Headed by a Snake

Chapter 306 Why Are You...

?Tycondrius felt his mouth twitch at the man's blatant disrespect. Athena was the only good he had left willing to bear the Vanzano name.

Archbishop Natalya Crucis' quest had two conditions: The name of House Vanzano must be restored and Athena must be well taken care of. Nowhere was it stated or even implied that Greer's wellbeing was necessary. With the man's recent words, his presence wasn't even welcome.

"SILENCE!!" Zenon stepped forward, his voice booming with magic even without wearing his full helmet, "My name is Centurion Zenon Skyreaper and by the decree of the Church, you are all now under my command."

The bladed claws attached to his forearms sparked with electricity as he nearly spat his words in contempt, "The only words on your lips should be praise for the Eternal Flame."

"P-praise the Flame..." Greer whispered.

The footman, Victorius, stealthily escaped into a different hallway. Was that a movement technique? That was promising.

Athena frowned, half-hiding behind one of the linen-covered couches, "What... what does the Church want with me?"

Tycon narrowed his eyes, picking up his bag off the floor, "Let me make it painfully obvious."

Zenon stood up and nodded, placing his full helmet back upon his head, "Shall I retrieve the other things we require, Optio?"

"Please, Brother-Centurion..." Tycon grinned. "Athena and I will... be awhile."

...

Tanamar jogged down the empty streets, hastening his return to the Vanzano manor.

About a moon prior, House Galina came to collect their debts. They were due for more harassment... and soon.

The last time, they made a mistake of trying to push their weight while he wasn't working at his other job. Tanamar convinced them to leave-- and the cost was him needing to break an arm and a leg. When they'd send more collectors... and if the Galanis head had any brains, there would be far more than just three or four of the bastards.

Arriving at the gates of the manor, Tanamar was greeted with a grisly sight...

Blood painted the road from slashes of a heavy blade. Blood had pooled against the fencing, spilled onto the dirt as if a man was restrained and bled. In one spot, there was... an unholy amount of blood collected in a messy puddle, littered with metal armor bits and what he suspected were fragments of bone.

Remnants of mana from a Circle spell still remained... and with the amount still hanging in the air, the original spell had to have been at least Second-Circle...

Seven hells... Maybe even Third.

Had House Galina recruited a Sanctified Psyker? Impossible.

Tanamar briefly closed his eyes, mentally activating one of his skills.

« Aspect of the Celestial Hound. »

He breathed in the magic all around him, his senses not-quite-magnified, but honed... He identified the auras he was familiar with... tracking the blood. Whoever spilled the blood had moved to inside the manor... And they were familiar to him... but who were they?

Could they have taken Athena?

Tanamar clenched his teeth. She was the only existence of value in the whole Flame-taken house. Even Tanamar's Flamescarred brother knew better than to stay in this quickly-sinking hellhole. Tancred joined the gods-damned circus at first opportunity, painting himself as a clown and calling himself the second-coming of Orcus.

He recalled that that was about the same time he abandoned his own family name. Nothing good came of it.

Worthless traitor. Pathetic garbage.

He clenched his fists. Iron-Rank. He was just as pathetic.

Once he reached Gold, he'd show them not to mess with the people he gave a shite about.

« Aspect of the Winged Seraphim. »

Tanamar leapt up, his adopted aspect boosting the height of his jump and allowing him to traverse the fence with ease. Bounding across the courtyard in gliding steps, he reached the door to the servant's quarters and nearly smashed it off its hinges.

Victorius nearly jumped out of his clothes, smacking his head against the top bunk of the bed he was sitting in. The former Archer was rubbing ointment onto his crippled hand... He looked like he was having a rough day.

He apologized in his heart, but there were more important things at stake than his fellow footman's aching hand.

"Victorius," Tanamar growled.

Victorius pouted, "Wh-what's wrong, Tanamar?"

"Where is Athena?"

...

? A bell prior. ?

"What's that stuff you're putting into the stove-pot, Sir Tycon?" Athena asked, her eyes wide in wonder.

"Water," Tycon narrowed his eyes.

That was a ridiculous question. He set the water-filled pot onto the stove flame, trying to make sense of it.

"Well, yeah! I know that!" The blue-haired girl pouted. "Come on. What's that jelly looking stuff?"

Tycon's mouth twitched. He felt like he was in the wrong for misunderstanding the young lady's question.

He opened the jar and held it towards the young lady to examine, "The gelatin within is a reduced broth made by the sailors of the Kingdom."

Why it was in a jar made of glass instead of a wood or paper container that allowed it to better dry was beyond him. Along with the jar of portable soup, there were fresh herbs and vegetables within his grocery bag. It would at least be enough for the evening.

"Mmmm..." Athena smelled the contents of the jar, but then her eyes shot open and she gasped dramatically, "From the Kingdom of Alizeau? Is it made with magic?"

...The probability was high. The people of the Kingdom loved using magic. Street lamps were powered by it. Children in the city streets could cast Elementary spells for show or for mischief. Noblewomen would use low-level Glamour spells in lieu of makeup. In the Kingdom, shops that catered to beauty and skincare sold magical reagents alongside mundane skin paints, scented soaps, and lotions.

Tycon brought his focus back to Athena's question... "A broth is heavily reduced, then laid out to dry further. Often, ingredients are mixed into that to make the gelatinous substance even drier."

"Like, magic ingredients?" Athena asked.

"Flour, likely," Tycon responded simply. "Magic is unnecessary to the process."

The cogs of thought turned in the young lady's brain as she stared blankly. Then all at once, understanding seemed to dawn on her.

"Ohhhh. Got it," She said proudly. "And because it's all dried, it doesn't spoil easily?"

"That's correct, young lady," Tycon allowed himself an encouraging smile. It was nice to work with a young person-- no, with any person who could think independently without his direction.

"But why are you in my kitchen?" She asked.