I returned to Daiward a fundamentally different person. I might still look like a kid, but open meridians and a dual focus made me a warrior — a martial arts practitioner. And with Zirgul on top of that, I was arguably the strongest person in this town.

  All of this at seven years old.

  I immediately noticed the shift in voices around me as townspeople watched me pass. Rumors about last night had already spread. Everyone knew. Well... hard to hide your strength when you have enemies.

  I walked down the main street and reached the town hall — a tall building with a broad, sweeping roof. Two guards with halberds waited at the entrance.

  "Nathaniel Crane, you'll need to surrender your weapon," one of them said. I shrugged.

  "Go ahead and try."

  The sword hovering behind my back did a lazy flip, its blade flashing dangerously. The guards exchanged glances. I just smirked, pulled the utility dagger from my belt, handed it to the nearest one, and walked inside.

  Zirgul lingered outside, playing with the guards as they tried to grab it. Eventually it shot straight up, then swooped in through a wide window on the opposite side of the building. Click — the blade slid into the scabbard on my back.

  "Could've waited outside," I told it with a smile. A faint vibration in response. "Suit yourself."

  I entered Dinrim's office without knocking. It was a spacious room divided into several sections. One held a writing desk, tall cabinets of scrolls behind it. Another was a lounge area with expensive couches piled with colorful cushions. The third, by the window, was a green corner full of decorative plants. The magistrate's little hobby, apparently.

  The office wasn't empty. Besides Dinrim, several other people were present, including — judging by the uniform — the senior inspector who oversaw the regional district. Unexpected. I'd figured they'd bring in the local inspector, not someone this high-ranking. But what really bothered me wasn't his rank — it was his strength. Fourth stage. And fairly young.

  I noticed a few other unfamiliar men in expensive clothes, probably part of the inspector's entourage. And of course, the butcher, Hodas. Eye bandaged, he was lounging on one of the couches, popping sun berries into his mouth — quite rare around here. He'd even found time to change, swapping his usual outfit for a robe emblazoned with dragons. That image made me clench my teeth.

  "There's the little bastard!" Hodas exclaimed when he saw me. "We were starting to think we'd have to hunt you through the woods."

  "I said I'd be back at dawn," I replied, locking eyes with Walter Hodas. Not without pleasure, I watched his cheek twitch.

  "In the name of the Lords — why are your eyes light?"

  "I've awakened my focus."

  "What?! Bullshit!" he shouted. "Everyone knows you burned it out. 'Fallen genius.' There's no way you restored it!"

  "And yet my eyes say otherwise," I smiled. "Where is my family?"

  "They're fine," Dinrim said. "They've been placed under protection, and your father received first aid. His life isn't in danger."

  "By 'protection,' do you mean they're behind bars? In a cell?" Fury boiled up inside me at the mere thought of Mom and baby Rendal sitting in some damp dungeon.

  "That's where they belong," Hodas laughed. "And you'll be joining them shortly."

  Dinrim shot him an angry look but said nothing.

  "Then why isn't this man in a cell? He attacked my father first."

  "That remains to be proven," Hodas said, his smile far too satisfied.

  The senior inspector had been silent so far, observing the exchange with detachment.

  "Proven? There are witnesses."

  "It's not that simple, young man," the inspector finally spoke. "The witnesses tell a different story. Mr. Hodas claims you attacked his son and destroyed his Ascension. He came to demand compensation, but you treacherously attacked him and took his eye. As a warrior, he reflexively reacted to the assault, and your father — who stepped in to protect you — was injured. His word, the word of a dragon-bearer, and his friends' testimony against yours, boy."

  "I see," I nodded.

  I'd figured it would come to something like this.

  "Furthermore, something curious has been reported to me. Your name has been called by the Eternal — more than once. And exactly one week after each naming, demon remains were found near the town. Care to comment?"

  "Even if I did, so what? Name me one law that forbids killing demons. Or one that punishes the condemned."

  "You forget yourself, boy!" Dinrim snapped — the usually composed magistrate losing his temper.

  "Killing demons isn't prohibited — you're right about that. But besides the bodies, traces of demonic practices were found, and those are strictly forbidden and severely punished. Blood rituals, demonic ceremonies — all of it falls under the harshest prohibitions. These are practices of blood cults and demonic sects, not warriors of the Spiral and servants of the Lords. So — have you been engaging in demonic practices?"

  "Did I claim that?" I smirked.

  "You little shit! You just said as much!" the butcher roared.

  "No. You asked if I had anything to say about it. And I said yes. I'm glad someone in our region is killing demons. Makes me sleep better at night."

  Hodas looked like he was about to burst a vessel. The senior inspector, though, impressed me with his composure. Not a single muscle twitched on his pale young face.

  "Don't take us for fools, boy," Dinrim said, visibly angry. "You're not in a position to joke. Confess, and the court will show leniency."

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  "I don't know anything," I shrugged. "Not about demons, not about the condemned. I'm just a little boy."

  That seemed to infuriate the butcher even more, but they couldn't touch me. They had zero proof I was behind the demon killings, and the fact that my name had been called didn't prove anything. The condemned — whatever they'd done — fell outside the inspectors' jurisdiction. That was the Lords' court. Not for common practitioners to meddle with.

  "And you haven't engaged in demonic practices?" the senior inspector asked.

  "No."

  "What if I use the truth bracers? I can see a spark of the Spiral in your eye — you've awakened your focus, which means I can use them on you."

  "I can't stop you," I spread my hands.

  "Very well." The inspector nodded and produced two silver bracers from a spatial ring. One had a red gem, the other green. "Do you know how they work?"

  "No," I lied.

  "They read your internal energy. Your spirit. If you lie, they'll show it." He fastened them on my wrists.

  I examined the artifacts and smiled inwardly. I knew exactly how they worked and how to fool them. All you had to do was genuinely believe you were telling the truth.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. From this moment, there were two of me. One — a little boy, Nathaniel Crane, born and raised in Daiward for all seven years of his life. He'd never been to hell. He'd never harmed anyone. His eye was blue. The other — the Bone Executioner, the name Ramuil's arena champion had earned. A master of demonic arts and a killer who'd walked over corpses to freedom. His eye was red.

  And right now, it was under a bandage.

  "Let's begin. Your name is Nathaniel Crane?"

  I opened only the right eye. The blue one.

  "Yes." The bracer with the green gem glowed faintly.

  "Good. It's working," the inspector nodded. "How old are you?"

  "Seven." Green glow again.

  "Did you attack this man?" He glanced at the butcher. Here I had to close the blue eye and open the red one. The Executioner had attacked. Pointless to deny that.

  "Yes."

  "Did you attack his son?"

  "No."

  "What nonsense?!" Hodas exploded. "He attacked him! That thing is lying!"

  "He attacked first. I only defended myself." Green glow. No trick needed here — that was the pure truth.

  "As you can see, he's telling the truth, Mr. Hodas," the inspector said. I thought I caught the ghost of a smile. The butcher was forced to bite his tongue. "Did you strike his meridian?"

  "I did."

  "To destroy his Ascension?"

  "I didn't use spiritual energy. I just wanted to disable his arm for a couple of hours. The blame for the destroyed meridian lies entirely with his father."

  "How dare you!" Hodas flared up again, but the inspector silenced him with a gesture.

  Every answer made the green bracer flash.

  "Tell me the sky is red," the inspector said.

  I almost said it — but caught myself in time and switched eyes. The Executioner had spent his entire life under a red sky, and the bracer might register that as truth. This was clearly a trap. The red bracer was supposed to light up.

  Even now, sometimes when I closed my eyes, I saw that red sky. I'd thought it would fade with time. It hadn't. Maybe those crimson skies would haunt me for the rest of my days.

  "The sky is red."

  "A lie. You see?" The inspector showed the result to the room. "The truth bracers are functioning."

  "Then let's move to the main questions," the magistrate suggested. "Did you kill a demon?"

  "No. I've never seen a demon," I said.

  Truth.

  "What? That's impossible!" Hodas erupted yet again.

  "So you've never engaged in forbidden practices either? Never conducted blood rituals?"

  "Of course not."

  Truth.

  "And the sword — where did it come from?"

  This was dangerous territory. I couldn't tell them the real origin.

  "It's mine by right," I answered as the Executioner. "I earned it in battle."

  "Battle? What battle?"

  "One where my life was at stake."

  All of it was pure truth. If I'd lost that fight against the thirteenth ring's champion, I wouldn't be standing here. I'd have been executed with the Soul Devourer. The stakes had been too high — and the cost of failure too great for Ramuil.

  "Elaborate."

  "Owning a sword like this isn't a crime," I said, lifting the blue eye to meet his gaze. Time to wrap this up. "I'm not involved in any demon appearances or any rituals."

  The bracer flashed green once more.

  "Answer when you're asked," Dinrim grumbled.

  But I had no intention of doing so.

  "I've answered every accusation against me. The rest is irrelevant."

  They still tried. The inspector was clever, approaching his real questions from unexpected angles and throwing in obvious "false" questions as traps. I didn't bite.

  "We're finished," the inspector said, and with a smooth motion removed the bracers from my wrists and sent them back into his spatial ring.

  I had to fight the urge to smirk. It had gone almost too smoothly, and I suspected my dual meridian structure was the reason. I'd simply split my spirit into two halves, matching the energy flows inside me. For an ordinary person, pulling that off would be exponentially harder. If not impossible.

  "The charges of demonic practices are suspended for now. As for the conflict with Mr. Hodas — that's less clear-cut."

  "Seems perfectly clear to me," I disagreed. "He attacked my father."

  "As we've established, you insulted him first, and he is a respected member of this community. Moreover, a dragon-bearer — chosen by the Lords. Your father is just a common man. Mr. Hodas was within his rights. And that's before we consider the damage — unintentional though it may have been — that you inflicted on his son. Since you're a child, the responsibility for the insult falls on your parent. In this case, your father. Mr. Hodas went too far, but you also took his eye. Under other circumstances, taking yours in return would be fair. But since you've awakened your focus — at such a remarkably young age — I propose both parties walk away as they are."

  "Not a chance," the butcher muttered.

  "No," I said. Firm and immovable.

  "You don't want to resolve this?"

  "He destroyed my Happi's Ascension — of course I can't let this go."

  "Neither can I," I nodded. "Mr. Hodas owes me a leg."

  "Why you—"

  "Enough!" the inspector intervened.

  "I challenge him to a warrior's duel of honor."

  "What?" The butcher and magistrate asked almost in unison. The inspector frowned.

  "I challenge him to a warrior's duel of honor. Isn't that how disputes between warriors are settled when both parties agree?"

  "Fight you? Give me a break!" Hodas waved dismissively.

  "Young man, you understand that if I approve this duel, you won't be permitted to use your flying sword. Standard weapons, standard techniques — this is a duel of honor, and you are vastly outranked by your opponent."

  "I won't need Zirgul for this fight."

  The inspector nodded, clasped his hands behind his back, and turned to Hodas.

  "I'm not fighting him! Sword or no sword. Let him pay for my eye and get lost."

  "You're that scared of a little kid who just formed his focus?" I asked.

  "I'm not scared of anyone, you runt!"

  "Then why refuse?"

  "I don't want to accidentally kill you."

  "We all die eventually. But you'd better agree to this duel, because if you don't, sooner or later I'll come for your legs. Both of them. But if you accept the challenge like a man, then fine — I'll only take one."

  "Where does a child get such arrogance?" Dinrim muttered. The senior inspector, however, seemed to be pondering this very question.

  "I have no objection. It's one of the Laws of the Spiral. If two warriors enter a conflict, they may resolve it through an honorable one-on-one duel under the supervision of an authority," the inspector ruled. "But both parties must agree."

  "I'm not changing my mind."

  "And I'm not playing your game, runt."

  "Coward?" A dumb provocation, but I'd already confirmed it would work. You just had to know where to aim the words. And I did. "The great dragon-bearer is afraid of a fight with a child? Maybe you cut off your own leg."

  I watched his face go purple.

  "I've heard that dragon-bearers are respected even if they don't become aspirants. But there's always that sideways look, that unspoken question — did they chicken out? When it's someone from a noble house or a clan, people whisper but never say it to their face. But you're not one of them. Maybe... that whole story was a lie? Maybe you cut off your own leg? It's back in one piece, after all — a clean wound, a healer stitched it right up. Maybe the whole thing was staged so nobody could call you a coward for not crossing the mountains? A strong warrior with a leg injury — you earn pity, but nobody calls you a coward. So tell me. Maybe that's exactly what happened?"

  I didn't know if I'd hit the mark. But his face contorted in exactly the same way it had right before he'd attacked Dad. Maybe it was the truth. Maybe he'd regretted it long ago. Pity isn't a feeling you can be proud of. It shows weakness, gnaws at you from the inside, eroding the soul.

  "Fine, you little shit. You'll get what you want! I don't know when you managed to form your focus, but without that flying sword of yours, you'll regret challenging me."

  "We'll see."