"Hmph, you would discover that my father has no desire to protect me. In truth, he would relish the day I finally draw my last breath. That man has been waging—"
The Viceroy fell silent, his eyes shut tightly as he suppressed any further thoughts or words about his father. Mavislin tilted her head in curiosity, then suddenly shot upward, her movements swift and deliberate.
"Let's wash up and turn in for the night. I plan to skip dinner but you are welcome to grab something from the main hall from earlier," said the suddenly upbeat dragoness as she stretched her arms.
"And how shall I do so when I'm being hated by every staff member here, including the cafeteria servers?"
Mavislin's eyes widened, and she blinked several times before turning to the blonde, who was rising from his spot with a calm demeanor.
Despite having been knocked back by a punch from a girl smaller than him, Zenos retained an air of confidence and elegance as he brushed away the debris from the incident. He continued to gaze at his trophy as if she were the only thing that truly mattered to him.
"Do you think that the cafeteria servers are different from Venom's staff?" quizzed the dragoness.
"Am I mistaken?"
"Yes. Every staff you've seen here is Venom's brethren and is an active Syndicate member. They didn't provide you with food because you are literally the face of the Northern Cartel and most likely had killed people that they've worked with or known."
Mavislin sighed, beckoning the Viceroy to step closer. As he obliged, a single strand of her hair shifted, elongating and morphing into a sleek, medium-sized serpent.
It sprang forth, coiling gracefully around the blonde's neck like a scarf, though, on him, it resembled a necklace—a subtle, watchful adornment against his collar.
"Once they see this, they are bound to give you something to eat. After all, Venom ranks beneath me so they are much more scared of me," explained the female as she released more snakes into different directions, passing through walls to head outside.
"Ah, so that's why they call you the Intelligence sector's leader, with your little nest of serpents ever at the ready. Though, tell me—isn't your rank equal to Venom's? Merely two sides of the same board, after all," noted the Viceroy.
"We are, but I wasn't talking about ranks based on script. I'm talking strength in combat. Even though he might have an edge on me with regard to firearms, I would still win by a landslide since I'm constantly on ground zero on the battlefields."
The blonde closed his eyes and nodded before making his way to the bathroom.
"If you're worried about clothes, don't. There should be a bathrobe your size behind the door and the closet has more comfortable clothing for resting, also in your size. We once had a person of your stature so Venom could accommodate easily for you," said Mavislin.
Zenos remained silent, methodically washing up as Mavislin settled herself at the desk, stifling a yawn. She scanned the reports that Venom had thoughtfully organized, the information distilled into concise bullet points for ease.
The enemy they faced was far more formidable than anything she and her trusted ally had encountered in the past two years. Even after consulting with Medusa, neither she nor the ancient being could determine the true nature or origin of their opponent.
Theories spun in her mind. Was this foe inspired by legend? Mavislin had previously suggested that the Four were born from the collective prayers and beliefs of devoted followers, a concept or idea that had somehow taken form.
But what kind of Magecraft could bring such an entity to life? Surely, this wasn't something conjured within a single moon; it must have taken years to manifest.
Yet even with time, a core belief, an initial inspiration, or a devout cult was necessary. An entity needed something more substantial than sheer will to emerge into being. Could such a force simply appear out of thin air? The thought left her unsettled.
"The way your mind churns, the look of intense focus—you make it nearly impossible to resist you. But even so, I must admit... I still prefer you painted in blood," smirked a cheeky Viceroy as he emerged out of the bath, wearing the white bathrobe provided.
"I hope it's not my blood..." said the dragoness, lazily as she scribbled some more notes.
"Never yours."
The blonde then comfortably sat on the edge of the bed and crossed a leg over the other, all while staring at the girl.
"it has been nearly a week and I have yet to still get used to your staring. This time, it's piercing the back of my head so would you mind not doing so?" requested Mavislin, eyes not leaving her papers.