"E–Emperor…" Karna stamred, his mind racing as he pieced together the identity of their unexpected visitor. He had heard tales of Britannia's downfall, all orchestrated by one man—Ivan Zakharovic Kozlov, the most feared figure in Gevurah.
Without hesitation, Karna dropped to his knees, bowing his head in a gesture of submission, his mother quickly following suit.
Obviously Karna couldn't possibly recognize Leon Cromwell hidden within Ivan. The differences were too stark—faces that bore no resemblance, and more crucially, an aura so vastly different that it was as if they were worlds apart. To Karna, Leon Cromwell was rely another of Ivan's subordinates, nothing more than a na in the vast network of Ivan's loyal servants. The thought that Leon and Ivan could be one and the sa never even crossed his mind.
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Ivan, for his part, had no intention of revealing his true identity.
"Is this how you greet an Emperor? Such insolence," Urvan suddenly spoke up in an icy tone. Though he wasn't as fervently devoted as Ludomir, Urvan held Ivan in the highest regard—more than any of the other Legion Commanders, to be precise.
Karna's mother, sensing the growing pressure in the room, was the first to speak. "We are honored to et Your Majesty…"
She seed clearly sowhat accustod to pressure because of her past but still she couldn't keep her calm because Ivan looked even more monstrous than the man who killed her husband.
"Y-Yes!" Karna added awkwardly, the words tumbling out of his mouth as he bowed his head.
Mikhail stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he addressed Karna. "I trust you've made significant progress with your weapon designs, Karna Mishra? If Ivan himself has taken an interest in you, it must an you're truly exceptional. I sincerely hope you don't end up disappointing him," he said lightly, though his words carried a clear threat.
Karna felt a chill run down his spine. "Of course… please, follow ," he managed to say, quickly turning toward the door. With a subtle gesture, he signaled for his mother to stay behind, not wanting her to get involved any further.
He led the group through the narrow corridors of his ho and out into the open air, guiding them to the workshop he had been given. It was a massive space, brimming with every material and piece of technology he could have ever dread of. The workshop was a craftsman's paradise, a dream he had long harbored. But as he stood in the middle of it now, he felt only a hollow ache. The reality was far from the dream; he was no longer crafting for art or innovation but for the deadliest criminals the Holy Continent had ever known.
Upon entering the workshop, the acrid scent of molten tal, scorched ore, and burning fuel assaulted their senses. The room was filled with the clanging of machinery and the soft hum of advanced tech that Karna had once found comforting but now only served as a reminder of his dangerous circumstances.
Without a word, Karna walked over to a large table draped with a thick cloth. He hesitated for a mont, taking a deep breath, before pulling the cloth away to reveal three weapons laid out in pristine condition.
"These are my latest creations," he said. "It's my first ti working with such advanced technology and machinery, but I've done everything I could with the resources provided."
The weapons were truly different to his earlier works—sleek, expensive-looking, and clearly designed with the finest materials available. The blades glinted with a deadly precision, and the engravings hinted at both functionality and artistry. It was obvious that access to superior resources had elevated Karna's craftsmanship to new heights.
If Ivan had been in another 'person', he might have smiled. But though he was pleased with the craftsmanship before him, not a flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. His expression remained cold and unreadable, making Karna shift uncomfortably.
Without a word, Ivan stepped forward. Laid out on the table were two swords and a dagger. He picked up one of the swords, holding it up to the light. The blade was masterfully forged—its surface smooth, almost mirror-like, reflecting Ivan's intense gaze. After a mont of silent scrutiny, he tossed it to Urvan.
Urvan caught the weapon with ease, understanding the unspoken command. He inspected it carefully, running his fingers along the edge, testing its balance. Finally, he nodded, a glimr of admiration in his eyes.
"I see why you chose him, Your Excellency," Urvan said, his voice respectful. "As always, your eye for talent is unmatched. This is exceptional work for soone of his age. He shows imnse potential. These swords could fetch a high price, or perhaps... you intend to have him forge weapons for the Cathedral? Our armory is running low."
"He will work for alone," Ivan denied calmly.
His voice was so deep and calm that it sent a shiver down Karna's spine. He never heard such cool voice that could make anyone shut their mouths to listen him speak.
"For and my Legion. One man can serve no other."
Urvan hesitated, then spoke, "But... with such talent, perhaps we could assign him assistants to increase production? Craft weapons at a faster rate?"
Before Ivan could respond, Dimitri's voice rang out.
"Did you not hear what he said?" His cold eyes locked onto Urvan's.
Urvan flinched under the weight of Dimitri's stare. Though usually even-tempered, Dimitri was really quick to losing temper whenever soone was speaking up after Ivan said sothing.
"I... understand," Urvan hurriedly bowed his head. "My deepest apologies, Your Eminence."
His intentions had been for the benefit of Gevurah, to strengthen their cause. But it was clear Ivan had no intention of sharing Karna's talents. He would keep the young craftsman solely for himself and his elite Legion. Yet, considering all Ivan had done for Gevurah, perhaps his decision was justified. It was just another sacrifice for the greater good, Urvan thought.
Ivan approached the remaining weapons, lifting the second sword and dagger. With a fluid motion, he slipped the dagger into his Space, where it vanished instantly, a subtle ripple in the air the only sign of its disappearance. He then tossed the sword effortlessly to Jostin.
Then he turned to Urvan. "Hand the other one to her."
"T–Thank you, Your Eminence!" Laura and Jostin nearly choked on their words, on the verge of crying. They had not expected such a gift from Ivan, and their voices trembled as they bowed deeply.
Ivan's attention shifted to Karna. "You will craft seven weapons a week."
Karna's eyes widened in panic. "B–But…" He hesitated, too terrified to admit that such a task was impossible for him alone.
Ivan, however, had already anticipated this. Without looking at Karna, he addressed Jostin. "Select two people who can assist him," he ordered.
Jostin nodded imdiately. Ivan was a man who valued precision over volu; he would rather see the boy produce a handful of masterpieces than a mountain of diocrity. For now, he was willing to ease Karna into the workload, gradually expanding the team if needed.
But just as the room was settling back into its tense silence, a desperate voice shattered it. "Please!!"
All eyes turned toward the entrance. Karna's mother, Shina, had appeared, throwing herself to her knees, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Tears stread down her cheeks as she stared up at Ivan, her eyes pleading.
"M–Mother?!" Karna gasped, instinctively moving forward, but Dimitri's gaze held him in place. A re look from Dimitri, amplified by the power of his Stigma, froze Karna where he stood in utter fear.
Shina's gaze faltered under Ivan's gaze, her fierce protective instincts for her son clashing with the terror that Ivan inspired. She could barely hold his gaze, her words trembling on her lips. "M–My son… please, I beg you. Don't push him beyond his limits. I will do anything you ask, just... don't harm him," she pleaded as she dug her nails into her palms so hard that blood trickled down, staining the floor.
Urvan's eyes imdiately narrowed in disdain. The audacity of this woman—interrupting Ivan, daring to plead in his presence—ignited a murderous fury within him. His hand instinctively twitched. "How dare you… you wretched—"
"W–Wait, please!" Gwenyra stepped forward in front of Shina.
Urvan's rage montarily subsided as his gaze fell on the marital cross of Seraphiel around Gwenyra's neck. It was their symbol of Faith, but it held power—reminding him of her position. Though only in na, Gwenyra was Ivan's wife, a fact that stayed his hand for now.
"Are you truly ready to die this quickly, all for a woman with no ties to Britannia?" Ludmila asked, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
"S–She's only worried for her son! Please, I'm asking you as a favor." Gwenyra bowed her head, her hands unconsciously clutching the Marital Cross hanging around her neck. That cross had always protected her from the oppressive force of the Stigma, offering her a fragile shield of comfort. As long as it remained in plain sight, no one dared to harm her. It had beco her talisman. Yet even now, as she stood trembling before Ludmila, doubt gnawed at her resolve.
Ludmila was right—why was she risking everything for soone who held no allegiance to Britannia? She had always been exemplary in her duty, so why jeopardize it all now? But deep down, sothing compelled her to speak out. She couldn't simply turn away.
Ivan remained silent, his expression unreadable. Yet Gwenyra's desperate plea seed to resonate, if only faintly.
'She's just worried for her son.'
Those words hung in the air, echoing in his mind. For a fleeting mont, a vision of his own mother surfaced... her face, her last words, a brief flicker of tenderness long buried. But as quickly as the mory ca, he crushed it, burying any trace of emotion beneath a cold, impassive mask. Ivan had sworn long ago to show no rcy to a world that had shown him none.
Sensing the shift in Ivan's deanor, Dimitri moved toward Shina. Ivan's unspoken words were clear: a lesson was to be made.
"W–Wait—ugh!!" Gwenyra gasped, horror dawning on her face as Dimitri's Stigma lashed out to her ruthlessly. She crumpled to her knees, the Marital Cross around her neck proving useless against Dimitri's Stigma.
With a swift, brutal motion, Dimitri grabbed Shina by the hair, yanking her head back. She was too paralyzed with fear to resist, her tears flowing freely as she whimpered in terror.
"N–No…" Karna choked out, but any attempt to move was thwarted by Mikhail, who stood guard, ensuring the boy remained rooted in place.
"This is your first and only warning," Dimitri muttered, drawing a black-glowing knife imbued with his Stigma. The weapon glead ominously, its edge ready to sear away her tongue.
They were not heroes of tragic redemption, nor did they seek to be misunderstood as saviors. Compassion had no place in their hearts. This was the harsh truth they needed Karna to witness firsthand. He needed to understand the brutal reality of the people he now served. Ivan wanted him to see, to truly comprehend, that lowering one's guard for even a mont could lead to unspeakable consequences. Karna was currently too weak-minded to be part of them, he was reminiscing Ivan too much of himself before he lost everything and Ivan hated that.
"Ivan."
Just as Dimitri prepared to plunge the knife into Shina's mouth, a voice rang out.
All eyes turned to the entrance of the workshop.
Kamila stood there with a complicated expression.
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