Chapter 115: Chapter 115—Noble Rhys

Bright’s group rounded the corner into the medical bay’s main corridor and stopped immediately.

The scene before them was nightmare inducing.

Atheon stood at the center, blood-soaked but protective, clearly having just defended the position.

Vaelith stood to the side with some hooded operatives—the same kind of operatives who’d tried to assassinate Estovia hours earlier.

And between them, the medical bay entrance that Bright’s group desperately needed to reach.

“Private Morgan,” Atheon said, his voice carrying complex relief. “You’re supposed to be secured in the candidate quarters if I remember correctly. What are you—”

His eyes found Estovia, unconscious and bleeding, supported between Duncan and Mara.

“Lieutenant Armand,” Atheon said, his tactical mind already racing ahead of his words. “You found her. It’s… good to see a familiar face.”

His eyes dropped briefly to her injuries. “It would be a shame to lose the sole heir of House Armand.”

He paused, studying the wounds with a soldier’s precision. “These aren’t random. She was targeted.”

Atheon’s gaze lifted—settling on Vaelith. “Specifically during the assault.”

By Covenant forces, no doubt,” Vaelith said smoothly, concern settling onto his features like a practiced mask. “Those roaches have always aimed for the lifeblood of our people.”

He inclined his head slightly. “I’d heard Lieutenant Armand was investigating irregularities in the supply chain. Fanatics tend to target logistics officers—anyone capable of disrupting their infiltration.”

A pause, mild and regretful. “Those who overstep often draw attention.”

The explanation was plausible. Reasonable. Designed to deflect.

But Bright’s danger sense was screaming. Not about an immediate physical threat—Vaelith wouldn’t attack openly with Atheon present—but about the weight of the situation, the consequences of being here with evidence that could expose Adept-level corruption.

“We need medical attention,” Bright said carefully, meeting Atheon’s eyes, trying to convey urgency without open accusation. “Lieutenant Armand has been stabilized by our healer, but she needs proper facilities. And she’s carrying information that’s… politically significant.”

Atheon understood immediately. His expression hardened. “What kind of information?”

“Documentation,” Kora spoke up, her hand resting on the satchel she carried. “Evidence of—” She looked at Vaelith, saw his hooded operatives shift slightly. “—of corruption. Supply diversions. Political assassination coordination.”

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush.

Vaelith’s mask never cracked. “Serious allegations require serious proof. I assume this evidence will be submitted to proper authorities for investigation?”

“It will,” Bright confirmed. “That’s why we’re here. To protect Lieutenant Armand until she can make the official report.”

“Commendable,” Vaelith said mildly. “Though I do wonder—if this evidence were to implicate interests aligned with my house, would it not be wiser for promising Academy candidates to remain neutral?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Politics is a dangerous field to wander into without sponsorship.”

It was a plain threat disguised as advice. Warning wrapped in concern.

“We’re already involved,” Duncan said flatly, his Bone Guard still active, his stance protective. “We found her. We extracted her. We’re not abandoning her now.”

Atheon looked between the two groups—his Academy candidates protecting a wounded officer with damning evidence, and Vaelith with operatives who’d almost certainly been hunting that same officer.

The political calculations were immediate and terrible.

If he openly supported Bright’s group, he’d escalate conflict with Vaelith to explicit confrontation. During crisis, that could fracture the defensive coordination completely.

If he sided with Vaelith, he’d abandon Estovia and validate corruption that undermined everything Atheon claimed to value.

If he tried neutrality, everyone would suffer.

“The medical bay is neutral ground,” Atheon declared, his voice carrying absolute authority. “Everyone here receives treatment. Politics wait until dawn. Understood?”

It wasn’t resolution. It was postponement, a compromise on his beliefs. But it was the best he could manage without proof or the capacity to fight another Adept while Vester still burned.

“Understood,” Vaelith agreed, though his hooded operatives remained positioned between Bright’s group and the exit.

“Bring Lieutenant Armand inside,” Atheon ordered. “Get her to the healers. The rest of you—Academy candidates—you’re staying here under my direct protection until this crisis ends.”

Bright met Atheon’s eyes, saw the unspoken message: I know what’s happening. I can’t act openly yet. But I’m protecting you.

“Yes, sir,” Bright acknowledged.

They moved past Vaelith and his operatives, the tension thick enough to taste, every step feeling like walking past coiled snakes.

But they made it.

Into the medical bay.

Under Atheon’s protection.

With Estovia and her evidence intact.

For now.

—–

In the northeastern sector, Captain Seris Vale and Crimson Fang moved through the chaos with brutal precision.

This wasn’t Grim Hollow.

Grim Hollow had been desperate survival against overwhelming Crawler numbers with inadequate support and compromised defenses.

Vester was different. Better equipped. Better trained. Better coordinated.

And Crimson Fang was demonstrating exactly why they’d maintained a perfect Trial record.

“Three Covenant agents, eastern corridor,” Seris announced, her Multiplier core active, her enhanced perception processing the battlefield faster than normal human cognition. “Kaven, execute.”

Her squad’s chain-whip specialist moved like liquid violence. His weapon wrapped around the lead agent’s throat, yanked him off his feet, then snapped with enough force to break his vertebrae.

The other two agents died to follow-up strikes before they could react—Seris’s chain-blade taking one through the chest, another squad member’s blade opening the second’s throat.

Three seconds. Three corpses.

“Ant soldier variant, forty meters west,” Seris continued, her tactical awareness mapping threats her squad couldn’t yet perceive. “Intercept before it reaches the workers shelter.”

They moved as one unit, covering ground with enhanced speed, their coordination making them seem like extensions of Seris’s will rather than individual fighters.

The ant soldier died to combined assault—one fighter crippling its legs, another blinding its sensory organs, Seris delivering the killing blow through its dorsal plating.

“This is manageable,” Kaven observed, his tone almost disappointed. “Expected worse from ’coordinated assault.’”

“Don’t get complacent,” Seris warned. “We’re in defended sectors with proper support. The agents dying are cannon fodder. Real threats are probably targeting specific objectives while we clean up.”

She was right. The Covenant forces engaging Crimson Fang were mostly embedded laborers with basic combat training—dangerous to civilians and standard soldiers, but inadequate against Initiate-level specialists with perfect coordination.

“Movement ahead,” another squad member reported. “Multiple signatures. Can’t identify allegiance.”

“Hold position,” Seris ordered. “Let them reveal—”

A figure burst from shadows—another Academy candidate, younger than Crimson Fang by a year or two, bleeding from multiple wounds but still moving.

“Help!” the candidate shouted. “Ants behind me! Dozens!”

Seris’s enhanced perception registered the truth immediately: trap.

“Fall back!” she commanded. “It’s an ambush—”

Too late.

The “candidate” suddenly pivoted, his desperate flight transforming into a well timed attack. Behind him, instead of ants, three Covenant agents emerged—better trained than the cannon fodder, specifically positioned to exploit Crimson Fang’s response to distress call.

“Fucking—” Kaven started.

But Crimson Fang had trained for exactly this scenario. Trained for ambushes, for misdirection, for coordinated traps that exploited human compassion.

Seris’s chain-blade caught the false candidate mid-strike, her Multiplier-enhanced speed letting her react faster than the trap could spring. The agents behind him died to Crimson Fang’s immediate counter-assault, their ambush collapsing against opponents who’d anticipated exactly this kind of tactical deception.

“Proper training,” Seris observed coldly, standing over the corpses. “But still inadequate. These agents are better than the laborers, but they’re not specialists. Not like us.”

“Should we pursue?” Kaven asked.

“No. We’ll hold this sector, evacuate workers, and maintain the defensive perimeter.” Seris’s tactical mind was already processing larger implications. “Something’s wrong about tonight. The coordination is too precise. The targeting istoo specific.”

“By who?”

“That’s the question.” Seris looked toward the medical bay, where her enhanced perception could sense multiple Adept-level presences converging. “And I suspect the answer is going to be politically complicated.”

Crimson Fang continued their defensive operations, killing efficiently, protecting effectively, demonstrating exactly why the Academy wanted them.

But even perfect execution couldn’t change the larger truth: they were fighting symptoms while the disease orchestrated chaos from positions of authority they couldn’t challenge.

—–

Rhys Cavendish found the House Aurin convoy compound through combination of luck and desperate navigation.

The convoy security—professional, well-armed, decidedly unfriendly—stopped him at the perimeter with weapons raised.

“Compound’s sealed!” the lead guard barked. “No unauthorized access during crisis!”

“I’m authorized,” Rhys snapped. “Rhys Cavendish—House Cavendish.”

He straightened instinctively, letting the name carry its weight. “I believe our houses have standing business. I require immediate evacuation.”

The guard didn’t flinch.

“No evacuations at this time,” he replied evenly. “Our priority is the Academy candidates when departure becomes viable.”

“I have information,” Rhys said quickly. His thoughts spun, grasping for leverage. “Information the Senate needs to see. I’m prepared to compensate—”

“We don’t take bribes,” the guard cut in, voice flat as iron.

A beat.

“And you should remember which house you’re speaking to.”

“It’s not a bribe just a legitimate transport negotiation.” Rhys pulled out his currency pouch that held significant wealth, “I’m offering to purchase space on the convoy when it departs. As paying passenger under House Aurin protection.”

The guard hesitated. “That’s… irregular.”

“So is an assault during Clear Light’s Eve.” Rhys pressed his advantage. “Look, I’m a noble. I understand how things work. You’re protecting valuable Academy assets. I’m offering to become additional revenue source while occupying minimal space and requiring no special accommodation. Simple transaction.”

“Captain Selene would need to approve—”

“Then get Captain Selene!” Rhys’s patience was fraying. “Because every minute I stand outside your perimeter is another minute I might die to some stupid Crawlers or fanatics, and then you lose potential revenue entirely!”

The guard studied him with calculating eyes, then spoke into a communication mirror.

Minutes passed. Rhys forced himself to breathe steadily, to maintain his composure despite terror churning in his gut.

Finally, Captain Selene herself appeared—the stern House Aurin commander who’d been delayed for weeks.

“Cavendish,” she said, not quite a question.

“Rhys Cavendish, of House Cavendish,” he said smoothly. “A pleasure.”

He met her eyes without flinching. “I’ll cover the transport costs—for myself and my minimal cargo. I won’t interfere with whatever operation you’re running. I only need to reach Central alive.”

Her gaze didn’t soften.

“Why Central?” she asked. “Why not return to your family estate?”

“Because I have business there. Time-sensitive business.” Rhys’s hand moved to his jacket where Estovia’s copied documents pressed against his chest. “Business that can’t be delayed.”

Selene studied him with the assessment of someone who’d survived decades through reading people accurately.

“Five hundred merit points,” she said finally. “Paid in advance. You get basic transport space, no special accommodations, and if crisis situations require abandoning non-essential cargo, that includes you. I know cavendish has more kids.Understood?”

It was extortion. Approximately triple normal transport cost.

But Rhys had the currency, and had documents that needed to reach Central regardless of cost.

“Agreed.” He produced the merit point transfer documentation immediately.

“You’ll stay in the convoy compound until departure,” Selene continued. “Under guard. If you cause problems or endanger the candidates, we leave you behind. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Then welcome aboard, cavendish.” Selene’s expression suggested she wasn’t entirely pleased with this arrangement. “Though I suspect you’re carrying more than simple trade business. Whatever it is, it stays secured until we reach Central. I won’t have political complications endangering my primary transport obligation.”

“Understood.”

Rhys was allowed through the perimeter, directed to secured quarters, and informed that departure would occur “when routes cleared and dawn assessment deemed travel safe.”

He sat in his assigned space, Estovia’s evidence burning against his chest, and wondered if he’d just secured his survival or simply delayed his death by a few days.

Outside, Vester continued burning.

And somewhere in that chaos, people were dying to protect or destroy the same information Rhys carried.

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