Overlooking the ocean stood a once proud and formidable fortress. Its stone walls, weathered by time and the harsh ocean winds. Once a vigilant sentinel guarding against enemies, the fort was now little more than a hollow shell of its former self. The walls were cracked and overgrown with ivy, and the iron gate that once protected its inhabitants had rusted beyond recognition. The high, arched windows, once filled with light, now stood dark as silent remnants of a bygone era. The top of the fortress was shrouded in an eerie mist, obscured from the eye. While the fort, though abandoned, remained a silent witness to the secrets that had unfolded within its walls.
From the outside, the fortress appeared forsaken. But within its stone confines, a different reality unfolded. The Knighthood Order of the Deep Veil, long banished and outlawed in the kingdom of Virelia, still persisted. Once led by a Grandmaster who had turned against the realm, following the twisted ideals of the unholy beasts of Chaos, the order's past was marked by bloodshed. These beasts taught that humanity and all other species were imperfect and needed purging. Any transgression, no matter how minor, warranted cleansing by fire and death.
Many Grandmasters had come after the fall of their predecessor, each pleading for amnesty from Virelia's new rulers. Yet, each had been met with swift and brutal execution. One, led astray, had destroyed the once-proud order. However, there were still whispers that a pardon would soon be granted, and with it, the return of the Knights of the Deep Veil.
The fortress itself was protected by a magical barrier that cloaked it in an illusion of decay, deceiving any outside observer into thinking it was abandoned. This allowed the order's teachings to continue in secret, far from the prying eyes of the kingdom. Though many of the noble bloodlines who had once been part of the order had vanished, their places had been filled by orphans and outcasts, people with no ties to anyone but themselves. Some believed that since they held no ties, betrayal would be kept at bay.
A towering figure moved silently along the fortress's once sturdy stone walkway, his weathered cloak billowing in the brisk ocean winds. Beneath the cloak, his finely crafted black sweater protected him from the chill, while his hood obscured most of his face, leaving only a hint of pale skin visible. As he passed through the magic barrier, the true state of the fortress was uncovered. The exterior was solid and reinforced with adamantine, a rare stone known only to be found in distant regions of the world. The iron gates opened swiftly, as the barrier recognized his familiar mana and allowed him entry without question.
"I trust your scouting mission went well?" A voice, feminine and commanding, echoed from the shadows.
Standing before him was the Grandmaster, Seraphina. Slightly taller than average, she possessed striking beauty. A cascade of cerulean hair framed her flawless, radiant skin, while her silver eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence. Her features were soft, but her posture was confident, and she carried herself with the poise of one who feared nothing. Despite her confident aura, she couldn't have been more than eighteen.
"Nothing of immediate concern," the tall figure, Deacon, responded, bowing slightly. "However, I did observe some of the other knightly orders conducting military exercises near Virelia's border."
"I assume you weren't caught?" Seraphina's eyebrow arched with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.
"I was not. However, I was able to catch some of their scouts..." With a flick of his wrist, Deacon summoned a teleportation circle. From it, three unconscious figures materialized—scouts, still limp and unaware.
"I sensed them scouting the area near our fortress. They'll need years of training before they learn how to track properly," Deacon commented dryly, before pulling back his hood.
His disheveled black hair, streaked with gray, framed a face that was handsome yet marked by age beyond his years. His turquoise eyes, though striking, held an intensity that spoke of a life lived through countless trials.
"I didn't send you to capture prisoners," Seraphina sighed, her expression one of both exasperation and concern.
"I sent you to gather information on the surrounding orders. That was part of the mission report, Deacon." Seraphina reminded him.
"I know what I'm doing. We can interrogate them to get further information," Deacon said, his tone unwavering.
"I know you are trying your best to protect our order." Seraphina's voice softened slightly.
"But you can't bring enemies back into our fortress. There's always a chance they can escape. No matter how small that chance may be." As Seraphina moved toward the unconscious scouts, her voice grew firmer.
"Our amnesty is coming soon, but even if we are pardoned, other knightly orders will still want to hunt us down. We need those healing mages now!" A group of healing mages appeared quickly, kneeling to attend to the scouts.
Though they were not severely harmed, Seraphina needed to ensure Deacon hadn't pushed them too far with his usual methods of dealing with those who tracked him.
"You didn't poison them, did you?" Seraphina asked, her voice tinged with caution.
"Of course not," Deacon replied, rolling his eyes. "They're just unconscious. They'll wake up in a few hours. Poison is prohibited. You constantly remind me." Deacon looked at his captives as they lay unconscious.
The healing mages whispered among themselves before reporting how injured the scouts were to Seraphina.
"I think you were too harsh on them," Seraphina muttered, her lips tight with frustration. "You almost killed them, Deacon. This won't help our cause if other orders realize we are killing their scouts." Seraphina pursed her lips.
Deacon smirked, unphased by her ire. "Maybe they shouldn't be scouting areas that don't concern them," he quipped, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. "They'll be fine."
"Yes, they will," Seraphina said firmly, though her worry remained.
"But you can't push them that far next time," Seraphina said, her gaze fixed on Deacon.
"We need to remain as peaceful as possible. If they think we're still hostile toward their orders, it will only hinder our goal of securing amnesty." He studied her carefully. She had changed so much since childhood. Back then, she was consumed by vengeance. Now, her focus was on peace and saving their order.
Seraphina and Deacon had grown up in the fortress, their lives intertwined by both fate and circumstance. Seraphina, the last scion of a once-prestigious royal bloodline, had seen her family's status fall when the royal house was overthrown by a coalition of dukes and counts. Deacon, on the other hand, had no knowledge of his origins, a fact that troubled him deeply.
Deacon gave a slight bow. "Very well, I'll write my report and send it once I'm finished."
Without waiting for a response, he entered the fortress, the familiar warmth of its interior greeting him. The hallways twisted and turned like a labyrinth, a design meant to confuse intruders, a precaution he knew well. Were it not for his intimate knowledge of the fortress, he would have quickly become lost. As he passed through the halls, he heard the sounds of voices and laughter from the dining hall. Dinner was about to be served, but Deacon's appetite had long since left him after the long day's work. Instead, he decided to focus on his report, knowing that Seraphina was counting on him to keep the order prepared for whatever challenges lay ahead.
He entered his office and quickly grabbed a parchment paper and began to write.
The iconoclasts are growing in number, sacrificing countless men and women to summon demons from the Realm of Chaos. Their armor appears to be forged from dark ore extracted from the depths of their domain, adorned with ancient runes or protective magic that decorate the outer shell. They can detect human mana, even when concealed. While their forces are not yet vast, if they are not discovered and eradicated in the coming months, they could easily sack and destroy the nearest city in Virelia.
They appear to have infiltrated both minor and mid-level orders. Some of these orders are present, witnessing the horrifying acts unfold before them. Yet, they seem complicit, all smiling when the demon is resurrected. The orders that do oppose the iconoclasts are few in number and will not be able to contain them for much longer.
A shiver coursed down Deacon's spine as he continued to write.
The information gathered from the local adventurer guilds suggests that nobles are also colluding with the heretics. If this intelligence is accurate, it means many more orders have been infiltrated. Which also strengthens the claims of multiple disappearances of impoverished citizens.
The streets of Vivlandia are deserted—what was once a city teeming with wealthy and impoverished citizens was now a ghost town. A prison guard was overheard laughing in a tavern, claiming that the prisoners from the nobles were transported out of the city and have never been heard from again. He believes they were executed. However, given the rumors circulating, it's safer to assume they were used as sacrifices.
The final section of the report is less significant. The crown's knightly orders are conducting military exercises near the border, but these exercises appear to be far more intense and combative than usual. It seems another war may be on the horizon. It is advisable for the order to closely monitor rations, as food and drink may become scarce.
Deacon set down his pen, shaking off the lingering ache from writing his report. He had left out a great deal of information. One rumor suggested that the royal family was seeking a new order to guard the crown prince, but he needed to verify the rumor. Another crucial detail he omitted was the events that transpired after summoning the demons from the Chaos realm. The Demons immediately massacred those who summoned them. No matter how powerful the summoning mage was, they could not control the primal bloodlust of the demons. This information was best kept secret, it would only cause fear within the order. The thought of those beasts lurking just beyond the fortress could easily lead to an uproar. Which was why Deacon was the only one carrying out the scouting missions.
Deacon quickly sealed his report in a parchment envelope. He would deliver it to Seraphina in the morning, after the daily missions were assigned. The older knights in the fortress were not particularly fond of taking orders from a mere teenager. However, she had defeated everyone who challenged her in combat, and her intelligence test scores were off the charts. Despite her superiority in every aspect of knighthood, they still harbored contempt for her.
Deacon quickly pulled a vial from his pocket and swirled its contents. It was a simple poison, one that would do the job swiftly and efficiently. Seraphina had warned him countless times that poison was prohibited, but when it came to her safety, he ignored her rules.
As he wandered through the hallways, he found the door to the individual he was looking for. The older knight was soundly asleep, snoring without a care in the world. Deacon uncapped the vial and swiftly rubbed the poison onto the knight's skin. It was lethal, and it didn't need to be ingested, the poison could be absorbed through the skin's pores.
The residue of the poison left on Deacon's fingers caused him a slight discomfort. However, having ingested and used this particular poison countless times, he had essentially built an immunity to it, rendering him unaffected by the toxins he employed.
As Deacon ignored his discomfort, the knight's snores grew strained as the poison took effect, gradually shutting down his lungs and heart. To everyone else in the order, his death would appear natural, but only Deacon knew the truth: he was the one who had killed the old knight.
Deacon slowly rose from the bed where he had been seated. He sunk into the shadows before finding his way to his office. The finest assassin, he knew, was one who never engaged in close combat—one who remained untraceable, able to achieve his goals while blending seamlessly into the background. After all, Deacon was not only skilled in close combat like a knight, but he could wield mana and cast destructive spells like a mage, and his intellect rivaled that of the best tacticians. After all, he had learned from the writings of the iconoclastic grandmaster who had brought ruin to his own order. Though radical, the grandmaster's teachings were undeniably effective in training those who sought power.