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In the world of Honor of Blade
Grey Forge City
The winds were sharp this morning, but the Inquisitor did not feel them. He stood on the edge of the Central Plaza, his grey robe rippling slightly as he stared across the open stone square. The buildings around him were silent, casting long shadows from the cold steel sunrays that filtered down.
Opposite him stood a man clad in the distinctive white-and-black garments of the Blind Wisdom—a high-ranking priest, a well-known figure within the Intelligence Agency.
The tension between them was not sudden. It had built slowly, over the last few days.
A corpse had been discovered in the Northen Slums—a man with no family, living under a false name. The kind of person who often vanished in cities like Grey Forge. But here, laws mattered. Here, actions had consequences.
The Blind Wisdom priest had claimed the man was a confirmed enemy agent, a foreign operative working for a faction that had long opposed the city's interests. He claimed swift action was necessary. That the man had been preparing to leave, to vanish with valuable information.
But the Inquisitor was unmoved. His voice was calm, as it always was.
"There is no record of authorization. No warrant issued. No approval obtained. The erasure was illegal."
The priest's eyes narrowed. "He was a danger. Delay would have risked—"
"Intent does not erase law. Evidence must be reviewed. Process must be followed. That is our way."
The priest was clearly agitated. He glanced to his left, then to his right. There were no witnesses, no guards in sight. Only the Inquisitor. Only silence.
"I won't fight you," the priest said at last. "This is not worth bloodshed. I will return to the Church and await judgment."
The Inquisitor did not move.
Then something shifted.
A flicker of something unseen.
The priest stiffened. His breath hitched. His eyes widened—something unseen clawed at his spine, whispering madness.
The fear was sudden. Deep. Unnatural. He gritted his teeth.
Before he knew it, his blade was drawn. His feet moved on instinct. His training took over. He struck.
Steel flashed. Aura surged.
But it was useless.
He heard the words just as the cold pierced his heart.
"Killed innocent. Attacked law. Judgment: DEATH."
The Inquisitor's voice came from behind him. A moment later, the priest's body collapsed to the ground, a spear of light-tinged aura protruding from his back.
There was no struggle. No resistance.
Only silence once again.
---
The following day, the City Committee met behind closed doors. The grand meeting chamber of Grey Forge City was dimly lit, the long stone table surrounded by four chairs—one for each of the city's pillars.
At the head sat Leo, the City Lord. He was calm, a bit too calm, and also very happy.
To his left sat General Mara, draped in her grey military cloak. Battle-hardened and known for her brutal efficiency.
Next to her was Economist Kewlyn, a thin man with shrewd eyes, known for his tendency to remain neutral—unless he saw a clear winner.
And finally, seated across from them all, was the Inquisitor. His presence filled the room with a heavy stillness.
He spoke first. His words were measured. Precise.
He recounted the event. The illegal execution. The priest's attack. The judgment rendered.
Then, he turned his attention to the broader issue: the unchecked power of Arnold, Pope of the Blind Wisdom.
"He commands a private army under the guise of Intelligence. Operates without oversight. Kills without trial. This weakens us. Weakens law. Weakens unity."
Leo nodded. "I've suspected this for some time. His priests no longer consult with the city's core. They act alone, in secret. That is not the agreement we forged."
Mara's voice was firm. "We cannot allow this to continue. I support the Inquisitor's motion. The Intelligence Agency must fall under city law, not one man's word."
Kewlyn hesitated, then tapped his fingers twice on the table. "The risk is high. But the risk of inaction is higher. I support the motion."
Leo raised his hand.
"Then it is decided."
From that moment, the Intelligence Agency, once reporting only to Arnold and the Church, was placed under Inquisition supervision.
All future erasures—no matter how urgent—required documented evidence and formal approval. No exceptions.
Arnold had not been invited to the meeting.
He was informed afterward.
---
Within the Blackstone Cathedral, hidden beneath layers of aura-forged wards, Arnold paced in his private chambers.
He was furious. But not surprised.
Two senior priests stood silently near the door, watching their leader's expression shift from anger to something far colder.
"Do you understand what has happened?" Arnold asked, his voice low.
Neither priest answered.
"This was not justice," Arnold said. "This was a power move."
He began to explain.
"The Inquisitor is known for neutrality. He stood aside even during the storm that nearly unseated Leo. But this? This was coordinated. He was there the moment our priest acted. Not a second too early. Not a second too late."
One of the priests finally spoke. "Perhaps he anticipated—"
"No. It wasn't anticipation. It was manipulation." Arnold's eyes gleamed. "He made the priest attack."
A pause.
"The Inquisitor has the Killing Intent Attribute."
That changed everything.
Killing Intent wasn't common. It wasn't even known by most commoners. But those who studied aura understood it. A terrifying attribute—one that induced dread, hallucination, even mindless aggression in those of weaker will.
"It explains the panic," Arnold said. "Our priest was not a coward. He was trained. But under the influence of raw Killing Intent? Even a lion will gnaw its own paw off."
He turned toward the black window of the chamber, staring out toward the distant dome of the Inquisition Tower.
"I thought he was a tool. A force of balance. But now I see—he has chosen a side."
Arnold clenched his fist behind his back.
"This wasn't about one priest. This was about control. About bringing my agency under Leo's boot."
He turned back to his subordinates.
"I made a mistake. I assumed the balance still held. But that balance has shifted."
---
In the streets below, the citizens of Grey Forge moved as always—unaware of the invisible war erupting in the high towers above.
But the signs were there.
Priests of Blind Wisdom walked in tighter groups now. They spoke less.
Inquisition patrols doubled. The black sigil of their order was painted across stone checkpoints in the inner district.
People noticed. Whispers spread.
Something was changing.
And deep in the shadows of Grey Forge City, factions began to stir.
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