Chapter 50 – Rivalries and Trials
**[ELLIS CAPITAL – SQUARE OF THE SEVEN VIRTUES]**
The afternoon sun **slanted** obliquely through the centuries-old oaks surrounding the square — trees planted three centuries ago in a perfect geometric pattern representing the seven cardinal virtues, massive trunks like ancient cathedral pillars, dense foliage creating a mosaic of dancing shadows across the polished marble floor, a gentle breeze carrying the fragrance of jasmine and lavender growing in meticulously maintained flowerbeds around the central fountain where crystal-clear water eternally poured from a golden statue of Goddess Nellis in an eternal pose of blessing.
**Júlia** sat on a white marble bench — back straight from military habit that never switched off, but shoulders **tense** in a way no one would notice except someone who knew her well, eyes fixed on an undefined point on the horizon, fingers **drumming** unconsciously against her thigh in an irregular nervous pattern, breathing superficially controlled but slightly faster than it should be.
An image **flashed** through her mind without warning — unbidden, unwanted, but **implacable**:
*Dark forest.*
*The Maestro ahead.*
*Eyeless but somehow seeing EVERYTHING.*
*Cold hands approaching—*
She **shook** her head **sharply** — dispersing the memory before it could sink deeper, before it could expand into something she couldn't control here, now, in public, in front of **everyone**.
*No.*
*Not now.*
*Later.*
*When I'm alone.*
*When I can…*
*…when I can pretend it didn't happen.*
---
**San** sat beside her — superficially relaxed posture but eyes **fixed** on Júlia with an intensity bordering on discomfort, observing every micro-movement, every irregular breath, every moment her expression **faltered** before the mask returned.
*Still that look.*
*Distant.*
*As if part of her is trapped somewhere else.*
*In another time.*
*Since that mission.*
*Since the Maestro.*
He wanted to **ask** — directly, without beating around the bush, force the conversation that needed to happen.
But he didn't know **how** without seeming intrusive.
Without breaking the fragile trust that barely existed yet.
---
**Jéssica** stood in front — practically **vibrating** with unspent energy, hands gesturing animatedly even without an audience beyond the two of them, voice coming out at a volume that drew curious glances from passing knights:
—I bet those Cardinals were **absolutely impressed** with our flawless performance on our first assigned mission! — She declared with unshakable confidence. — Only because they're typical grumpy religious bureaucrats stuck in an outdated medieval hierarchy that they didn't give more **effusive** praise and proper verbal recognition of demonstrated competence!
Pause to breathe:
— In a well-managed modern corporate structure, performance of that caliber would result in a **minimum** fifteen percent quarterly bonus and upward salary review! But the church operates on a reward system based on… on… spiritual veneration? Intangible divine satisfaction? Completely **inefficient** non-monetary economy!
She continued her corporate analysis applied to an ecclesiastical institution that fundamentally did not work that way.
---
San seized Jéssica's pause for breath:
— Hey, Júlia. — Voice casual but carrying the weight of genuine concern.
Júlia **blinked** — pulled from internal thoughts, turning her head.
— Hm?
— Are you… okay? — He asked simply. — Since we left the Sacred Chamber you've been very… **thoughtful**. Quiet. It's not like you.
Júlia processed for **a second** — deciding how much to reveal:
— I'm just… — she gestured vaguely upward — …trying to understand that.
She pointed to the **sky** where the impossible structure floated three hundred meters above.
The **Floating Cathedral** — an island of stone and crystal two kilometers wide suspended eternally through magic that defied comprehension, glowing softly even under direct sunlight.
— How does that thing simply **float** without any visible support connected to the ground? — She continued, seizing the distraction. — Everything I learned about basic physics says it's **impossible**. But there it is. Every day. Defying gravity like it's an optional suggestion.
*Lie.*
*But a convincing one.*
*Because technically she was thinking about that too.*
*Just not what was really occupying her mind.*
---
Jéssica **turned** — finally having an audience:
— Oh! That I **know** perfectly! — Tone of someone happy to demonstrate acquired knowledge. — According to multiple veteran knights I questioned extensively, that floating structure contains the **Intercessor** — or is it Intersection? Confusing theological terminology — between Goddess Nellis in the divine plane and the operational physical church here in the material plane.
She gestured elaborately upward:
— It's where the High Priest resides permanently in sacred isolation and where **truly** critical decisions affecting the entire continent are made away from… earthly contamination? Mundane influence? The cardinals we saw today are essentially just **middle management** in the complete hierarchical structure. The real executive board operates up there completely separated from daily operations.
Thoughtful pause:
— Structurally similar to CEOs operating on a skyscraper penthouse floor while mid-level managers handle daily work on lower floors. A **vertically** integrated but functionally segregated organizational model by… holiness? Divine proximity? Strange concept but curiously **efficient** for maintaining centralized authority.
---
All three **looked** upward — the impossible structure dominating the sky, a constant visual reminder of absolute power governing the faith of an entire continent.
---
A voice cut through the moment — not friendly, dripping with barely disguised disdain:
— Well, **well**… look who's sitting here enjoying such a **pleasant** afternoon!
---
The trio **turned** simultaneously.
**Three figures** approaching across the square — not walking casually but marching with the clear **purpose** of confrontation.
In front — **Knight Garrett Blackstone**: twenty-eight years old, one meter eighty-five of pure obsessively developed muscle mass, black hair cut militarily short, dark brown eyes shining with something close to chronic resentment, thin scar crossing upper lip giving a permanently crooked smile, wearing sky-blue Explorer armor but **distinctly** more ornamented indicating years of service without corresponding promotion, expression of mockery masking something deeper — **bitterness** from someone who had seen too many rookies die under his supervision and stopped caring years ago.
To the left — **Mage Cassandra Vex**: twenty-six years old, average height, slender build, long brown hair in an elaborate braid, light brown eyes observing the world through lenses of intellectual superiority developed as a defense mechanism, wearing deep blue robes embroidered with silver runes each representing a rookie who **did not** return alive from missions under her command, dark wood staff glowing faintly with stored mana, small condescending smile curving her lips — not pure cruelty but cynicism acquired through decades of watching hope repeatedly crushed.
To the right — **Warrior Marcus Ironfist**: thirty years old, massive tank-like human build, one meter ninety of muscle, tousled brown hair, square jaw, wearing full heavy armor even in the heat because armor was **protection** not just physical but psychological against memories of when his home village burned and he watched helplessly, war axe on his back permanently stained with the blood of monsters tortured to death as revenge for the massacre he witnessed at twelve, perpetually bored expression masking unprocessed trauma.
---
Garrett stopped at **three meters** — calculated distance to intimidate without technically being aggression:
— The **little group** that miraculously survived their first mission! — Voice in mocking falsetto. — Truly **impressive**. Killing wolf pups in a defenseless village. Heroic. Almost as difficult as exterminating rats in an abandoned barn.
Cassandra **laughed** — high-pitched, unpleasant sound carrying years of cynicism:
— Garrett, be **minimally** kind to the poor rookies. — Condescending tone. — They completed a mission **without** dying. That already puts them in… what percentile was it, Marcus? Top **forty** percent survival rate on first real mission?
Marcus **grunted** — deep sound:
— Thirty-seven. — Hoarse voice from someone who rarely spoke. — Sixty-three percent die or become permanently **psychologically incapacitated** on their first real assignment.
Pause:
— These ones got **lucky**. That's all. Luck doesn't last.
---
**San** rose **abruptly** — fists clenching:
— You three. — Voice vibrating with contained rage. — As **always**. Don't you have absolutely anything better to do than pick on people just trying to exist peacefully?
Garrett **smiled** wider — scar making the expression grotesque:
— Oh, San is **mad**? What are you going to do exactly? Cry? Run to Austin begging Big Brother to **protect** you from terrible bullies?
He tilted his head mockingly:
— Oh, but Austin isn't here **now**, is he? What a tragedy. You'll have to defend yourself alone for the first time in your pathetic life.
---
San took a step forward — muscles **tensing**.
Cassandra moved her staff **subtly** — runes glowing intensifying, silent warning that magic was **charged** and ready.
Marcus **uncrossed** his arms — glacial slow but threatening movement, hand resting casually on axe handle.
Tension **escalating** to critical point where violence became inevitable.
---
**Jéssica** — completely oblivious or genuinely not caring — simply **sighed** dramatically:
— You three would be **summarily fired** in any minimally competent organization. — Tone of a CEO evaluating problematic employees. — Interpersonal skills: **zero**. Teamwork ability: **zero**. Basic professionalism: **nonexistent**. Turnover history under your supervision: catastrophically **high**.
Analytical pause:
— Frankly, the fact that you're still employed indicates a massive **systemic** failure in the church's performance evaluation processes. In a well-managed company, you would have been **replaced** by more productive talent years ago.
---
Garrett **blinked** — genuinely confused by a response so completely **off** the expected script:
— What… what the **hell** is this corporate lunatic talking about?
---
**Júlia** remained **seated** — not moving, not reacting verbally, simply **ignoring** the trio completely as if they didn't exist, a de-escalation technique learned in military training: don't feed provocation with response.
But internally—
Image **flashed** again — not of Garrett but of the **Maestro**, eyeless, hands approaching—
*Stop.*
*Not now.*
*Control.*
*Breathe.*
*Mask.*
*Always the mask.*
---
San looked back — seeing Júlia maintaining composure through deliberate ignorance.
Took a deep breath — **forcing** his fists to open:
— You know what? — Voice coming out calmer, controlled. — You're **right** about something.
Garrett arched an eyebrow:
— We are? About **what** specifically?
— That we got **lucky** to survive. — San admitted without shame. — First **real** mission is always a lottery. Everyone knows that.
Pause:
— But the difference between **us** and you? We **learn** from the experience. We improve. While you…
He looked directly at the three:
— …you just **repeat** the same mistakes for **years**. Decades stagnant at the same rank because you're **competent** at killing but **incompetent** at leading. That's why Austin — who arrived **after** you — already commands an elite squad while you still supervise rookies who inevitably die under questionable supervision.
---
**Absolute** silence for **three seconds**.
Garrett **tensed** — smile disappearing completely, replaced by something **dangerous**:
— You little **shit** presumptuous—
---
A voice cut across the square — **authoritative**, not shouting but projecting with natural command that stopped conversations within a fifty-meter radius:
— **Garrett**. Cass. Marcus. **Stand down**. Immediately.
Not a request.
**Order**.
---
Everyone **turned**.
**Three figures** approaching across the square — walking with the absolute confidence of those who know their presence alone resolves situations.
**Captain Austin Valorheart** — thirty-two years old, one meter eighty-eight, natural metallic-blue hair cut professionally, silver-gray eyes observing the world with analytical intensity, two thin scars crossing his face as reminders of combats survived through skill not luck, wearing blue armor with three platinum stars on the right shoulder, elven sword at his waist, erect but relaxed posture of a warrior who doesn't need to prove anything.
**Dayana Sunshard** — twenty-nine years old, average height, athletic build, golden-blonde hair falling in waves to shoulders shining like gold, emerald-green eyes sparkling with humor, perpetually relaxed expression, light leather armor, elven bow on her back, easy smile curving her lips.
**Corius Blackwell** — thirty-one years old, below-average height, slender build, permanently tousled black hair, brown eyes behind silver glasses, perpetually curious expression, dark blue robe embroidered with alchemical symbols, massive grimoire at his belt, three wands in a bandolier, fingers stained with ink.
---
Austin **stopped** beside Garrett — presence alone sufficient:
— I said **stand down**. — Neutral, factual tone. — I won't repeat myself.
Garrett looked up — Austin only three centimeters taller but **dominating** presence:
— We were just having a **civilized** conversation—
— **Lie**. — Austin cut without emotion. — I observed from a distance. Aggressive body posture. Cassandra's staff charged for combat. Marcus positioned for physical violence. That wasn't conversation. It was systematic intimidation of lower-rank subordinates.
Pause:
— Behavior I will report to the Cardinals if you do not cease **immediately**.
---
Garrett **hesitated** — clearly wanting to challenge, weighing odds, concluding they were **zero**.
Spit on the ground — deliberate gesture of disrespect:
— Fine, **Captain**. — Thick sarcasm. — We didn't want to waste precious time with rookies destined to die on their next mission anyway.
He turned — marching away with heavy steps.
Cassandra and Marcus **followed** — she casting a venomous look, he indifferent as always.
---
When they disappeared around the corner — San **exhaled**:
— Austin. Dayana. Corius. — Genuine smile. — **Thank you**. Seriously. Those three are…
Dayana **laughed**:
— Bitter traumatized veterans who survived their personal war but never processed it? Yes. We all know. **Tragic** but no excuse for behavior.
Corius adjusted his glasses:
— Technically they possess above-average individual skills. Garrett: excellent close-quarters combat. Cassandra: efficient destructive magic. Marcus: almost indestructible tank. — Analytical tone. — Problem isn't **capability** but unprocessed trauma that sabotages judgment and interpersonal relations.
Pause:
— They saw their home village **massacred** when young. Developed… **questionable** methods of dealing with monsters. Torture. Unnecessary mutilation. The church tolerates because they're efficient at eliminating threats but… psychological costs are evident.
---
Júlia **stood** — looking at Austin:
— Thank you. For… for everything. Not just now but… on the previous mission. If you hadn't—
Austin **raised** a hand — gently cutting her off:
— Júlia. — Paternal tone. — I already said. It's part of the job. Veteran knights protect rookies. **Protocol**. Nothing more.
He looked at the three:
— But I hope you're adapting adequately. Ecclesiastical military life is… **challenging**. Especially after initial traumatic experiences.
Pause — eyes focusing on Júlia:
— If you need **anything**… guidance, support, just to talk… I'm always available.
---
Júlia **smiled** — genuinely, first time in days, expression of pure gratitude:
— Thank you. Truly.
San observed the **smile** — something twisting uncomfortably in his chest.
*She never smiles like that at me.*
*Only at Austin.*
*Because he saved her.*
*And I…*
*…wasn't there.*
He had no name for the feeling.
But he recognized it: **jealousy**.
---
Austin turned — preparing to leave:
— By the way… the Cardinals have assigned us to inform you that you are being **requested** again. Next mission. Return to the Sacred Chamber as originally designated.
Pause:
— And… **prove** that you can survive without needing rescue. Demonstrate **independent** competence.
Tone gentle but message clear:
*Show you deserve the rank.*
The trio **departed** — Austin leading, Dayana waving, Corius already reading his grimoire while walking.
---
Júlia **waved** until they disappeared.
Then turned to San and Jéssica:
— So, team. — Voice returning to command. — Let's officially receive our next mission.
They began to **walk** — toward the Sacred Chamber.
---
**[SACRED CHAMBER – CARDINAL COUNCIL CHAMBER]**
The trio knelt — formal reverence.
— Your Excellencies, we are here as requested.
---
High Cardinal **Hadrian** tilted his head:
— Rise.
The trio obeyed.
— Your next assignment is of a **special** nature. A **Supervision and Evaluation** mission. You will be accompanied by a veteran squad that will observe performance, evaluate competencies, and report **findings** directly.
Pause:
— Objective: determine whether you have truly acquired the necessary experience or require further extensive training.
---
Júlia **hesitated**:
— And who will be the supervisors, Your Excellency?
Hadrian **gestured** — side door opening.
**Garrett**, **Cassandra**, and **Marcus** entered — smiling with absolute **mockery**.
---
San turned his head — protest forming.
Júlia **grabbed** his hand — squeezing **hard**, fingers digging painfully.
She looked directly — shaking her head **minimally**.
*No.*
*Silence.*
San **obeyed** — jaw clenching but silent.
---
Hadrian continued:
— Your mission will be to investigate magical anomalies near the Kingdom of **Kelvis**. Recently discovered dungeons are spreading uncontrolled energy contaminating the villages of Zef and **Kend**.
He looked at Júlia:
— Your squad is responsible for the village of **Kend**. You will investigate the dungeon, eliminate threats, protect inhabitants.
Pause:
— And you will do so under **constant** observation. Every decision. Every action. Every **failure** will be reported.
---
Garrett **laughed** low:
— **Fun**.
---
Júlia maintained a **neutral** expression:
— It will be done according to the will of Goddess Nellis.
She bowed — ninety degrees.
San and Jéssica repeated.
---
After they left — Thaddeus looked at Hadrian:
— Cruel. **Deliberately**.
Hadrian did not deny:
— **Test**. If they cannot handle hostile supervisors, they do not deserve the rank.
Ezekiel sighed — but did not argue.
---
**[JÚLIA: MISSION UNDER HOSTILE SUPERVISION]**
**[REPRESSIVE TRAUMA, UNPROCESSED]**
**[SAN: JEALOUSY GROWING SILENTLY]**
**[NEXT: DEPARTURE FOR KEND]**