Abel did not know where he was taken. He had been blindfolded, after all.
Moreover, his captives also made sure that he was unable to hear anything other than the sound of his own breathing.
All he knew was that he was being taken sowhere by carriage. Then, he was made to walk sowhere after alighting from the carriage.
After what felt like forever, he was finally made to sit down.
Finally, the cloth covering his head was lifted.
Intense light flooded his vision, causing him to squint. When his vision cleared, he found himself in a familiar place—a place he had visited just earlier that day.
A lavishly decorated hall, filled with ard leather chairs, mahogany tables, and a roaring fireplace. There was a refined and elegant bar to the side.
He sat on a leather sofa, and in front of him were four n dressed in finely-tailored clothes. He knew two of them.
One was the carriage driver who had co to pick him up the day he went to the East Newport Shipping & Customs House for the first ti—the day he entered the Spirit Crucible.
The second person was none other than Henry rcer!
The mont Abel’s gaze landed on the dark-haired youth, he spat furiously, "You son of a—"
But Henry hurriedly interrupted him, "Abel, please! This is a misunderstanding. If anything, I was completely against this... initiation ceremony. And technically I didn’t participate in this since I was outside your house... acting as the carriage driver."
Towards the end, his voice trailed off into a whisper. Then he pointed his finger towards another man, blaming him, "It’s the Commander’s fault, I tell you!"
He paused for a mont before adding, "And if it makes you feel any better, I had to undergo the sa treatnt a few months ago..."
Abel turned to look at the person Henry was pointing at.
It was a middle-aged man with graying hair, wearing a tailored dark frock coat, a waistcoat, and trousers.
He sat on the table with his legs crossed, gazing at him with an approving smile.
"Firstly, allow to apologize," said he.
Then, he set his foot down, leaning forward. He rested his elbows on his knees and interlocked his fingers as he asked, "Secondly... how did you know?"
A tall and lanky fellow, also dressed in finely tailored clothes, looked at the man and asked with slight surprise, "Commander, what do you an by that?"
This was the sa person who drove the carriage the day Abel first visited the Customs House.
The Commander’s smile deepened, his gaze never leaving Abel.
In the end, Abel ruffled his dark blonde hair in frustration. "Gahh! Fuck!"
He then looked at the tall and lanky man and asked, "It was you, right? The one standing by the window? The one who said so of you are forr mbers of the..."
The youth looked around, and seeing that no one was there except for the five of them, he continued, "that you are forr mbers of the Ministry."
"...Yes." The lanky man nodded, wondering if there was anything wrong with what he had said.
"Yeah, that’s how I knew," said Abel. He reclined in his seat, gazing at the fancy ceiling of the ground floor of The Society for Natural Philosophy—one of the Ministry’s three containnt sites in Newport.
"That’s how I knew I was gonna die anyway..." he muttered. "The oath states that one must not reveal secrets to those outside of ranks."
He then looked at the lanky man and said, "But if you were forr agents of the Ministry, then that doesn’t an you now beco an outsider. That just ans you are now a forr insider."
"So if I didn’t divulge anything, I would be dead. And if I did divulge any secrets, I’m assuming the Oathbinder would ensure I die. So... if I was gonna die anyway, might as well take a chance," he finally concluded, scoffing to himself.
Henry was looking at Abel like he was so kind of suicidal maniac. The lanky person was also gazing at him with wide eyes. As for the last person, the one who had pointed the gun at him, couldn’t believe his ears.
Lastly, the Commander was looking at Abel with a deep and approving smile. "That little act of ours, Abel, was never to see whether you actually revealed any of the Ministry’s secrets."
He got to his feet and walked toward Abel. "Truth be told, you would never have been able to divulge any secrets. The mont you had the intention to, you would find that your lips wouldn’t open."
Seeing the man stand before him, Abel got to his feet as well.
The man continued with the sa smile, "It was a test to see how you would react under imnse stress. And you, young man, have passed with flying colors."
He extended his hand and offered a handshake. "Allow to introduce myself. Commander of the Security & Special Operations Team, Grade 2 Occultist, Hugh Preston."
Abel shook his hand, forcing a smile. "N-Nice to et you, sir. I am Abel Bishop."
The middle-aged man patted Abel’s shoulder with his left hand and gently said, "I’ll say this again, Abel, please do forgive us."
Abel nodded, this ti, showing a faint but genuine smile. "Water under the bridge, sir."
Then, the lanky man stepped forward and extended his hand for a handshake. "I have to admit, you are one crazy son of a bitch! My na’s George Chapman, a Grade 1 Occultist. Looking forward to working with you."
"Hello, nice to et you." Abel shook his hand.
Finally, the last person, the one who’d pointed the gun at Abel arrived. He was a tall man with a muscular build.
Much to Abel’s surprise, the man was the complete opposite of how he had acted back in his ho.
"Oh, Abel, please forgive !" The burly man shook the youth’s hand with both his hands. His facial expression was gentle and his eyes diaplayed imnse guilt. "Forgive if I hurt you!"
"I-It’s okay." Abel’s lips twitched. "And no, I wasn’t hurt."
"That’s good to know! That’s good to know!" The burly man nodded repeatedly. He then finally introduced himself. "My na is Francis Digby. I too am a Grade 1 Occultist. Oh, and I apoligize once again! We did not harbor any unkind intentions towards you."
"Nice to et you, Mr. Digby." Abel found that this burly man had the character of a gentle giant.
Although it was a little difficult to accept it after seeing the ruthless expression the man had displayed while pointing the gun at him.
However, Abel could tell that the man felt genuinely sorry for his actions.
"Well then." The Commander, Hugh Preston, stepped forward and warmly patted Abel’s back. "Now that we are properly aquainted, permit to make ands."
He looked in the direction of the reception hall and called out, "Mr. Tate!"
"At you service, sir." The Chief Steward of the Club, Billy Tate, quickly arrived from the reception hall. He pressed his gloved-hand on his chest and gave a light bow.
"Bring out the finest whiskey and cigars," Hugh said with a smile. "Tonight, we celebrate the craziest recruit to ever join our team, Abel Bishop!"
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