Machinations (II)

  Wilhelm leaned forward in his chair, seemingly amused by Cyril's startled reaction. His response would lead one to believe that he'd already expected it.

  “Well of course you have to join the party, that was always the plan. Scarecrow is specifically targeting provisional hunters and rookies so if we want to catch him our best bet is to use the most skilled batch of provisional hunters at our disposal. Didn’t Carissa tell you what happened to the others that survived the phantom purge incident?”

  Come to think of it I never did get around to asking that...

  The confusion on his face spoke volumes, and that was all Wilhelm needed to see before taking the initiative again.

  "To put it simply, the survivors who were of age, like Shaw, immediately received their official hunter licenses, while those who weren't of age were granted provisional licenses. Marcel still hasn't regained his rank due to the ongoing investigation but based on the way things are going he might actually get off scotch free. Only three provisional licenses were issued: to you, Percy, and Angelica. Percy declined the offer, but Angelica accepted."

  “Oh? So Angelica’s fully recovered now huh? That’s good.” He muttered quietly, nodding to himself with a satisfied smile.

  "That's quite the expression on your face. Even though I've already assigned you to the party, I’d appreciate it if you could speak to her before we get started. From what I’ve heard from both you and Yelena, it seems like some reconciliation might be needed before you two attempt to take on a dungeon together."

  Cyril stared up at the ceiling for a moment, mulling over a series of memories that were far from being pleasant. Truthfully, he wasn’t actually mad about what Yelena did that day, which is why he was currently at a loss.

  To him at least, their actions were somewhat understandable.

  How do you reconcile with someone you’ve got nothing against? Cyril thought prudently, folding his arms and tilting his head with a groan as he shuffled through the thick deck of thoughts moving through his mind.

  “Looks like you’re putting some serious thought into this. Very well, since I’ve already gotten you up to speed on everything you can leave for today. The reconciliation thing was simply a suggestion, but if you do happen to run into her then I hope you can at least attempt to mend your friendship.”

  Cyril slowly lowered his gaze and nodded knowingly.

  “Alright Chairman, I’ll see what I can do.”

  He turned around and headed for the large oak door, but instead of preparing his mind for a physical confrontation like the final assessment, this time the gears in his head began turning for a different kind of challenge.

  >>>>---<<<<

  A few days ago

  July 28, Central Year 119 (P.R.E.)

  4:23 a.m.

  The major guilds inside Babylon city occupied different districts and sectors for the sake of efficiency and organization. Grouping them all together in one localized region wouldn’t do much good when the time came for them to sortie themselves, especially if the given scenario they needed to respond to was a dungeon break.

  District five in particular had one such guild—quite a famous one in fact. So much so that at some point the entire place was audaciously renamed in its honor; gone was the generic name it was given solely for the sake of administrative convenience. Now it was referred to as the ‘Flame Hall’, the domain of the phoenix guild.

  The building that served as the Phoenix guild headquarters had a much more classical design than one would initially expect, even from afar it was easy to make out the stylized support pillars, elaborate groove linings and intentional foreign aesthetic adorning the modern skyscraper. To put it simply, its appearance greatly resembled something like a ‘modernized castle’ as opposed to a typical corporate building even in this day and age.

  Still under the influence of the pre-dawn sky, few sources of illumination could be seen emanating from the classical structure, all of which came from its highest floor.

  A vehicle embellished in a deep shade of noir slowly pulled up to the foot of the building. The dark colour traced along its every nook and cranny, yet it still managed to stand out somehow even at this hour.

  The streets grew even quieter once the low hum of the vehicle's engine mechanics went completely silent, per the order of the haughty individual sitting in the back seat. The young man with fiery red hair was a lot more reserved at the moment, compared to his usual attitude of focused belligerence, Marcel Phoenix was surprisingly tame.

  “I need to make a call.”

  The driver needed no further instruction to understand his employer’s directive. He tapped a button on the vehicle’s central console, prompting a soft mechanical hum. Moments later, a tinted glass partition smoothly rose from the midsection behind the front seats, sealing him off in quiet isolation.

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  Marcel caught his reflection in the polished black glass—dreary eyes and a languid expression. No matter who it was, investigative questionings spanning hours on end would have that kind of effect on anyone, especially when he knew the findings themself were irrelevant. No matter what was found, no serious repercussions would ever truly come from it, not for someone like him.

  Producing a sigh, he collected himself and brought out his phone to scroll through the list of contacts. It was a long list with very few saved entries, but eventually, he stopped on the most salient name of them all—captioned in bold, the entry was marked by the daring word ‘Unknown.’

  There was no name on the profile, no address— and more than likely, not even a real contact number. Marcel didn’t seem to mind. Without hesitation, he tapped the screen and placed the call with a single press of his finger.

  The line connected, and a voice that sounded youthful but wise returned from the other end: “Marcel, how are things coming along?” the voice asked pragmatically.

  “The evidence was disposed of, that was the last order I gave to Evan so the investigation should wrap up soon. It shouldn’t take long for things to return to normal. Once this is over, I’ll need to secure a dungeon core—if everything goes according to plan, I might even get my rank back… assuming I play my cards right.”

  “I see. You're planning to present yourself as a victim of circumstance, aren’t you? In any case, the preparations are progressing smoothly, thanks to that woman’s barrier. She’s proven to be an excellent addition to your guild.”

  “It was your idea. Good enchanters are hard to come by, it really did save us time.”

  The voice on the phone chuckled softly, exerting considerable control over the spontaneous reaction. He pressed on, “Have the autopsy results from Evan’s evaluation been released?”

  “No. They could barely recover any of his remains. I knew the alpha version of the drug was supposed to be significantly more potent, but as it stands, it’s basically a death sentence—one that doesn’t even let you enjoy the power boost before your body completely breaks down.”

  The pitch in Marcel’s voice rose midway through the sentence. It wasn’t remorse—only disappointment.

  “What a pitiful soul. Seems it’s still too early to use my blood as the basis. We need more data before the alpha version can serve any real purpose. For now, focus on distributing the beta version, scarecrow and the others will assist you with that. Use it to gather intel—the effects are still harmful, but its formulation is different. It’s better suited for testing.”

  “Yes, I’ll do that. But I’ve got some business to take care of right now—I’ll contact you once everything’s in order.”

  “Business at four in the morning? I’d have thought you were too young for that kind of thing. You nobles must have it rough.”

  “Isn’t it the same for you?” Marcel shot back without missing a beat. "i imagine you still have quite a bit of cleaning up to do. The after effects from the incursion are still fresh in people's minds, after all. And that's without even mentioning the state of your headquarters."

  The voice on the phone chuckled again, relenting with the words "You are right about that" as it offered it's goodbyes. Once the call ended, Marcel let out a quiet sigh and looked up at the tall building looming over the pre-dawn streets.

  >>>---<<<

  Soft footfalls rang out inside a spacious hall, each one coming down with a bit more vigor than the last as they approached the impressive double doors lurking at the corridors end. The owner of said motions paid no heed to the extravagant murals, paintings or even the guilds notable historical figures plastered on the adjacent walls.

  The young man simply carried on his journey, marching along the lush velvet carpet with a taught expression of displeasure gracing his bandaged appearance. Finally reaching the end, he gave two knocks to the expensive-looking wooden doors, then proceeded once he heard the words ‘come in Marcel.’

  His field of vision expanded by more than two-fold simply by crossing the doorframe. Inside the room was different, but in a quirky sort of way.

  It was the kind of scenery one would expect when venturing into such a sophisticated building, because while it could easily be seen as the office of some big corporate official’s CEO, one could also interpret the setting as a simple yet elegant study, designed for contemplation rather than business.

  A set of leather lounge furniture sat on an open, Sepia carpet that accentuated the walls lined with towering bookshelves, and the otherworldly paintings of heroic valor. At the center, a large mahogany desk stood, its surface surprisingly uncluttered except for a single open book and a glass of something amber-colored.

  Of the few lights currently on in the building, this room had the dimmest glow, casting long shadows that stretched across the walls like silent spectators. Marcel advanced cautiously, stepping closer towards the one who’d acknowledged his presence without breaking focus

  Dressed in a crisp white shirt and a fitted black waistcoat; the man assumed an astonishingly straight posture in the high-backed leather chair, a position that allowed the dim-light to cast a surprisingly luminescent glow across his figure behind the thick desk. Sleek bangs of tousled red hair flopped down to frame his sharp jawline and youthful features.

  A pair of sharp, discerning eyes, the color of embers, flicked up only briefly before settling back on the documents spread before him. His gloved fingers tapped idly against the polished wood of the desk, a sign of quiet contemplation rather than impatience.

  Both Marcel, and the man paying little heed to his presence bore a striking resemblance to each other, although the latter was quite clearly Marcel’s superior in every sense of the word— mannerisms, demeanor...everything.

  “Guildmaster Byron, I’ve returned.”

  “That’s quite the sour expression you’re making Marcel. Has the hunter association’s investigation really worn you down that much?” the man worded slowly, taking a sip from the wine glass on his desk.

  “No, the investigation has been put on hold for now due to a lack of evidence. I expect this entire thing to be resolved in the coming days, but it seems I won’t be regaining my status as a hunter until then.”

  “That’s a shame.” said Byron, his tone sounding uninterested. “It took quite a bit of effort to get all those defense attorneys on our side, but I suppose it can’t be helped. I intend to have them settle this in a natural way that doesn’t reflect negatively on the guild. Just do as we discussed and let your felled servant take the fall.”

  “Yes sir, things are going well on that front. Without any real evidence its hard for them to prove anything.” Marcel replied confidently, raising his gaze a bit.

  He didn’t find it very surprising when he noticed that his older half- brother still had yet to tear his eyes away from the stacks of paper in his hand. This was how their interactions usually went, there was no form of banter, chatter or disagreements between them because Byron’s authority was absolute.