Lucian leaned back in his chair, a half-torn piece of crusty bread in one hand, crumbs still dusting his white sleeves.
The scent of it fresh, buttery, studded with herbs lingered from his earlier visit to the village children.
He'd promised them, after all, and Lucian was a man who honored such small, human promises, even with the world itself balanced on a blade's edge.
He took another idle bite, chewing thoughtfully, eyes half-lidded.
Then, slowly, those blue eyes sharpened, narrowing on Reinhart across the table.
"Reinhart," he said, voice mild but threaded with iron. "I know you're excited triumphant, even over our little accomplishment today. But you shouldn't throw jokes like that around. You know I'm not fond of that sort of humor."
A muscle twitched along Reinhart's jaw, but he quickly hid it with a smile.
"This is not a jest, Lucian. I've already filed it with the royal registrar. As of this evening, you are no longer recognized as a founding member of Aetherion nor entitled to its protection, privileges, or standing in the succession ballots."
He narrowed his eyes, his golden mana radiating out of his body along with his killing intent.
"So pack your bags and get out."
There was a brittle finality to his words, like a blade snapping clean in two.
Lucian looked mildly surprised. He quickly finished the last piece of bread, brushing off his hands calmly.
He then let out a short laugh, though it was hollow. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he fixed Reinhart with an almost pitying look.
"Alright, buddy, stop playing. It's not funny."
He spread his hands lightly. "Come on, Reinhart if this is some attempt at a lesson, you've dragged it on long enough."
But Reinhart didn't so much as blink. Beside him, the identical twin knights Cedric and Caelan shared a knowing, almost oily smirk. Cedric, ever the louder of the two, was first to speak, idly tapping a gauntleted finger on the table.
"You hear that, Caelan? He thinks we're joking. Imagine."
Caelan gave a quiet, humorless chuckle.
"It's not surprising. Must be nice, living like a pet kept fat while the rest of us bled to build Aetherion's name."
Across from them, the mage Elowen leaned back in her chair with a languid stretch. She regarded Lucian through half-lidded purple eyes, the faintest curl of amusement on her lips.
"Really, Lucian, you should have seen this coming. Reinhart's been consolidating the guild's power for years now. Meanwhile, you've spent your time entertaining peasants and collecting stray fanatics."
Her gaze swept over him with open disdain.
"You're simply… surplus now."
The bishop Sister Myrielle folded her hands over her staff, the painted nails of one thumb slowly stroking its polished wood. Her smile was gentle, but her words cut all the same.
"It is for the greater stability of the guild, you understand. The people may love their stories of the charming strategist who hands out bread to orphans… but bread does not win ballots. Nor does sentiment hold cities."
Cedric gave a low snort.
"Especially when we're so close to securing the succession. Honestly, Lucian, you ought to be grateful we've carried your dead weight this long."
Lucian's eyes moved from one face to the next Reinhart's cold triumph, Cedric and Caelan's mirrored sneers, Elowen's feline boredom, Myrielle's prim piety.
"Wait… you're all serious?"
He glanced from Reinhart to Cedric, then Caelan, then Elowen and Sister Myrielle, searching for some trace of jest some crack in their smug façades. But what he found was only thinly veiled satisfaction, cold triumph, amusement dancing on the edges of cruelty. His pulse began to rise, a dull throb at his temples.
Slowly, Lucian stood, pushing back his chair with a scrape that seemed to echo too loudly in the room.
He gritted his teeth, then slammed his hands on the table.
"In case your pampered memories have somehow forgotten," he began, voice tightening, "it was my strategies that got us here. Every war table plan, every feint and ambush, every routed legion those weren't your ideas. Without me, you lot would still be scraping your boots in border skirmishes, praying not to be crushed by guilds ten times our strength."
His eyes cut sharply to Reinhart.
"I'm the one who built this guild."
Reinhart's green eyes glinted, a wolfish smile baring just a hint of teeth.
"Oh, I remember well enough." His voice dripped disdain. "I remember the poisoned wells, the paid defectors, the caravans we burned to starve cities into submission such… barbaric schemes."
He stepped closer, his heavy lion-shaped pauldron nearly brushing Lucian's shoulder.
"But what should I have expected from a mere commoner? Gutter-born, gutter-minded. Your brand of filth was useful when we clawed our way up. But now that we stand on the cusp of nobility's true stage, we have no need for tactics that stink of the slums."
Cedric chuckled darkly.
"He's right. Glory's won by steel and honor, not by rats gnawing in the dark."
Caelan's smile was cool as he added,
"Besides, Lucian, your style never quite fit the pageantry we require now. And we no longer need it."
Lucian's hand flexed by his side. His heart pounded in his chest, anger igniting where surprise had been. His voice came out low, a dangerous vibration.
"So that's it. After all I've done after I dirtied my hands so yours could stay clean you cast me out to polish your shining reputations."
Reinhart's smirk curved crueler.
"Precisely. Now pack your things before I have Cedric and Caelan drag you out by the throat. Or better yet, put you in a grave."
For a breath, Lucian said nothing. His shoulders seemed to relax then he tilted his head back and laughed. A sharp, rising bark of laughter that made Elowen flinch, made Myrielle clutch her staff tighter.
When he looked at them again, silver rings spun in his irises, pupils gleaming with light that seemed to pierce straight through them. His grin twisted into something feral.
"I see now. You fools… truly think you're safe."
Reinhart's hand shot to the axe at his hip, half drawing it.
"One more word out of your filthy mouth and I'll split your skull—"
"Go ahead," Lucian cut in smoothly, a dark amusement rippling through his tone. "Do it. And then watch as every sordid little secret you've all hidden gets dragged into daylight."
He turned his gaze on Cedric.
"Sixteen villagers dead in that raid on Ismere, when your orders were to spare them. Punishable by death under royal code 42."
Then Caelan.
"Oh and bribery to falsify bloodline records so you could secure the hand of Lady Idmere Valis. Another hanging offense."
He then turned his gaze to Elowen.
"Oh, and let's not forget our dazzling elf mage. Siphoning mana from orphan wards meant for healing rituals, use of Illegal artifacts, unlawful extractin of a Regalia and falsification of raid records for higher pay. Illegal under three separate ecclesiastical decrees. Execution by pyre."
His eyes finally rested on Sister Myrielle, who had gone rigid, her lips parting.
Lucian tilted his head, almost sympathetically.
"Ah… and dear Myrielle. Still whispering prayers for your victims, are you? The children trafficked through your sanctuaries sold off to the highest bidder for forbidden rituals, their ashes swept under altars you now dare to bless. Let's not even talk about your absurd fetish with underaged boys… the ones you had your way with till they unfortunately departed this world."
The silence that followed was cold. Even Reinhart's sneer faltered, eyes flickering to the bishop with disgust before snapping back to Lucian.
Lucian's grin hollowed, voice going flat as a coffin lid.
"Punishable by public flaying and burning under church canon law. One of the old punishments. Nasty business. How you even still manage to cast blessings with those hands will remain one of the nine wonders of this world."
She quickly snapped back.
"So you really believe the Church will take your word over mine, when you are a mere commoner?" she demanded, voice trembling with forced hauteur.
Lucian just smiled wider.
"Believe? No. But I see it now how very fragile your masks are. And how very afraid you all must be."
Lucian let his gaze drift back to Reinhart, almost lazily, as if savoring the moment. His smile spread into something sharp enough to bleed.
"And let's not forget our fearless leader," he drawled, voice low, silken with contempt. "I really saved the best… or better yet, the worst for last."
He tapped a finger lightly against his temple, silver rings still spinning in his eyes.
"All those off-the-books levies, Reinhart. The tribute meant for the Crown that somehow found its way into your personal coffers enough to build a small city of your own. And those brothels in Viremont, stocked with trafficked girls from captured towns, stamped with your seal so no one dared question where they came from… your personal pleasure house. I've always wondered what that does to your stamina, but I guess you're just built different."
Lucian's smile dropped, leaving only cold fury.
"Punishable by total forfeiture of lands and titles… and, of course, execution by beheading. Public, naturally. They'd line the streets from here to the capital to watch you kneel."
The golden knight's face drained of color, his jaw working soundlessly for a breath before he managed to force out a strangled snarl.
"You… you lying dog!"
Lucian leaned in just slightly, so close Reinhart could feel the chill rolling off him.
"Go on, Reinhart. I dare you to draw that axe. Strike me down. Then wait for the day every hushed bribe, every whimper behind locked doors, every corpse you buried under coin is dug up and served back to you on a royal platter by my informants."
The room fell so silent that even the candles seemed to hold their breath, the shadows themselves recoiling from Lucian's smile.
He stomped forward with force, his presence suddenly like a stormfront pressing down on them, those glowing eyes reflecting each of their pale, strained faces.
"Because without me to keep your sins buried… every last one of you would be dangling at the end of a rope."