He studied the mage's pattern closely. Zane observed how often the man interrupted others, the way he leaned forward when pressing someone, and how far his authority seemed to reach, even here in a military tent. It was obvious that the two-star knight did not particularly respect him, but orders had their own weight. The mage was an instrument, a weapon the kingdom sanctioned for dirty work. And as long as his badge remained intact, he would be used like a scalpel across the throat of the people. The crowd never stood a chance.
Then the mood shifted. Something stirred near the entrance. Whispers floated in like smoke slipping through cracks in the canvas. Zane leaned slightly, his ear twitching toward the murmurs.
"She just arrived."
"That's her, right?"
"It's Kira. The Mage Knight."
A hush fell over the tent like a veil. Even the guards near the back stiffened as her name passed from mouth to mouth. When she entered, she did not speak. Just her stance and demeanor was enough to put anyone in awe. Her steps were slow but sure, and she moved like someone who had never been questioned even once in her life. Her presence wrapped around the room like wind before a storm. Tall, poised, and carved with elegance, Kira's face was regal, her cheekbones high, her hazel eyes like steel coated in amber light. Her long brown hair flowed behind her, and her armor shimmered faintly under the torchlight.Her presence carried authority without effort, like a blade veiled in silk.
Zane felt the tension in the tent shift with her arrival. Even the soldiers straightened, their backs unconsciously firming. The two-star knight stood from his chair without hesitation, amd give a military salute, acknowledging her. Only the mage remained seated, a crooked smile on his lips. But even he watched her with wary interest, his posture no longer quite as relaxed. She spoke in a voice calm and composed, with just enough sharpness to command without raising the volume. "How many?" The knight responded without hesitation. "Seventeen, brought in from the lower quarter tavern. They are suspected of involvement with Phantom and of publicly supporting him with praises and a celebration."
She scanned the small chamber, her gaze lingering fractionally on Zane before moving on. He remained still. She registered this, then shifted her focus. "You haven't pulled anything useful from them?" The mage loosed a low laugh as he edged a fraction closer. "Come now. They're indulgent children, still dreaming of a shadow masked rescuer. Nothing of worth, yet enough crumbs. Tighten the vise, and the shell will yield. They always yield."
"Enough." The word sliced the air, sharp and quick, like a blade snatched from a scabbard.
For an instant the mage drew breath, surprised. "I will handle it from here," she continued. The knight inhaled, stepped back, and folded his arms in stillness. Respect, no less, yet unuttered. The mage's mouth thinned, the crease deepening, yet he folded his arms beside the knight, sulking across the space.
Kira turned her back on them and faced the striped row of prisoners. No shout, no fire, no frost. Just her look sweeping the line, severing lies before they could lift. The hush of the chamber stretched, tangible, and the air itself seemed to level an unspoken command. When at last she broke the hush, her voice was quieter but steadier than iron.
"I am not here to torture you. I want the one responsible for the raid. I want Phantom. If you help me find him, the rest of you will be released. I will make that promise myself."
No one moved. The silence was thick and long. Hope lingered in the air, but fear buried it before it could bloom.
Kira's gaze landed on Zane again. Her eyes flashed.
"You. Stand."
Zane kept his limp, rising with a sluggish posture. "Me?"
"You have not said a word this entire time," she said, her voice cool. "That is not normal. Most people would be weeping sulking or shouting by now. Is it fear? Or guilt?"
He scratched his neck and mumbled, slurring slightly. "Maybe both. I only came for a drink. That's all I was doing. I just got unlucky, I guess." She tilted her head slightly, examining him like a scholar studying a creature behind glass. Zane returned the stare, but only for a moment. Something passed between them. A spark of familiarity. Perhaps suspicion. Perhaps more. She turned slightly toward the guard. "Unshackle him." The mage narrowed his eyes. "This one..this one is suspicious, I need to speak with him in private." The guard hesitated, Kira turned her head and met his stare with sharp finality. "I said unshackle him." The cuffs clicked open and Zane rubbed his wrists slowly, as if sore from hours of weight. Kira gestured without another word. "Walk with me." Zane nodded and followed, keeping his expression mild and his shoulders slack. He moved beside her with no outward resistance, but inside his mind was spinning. The performance he had perfected over years, the lazy walk, the dull-eyed silence, the loose clothes hiding the tension in his muscles, it had not fooled her. Not even for a moment. That irritated him. It also intrigued him. She had pushed through the veneer with a single look. No magic was needed. Just good instincts.
He eyed the armor that cinched across arms and legs, its silver streaked with narrow lines of mana. "These Mage Knights." he thought, "They weren't like the rest of the brutes. She's different. Serene. Concentrated. I underestimated her." The mage in the tent was a buffoon with too much ability and not enough control. But Kira moved like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath. There was grace, but peril. She had more than likely stepped into the Ascension plane fairly recently. He could feel it in her aura. It wasn't thick or savage, but there was strength lurking beneath. Resolute and unshakeable. She was superior to him in cultivation. That was self-evident.
But raw power wasn't the be-all. Zane possessed instincts. He possessed timing. He had learned the rhythm of actual fights and people's lies with their eyes. He did not blink. Phantom never blinked.
She might be worthy. That was a thought that went through his head like the breeze. Worthy to face Phantom.
But there was more. Something deeper. It was not power or grace alone that had seized him. He had seen the eyes of the woman the moment she stepped inside the tent. They had not flashed with cruelty or pride. They had looked at the villagers like human beings, not suspects. It was a small thing, but it was real. She had asserted dominance not out of a desire for dominance, but because she was appalled at what the mage had done. Zane looked at her again. Thinking to himself.
She could not have come from around here. Her sense of justice, while contained, was not the kind you saw under the rule of this kingdom. He had heard tales whispered over cheap ale in quiet corners. Stories of far-off lands where people rose based on strength or merit. Kingdoms where noble blood did not decide your worth. Places where fairness had a face and a sword.
He had never believed them. Or maybe he had, once. But belief became a burden after his father's death. After the betrayal. After the crucifixion beneath a sky that never mourned injustice, the weather only changed along with the mood of the nobles
He had locked away those stories. Sealed them beneath anger. Hatred was easier to carry. He looked at her again and wondered. Was she real? Or just another lie in nicer armor? She turned to face him, and for a moment, he felt the full weight of her presence. She was beautiful, yes, but that was not what caught him. It was the way her eyes measured him, not for weakness or status, but for substance. He, who had drawn attention in every alley, felt small in that gaze. Her presence was not something you escaped. It demanded to be acknowledged.
Then she started asking questions.
Soft, almost innocent ones. The kind of questions that looked harmless but sliced clean when answered wrong. Where did he work? Who owned the building he rented? What was his mother's hometown called?
Any of these would have rattled a normal man. Made them stammer, look around, hesitate. But Zane did not blink. His answers came slow and smooth, just sleepy enough to seem authentic. Not too clever. Not too polished. Real.
He knew how to lie. He had lied his entire life. But this time he wondered, was the mask enough? Because Kira was still watching, and she did not blink either.
She was not looking for a lie. She was waiting for the smallest truth to slip through. She was one smart piece of bacon.