. When he felt he had gathered enough information from the aged man, James Moriarty, Aquarius deactivated his Enhancement and took a sip his tea.
It was sweet, but not by much. The taste lingered for a while and left with a rather bitter aftertaste—just the way he liked it.
His thoughts swirled and spiraled behind the seemingly innocent face of an experienced dealmaker.
'So, they have doubts. Damn commoners. Who do they think they are? …No, their distrust is understandable; even I would be a little suspicious if one of the most infamous and powerful family representatives and heir came to my office and offered such an ungodly deal.'
He continued:
"As quite the famous and well-connected detectives that you gentlemen are, I believe that you already know of the circumstances that I speak of: the sudden announcement of the daughter of the mighty Exouisa's hand in marriage, and the competition that various families and factions that seek to gain that hand, as well as the power, assets, and influence behind it.
"I am a representative of one of the families that seek that hand. Heir to one of the most powerful families involved."
He sighed.
"Unfortunately, our main competitor has lost his standing, and thus myself—the once-considered backup of sorts, had no choice but to take center stage. It really is quite a baffling occurrence, is it not, my good man?"
He smiled and threw his head back, laughing like a madman.
The two aged men eyed him warily. After a moment, Sherlock Holmes pointed to the beaded bracelet with swirling energy within them.
He said with a bit of an attitude:
"So, this proof of participation yours… what exactly is it? I can see that it has an outstanding amount of purified mana within it. Hell, anybody with eyes can see that!"
"I concur." James Moriarty nodded beside him, his back straight as an arrow.
'How uptight. Does he have a stick up his ass?'
Crafting his smile with familiarity, Aquarius nodded sternly.
"Yes, well, for one it can be used a medium for magical and spiritual rituals. One can, with some level of skill, use it to contain power and load up certain abilities for later use. It can also be used to store mana and souls, though the latter requires a rather complicated ritual to do so.
"It also serves as a form of identification; one of the qualifications required to participate in this game of blood and sacrifice. Each member is assigned a designation: mine is Aquarius. There are twelve of us in total.
"Each 'proof of participation,' as you may call it, has its own enchantment unique to that item. Though the containment aspect—the item's ability store and contain certain things—remains the same for all of them."
Glancing at his partner James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes nodded and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees with a sharp glare. It was as if decades of his life had gone just like that; it was as if he had returned to his prime.
"And what does your 'proof of participation' do? What enchantment has it been specifically forged with?"
Aquarius's smile seemed to brighten as he set the tea cup and coaster down, crossing his legs. His eyes half-closed, turning insidious.
"Why, my proof of participation has quite the rare and powerful enchantment—it has the ability to steal, store, and use somebody else's ability and mutation."
"…?!" James Moriarty's eyes flew open, showing the most reaction out of anybody.
"..." Sherlock Holmes, on the other hand, was drowning in his own thoughts. The news of the item's unique enchantment seemed to interest him a great deal.
"This is…" The aged man with blue eyes muttered, his voice fading into incoherent mumbles.
'I don't think I can understand that even if used Enchantment on my ears… Well, like I need to, anyways. It's quite easy to tell what's going on in those two's minds. Greed. Curiosity. Wariness. Those three are the most likely candidates from top to bottom respectively.'
Enshrouded by the two aged men's interest of his proof of participation, Aquarius tipped his head an grinned slyly.
Immediately after, he wiped the grin off his face and looked back at the two men, pulling out a thick envelope from his inner jacket pocket and sliding it across the coffee table with a flick of his wrist.
The envelope stopped just before it fell to the floor. Sherlock Holmes eyed it for a second, then removed the unmarked sealed and pulled out the thick stack of papers inside
"This is information on all the contestants, as well as their affiliations and codename." He muttered after a minute of reading, exasperation and astonishment in his tone.
Aquarius, who had been waiting patiently for the past minute, smiled brilliantly.
"Yes, they are. Though, they are rather incomplete; other than their names and affiliations, we have no other explicably valuable and sensitive information. That's where you come in.
"With your vast experience and specific set of skills, I believe you lot are more than capable of fulfilling my requests.
"That is, to stealthily investigate and retrieve the information concerning the strength, magical abilities, possible mutation, spell count, level, class, and weakness of all the other contestants—except myself and my family, the Silata, of course."
◇◆◇◆◇
*tumptumptumptumptump*
Slamming footsteps echoed across the dimly lit hallway where Lieren stood, his heart sunken and his body on the verge of breaking down completely. His mind was muffled by a thick fog, clouding his thoughts and words.
'Time to put on a show, I guess.'
...Rounding the corner of the dimly lit hallway, the first of Sagittarius's goons halted their march, freezing all of a sudden as they saw what looked to be a broken puppet.
It was small and lanky, thin but not too angular. Its face was hidden behind a thick shadow,—akin to the smog spewing from a chimney. Its arms and legs were thin and somewhat malnourished; one of them held a dimly glowing dagger, almost as bright as the torches lining the hallway.
The puppet seemed to be broken, its arms, legs and torso either injured or wrapped in red strings, which was the same color as blood.
"Watch out!"
Launching itself to the small gang of four goons, the broken puppet swiped its dagger, only to cut thin air. As if clockwork, it moved to the side, dodging a small bullet the size of a thumb; it was made out of water.
It was as if the puppet was moving by some somebody else's will and intent. One of the goons with a curved blade hanging by his waist pulled out the odd weapon. He cut the air so fast it whistled.
The broken puppet already knew of this, somehow, and bent his knees, ducking underneath the blow. The curved blade, however, suddenly turned mid-attack, cutting down instead of across.
Unexpected, the broken puppet brought its dagger up with a motion unbefitting its desecrated image. The stark dagger flowed. Steel clashed and the two blades created a bright spark, and for a second, the owner of the curved blade weapon almost saw the face of a child. Almost.
Taking a step back, the swordsman with a curved blade brought his weapon close to his torso, and sparks lit up again. The broken puppet lashed at him with swift reaction speed, having already recovered from a near killing blow. It was fitting; puppets were not made to know fear or dread. It need only fulfill its purpose.
The swordsman parried the flurry of slashes, taking steps back occasionally. The next second, a small droplet of water streaked through the air at astounding speed. He dodged nimbly.
And the broken puppet didn't. It had noticed the attack, but was too wary to leave the swordsman alone. It grazed the thing's shoulder, nicking the blood red strings strewn around it. The strings dangled.
But the broken puppet didn't stop, immediately lashing out with another flurry of attacks… or so it seemed. Just as the swordsman was about to play defensive again to buy an opportunity, the thing ducked underneath the curved blade and wailed its dagger at his side, cutting deep. The dagger was unnaturally sharp.
Realizing that the puppet, broken it maybe, could use sharpen its own blades magically, the swordsman lashed out with his curved blade, catching the thing unexpected.
Sparks flew.
Looking down, he realized that the puppet had predicted his epiphany, and thus suitably manipulated its pattern, redirecting his curved blade away like a stream. And then, it took a step back, covering more distance than it should.
The swordsman did the same, switching back to defense. Behind him, a robed figure emitted a white aura from her hands, enveloping him with power. His mind cleared a little. He didn't have to squint to make out the thin figure's silhouette anymore.
The broken puppet, meanwhile, dashed to the side. It approached methodically at one of the goons—the Seacaster who had nicked its shoulder.
He made a quick judgment, bent his knees and sheathed his sword. The words followed:
"Sword Style, First Form: Midday's Fury."
Flames ignited by his feet like a furnace, and his figure almost left afterimages as it took a step forward, appearing between friend and foe. Unsheathing his sword, he ignited it, casting a dim red glow on the now scorching blade.
The broken puppet froze for a second, and that was all he needed. Lashing out, his blade cut the thing in half…
But that was when it happened. A dim blue glow emanated where the broken puppet's eyes should have been, and his vision warped.
Space seemed to bend as slithering lines flowed from the thing's eyes.
Cuts and lacerations appeared all around his arm, disturbing his form and concentration. Even with help, his mind failed to maintain its form and ultimately faltered. Pain made his senses numb and he backed away from the broken puppet, stopping just a foot shy from his Seacaster companion.
Holding his blade tight, he brandished it with a scowl and assumed a stance a second slower than usual. Though fruitless, he provoked:
"Come at me, puppet. Let us see which blade is the sharpest."
His foe did not respond. Instead, it stopped, as if its gears had been unwound, and its arms fell to its side. The swordsman didn't for a second that the thing had been defeated, when barely any damage had been done to it.
But his guess had been wrong, somehow, and slowly, the thing faltered, and the thing fell face first—if it even had one.
*thump*
A low, muffled sound filled the empty hallway. The swordsman's stance did not falter one bit.
"Would you knock it off?" His Seacaster friend said behind him. "You're being paranoid again."
The swordsman frowned, his eyes trained on the thing's fallen carcass. "It's better to fear than to suffer. That way, you won't get hurt."
The Seacaster rolled her eyes, glancing further back. She said, her voice tinged with annoyance:
"Hey, Klein, could you check if it's still moving? Sai's paranoid aside, it's better safe than sorry."
"Sai" frowned, but remained in his stance, unflinching. A voice resounded from the shadows:
"Right, right. I know the drill." A lean man appeared, scratching the back of his head, and glanced at Sai as he walked past nonchalantly.
"You're courting death." Said Sai, still frowning.
Klein smiled as he approached the puppet's carcass, leaning over. "At least I'm efficient."
Looking down, he pressed his hand on the remains of the broken puppet, and his eyes.
A few minutes later, he opened his eyes in surprise, then mused curiously. "Well, this is a surprise. The Hatter would be very pleased with this."
Sai squinted. "With what?"
Klein smiled and heaved the broken puppet on his shoulder. "With the contestant of the main Exousia family, of course. The infamous Aries himself."