Perched like a vulture's roost on the jagged cliffs outside Sparkhold, the Inquisition docks were not built for commerce or comfort-they were a crucible of fear, control, and iron order. Massive iron gantries jutted from black-stone platforms, their runed sparking chains groaning as they reeled in towering ships-each one creaking under the weight of chained cargo, prisoners, or both.

Matching the aesthetic, the sky above look stomy- gray and unnaturally thick, as if the wind itself feared to blow too freely. The ships that landed under the Inquisition's banner bore hulls scorched with cannonfire and reinforced with runed steel. [Dockhands] wore crimson-gray hoods as they worked. Lanterns of sparking electricity swing from rusted hooks, casting long shadows across the pier, while inquisitorial [Samurai] in Yoroi armor watch from catwalks above, weapons ready and eyes vigilant.

Their vigilance is due to chained prisoners currently corralled from ships to a building nearby. Yuto understands that the Inquisition does not wantonly slaughter [Pirates] that surrender. Instead, they offer them an avenue for freedom via working in the numerous camps under the inquisition's control.

But, that understanding comes from books, scrolls, and hearsay. Yuto imagined the Inquisition headquarters far differently than what he saw before him. Chained prisoners in dirty rags, whipped under the threat of torture and death is not a scene he was at all expecting.

"Ah, Yuto," Quasi takes a deep breath and extends a paw. "Behold, the welcoming embrace of the Inquisition. Smell that? That's the scent of paranoia, blood, and singed skin. Also shit, lots of shit. Goddamn, they should really shower the prisoners or something."

Yuto grunts, unsure how to reply.

Quasi waves a paw, taking his silence as a sign to continue. "And look there." He points to a nearby platform, where a prisoner in runed cuffs is being hauled off by three inquisitors. "They're doing that quaint hospitality thing again. Strip you naked, toss you in a cage, question your ancestry, and then decide if you smell too rebellious. Ten out of ten, would visit again."

Feeling annoyed now, Yuto turns to glare at his [Captain], wondering if he should tell him to keep quiet. It would not do to get on the Inquisition's bad side.

"You should be careful with your words, they may not understand your humor as I do."

The cat winks, gesturing his tail to the watchtower, where crossbows and rifles track the duo with all the warmth of a tax collector. "It's fine, they clearly do. Why else would they offer ranged protective support? Clearly, they're looking out for our very well-being."

Yuto sighs. He shakes his head and glances at the docks filled to the brim with ships. With luck, they'll have a vessel immediately ready for the taking.

"Anyway," Quasi claps yuto on the neck. "Chin up." The cat raises a paw to a group of approaching [Samurai]. "Smile for the inquisitors. They love it when you look guilty."

Yuto suppresses a groan as he straightens his back and perfects his posture. Once the [Samurai] are adequately close enough, Yuto immediately bows as is customary. "The blade speaks with a sheathed edge," he says.

The lead [Samurai] stops for a moment, then copies the bow. "The scabbard honors us both."

The [Samurai] removes his mask. "I am [Inquisitor] Atoro. These docks are only for those of the Inquisition. What reason do you have to be here?"

"I am [Gunner] Yuto under the command of [Captain] Quasi. I come bearing a request for the commander's eyes regarding a reward for my [Captain]." Carefully, Yuto reaches into his side and produces a scroll, which he hands to Atoro.

Atoro takes the scroll and looks at the seal. His thumb traces the runic inscriptions written into the wave. "This is genuine. Though, If what you ask is a reward, then the Judicar would most surely wish to meet the [Captain] in question."

Yuto glances to the side and raises a thumb towards the cat, "The [Captain] is here."

"Meeooow." The cat answers, immediately feeling the increase in Yuto's heartbeat.

Atoro frowns while raising a furry eyebrow. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"[Captain]," Yuto forces, "It would not do to play games with the [Inquisitor]. A single word from him can reduce the quality of your reward."

The cat pouts. "Fine, fine." He then waves a paw. "I am [Captain] Quasi Eludo, Savior of wealthy important people and slayer of numerous Fenrimorphs."

Atoro gazes, hiding surprise for a moment at the sight of a talking cat, followed by digesting Quasi's words as he looks upon the class. "You've fought our enemy? Truly?" The [Samurai] glances again at the genuine scroll. Immediately, his demeanor changes, as do the two others at his side.

They stand less threatening, almost inviting even. "It is," Yuto replies. "I have witnessed him singlehandedly end the life of an Alpha with fourteen horns."

Atoro hyperfocuses now on Quasi in greater interest. "Your words hide no lies." Atoro waves a hand in the sky and the weapons aimed at them are removed. "Come, follow. I will take you to the [Primus Judicar]."

________________________________________________________________

The grim, storm-wracked exterior of the Inquisition docks gives way to a headquarters that is blindingly pristine, unsettlingly ordered, and deeply symbolic-a sanctum of oppressive "purity."

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Crossing the threshold from the soot-streaked docks into the Inquisitor's sanctum was like stepping into a different world-one where sin had been scrubbed away with fire and salt, and sterility had been mistaken for salvation.

The first thing to strike the eye was the light: cold, bright, and unnatural. No torches. No flickering. Just a constant, searing white glow radiating from sparking pylon in the ceiling. The illumination revealed everything-there were no corners for shadows to nest in, no alcoves for secrets to hide.

Polished marble floors stretched endlessly in pale, unblemished tiles, so clean they mirrored the vaulted ceilings above. Every surface gleamed with an almost fanatical perfection—desks without a single scroll out of place, benches aligned by millimeters, and even the air itself humming with crispness.

The scent was sterile—herbs, ozone, and something sharper beneath. Not the blood or burning of the docks outside, but a purified scent, as if even the memory of impurity had been excised.

Clerks in white robes moved with near-mechanical precision, their faces blank, their footsteps noiseless on the stone. Statues of [Samurai]-faces covered in masks-lined the walls in symmetrical intervals, each holding a scale in one hand and a blade in the other. Above them, massive banners bore the Inquisition's seal: an all-seeing eye.

But it was the silence that struck hardest. Not peace, not calm-but a silence born of absolute control. Every breath, every word spoken here was intentional. Even the echoes dared not raise their voices.

And in the very center, behind an arch of radiant goldsteel, was the Judicar's Hall-the sanctum of the [Primus Judicar]. A throne of smooth obsidian awaited, flanked by runed pillars etched with the haikus of those immortalized.

Here, no flame roared. No blade clashed.

Here, justice had already been decided. The building itself merely waited for the body to catch up.

________________________________________________________

I feel Yuto take a deep breath as Atoro opens the doors and ushers us inside. As though entering through a threshold, I feel something take hold of me with an iron will.

Odd.

I glance around and sigh. The chamber looked like a temple that got married to a courtroom and then murdered a cathedral for the honeymoon. Hexagonal, sterile, and more symmetrical than Boriss's love life. Every inch screamed importance, in that overcompensating way bureaucrats do when they want you to believe their furniture can pass judgment.

At the center sat the throne. Not a comfy throne. No. This one looked like someone took a war crime, dipped it in obsidian, and gave it a law degree. Sharp edges. Inlaid runes. The kind of chair you don't sit in so much as endure.

And on that throne?

Oh boy.

Shinjitsu Tsurugi, the Wordbreaker: Level 74 [Primus Judicar]

They wore white. Not a friendly white. Not clouds or snow or wedding dresses. No, this was the white of bleached bones and unspoken threats. Their robes were stiff, probably starched with the tears of heretics. A silver mantle hung from their shoulders like it personally hated the concept of comfort, and on their face? A smooth, expressionless mask-ivory, featureless, and absolutely terrifying in the "I don't need a face to ruin your life" kind of way.

They didn't move. They didn't fidget. They didn't blink-I'm not even sure they had eyelids under that mask. They just… watched. Like a statue someone had given a soul and a performance review quota.

And when they finally spoke, the voice came filtered through the mask, flat as an executioner's sigh. No inflection. No emotion. Just cold, judicial authority that said, 'I have never told a joke in my life and you're not about to be the first.'

"You stand before judgment."

Oh, good. My favorite pastime.

I gave a slight bow, which I'm sure came off as respectful and not even slightly mocking upon Yuto's shoulder.

"And you sit with a stick so far up your spine I can hear it resonate when you breathe." My thoughts spew out from my mouth outside of my control, as though I'd been compelled to speak the first thought to enter my noggin.

Yuto winced. I felt a subtle tug on my fur-his polite way of saying 'Please shut up before we're both excommunicated from existence.'

Yea, I know. He's got weird magic compelling shit. Now I have to control my thoughts.

The [Primus Judicar] didn't react. Of course they didn't. You don't wear a faceless mask like that unless your ego is either dead or legally classified as a weapon.

"Proceed with your report."

I sighed and wiggled my tail. I try to control my thoughts as I open my mouth, failing miraculously. "Right. Heresy. Fenrimorph incursions. Fleets getting destroyed. Me saving an island from eradication. But sure, let's talk paperwork."

I feel Yuto groan under his breath.

I'm trying!

"Yuto, mind handing the scroll over before I get us both killed with my mouth?"

Yuto compiles. He steps forward and presents the sealed scroll.

The Primus Judicar opened the scroll with the practiced grace of someone who'd done it a thousand times and expected to be bored every time. He scanned the parchment, expression unreadable as always-carved from granite, polished by bureaucracy, and accessorized with just a hint of eternal judgment.

Quasi watched him, tail twitching lazily, resisting the urge to whistle. Yes, read it. Read my magnificence. Know the feline superiority that stands before you!

After an agonizing pause,clearly for effect, the Judicar let the scroll roll back into place with a precise flick of his fingers. He placed it carefully on the table, exactly parallel to the ink pot. "The report is verified," he said, voice as rigid as the high collar strangling his neck. "Assistance rendered to the Inquisition. Fenrimorph-Alpha subdued. lives preserved."

Goddam, I can't read a hint of emotion from his voice.

The Judicar reached for his quill, dipped it into the ink, and began writing on thick parchment with strokes so disciplined they might have been military drills. "A Runed Cruiser-Class vessel or equivalent is to be assigned. [Dockmaster] Mavrek will be given the orders directly. This is... an exceptional dispensation."

Exceptional? Oh, you sweet, starched corpse. I saved your island from getting destroyed. You're lucky I don't ask for your throne, your robes, and a foot massage from your most pious [Inquisitors].

He blotted the parchment with mechanical efficiency, then folded it with reverence and sealed it with his ring. The wax bore the mark of the Judicariate—justice, law, and absolutely no sense of humor.

He finally looked up. "You will deliver this to the [Dockmaster] personally."

Quasi offered a stiff bow on Yuto's shoulder, mostly because smirking might earn him a public flogging. "Of course, your Rectitude."

'Deliver it personally,' he says, like I'm his favorite errand boy. Should I curtsy, too? Maybe wear a sash? 'Official Savior of the Day, Now With Package Delivery Service!'

The Judicar tilts his head slightly. "Do not tarnish this with irreverence."

Quasi blinked, smile frozen. Wait, can he read minds?

"I wouldn't dream of it," I say truthfully.

I'd probably act on it instead.

The Judicar stared a second longer. Then he nodded once. "Dismissed."

Yuto immediately turns on his heel with the scroll in hand, posture straight, movements crisp. He even saluted the marble statue of Law on the way out for good measure.

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