6.6.3502, 21:30, Stean, Arcane Operatives’ hideout.

The mission debrief had wrapped up quickly after Trail's advancement and the young woman, having just killed an hour before, returned to her parents house. Now being a full member, she would be moving into the hideout completely soon.

Concurrently, Mimicry was reviewing the earlier acquired documents. He had returned to his own quarters and now sat at his desk, room illuminated by a dim lightbulb.

The papers detailed the detective's guesses and deductions on what recent criminal incidents in Nyxara were linked to the Arcane Operatives.

Although the police didn't know the organization's name and so they referred to it as the Nyxara crime syndicate.

Reading this Mimicry felt slightly disappointed.

Officials are always so uncreative when it comes to naming. But what did I expect from the Nyxara Police Force.

Ceasing to dwell on this topic any longer, he continued reading. First was a list of all major incidents that had occurred in Nyxara in the past year, it then elaborated on which ones were possibly linked to the organization.

That was when the young man began to feel confused, the words in front of him formed complete sentences and he understood all of them, but he still struggled to believe what he read. Once he finished perusing the list he was left with a pressing question.

We were involved in fifty percent of these cases it seems, but how?

The hideout in Stean was tiny in comparison to the one in Votal and that referred to both the size of the building and the amount of members stationed.

Mimicry, knowing the rough state of the different hideouts, had two conjectures. Either Blur had somehow been involved in the majority of these cases, which was unrealistic, since his training had still been going during that time or members of hideouts outside of Nyxara had been mobilized to assist in missions.

But what is so special about Nyxara? Shouldn't there be plenty of possible missions in every country? Could this mean that there's a special plan, which requires extensive preparation in Nyxara?

Lacking the knowledge to draw a definite conclusion, he stopped his musings and dived into the details of the incidents in hopes of gaining further insight.

“There were a multitude of riots all over the country two months ago, resulting in considerable damage to government buildings and most importantly an outrageous death count on the rioters side.”

“The citizens, demanding the instatement of a human-lead parliament, had tried to storm Pentilon Tiaran Krepes’ estate armed and were mercilessly slaughtered by the noble's guard.”

Pentilon was the title bestowed upon the noble families entrusted with ruling an entire country. This honorable title was shared by all members of the family.

Right under the title Pentilon was Grienera followed by the lowest one Dendiran. While a Grienera controlled a province, Dendirans were limited to their city of residence.

Mimicry had heard of the bloodbath at the Pentilon's estate, but it had never crossed his mind that it could have been the Arcane Operatives’ doing, however the document had some valid reasons, indicating that it could indeed be connected to the criminal organization.

The weapons the rioters had carried during their attack, high-grade swords and revolvers, were uncharacteristic to a simple riot. Leading to the speculation that they had been provided by a secret backer. However there were no clues hinting directly at the “Nyxara crime syndicate”, the text clearly stated the lack of direct connections as well.

Noticing this, Mimicry found another possible explanation for his earlier question: The detective simply assumed connections without proper evidence, leading to overestimating of the actual involvement of the “Nyxara crime syndicate”!

This explains the situation, the detective was simply lousy, we might have even done the police a favor by removing such incompetent personnel.

He had swiftly checked the other cases for actual proof of connection and realized that evidence was sparse in number and quality, if provided at all.

Having figured out that this was poorly investigated information, he threw a quick look over the rest of the papers, not bothering with the details.

However on the last page his interest was piqued, when he recognized familiar characteristics.

“Many different cases of letters and a charred poison ivy leaf being left at crimes scenes have occurred in the past three years. In combination with the lack of bodies left after the incidents, this leads me to assume that Fleshweaver has shifted their antics to Nyxara. This will become easily verifiable, when the requested information from Panderium arrives.”

This is what Blur did back at the restaurant, why did he connect that to the Fleshweaver tale? Isn’t that tale just about a monster that makes bad people disappear, punishing them for their misdeeds….?

Then it struck him, Blur’s fanatical tendencies and her justification, as to why she had killed the restaurant’s staff. His pupils rapidly constricted, as he struggled to accept the very real possibility that his ex-master was behind the horror tale.

But that can’t be, she looks like she’s in her mid twenties, that tale is practically ancient. Is she imitating it? No that wouldn't be realistic. How could the abilities she demonstrated in the restaurant be so similar to the story? This doesn’t make sense at all!

His brain began to ache from the nonsensical information and he tried his best to form any kind of explanation for this absurd situation, that not only defied common sense, but completely shattered it.

After a lot of consideration he was able to formulate multiple possible explanations, but they still felt like a considerable stretch, making it impossible to call them likely of being the truth, at least that’s how he himself thought of them.

First possibility, the horror tale was indeed talking about Blur. This assumption opened a path for two options, either the tale wasn’t as old as it should be or his ex-master had somehow been alive for hundreds of years through some kind of ability.

However if such an ability truly existed, wouldn’t most members with a link in our organization have such a prolonged lifespan? While this seemed unlikely, since he should have heard about it at some point before, it was plausible for him to be left in the dark about it, if it was a highly secret matter.

I can’t ignore this theory entirely, but if this matter is truly kept confidential then at least all the head executives should know about it. They would have all acquired that ability, which means that old age shouldn’t pose a threat to them. So if one of them died from it, I could rule out the possibility of Blur being hundreds of years old.

Why did my master never talk about the situation of the other head executives? I can't verify it without knowing how they died in the past.

Then there are also enchantments, Although I highly doubt that they can prolong life, I simply lack knowledge about them.

After repeatedly reaching a dead-end in his musings the young man began to feel frustrated.

It seems no matter how hard I contemplate, I always end up with the issue of lacking knowledge.

Exhaling resignedly, he changed his focus to his second somewhat reasonable conjecture: the information provided was partially faulty.

After all there had been multiple assumptions without proper evidence in the papers before, lending proper ground for such a conclusion. Even so, Mimicry was unable to shake of the feeling that it held at least partial truth.

At this point, his mind, frustrated from the current topics and the insufficient knowledge, ventured a guess.

There are just too many options, who knows, maybe the Fleshweaver tale actually originated from some unknown supernatural power that influences the mind of certain people to punish the vile and evil.

Wait… , that would actually make a fair share of sense.

As he finished his wild guess, he felt that it held some merit. If his ex-master was fighting against a supernatural mental influence, her fanatical episodes were completely understandable.

Does the liquid she drips onto her eyes suppress it to some extent?

This thought came to his mind, since he had never seen the shimmering substance anywhere else. But a deeper dive into his memories quickly debunked the notion of it being a suppressor.

The timing didn’t align, she had used it during her fanatical episodes and the eccentric behavior hadn’t ceased, so unless it had a delayed effect it was something else.

Finishing his contemplating, due to no definite proof for any of his conjectures, he placed the papers on the desk and sat up.

It had gotten late, for his standards, although he was no longer bound by Blur’s harsh morning training, he still intended for his sleep schedule to stay roughly the same.

While preparing to head to bed he threw a look outside one of the windows that adorned his quarters, the sun had long set and the night sky, illuminated by countless twinkling stars, emitted a brilliant light.

The sea of twinkling sparks reflected in his strained brown eyes, as he stared up to it mesmerized. It seemed like an endless canopy hanging above the world, infinite in essence.

A pink circle crept onto this picturesque scene, intruding upon the sea of stars. This was one of the six different moons, which passed by every night and casted a faint hue of their respective color over the landscape.

Stean would be bathed in a soft pink for the next few minutes, since the moon was practically racing across the sky.

Suddenly gunshots rang out, presumably a few blocks away, ruining the enchanting scene and snapping Mimicry back to the barbaric reality of this part of town.

Street brawls and gang fights weren’t rare around these streets, with the officials only entering when things escalated to the extreme. It had taken a full-blown rebellion to get them to intervene in the black market district’s business, which was commonly referred to as the red light district.

However, even in such a dire situation, they had only stepped in once the rebellion had begun affecting areas outside the district.

In this operation many of the active gangs and criminal organizations had been uprooted and exterminated, by either executing or incarcerating most, if not all, of their members. Contrary to them the Arcane Operatives had averted the fate of being exposed, taking no losses as a result.

The quelling of the rebellion, nicknamed “The one-night cleansing”, already laid one and a half years in the past. Officials hadn’t widely entered the section, since then, leaving this unsavory area to its usual dealings.

To no ones surprise new gangs formed in no time, reinstating the previous lawless status quo and realigning the district’s reputation with its actual state.

While changing into his night garbs, Mimicry, like many times before, lamented the fact that for some reason the hideout in Stean had been placed in the red light district. From what he knew it was the only one in such a notoriously criminal area, all the other hideouts had been placed in more civil ones.

This being another matter, which he wasn’t able to comprehend, due to not being privy to information, he exhaled with a fair share of frustration and turned the lights off.

Many times before had he asked Blur about various topics, but the majority of the time she deemed it unnecessary knowledge, which he wouldn’t need. Stating he should focus whole-heartedly on his training first.

“What does knowledge offer you, if you lack the strength to capitalize on it?”

His ex-masters favorite response to his extensive questions replaying in his mind, he vented his pent up frustrations in a muttered voice.

Knowledge would allow me to see the bigger picture for once that’s for sure. Maybe I wouldn’t be forced to adjust on the fly all the time then.

The last sentence laced with emotion of past experiences, he picked up one of his daggers, which he had earlier placed on his desk, while changing and laid down on his bed. His mind restless, he struggled to fall asleep, thoughts of unsolved questions forming repeatedly and impeding his sleep.

It was 23:00, when Mimicry was finally able to quell his discontent and fall asleep, dagger placed in a sheath hidden in his night garbs, ready to be drawn at any time should an intruder barge in.