Chapter 220: Regiments of the Crucible (1).

The painting above the altar seemed to shift in the candlelight. The crimson warrior’s eyes gleamed brighter, and the demon head he held appeared to pulse, as though something within it still lived.

“A prayer to the watcher of the Blazing Sun, for its crown is everlasting…”

Nero felt a chill run down his spine. He didn’t know why.

The words were familiar as he’d heard them all his life. But there was something about hearing them here, in this place, that made his skin crawl.

“And a prayer to the kings of Tartarus, that they may never wake from their slumber.”

The prayers ended.

The Red Mother raised one skeletal hand, and the congregation sat.

Nero sat with them, his body moving on instinct while his mind remained elsewhere.

The mass continued.

Scriptures were read by the Red Mother in the ancient language from an ancient tome that required two attendants to carry it to the lectern. Hymns were sung, the voices of the beautiful female attendants rising in harmony that was just as beautiful as their pale skins, a rather uncommon delicacy to witness in a world as rough and brutal as this one.

“Mercy is a luxury we can no longer afford,” the Red Mother said, her rasping voice cutting through the silence.

“The world teeters on the edge of oblivion. One misstep, a single moment of weakness, and all will be lost.”

The masses listened in silence. Some nodded thoughtfully, others stared straight ahead, their faces numb as they shook off the lingering exhaustion of the night’s slumber.

Nero barely heard any of it.

Once the Red Mother finished her sermon, the final prayers were said.

When the mass finally ended, the Templars rose and began filing out. Nero waited until the crowd thinned before standing.

He caught sight of Sergeant Vane near the entrance, clad in his armor, with his helmet under his arm, speaking quietly with another Templar, a younger man whose armor bore the markings of an Apostle.

Nero said nothing as he quietly ignored the Sergeant. He left the cathedral and made his way toward the arena.

The corridors were emptying now, most of the Templars dispersing to their duties. Nero walked alone, his footsteps echoing off the stone.

Very soon, Nero reached the entrance to the arena and paused. He could hear movement inside. The clanging of metal.

Slowly, he pushed the doors open.

Sergeant Vane was already there, waiting for him. He was no longer clad in his armor. Instead, he had stripped his chest bare, wearing only a pair of long pants.

Nero felt his breath catch in his lungs.

The Sergeant’s chest was covered in deep black and throbbing crimson scarring. It was as though his flesh had been overturned, revealing a rather terrifying, almost revolting sight.

And yet, there was something absolutely magnificent about it. Beyond his strange flesh, every muscle of the older man’s body was like wires of stretched darksteel twirled together.

The strange dark and crimson twisted flesh seemed to extend to even more parts of his body.

Nero took a deep breath and stepped inside the arena.

The training would begin soon, he reckoned.

And he had much to learn…

***

Two weeks passed in grueling agony and silent dedication.

With every day Nero woke, the suffering he endured blossomed exponentially.

Training with the Sergeant was hell.

The experiments and conditioning of Lyon and his team of doctors and researchers was hell of even more unspeakable proportions.

The arena was empty when Nero arrived…

The day was still young, with darkness plump at the horizons. And yet, when he arrived, he caught no sight of Sergeant Vane. There were no other Templars either.

What greeted him only, was the scent of morning and rust soaked into the dirt.

Nero stood at the entrance and frowned.

He’d expected the old man to be waiting for him just as usual, ready to resume the punishment from yesterday. Instead, the vast space stretched before him in silence.

Being thrown off his routine, regardless of how tormentous said routine was, was rather uncomfortable.

He walked to the center of the arena and looked around. The observation platforms above were also empty. Granted it was still early in the morning. He figured no one would be interested in witnessing a spectacle at such early hours.

’I really am alone today.’ Nero thought to himself.

Just when he was trying to figure out what to do, the sound of footsteps echoed from one of the side corridors. Nero turned as a figure emerged from the shadows.

It was not Sergeant Vane.

It was the damned Doctor.

The dark-skinned man walked with his usual calm gait, hands clasped behind his back. He wore grey robes with a dark green sash around his waist, both pristine despite the grime that seemed to coat everything else in the Red House. The Seal of Nature imprinted into the sash visible, the embroidery ratehe prevalent across the otherwise plain attire.

“Good morning, Nero,” Lyon said. His voice was pleasant, almost cheerful. “I hope you slept well.”

Nero’s frown deepened. “Where’s the Sergeant?”

Lyon snorted,

“He’s been deployed elsewhere. The work of a Templar is not limited to just teaching a brat how to walk. An urgent matter arose last night requiring his expertise.” Lyon stopped a few feet away and studied Nero with those calculating eyes. “You’ll resume training with him tomorrow. Today, however, I thought it prudent to expand your education.”

“Education?”

Lyon’s smile deepened. “You’ve been in the Red House for over two weeks now. You’ve undergone several modifications, survived procedures that would kill most men, and have even begun combat training. But you know very little about the organization you will become a part of.”

Nero said nothing.

Lyon gestured toward the corridor he’d emerged from. “Come. There’s something I want to show you.”

Nero hesitated for a moment. Then he followed.

They walked through corridors Nero hadn’t seen before. The Red House was larger than he’d realized, a labyrinth of passages and chambers that seemed to extend in all directions. Some areas were well-lit, torches burning in sconces along the walls. Others were dim, barely illuminated by the light filtering through narrow windows.

Lyon spoke as they walked.

“The Crimson Crucible is the largest of the Templar Orders,” he said. “We number in the thousands across the Thorne Empire, with garrisons in every major city. But we are not unified in the way you might think.”

“What do you mean?” Nero asked, his brows knitted curiously.

“Each garrison operates with significant autonomy. Different commanders, different priorities, different methods.” Lyon glanced at him. “Different cultures, even. The Red House here in Liedenstorm is known as the Blood Lotus. Each of the ten major garrisons has its own designation…”

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