Chapter 6: Captian Lace
———-
Somewhere in the east of the Althanis Empire…
A man dressed in black, his white hair slicked back neatly, sat behind a desk covered in towering stacks of paperwork. Around the age of 19, stern-eyed, he scribbled rapidly with a thin pencil, signing document after document without pause.
SWOOSH
A strong gust of wind blew open the window behind him, scattering papers and snapping him from his rhythm.
At that same moment—not to far from this place over by the mountain ridge—Basil had just broken free of the cube, unleashing an aura of mana that rippled across the land.
The man at the desk set his pencil down and pushed back from the table with a sigh.
"Looks like I've got more work to do," he muttered, standing from his chair.
BOOM
The door to his office burst open. A young man with messy green hair leaned into the door frame, breathing hard, sweat running down his face.
"Sir—Captain Lace, sir! Did you feel that sudden burst of power coming from the mountains? A beast of that size… it could level the entire city!"
Lace walked calmly to the side of his desk and grabbed a half-skull mask, sliding it over his face. Then he crossed to the far wall, where two curved daggers and a sword hung on display.
"Yes, Lieutenant. I felt it," Lace replied, his voice cold and composed. "Gather a team of five and meet me in the city square. And bring me the file on Daravin."
"Yes, sir! Right away, sir!" the lieutenant shouted, spinning on his heel and sprinting down the hall toward the central office.
Lace fastened both daggers—one on each hip—grabbed his sword and slid it into its sheath—then walked out of his office without another word.
⸻
The city square buzzed with life. Merchants shouted over each other, townsfolk moved between shops, and at the center stood a marble fountain of a young man holding a sword up high, on its tip there hung the skull of a demon.
Near the base of the fountain stood Captain Lace, unmoving, hands behind his back.
6 figures approached him, dressed in identical black cloaks and hoods, each wearing a skull mask that hid their faces. The only thing separating them was the number of skull emblems stitched into their sleeves.
Four skulls for the captain.
Three for the lieutenant.
Two and one for the privates and trainees.
"Did you bring what I asked for, Adian?" Lace asked without turning.
"Yes, sir." The green-haired lieutenant extended a sealed scroll toward him. "But if I may ask, what does Daravin have to do with the aura we just felt?"
Lace accepted the scroll, tucking it into the inner lining of his coat.
"I have suspected for some time now that he's had a lab of some kind hidden in the mountains near where the presence originated. But with no evidence, we couldn't act. So we're going to ask him…Nicely to take us there."
He turned, eyes narrowing behind the mask.
"And every day around this time, he visits a pastry shop to buy a loaf of sweet bread… while ogling the chef's daughter. So, we're going to—politely—ask him a few questions."
"Ah—I see. Observant as always, Captain," Adian replied, stepping in line beside him.
The group made their way through the crowd, stopping just outside the pastry shop. Moments later, a short, round man emerged—bald, sweat beading on his upper lip, with a face that looked like it had been kicked in by a horse.
"Are you Fregly Daravin?" Lace asked, staring down at him.
The man froze, then swallowed hard.
"Yes… that's me. But I can assure you I've done nothing wrong. Please, show mercy!"
"Righhhtttt… We just have a few questions regarding an ongoing investigation," Lace said with a disarming tone, gesturing politely. "If you wouldn't mind leading us to your home, we can speak there more privately."
The square quieted around them. Murmurs buzzed through the crowd.
"Shit, it's the Excutioners. Stay clear of them."
"Dear, I think it's time to go home."
"Dad, why is everyone so scared of those guys?"
The Executioners had earned their reputation through blood. Tasked with carrying out the will of the Church of Death, they publicly executed criminals, hunted rogue guardians, and investigated murders or anyone capable of mass slaughter. Their authority came directly from the Emperor—and that meant they could use any means necessary. Torture, confiscation, execution on the spot.
Their presence was a warning.
And the people knew it.
The Goddess of Death thrives on mortal sacrifice and worship. It's only natural, that the Church bearing her name enforces her will through blood and fear. The Executioners are her blade—and the people know better than to cross paths with a blade already drawn.
"O-okay… my home is just up the hill. About a twenty-minute walk. Should we take a carriage?" Daravin asked, voice shaking.
"No. Walking's fine," Lace replied calmly, his eyes staring off into the distance while trying to pretend he doesn't hear the crowd.
⸻
Daravin's estate was large—too large for one man. A two-story mansion covered in moss and overgrown vines. The windows were fogged with dust, the wood warped from weather damage.
They entered through the front, the heavy door groaning as it opened.
"I'd offer you refreshments," Daravin said nervously, "but I recently fired all twenty-Seven of my maids. One of them stole something valuable… and no one confessed. So I, uh… got rid of them all."
"Sorry to hear that," Lace replied without emotion. He pulled the scroll from his coat and broke the wax seal, unrolling it as he spoke. "Fregly Daravin. Parents killed by bandits while returning from vacation, leaving you as the sole heir. Never married. No criminal record. Notorious for burning through house staff. Regular at the brothel. That sound about right?"
"Eh—haha, yeah, I guess," Daravin said with a forced smile.
"Good. Also says here you've got a log cabin up in the mountains nearby. We'd like you to take us there."
Daravin's expression dropped. "Umm, well, you see… a— a tree fell on it. Builders are working on it right now. Would be a shame to get in their way, haha."
Lace didn't blink. "Daravin… I wasn't asking."
"Ha… ha… yes, well, follow me then."
He shuffled nervously between the men and headed outside, leading them up a narrow dirt trail through the woods that bordered his estate. Lace and Adian took up the rear.
"Captain," Adian said quietly, "that document only listed his name and address. How'd you know all that other stuff?"
Lace didn't look back.
"About a year ago, I requested a spy from HQ. Someone to investigate the recent disappearances of young women in the city. So they sent me a spy who was previously in the death corps. She was hired on as one of Daravin's maids. Every month she sent me detailed reports."
Lace paused. His voice lowered.
"Last month… nothing. Not a word. We searched for her, but it was like she'd vanished into thin air. The final report said she suspected Daravin had a hidden lab in the mountains, and she planned to investigate it the following month."
Adian tensed. "You think she found something?"
"I think she found too much," Lace said. "And now she's gone. And that burst of power from the mountains today? Not a coincidence."
Adian hesitated, his boots crunching in the dirt as the group climbed.
"Captain… if you don't mind me asking. What rank was the spy?"
"She was rank (A). An elite member of the Death Corps."
Adian stopped walking for half a second, watching the others march on ahead. He swallowed hard.
If a rank (A) elite disappeared on this mission… what's going to happen to me? A rank (B)?
His grip tightened on the hilt of his short sword as he jogged forward to catch up.
❧