The six members of the board took their seats around a massive round table in a dimly lit chamber, heavy with the scent of old blood and incense. Shadows clung to the high stone walls, and at the center of it all sat Dion of Catharsa, the Arch-Sorcerer himself who has now a faint idea who the mole was.
His crimson eyes scanned the room, a cruel smirk playing at his lips.
"Do you know why I called you all here?"
Dion asked, his voice sharp and playful.
"Because I'm quite certain one of you does."
At his words, a dense black miasma filled the room. The air turned cold, and the other six trembled in its suffocating embrace.
The table held the seven strongest of the Cathars:
Ymir Malrick, Rank 2, Necromancer.
Mila Seraphine, Rank 3, Witch.
Josh Drevon, Rank 4, Warlock.
Morven Varyn, Rank 5, Curseweaver.
Diane Lilithra, Rank 6, Enchantress.
Crissa Nyxara, Rank 7, Poisoner Alchemist.
And at their head sat Dion of Catharsa, Rank 1, Arch-Sorcerer.
Dion leaned forward.
"I've been busy, and yet while my back was turned, some rat decided to move against me. Have I grown too soft?"
His words dripped with venomous sarcasm.
"Are you implying there's a traitor among us?"
Mila asked, her voice steady though her eyes were wary.
Dion chuckled.
"Three days ago, I paid a visit to the Empire. Imagine my surprise when I was greeted with a full circus. Mimes, clowns, barking dogs… and the best part?"
He paused, savoring the moment.
"They were dressed as priests, knights, and mercenaries."
The room stiffened.
"Five High Priests. Seven S-rank mercenaries. The commander of the Paladins. Imperial Knights. An entire army,"
Dion said, his smile widening.
"A perfect little trap. And yet, here I am."
His tone turned cold.
"Now, which one of you arranged my little entertainment?"
The chamber fell silent, thick with tension.
One of them began to sweat.
Damn it… he wasn't supposed to make it out. I made sure he had no teleportation scrolls, no way to escape. He should've been forced to fight and die. How did he survive that?!
Panic bloomed.
Dion's smile returned.
"This is getting dull. It seems the mouse doesn't want to be caught so easily."
He tapped a long, pale finger against the table.
"So let's play a little game."
"A game?" Josh Drevon raised a brow.
"Yes,"
Dion grinned.
"We'll vote. One by one, we'll decide who among us is the traitor. Accusations, alibis, secrets… I want to hear them all."
Dion's gaze hardened.
"One round. One accusation each. When we're done, I decide. And the traitor will pay."
"With what?"
Crissa asked nervously.
"Their life."
He gestured.
"Ymir. Speak."
Ymir Malrick, the pale Necromancer, scowled.
"It wasn't me. I hold no love for the Empire. If anyone here craves your seat, it's Josh. Always ambitious, always lurking."
Josh's brow twitched.
"Baseless. And rich, coming from you, bone collector."
Mila laughed.
"Ymir's a killer, but not a fool. Diane, on the other hand…"
She flicked a glance at the Enchantress.
"You can manipulate minds and bodies. Did you make a deal with them?"
Diane Lilithra smirked.
"Please. Aren't you just jealous I might seduce Lord Dion so your pinning me?"
She gestured to Josh.
"But I vote for Josh too."
Morven Varyn grunted.
"I second that. Josh has been missing from the inner sanctums. I saw him heading east last week."
All eyes turned to Josh Drevon.
His face was pale now, his usual sly grin gone.
"You… you can't be serious—"
Dion rose slowly, the miasma coiling around his hand like a living serpent.
"You might've pulled it off if you weren't so obvious,"
Dion said coldly.
"And don't think I don't know about you teaming up with some criminals to exploit and steal from people."
Josh's face twisted and replied.
"But isn't that normal for us? We're dark magicians, hated by the Empire no matter what we do.
"Yes, we're rebels to their reign, a group that fights for our right to live. But we are not corrupt, and we'll never become what they wish us to be."
Dion stepped closer, towering over him until they stood face to face. The height difference made Josh instinctively flinch.
"You should have made sure I died."
"Wait—!"
Dion struck, breaking Josh's legs and arms with a sickening crack.
A loud, guttural scream burst from Josh's throat, echoing across the Cathars base.
"Diane, look into his memories. I want to know what else he told the Empire."
"But Dion,"
Diane hesitated. She knew what would happen if she forced her way into his mind. It would break whatever was left of his sanity.
"Do it. We don't need a traitor here."
Diane swallowed hard and cast her spell. Her eyes glimmered faintly as she focused.
"I see it,"
she murmured.
"He met someone in a tavern. They wore robes, but I saw one of their faces. Blond hair, green eyes."
"That person… it's High Priest Jerald,"
Dion said coldly.
"One of the bastards who attacked me. The one carrying the artifact."
"They asked Josh for the time and place you'd be alone. In exchange, they promised him a full pardon, wealth, and a noble title,"
Diane continued.
"Hah, what an idiot,"
Morven muttered.
"There's no way the Empire, especially the Church, would spare a dark magician's life. They think we're nothing but filth on their land."
"So, he didn't tell them about our secrets? The locations of our lairs?"
"No. He kept those to himself. Planned to use them later, to squeeze more out of them,"
Diane replied.
"That's enough, Diane,"
Dion ordered. She stepped back, her expression grim.
Without hesitation, dark tendrils shot from Dion's palm, slamming into Josh's chest. The shadows pierced his flesh, lifting him from his seat. His agonized screams filled the chamber as the miasma consumed him, his body twisting, breaking, then disintegrating into dust.
A heartbeat later, only the faint scent of ash remained.
The room fell silent.
Dion turned to the others, his gaze cold and unyielding.
"One traitor. One punishment."
He returned to his seat. One by one, the others lowered their heads.