The sun set over Mudside as they approached the square by the Church of Saint Muriel, a small Gothic stone structure with a weathered statue of a woman out front. Compared to the surrounding alleys and tenements, this corner of the district seemed respectable. Flower boxes thrived beneath the windows, and the cobblestones were recently swept, though patches of moss and cracked mortar hinted at a different reality beneath the surface.

Children played with a rag ball near a water trough, while a fishmonger across the square packed up for the night. The church stood proud, its stone façade pockmarked with age, its stained glass faded but intact. A small shrine to who had to be Saint Muriel sat in front, where a few parishioners murmured prayers beneath her gaze.

Justin took it all in. Even if this was one of the poorest neighborhoods in Belmora, faith endured. Still, the hunger in the air was almost tangible. This part of Mudside dressed itself up for the saint, but Justin had no illusions about the rest of it.

Myrelle approached the great oak doors of the church, but Alistair gently caught her by the elbow.

"This isn't it," he said. "I'm afraid you won't be allowed inside."

Myrelle raised a brow. "How quaint."

"It's a matter of protocol," Alistair said, clearly uncomfortable. "They won't allow non-Templars, even nobles."

"I'll stay with her," Justin offered, understanding the subtext. Someone needed to ensure she didn't elope. "They won't try anything here."

"Good," Alistair said. "I'll return as soon as I've spoken with the ranking Templar."

He walked across the plaza, surprisingly not toward the church itself but down the street. This church was not the base, merely a landmark Alistair wanted to help him find the rest of the way on his own. The actual base was likely somewhere far less obvious.

Myrelle and Justin entered the church. They stood in the cool, echoing stillness of the nave. Candlelight flickered across worn pews and dusty statues. Above the altar, a silver statue of a jeweled Phoenix, at least twenty feet wide, loomed over the space. They were alone, aside from a couple of older folk in prayer near the front.

"Well," Myrelle said, turning to face him with a knowing smile. "You're nervous. Afraid to be left alone with me?"

Justin folded his arms. "Hardly. But I am curious. You're clearly more than the victim I thought you were. The boots gave it away."

She glanced down, amused. "You noticed."

"Of course. You were supposedly on your way to a party, but you wore boots meant for mud and escape. You tried to play it off, but there's something you're not telling me."

Myrelle paused to consider his response. Justin could tell she was deciding whether to reveal the truth—or at least a version meant to stave off further questions. "It was an act of desperation. I suspected the Aurelians were planning something, but my father wouldn't act without proof. When I got that letter, their plan became obvious. So... I put myself in their path. I thought if I were taken, I could observe, document, and then escape. Or be found."

Justin raised a brow. "And how did you plan to be found in such a predicament?"

She pulled a silver amulet from beneath her bodice. It was shaped like a phoenix, its wings outstretched. "This. Enchanted against scrying, but my family was attuned to the location glyph inside. They could find me as soon as I activated it."

"And your father was in on it?"

Myrelle smiled bitterly. "He didn't know. I left him a note, just enough for him to figure out the rest. I expected him to send someone after me... and when you arrived, I assumed you were one of his hires."

"But we weren't."

"No. So I stayed quiet and watched. You and Lila... you surprised me. It became clear very quickly that you were highly capable, to the point I was shocked I had never seen your faces before. We nobles... we tend to recognize effectiveness fast."

Justin nodded slowly, trying to piece it all together. "So now what? Even if you testify, even if you tell people about the Red Lantern and Blithe, what changes? Will it be enough?"

"No," she said bluntly. "They'll claim it was a rogue actor. Plausible deniability. I had hoped for something more concrete, like ledgers, names—something I could tie directly to the Aurelians. But ironically, your rescue cut the operation short."

"Sorry for that."

She laughed. "Don't be. Alistair's idea to involve the Templars may not bring justice, but it could force a temporary truce. That's all we can hope for: a reprieve, a delay. Time to regroup."

"Let's hope it's enough."

Myrelle turned to him, her expression more inquisitive. "And you? Who are you, really? I know the noble houses of Belmora, but Talemaker isn't among them."

Justin's mind scrambled. "House Talemaker is... obscure."

"From where?"

"The Wildwood."

She blinked. "In the Hinterlands? You're serious?"

"Quite."

"The Wildwood is large. Caroway? Mistwatch? Whispering Pines? Darkwater Vale?"

"Near Mistwatch. About ten miles west."

"I see. Little populated beyond Mistwatch. Those lands are under Count Reynard of Darkwater Vale. Are you a knight of his, perhaps?"

"Not a knight. Just... a man out of place."

"Aren't we all," she murmured. "Being from that area, do you have any insights about the new Count Valdrik?"

Justin tried to maintain his composure. It was a natural question, given Valdrik's recent ascension, but he struggled not to reveal anything. "Valdrik... is an interesting man."

"Ah. You know him, then?"

"We've met. Back when he was still a baron."

"I hear he's an enigma but highly capable. His house is obscure, like yours. Or at least, it once was."

"He's made a name for himself," Justin said, keeping things intentionally vague.

"That he has. I met him at the recent Wintertide Ball at the Royal Palace. Just a few passing words, but a fascinating man. Quite charming. He was there for his coronation."

Justin nodded, suppressing the urge to swallow. He wanted the conversation to move on; the last thing he needed was for Myrelle to mention him to Valdrik if they met again. Yet he couldn't appear too eager for the topic to change. "Yes. Only time will tell how this all shakes out."

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"He's a good man to know, especially given your position. If you need a reference, I would be happy to provide one as a favor. Of course, you are owed much more for your assistance."

"Thank you," Justin replied, striving for diplomacy.

She sensed his discomfort and seemed to note it for future reference. Though she was only Level 15, most of her levels likely came from using her class as intended: socializing, flattering, and building networks. His experience, on the other hand, stemmed from Vaults and exploring the wilds.

While he was at a higher level, she had more intrinsic experience with her class's mechanics and the nuances of conversation. It reminded him that navigating high society meant everyone knew everyone, or at least knew of everyone. Eventually, Valdrik would discover them, and Justin had to be ready for when that happened.

They waited in silence for a few minutes, a silence that wasn't entirely awkward but filled with meaning. She was curious about him and his past. A noblewoman like Myrelle, a Socialite, liked to categorize people, and Justin was an anomaly. He recognized that Myrelle would be a valuable contact, not only for her connections but also for her knowledge of Belmora's landscape.

"After all this is done," he said, "I would like to maintain an acquaintance with you, if you're open to it."

"I would like that very much," she replied with a smile. "You intrigue me, Mr. Talemaker. It's always useful to have friends from all walks of life."

Before Justin could say more, the chapel doors creaked open. Alistair entered, shaking his head. "Well, that was... difficult. Templar Tiffany was not pleased, but she agreed to speak with her Aurelian contact tonight. Given the circumstances—and the bodies—we can't afford further escalation. She's moving fast. That's a good thing."

Myrelle watched him closely. "Are you sure they won't retaliate?"

"For now, she seemed to think they don't want a public war," Alistair replied. "The Aurelian leadership will want to contain this. You've made noise, but not irreparable damage. It's best we get you back to your estate as soon as possible."

"Of course," Myrelle said, effortlessly shifting back into the persona of a highborn lady. "Thank you, Sir Alistair. Your valor is matched only by your discretion."

Alistair smiled despite himself. Justin recognized the effect; he wouldn't have been surprised if she had used Endearing Compliment. He remembered passing on that skill at Level 3 in favor of Dandy's Swagger. In this instance, Justin was sure it was just Myrelle playing the long game. There was no harm in building allies, he supposed.

"You'll both be rewarded," she said, turning to Justin with a smile. "Especially you. The cane you gave me was a … noble gift. At the Corrin Estate, we have quite the collection of canes, rapiers, and enchanted umbrellas. I can offer you a private tour, if you're interested."

Justin smiled, but the wording struck him oddly. "Noble," she'd said. Not generous, brave, or kind. Was it a compliment or a subtle acknowledgment that she knew he wasn't who he claimed to be? Even now, she was waiting for his answer.

"I would be delighted."

She nodded, her smile reaching her eyes as she looked at his weapon. "That piece of yours looks to be good quality. My father would be interested to see it."

"Of course," Justin said. Thinking of Lila, he added, "we should get moving."

"Follow me. It will be a few hours on foot. Less if you're willing to run partway."

"We must go at full speed," Alistair said.

They exited the church into the square. Dusk had fallen, and Mudside buzzed with the sounds of closing shops and lanterns being lit. Somewhere nearby, a cat yowled on a rooftop.

Justin tightened his coat against the cool air as he watched Myrelle and Alistair move ahead.

Quest Updated: Break the Chains

You have secured help from the Templars; Templar Tiffany believes she can broker a truce with the Aurelians. Time will tell how this unfolds. For now, return Lady Myrelle to her estate safely.

The notification faded without granting any experience points.

Justin updated Lila, concluding with, We're on our way to the Corrin Estate now. It should take a few hours to return.

Stay safe, Lila replied. Everything is under control here. Rinna is serious about working with us, Justin. Having an Enchanter could be very beneficial. If what she claims is true, she has natural talent beyond her class abilities.

Justin nodded. Hiring her now felt premature; they hadn't even started their business, having just arrived that morning at the docks. He fought off the fatigue threatening to overwhelm him. Something to keep in our back pocket. Just continue to assess her.

Will do. Stay alert.

They followed Myrelle through the winding lanes of Mudside deeper into the city, where cobblestones gave way to dirt and filth. The buildings hunched inward like broken ribs. Laundry lines stretched between rooftops, heavy with damp linens. The scent of ash and open sewage clung to everything like a second skin.

They were being watched but not approached. It was easy to see why, given the weapons displayed so openly. Justin felt that if they appeared less capable, they would be in a very different situation.

The alley widened into a thoroughfare that led to the city's outer wall, adorned with towers featuring red-tiled conical roofs. The imposing Mud Gate stood before them, its high, well-crafted iron portcullis flanked by guards. Despite the late hour, a trickle of foot traffic passed through—laborers heading home, a few peddlers, and a Priest.

As they crossed beneath the archway, Justin expected the road to drop away into open countryside.

It didn't.

Beyond the wall, the city sprawled on. Mud-packed lanes sloshed underfoot, edged with warped planks and lean-to shelters. Smoke rose from trash fires, and tenements leaned like teeth ready to fall from diseased gums. The stench here was thicker, an overpowering mix of wood smoke and offal.

Justin blinked. "I thought we were leaving the city."

"First time in the capital?" Myrelle asked, a touch amused.

He immediately regretted saying it. "I suppose there's no use hiding it now."

She glanced at him. "Ah. That explains the expression." She gestured toward the slums. "The city can't keep all its misery in just Mudside and the Floating Market. This place is like a tumor, if you will. One that seems to grow by the year at an accelerating pace."

"Tumors don't usually house thousands of people."

"That's what makes it so convenient."

"What if there's a war? What happens to these people?"

"There hasn't been a war outside Belmora's walls in over a century." She adjusted her cloak as a donkey cart rolled by. "But there was a fire twenty years ago that tore through the entire quarter, burning down half of Grayslant before anyone noticed."

Justin noted the name Grayslant, a fittingly grim label for this place: the Floating Market, Mudside, and Grayslant. He was more familiar with the city's worst areas than its best.

Soon, the shanties gave way to patchy fields and then to orderly farmland dotted with dry-stone walls. Lanterns flickered on porches, and distant laughter mingled with barking dogs from unseen homes. A few noble estates crowned the low hills, torch-lit and serene, like distant watchfires against the growing dark. Grayslant had been left behind.

They turned northeast onto a paved road, joining a stream of evening travelers: traders bound for the coast, wine merchants, and the occasional armored coach. Justin suspected the road would be much busier during the day, but for a city the size of Belmora, traffic never truly stopped; it only lessened.

Hours passed, and stars emerged. Alistair remained stoic, his hand close to the haft of his hammer. Now free from the narrow alleys of Belmora, he was ready to wield his weapon.

"We're getting close," Myrelle said quietly.

The road bent one last time, revealing the Corrin estate, an expansive property enclosed by ivy-covered stone walls. Lanterns flickered in iron sconces flanking the main gate, where a lone footman stood guard beneath the arch, hunched in his cloak against the wind. Justin's eye caught a crest on his uniform, a rearing silver stag with a scroll in its mouth.

As they approached, the man straightened—and froze. His eyes widened, and his mouth parted in disbelief. "Lady Myrelle? By the Six! Lady Myrelle, is it truly you?"

"It's me, Charles," she replied gently. "Please, let us in. Is my father home?"

He fumbled with the keys, his hands shaking. "Y-yes, my lady. He returned from Vexhall just this evening, insisting on delivering all his letters himself despite the late hour."

"This is Alistair of Drakendale," she introduced gracefully. "And this is Justin Talemaker. They saved my life and are responsible for my safe return."

Charles bowed deeply, nearly collapsing. His voice trembled. "Then you have House Corrin's eternal gratitude, sirs. Gods bless you. It's been three days, and your parents—your dear mother—were nearly inconsolable. They feared the worst."

"Only three days?" Myrelle said with a tired smile. "It felt like a lifetime. And my mother?"

"Not well, my lady. But this… this will surely bring light back to her." He stepped back and reverently opened the gate. "Come. Quickly now. Those Aurelian dogs could be anywhere."

He locked the gate behind them and led them up the main driveway.

Myrelle touched his arm. "We can find our way from here. Thank you, Charles."

"Of course, my lady." He returned to his post with a smile.

As they walked up the drive, the manor emerged from the night, two stories high. It was grand yet grounded, a noble home built for legacy rather than show. Ivy clung to the stone, and warm light spilled from the mullioned windows onto the trimmed hedges.

Justin activated his Ring of Hygiene. The grime, sweat, and blood vanished from his skin and clothing. With a thought, he switched to his Founder's Regalia.

Myrelle glanced at him as they crossed the threshold. "You clean up nicely, Mr. Talemaker."

Justin felt warmth rise within him, his heart swelling with pride. It wasn't just the words but the sincerity with which she spoke, as if sharing a secret meant only for him.

Then he realized what was happening. "Ah, Endearing Compliment. Almost took that one."

She smiled disarmingly. "But I mean it." Her eyes focused ahead. "Before we meet my father, a few notes of advice. He's... exacting. Fond of moral lectures and impossible riddles. Don't take it personally. If he starts talking nonsense, just nod sagely and let me handle it."

"Sounds charming," Justin said.

They ascended the main steps, where the heavy front doors of the house awaited them.

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