"It seems you believe my paladins' skill to be... inadequate for the task, Eska," the Speaker says, a grin spreading across his face, though his words carry a sharp edge.
"Perhaps we should strike another deal—one that involves your newfound... confidence," he adds, his tone dripping with condescension, his pause deliberate, as though savoring the insinuation.
"Once again, you brand me a criminal, only to hand me tasks to prove otherwise. At this point, it feels like you're the one doubting your own people's adequacy." Her words slice through the room, their sting obvious as even the paladins shift uncomfortably in their seats.
For the first time, the Speaker's mask slips, a flicker of a frown breaking through his otherwise polished facade. Only a few of the paladins notice the change, their gazes darting to him in surprise.
His tone lowers, colder now. "Be careful Eska, my patience only carries so far."
Eska straightens her posture, her voice steady but cutting. "Right," she says with a slight, mocking bow. "And what would your majesty have me do to prove my innocence once more for a crime I once again didn't commit?"
The Speaker lets out a theatrical sigh, his grin returning but tinged with something darker.
"You are to join the investigation of the murders. I'll leave it to those present to share their findings... if they so choose." His gaze sweeps across the room, lingering on the paladins, daring them to speak.
Eska's lips curl into a faint, sarcastic smile as she rises to meet his gaze head-on.
"Of course," she says, her voice light but brimming with defiance. "It wouldn't be a mercy otherwise, would it?"
The Speaker rises abruptly, his movement sharp and almost uncharacteristically brisk, as if some unseen force compels him to leave. The calm, calculated aura he so carefully projects wavers ever so slightly, an unusual tension radiating from his form.
His robes swirl around him as he strides toward the chamber's exit, his back to the room, his mask of composure threatening to crack further with each step. Without a word, Miriel glides after him, her expression serene yet her keen eyes betraying a trace of curiosity, as though sensing the unease emanating from the man she follows.
The heavy doors creak open and close behind them, leaving the room steeped in a heavy, contemplative silence.
As the Speaker and Miriel vanish through the massive doors, the tension in the room lingers like an uninvited guest. One by one, the paladins begin to leave.
Some cast Eska passing glares or dismissive nods, while others offer nothing at all. By the time the chamber settles again, only four remain: Athos, Lenna, Valen, and a towering woman with an imposing presence, her dark brown eyes fixed intently on Eska.
Italia stands with grace, her long black hair tied back in a taut ponytail that sways slightly as she moves. Her muscles ripple visibly beneath the tailored paladin uniform, a testament to years of grueling training and combat.
She strides toward Eska and plants herself firmly in front of her.
Italia narrows her eyes, her voice filled with challenge. "You've made plenty of enemies today," she declares. "Speaking with such disrespect to one of the most revered members of the church? That's something I can't let slide."
She crosses her arms, towering at nearly six feet, before cracking her knuckles. "You want our information, and I want to kick your ass. Let's settle this with a duel—By the end, the winner gets what they want," she says with a deadly serious tone.
Eska blinks, clearly caught off guard.
"Paladins are allowed to duel?" she asks, curiosity flickering in her voice.
"Of course we are!" Italia scoffs. "How else do you think we test ourselves? Not everyone goes hunting Thaxil to try out new techniques." A smirk forms, but it falters when Eska tilts her head thoughtfully.
"Then why haven't any paladins challenged me yet?" Eska wonders aloud, raising an eyebrow. "Lenna's been glaring daggers at me since I arrived. Honestly, I'm pretty sure 'kicking my ass' is at the top of everyone's to-do list."
Italia hesitates, her eyes widening slightly as she hunches down to match Eska's height. "Uh… good question," she mutters, her confidence wavering. "I guess not everyone's into fighting?"
"Ahem." The sharp sound of Athos clearing his throat breaks the moment. Italia instantly straightens up, trying to regain her composure, while Valen drags a hand down his face, clearly embarrassed.
Italia quickly shifts back into her confident persona, glaring down at Eska. "So, pipsqueak—what's it gonna be? Do you want the info or not?"
Eska grins, bouncing lightly on her feet as if the tension is nothing. "Oh yeah! I'll take the duel," she chirps, standing tall with newfound energy.
The streets grow quieter as Italia and Athos stride side by side. Italia's long swords, securely strapped across her back. Her piercing gaze focused across the passersby, who quickly avert their eyes. Beside her, Athos walks with an air of quiet authority, his sheer presence radiating an unspoken warning.
Those in their path whisper hurriedly to one another, some stepping aside to avoid even the chance of being noticed.
A vendor fumbles with his wares, dropping a piece of fruit that rolled to Italia's boot. She stops, her gaze shifting downward before locking onto the vendor with sharp intensity.
For a moment, the man looks ready to bolt.
Then, unexpectedly, Italia bends down, plucking the apple between her thumb and index finger with surprising care.
"Uh… sorry about that. Almost stepped on it," she mutters, her voice softer than anyone expects as she hunches over once more. The usual fire in her demeanor flickers, momentarily replaced by awkwardness.
Eska tilts her head curiously, watching as Italia awkwardly extends the apple toward the vendor.
"Here! You dropped this!" she blurts out as she notices Eska watching, her tone louder than necessary as she shoves the fruit into his arms. Without waiting for a reply, she straightens and resumes her commanding stride, her confidence snapping back into place as if nothing happened.
Athos says nothing, though a subtle shake of his head betrays his silent amusement. Valen, trailing behind, groans and drags a hand over his face.
"Unbelievable," he mutters under his breath, more embarrassed than anyone else about the exchange.
As Italia and Athos approach the training grounds, the air feels heavier, almost as if the tension they carry follows them like a storm cloud. The open expanse, lined with worn training dummies and scuffed stones from countless sparring matches, falls unnaturally silent.
Recruits scattered across the grounds pause mid-swing, their wooden weapons frozen in the air as their eyes lock onto the pair entering.
Italia steps onto the stone first. Her imposing frame, combined with the twin swords strapped to her back, makes the younger fighters shuffle nervously. Some try to focus on their practice, pretending not to notice her, but their poorly aimed strikes and stiff movements betray their unease.
Italia, seemingly unfazed, keeps her chin high and strides forward.
Athos follows close behind, his calm, measured steps somehow just as intimidating. He scans the grounds with the detached scrutiny of a seasoned veteran and the recruits who meet his gaze quickly find somewhere else to look.
A few muttered whispers ripple through the crowd, their voices carrying despite the effort to remain quiet.
"Why are they both here?" one recruit whispers.
"No idea, but I'm not sticking around to find out," another hisses, awkwardly retreating toward the edge of the grounds.
Italia notices the movement and slows her stride, her smirk widening slightly. "What's the matter? Didn't expect a visit from the big kids?" she calls out.
A few of the recruits flinch but none dare respond.
Eska lags behind the two, glancing around at the uneasy crowd. She leans toward Valen, whispering loud enough for him to hear. "Is it always this… tense?"
Valen sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Only when she's involved," he mutters, nodding toward Italia. "And he's not exactly helping." His gaze shifts to Athos, whose expression remains unreadable as ever.
The group finally stops in the center of the grounds, the awkward silence now so thick anyone could grasp it.
Italia stretches her arms casually, rolling her shoulders as if she doesn't notice—or perhaps enjoys—the stares fixed on her. Athos crosses his arms, his steady presence adding weight to the moment. Around them, the recruits hesitate, unsure if they should leave, stay, or simply stop breathing altogether.
It's clear that whatever is about to happen, no one wants to be caught in the crossfire.
"Am I fighting both of you?" Eska asks, her brow furrowed in confusion over the duel's rules.
"You're fighting me!" Italia shouts, jabbing her thumb toward her chest with confidence. Then, glancing over her shoulder at Athos, she hunches slightly. "Though… I have no idea why he's here," she adds, her tone shifting to mild confusion.
Without a word, Athos moves to the edge of the sparring square, ignoring the remark entirely.
"Right!" Italia shouts again, straightening up as her commanding tone returns. "Valen over there will call the start!" She gestures toward him with her index.
Eska tilts her head, her curiosity showing once more. "Wait… you're not using wooden weapons?"
Italia leans forward slightly, her lips curling into a grin that carries a flicker of something darker.
"Oh, no," she says, her voice dripping with excitement. "We're using the real deal. No holds barred. Whatever happens… happens."
The subtle bloodlust in her tone is a stark departure from her earlier awkwardness and it sends a ripple of unease through the few recruits still lingering nearby.