No one is born wrong, everyone is born different yet that will naturally mean that some are born simply to not function in a healthy state. There are the types who are argumentative and hard-headed. They are too strong-willed to submit to Kassandora, yet too prideful to fall into the monotony of a day-to-day life. Too driven to become layabouts, yet lacking the creativity required to build anything great of their own. Too self-centred to contribute to the greater good yet too honourable to waste away on the street. They are rejected by conforming systems, yet they are unable to thrive outside of them.

This is not a broken mind, I do not care how it forms, whether it is by nurture or nature. Yet this personality exists, it has always existed, and will always exist. I can sniff out the arrogance in the eyes, the confidence in the step, the humour in the posture immediately, and I alone am able to wield this personality.

They flock to me because of a very simple reason. I do not bother with fixing them into so called “better” people. I do not pretend to be able to change them or to suddenly make them upstanding citizens. No, I do something that no one in their right mind would do.

I give them skills and confidence that they should not have and do not deserve.

– Excerpt from ‘A Book About a Goddess and an Idea’, written by Goddess Malam, of Hatred.

Iliyal sat in his office as he thought of Malam. He respected the woman, he hated the character driving her. That was a good way to put it. She had rang him to call him a stupid brute and to tell him to prime Paida for a meeting with herself. So Iliyal sat as he flicked through the images the Special Imperial Service sent him. He had not even known of its existence, but it had Malam’s touch all over it. From the generic name that revealed nothing yet somehow managed to encapsulate everything, to the letter that had come with them. It was written to be short and sweet: This is the situation in Aris right now. Whether you show this to Paida or not is your own jurisdiction but personally, I think she should be made aware of what is going on in the capital of the nation she embodies.

Iliyal leaned back and brought out a bottle of Rancais Purple that Malam had sent him. It was a fine wine, and it would do well for dealing with the Goddess of that country. The woman really did have a way with words, in that short letter, she told him exactly what he needed to do without saying anything outright: he needed to show Paida that letter, he needed to show Paida the pictures, he needed to make sure that Paida was aware of exactly why the situation in her capital had deteriorated so greatly. Poor management of course, the photos of police brawling with protestors. Of streets so filled with teargas that they looked as if a magical fog had just set in. Of barricades being overrun. Of a man stood on top of a bus waving the Rancais flag. All those photos told a heroic story of a revolution brewing.

And then there were more. These, Malam must have told her men to take because Iliyal doubted that anyone from the Tremali brigade would even cast a second glance at such scenes. They were photos of breadlines, of dark faces looking with distrust out of windows. The blue skies in the photos only made the misery below somehow stand out even more. Women stood scantily clad in pavements, men with their faces hidden and with pistols strapped to them.

The Rancais government, over the span of a few days, had lost control. It hadn’t been a slow slide into anarchy, where people developed their own methods of survival, it was a complete and immediate shut down of civilization that left no safety cushion of morality or community to blanket the fall. Iliyal stacked all the photos on his desk just as one of the guards leaned his head in. “What is it?” Iliyal said to the huge human.

“Goddess Paida has arrived.” Iliyal prepared two glasses.

“Send her in.” The man’s head disappeared and a moment later, Paida stepped into the room. Golden haired, tall, with those purple eyes that immediately went to the bottle on Iliyal’s desk. She had changed out of her armour and instead wore one of the spare uniforms she had gotten from Iliyal, black, with a heavy coat and a long skirt that fell to her knees.

“You called for me.” Paida said in that curling tone of hers. Iliyal knew it was just her accent and she didn’t mean to sound as if she was trying to seduce everyone around her, but it was simply how the woman spoke. And frankly, it did make men more amenable in diplomacy.

“I did.” Iliyal said. He extended an arm to the huge chair in front of him. “Sit or stand, it’s up to you.” Paida sat as Iliyal opened the bottle of Rancais Purple. He poured the Goddess a glass first, and then one for himself. Rarely was he excited to drink alcohol, but this was one of the few times when he felt the want creep into him. Bottles like this could cost more than a used car.

“I see you’ve finally fallen for the best drink in the world.” Paida said as she swirled the wine in her glass.

“I think you’ll need it.” Iliyal said calmly as he smelled the notes of plums and cherries and grapes in the wines. “Because of what we’re going to discuss today.”

“If I didn’t know you, I’d consider this a date.” Paida said slyly. “But I know you, so I know this must be something important.”

Iliyal took a sip of the wine. “Read this.” Sometimes, there was no reason to need to say anything. It was another lesson taught to him by the teacher that was war. There was no need to over-extend, the greatest victory was the one that required the minimum amount of effort.

Paida read Malam’s letter and her eyes narrowed. She took a drink of the wine without even looking into the glass or savouring the flavour. “What is thi-“ The Goddess began and was cut off when Iliyal threw the stack of photos before her.

Paida took the first photo. A shot of Arisian streets engulfed in tear gas. A black police van with a water cannon spraying at protestors. A line of men holding hands trying to stop its advance with their own bodies. Paida’s eyes widened.

Paida took the second photo. A shot of a militant insurrectionist, in Anarchia’s black and red. He was holding a bottle with a flaming rag sticking out of it, ready to throw it at something out of frame. Paida’s eyebrows darted downwards.

Paida took the third photo. A shot of a different street, this time at night. A group of young girls with cardboard signs: Favours for Food. Paida’s fingers slipped and she dropped the photo. The Goddess of Rancais looked through them all, one after the other. Her breathing got harder, she finished her glass of wine in one go, and she laid out all the photos before her. “Iliyal.” Paida asked after a minute of silence. “Why did you show me this?”

Olonia and Saksma would have not asked. They would have had emotional reactions. But Paida had always been sharper than those two, with far more cunning. “Because this is your country.” Iliyal said. “So you needed to know.”

“I don’t believe that.” Paida said and Iliyal realised he had miscalculated. The woman didn’t want pleasantries, she wanted negativity. It was that soldier mentality, where one laughed at the pile of shit they sat in rather than wanting hopeful tales of why it got better.

But the elf couldn’t just switch courses from one to the other. If Paida was smart enough to hold back her anger upon seeing those photos, she’d be smart enough to know that he was playing her. “Why do you think I told you?” Iliyal asked flatly.

“I think you told me because you want to do something about this.” Paida tapped a random photo. She couldn’t bring herself to look down at it though.

Immediately, Iliyal saw the opening. Just the same as when an enemy army overextended or when they left a flank unguarded, he saw the chance to seize the initiative and he took it immediately. “Do I want you to do something about this Paida?” Iliyal asked flatly and sarcastically. “Do you think I do?” He kept up the attack, making his voice calm yet stern. “What do you expect me to say? Aris has descended into chaos. Rancais as a whole is in anarchy. Do you want me to deny to that?”

Iliyal saw Paida look at him in surprise at the change of tone, and he knew that this method of attack was working. Some people, like Olonia, needed a foundation of steel to get them going. Others needed nothing more than a spark to light a righteous rage within them. “How conniving do you think I am Paida?” Iliyal made the accusation and Paida leaned away from him. “Or do you want me to pretend I don’t have loyalties? That I was not the General of the Eighth Imperial legion? Am I supposed to hide the fact that I was chosen by Goddess Kassandora to lead? It is obvious that I hold the Goddess of War to a higher standard than the rest of you. Call it loyalty, call it fanaticism, call it obsession. Call it whatever you wish Paida, but don’t ask of me to renounce it.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Paida said, her tone low and apologetic. It was supposed to be impossible, a mortal shouting down a Divine? Who would think of such a thing? But Iliyal had not been the first to do it, and he knew it could be done.

“Do you want me to be honest Paida? About my stance on where this will go?”

The Goddess of Rancais took a pause, looked down at the pictures, and then looked back up to Iliyal. “I do.”

“I do not need to be of Rancais blood to know that this.” Iliyal tapped the photo of the women on the street. “Should not happen. I do not need to be of Rancais blood to know that this.” Iliyal tapped the photo of men setting up a police barricade. “Should not happen. I do not need to be of Rancais blood to know that this.” Iliyal tapped a photo of a burned down warehouse. “Should not happen.”

“No, it should not.” Paida agreed.

“So now I ask Paida.” Iliyal said. “How conniving do you think I actually am? Of course there is a benefit in a stable Rancais for me, I lead the Epan war against the Pantheon. Rancais supplies ammunitions and Rancais is the main manufacturer for ECCAF. Our air-force is utterly necessary for the conflict, the last thing I want is civil war in Rancais.”

And then Iliyal crossed his arms and looked the Goddess straight in the eyes. “So I ask, because I assume this is why you are asking. Do you legitimately think that I have somehow caused this chaos in Rancais? That, as I lead this defence of Olonia’s nation, have the time and effort to spare to organise a coup in your nation? And for what?”

And Paida opened her mouth and said nothing. Iliyal stared her down and the Goddess of Rancais eventually looked away. “I see.”

“I understand you may have doubts about me Paida. Paranoia is a natural emotion for all of us.” He wouldn’t accuse the woman of being crazy outright, but he would make sure that the thought would at least cross her mind. “However, I showed you this because this is your country, because you would find out about this either way, and I would rather you see it from me than from someone else.”

“Thank you.” Paida said and Iliyal nodded. And now she was thanking him for it. Why? He did not know.

“This situation cannot continue.” Iliyal said.

“It cannot.” Paida said. “We agree on that, I can’t bear to see my country like this.”

“But I can’t help you with this.” Iliyal said.

“Excuse me?” Paida asked.

“I am trained by the Goddess of War. I put down insurrections Paida. I do not deal with rebels, I end them.” Iliyal said. “So I’ve rang for help.”

“Who?”

“Malam.”

Paida’s eyes widened, her cheeks went pale and her voice quivered. “Malam?”

“You don’t know how well she can unite a people.” And as Paida sat on one end staring at Iliyal, the elf stared back at her. He realised he had just steamrolled a Goddess with nothing but pure force and aggression.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep