It was, without question, the worst possible news—and it hit Rod so hard he barely noticed how bright and serene the Upper City looked.
The air here was crisp and clean; the buildings stood in elegant order. Overhead, the black mist hung high like a dark cloud far off at the horizon. For once, this looked like what he thought a normal city should—pedestrians on the streets, sleek horseless carriages rolling past, bakeries and tailor shops, neat cafés and glowing taverns, even a small station for the carriages beside a place called the No-Code Inn.
Now this was civilization.
He spotted a group of people waiting beside a post with a sign and blurted, "You've got public carriages too?"
Lauren's gray eyes flicked toward him—half disbelief, half "why are you like this right now?"—but he answered anyway:"Of course. Spirit Cars are one of the main modes of transport in the capital."
"Even in the Lower City?"
"Certainly. The Lower City's dozens of times larger than the Upper. Without the Spirit Cars, it'd be impossible to get around. Though… they only run on approved days down there."
Rod bit back a laugh. Spirit Cars? A whole city riding in "spirit" vehicles—was the name supposed to sound less fatal? He decided right there to mentally rename them no-code cars just to keep his sanity.
The no-code car turned through several districts, heading into a darker cluster of fortress-like buildings—tall spires, thick walls, everything hard and angular. The cheer of the Upper City faded like a memory.
They drove into a central castle and stopped in an underground hangar filled with dozens of parked cars. Rod followed Lauren down polished steps into the legendary Office of Inquest and Judgment.
Inside was surprisingly normal—bright light, calm colors, clean hallways lined with evenly spaced lamps. It looked more like a government bureau than a torture dungeon. People in neat robes moved briskly between offices.
Then Rod's eyes caught a stairwell leading down into shadow. Faint wails drifted up from below. A few blood-stained men in robes loitered near the entrance, cold-eyed and silent—like hunters waiting for the next victim.
When he passed, their gazes clung to him, sharp and predatory.
Fortunately, Lauren didn't stop. They continued straight to a large, lavish chamber.
Thick red carpet. Silver-carved benches. The sweet, cool scent of incense in the air. At the far end sat the Four High Adjudicators, gathered around a long black table strewn with papers, crystal spheres, and nameplates.
Rod stood behind Lauren and observed quietly.
On the far right sat a blond man whose features were unmistakably similar to Casha's—same golden hair, same blue eyes. His nameplate read Mipol Prosmore.
Next to him was a red-haired man wearing an iron mask: Manolobana Gura. The surname made Rod think of that red-haired glutton nicknamed "Pig-Shit."
To his left was an older man with dark hair and pale eyes—few wrinkles, a calm, almost kindly face. His plate read Alighieri Dan Black Bear. Rod guessed this was Lauren's teacher—his "big backer," though he wasn't sure how that relationship actually worked.
The last was a woman whose age was impossible to tell. Sapphire hair, delicate features, thin lips, long eyes that glittered like cold knives. Her plate: Laesha Blue Moon.
Behind them stood several black-robed guards, their breastplates all engraved with one word: Crow.
Lauren bowed slightly, then stepped aside to take a seat.
Rod remained alone before the long table, facing four gazes of very different temperatures.
Mipol's was the most complicated—somewhere between a father's hostility, reluctant fondness, faint admiration, and the neutral chill of official duty.Manolobana's eyes burned with naked malice.Black Bear and Blue Moon remained unreadable.
Rod took that in and steadied himself.
"Rod of Redstone Village," the iron mask spoke first. The voice was sharp, metallic, utterly sure of itself."My advice: stop lying. Confess everything, and I'll recommend your ashes be granted the honor of the Sacred Flame."
Rod replied evenly, "Why don't you confess first?"
The masked man's eyes narrowed. "Are you implying I'm your accomplice?"
"No," Rod said calmly. "I'm saying you're the murderer."
A guard barked, "Watch your tone! That's a High Adjudicator!"
Rod's voice stayed flat. "If I'm not allowed to speak, I can just keep quiet."
The iron mask gave a cold laugh. "There's no need for this farce. Let's go straight to special examination—I'll pry open his soul myself and dig out every secret."
Black Bear's tone was gentle. "Gura, perhaps we should hear his reasoning first."
Mipol nodded faintly. "Go ahead."
Rod lifted his chin. "You all know I only ignited my soul recently. Before that, I was an ordinary man. Why would a Doomsday cult choose a powerless commoner to help slaughter an entire relocation convoy?"
Manolobana sneered. "You weren't an Ignited then, but you could still wield unusual power."
Rod wisely sidestepped that minefield. "With all due respect, Lord Ma-something, please use your great intellect: if I were guilty, why would I stay behind alone? And the wise, radiant Lady Blue —"
Lauren coughed. "That's Guardian Alighieri Dan Qingyu, my lord."
Rod switched mid-sentence without missing a beat. "—the wise and beautiful Guardian Qingyu herself released me and even allowed me partial freedom in the capital. Would she really risk letting a Doomsday cultist roam free if she thought I was one?"
Manolobana's voice chilled. "Perhaps there are… unsavory dealings between you."
Rod smiled thinly. "Right. Everyone's a villain but you. What are you, a saint running a wine factory?"
The insult's meaning was lost, but the tone was crystal clear. The iron mask's gaze turned razor-cold.
"Sharp tongue, meaningless words. You were the only survivor at the scene. You claim amnesia. The cultist Alai carried your letter. You killed the priest of lies, Bas, and destroyed our best lead. The evidence is iron-clad. I can't fathom why Guardian Qingyu would shield you—perhaps I should recommend the Crown reconsider her candidacy."
The moment the words left his mouth, the air went brittle. Faces stiffened.
Rod, however, felt a flicker of confidence.So it wasn't just about guilt or innocence—it was political. That meant they wouldn't throw him away easily.
"I suggest," Black Bear said mildly, breaking the silence, "we return to the case. Tracking the Polluter Sect matters more than assigning blame. None of us wishes to see them destroy the warmth of our home."
His pale eyes swept the room; the calm in his voice was contagious.
Mipol inclined his head. "I agree. The Sacred Flame and the capital are everything to us. Power abused—even a little—can crush a life like a mountain. If our home stops loving its own, there's nowhere left for a man to go but suicide or darkness."
Blue Moon smiled faintly. "Well said. Our King teaches the same: let the home be everyone's home, not the property of a few."
The iron mask's eyes flickered with disgust. "We have work to do. Proceed with the questioning."
Black Bear nodded and turned to Rod. "Rod, answer truthfully."
Rod nodded back.
"Do you remember your connection with Alai of Graymoss Street Office?""No."
"Do you recall living three years on Beck Street, Outer District Two?""No."
"Why did you kill Bas?""I didn't think. I was dragged into an unknown space—I panicked. Lord Lauren was overwhelmed by glass giants. I feared he'd die. When I saw Bas, I shot."
The iron mask cut in. "How could you see Bas through a high-grade concealment sigil?"
"My fireseed lets me see through illusions."
The mask gave a low, cold laugh. "Yet your fireseed was registered as Black Cauldron. The Mech-Institute's analyzer reads the very waveform of your soul—your essence. It can't be fooled."
Mipol frowned. "Manolobana, those tools aren't flawless. Mine once read my trait as 'Blabbermouth' before the Grand Scholar fixed it in the archives. Hardly admissible."
Blue Moon suddenly asked, "What's your Spirit Vision rating?"
Rod thought for a moment. "About eighty."
She flicked her fingers, forming a veil of mist before her hand. "Tell me—how many fingers am I holding?"
Rod activated his Spirit Vision, then the Soul Eye. The mist shimmered, her glowing hand forming a faint V."Two.""And now?""Six."
Blue Moon dispelled the mist and smiled, bright as dawn. "It seems Kinworth Academy has another rising star."
All three smiled. Only the iron mask stayed stone-cold."The stronger the recruit, the greater the risk," he muttered. "This questioning is pointless. We need the object Alai was transporting. Facts, not talk, will decide this."
He rose and left. No one stopped him.
The remaining three looked at Rod as if he were a rare gem.
"Mind if I speak with him alone?" Mipol asked.
The others gestured assent.
Suddenly Rod found himself in a blank white space—just him and Mipol.
He bowed politely. "Lord Mipol, it's an honor. I'm Rod from Kinworth Academy, Division Ten, Team Ten. Your daughter Casha must be our captain—she clearly inherited your looks, your wisdom, your kindness, your generosity, every one of your fine qualities."
The flattery was blatant, but Mipol's smile broke through anyway.
"Young man, don't think you can win people over just with words—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Rod seized the opening. "I truly admire Casha. As captain, she's helped me immensely. But we're students first—our duty is study, to become worthy heirs of the Fire King's city, to add our bricks to the flame's foundation. I respect her deeply and fully share her dedication. You can rest easy."
Mipol's expression twisted—half amused, half horrified. So this was what a natural-born heartbreaker looked like.
After a long pause, he sighed. "I'll only ask one thing. Don't get her pregnant. Wait until graduation."
White light faded. Mipol walked out looking utterly defeated.
Rod blinked, finding himself back in the chamber. Blue Moon and Black Bear were watching him; the former's eyes gleamed with mischief.
"Well, well," she said with a laugh. "You're not just a pretty cover, are you?"
Rod smiled. "No matter how good I am, I could never match you, my lady."
Blue Moon burst out laughing, like flowers opening in spring. "Charming boy. I can't believe for a second you're a cultist."
Black Bear gave her a look. "Laesha Blue Moon is one of our senior Adjudicators. She graduated from Kinworth back in 1301. You should address her as auntie."
Blue Moon sighed and covered her forehead. "Uncle Bear, this is exactly why no one calls you charming."
Rod slipped in smoothly: "Age is only a number. The heart decides how young a person truly is—and I honestly couldn't tell hers."
Blue Moon laughed so hard she nearly doubled over. "With that line, boy, unless they find a corpse with your name on it, I'll never believe you're a cultist. Keep it up—I want to see the next rising star with my own eyes."
She winked playfully and skipped out, light as air—hard to believe she was a figure of terrifying authority.
The Crows followed her out. Soon, only Black Bear and Lauren remained.
Both were studying him in a new light. Then Black Bear smiled, easing Rod's nerves.
"Relax, boy. You just reminded me of someone… someone from long ago."
He didn't elaborate. Instead he placed a heavy, warm hand on Rod's shoulder."I hope you'll surprise us all. Watching saplings like you grow strong—that's the best reward I could ask for."
He left too.
Only Lauren remained.
"Rod," he said with approval, "you did even better than I expected. You've won the support of three High Adjudicators. But don't get complacent—if they ever find real evidence, no one will protect you. The Administrator of Outer District Two is our next key witness. Let's go see her."
Rod's brief sense of triumph wilted. After all that performance, not even one get-out-of-jail-free card?
But his mood dropped further when he learned who the Administrator was—
—a breathtakingly beautiful woman.
And he'd seen her before.
In Calamon's crystal sphere.