A far reach of the Northern culture, Colsdorf was comprised of gentle rocky houses, each emanating the sort of flamboyant charm only petite bourgeoisie had. Colored in all tones but the dull ones, they stood a couple of stories tall and so shrouded the main street in shadows. From their small windows gawked many a people, eyeing the trio's arrival, and on the streets, many halted their business to greet them or simply to stare. After all, an arbiter was visiting them. The situation, despite its forgery, had Ulrich puff his chest out. Aegian and Nodanic both filled his ears, the former he'd spoken more often in recent times, the latter his native tongue and not as widespread. He understood every, but replied to no greeting. Everyone was ignored, and equal in that sense, at first. Staring at his horse's clean mane was easy enough, but his focus inevitably drifted, crashing into the first picture his mind could give meaning to.

Women, at the crossroads. A pair of maidens in flowy plaid dresses, one blue, one red, were waving at them, both of similar height and light hair in an updo. Two friends, one of them carrying a basket of green apples. Their smiles only growing, closing in on his conscience as two darlings. That was all he knew and felt of them, but he strongly thought he could give his life to them. He'd already killed two so much like them, hadn't buried them, and as a consequence, saw them everywhere.

Behold, the world of brazen carefree. Children running around in a game of tag, clothes tattered and dirty but laughter blazing enough to brighten poverty itself; the senior dressed in an oversized beryl-blue shirt and loose khaki pants, yelling at them to calm down once they crossed his step, then cursing upon being ignored; the neatly dressed students across the street in tight uniforms of maroon, chuckling at the fuss, sharing thoughts with an undeniable glint of nostalgia in their eyes, them crinkled by their broad grins; and behind them, a singular worker of paled working clothes, spilling a transparent liquid over windows and doors. Shying away from staring at them all, Ulrich contemplated: weren't they all just like the two dead men? Strangers with infinite potential, and him, no one to diminish it.

His own was taken away by this one stranger, the wolf in sheep's clothing that was Mephistopheles. And to think that, right down that street of Colsdorf that basked in narrow daylight, strolled this exact demon. Who would even think of it? Who would, in their right, even dare to think they're sharing the same pavement as a fiend of any sort, murderer, demon, thief? Nobody should. Life in fear was mere survival, and life shrouded in wonderings like those – wrong. Simply, terrifyingly wrong.

It was a fact, though, that a demon was there, a murderer too, and a thief as well. And the bedazzled people could never guess and should never suppose. He took a full breath, and in spite of the icy thoughts, was melted by surprise.

A bakery a good dozen of meters away had its gorgeous smell sprawled across the road, reaching Ulrich's nostrils and turning him... soft. The sweetest of pastries appeared in Ulrich's mind, and he found himself wanting to eat them. A childish desire. With his gaze, he'd already devoured the entire establishment of creamy bricks and painted windows, every single pastry pictured there: the pies, the cookies the breads in all shapes and sizes. His stomach growled. It had been hours since he last had a modest meal, back in the forest. Perhaps he'd have to order a bigger one in the tavern. Some soup, then meat...

His whole body shuddered. He'd been thinking about trivialities, as if two men hadn't just died! Indirectly, because of him. Then again, reprimanding couldn't be infinite. He had no control over any of it, and would've changed it if he could... and he could not. He would make it right in the future, then. He would catch justice that had once slipped through his fingers; they were now gripping the reins with decent force, the scar of his palm stinging lightly. It was then that his posture grew regal, that his lashes were brought together in a squint, minimizing the worldly brazen carefree.

Their horses trudged sluggishly over the now cobblestone road, their goal a tavern Elmedin suggested as a resting spot. The Sun, though not strong, had caused Ulrich some vertigo. He became aware of it especially when they slowed, no wind and no nature around him. Chatter and such noise, the occasional yell or two, did not make for a pleasant substitution... but a drink in a tavern was something he'd clearly have use of. Sometimes, his headaches manifested due to dehydration. Until then, he had to keep a straight face and posture, and hope nobody would get in their way. Normally, he liked helping and talking with the locals, but only now, he'd much prefer being left alone. His preference wouldn't matter.

After all, an arbiter, refusing to help? It commonly did not happen. He was decent enough of a human being. As for the reasoning of the rest of the arbiters, it would damage the privileged institution, so they did not refuse either. Faking help and blaming failure on the supernatural was easier.

"Gee, I wonder why anyone would want to become an arbiter," Elmedin leaned in and commented on the obvious upheaval of attention. Traversing the crossroads, the former arbiter could easily see some folk approach in hopes of seeing him. The word of an arbiter's arrival flew quickly, as always.

"Free pussy," Mephistopheles whispered to earn wild looks from both of his companions.

"Of course, you promiscuous savage," Ulrich immediately insulted. Shaking his head only to realize it worsened his dizziness, he continued, "Where I lived, it was a great honor to become an arbiter. Yet I suppose, as with every prestigious calling, arbitering attracts both the best and the worst people, some certainly with lecherous intentions."

Mephistopheles let out a whine, "As a representative of the worst, how does it feel?"

His master looked at the canine, its nimble and rhythmical trotting that left small tracks in the dusty road, and directly inquired, "As the epitome of all the worst, how does it feel?"

"Dare I say, pretty lovely. Mhm."

Ulrich rolled his eyes. "Alright. Just keep your smelly mouth shut before anyone notices I'm talking to a dog... again."

He gazed around the streets, discreetly attempting to catch the subtle events there. None seemed too suspicious. Everywhere stood awe and whispers loitered from it. Awful, he had to reflect with contempt, that he was given so much importance. Come to think of it, he had enjoyed it, and even presently it would be an outright lie to say it only disgusted him. He was unknown and loved! And indeed, he could ascertain: the architecture and atmosphere here reminded him of his hometown a little, just a tiny bit, and only those rural parts of it.

Something uncharacteristic for his hometown was, certainly, the warmth and openness of the people, and here it was not as demented as in Aurun, rather, simple and well-meaning. Proving that, a train of celebration had begun forming behind Ulrich, cheerful and loud. One fuller woman banged a ladle against a pan, something he turned around to smile at, causing her a large smile as well. Though the noise didn't do him any well, the people were happy. How he'd love to reciprocate that. Besides, in towns like these, he would usually be greeted by a much louder crowd!

Maybe he could run an errand or two? Why not. All he had to do was yell at Mephistopheles not to hurt anyone... and not do anything, principally.

They took a turn into a side street of dust and dirt. Elmedin pointed at the tavern ahead, its faded sign barely depicting a picture of a black snake. The exterior too was faded and in a dire need of renovation; the green paint, dark like that of ferns in the forest, was peeled off in several patches, revealing classic red bricks. The yellow-tinted windows were clean, a fact Ulrich appreciated, for they allowed for the interior to be seen. And it too was decent; tables all set with white cloths and a reasonably busy amount of people. A positive sign indeed!

Multiple hitching posts were in front. Everything was resolved, except for that wagon of people behind them. Ulrich scratched his head, swaying to take in the crowd he was supposed to, somehow, get rid of.

"You alright?"

"I ought to dispel the people," Ulrich explained to Elmedin's concern. Elmedin nodded, and then, turned his horse around. Ulrich already knew what he'd be hearing, so he muttered tiredly after him, "I can do it."

And so, Ulrich thanked the people and begged for some fresh air due to his very tiring trip. Naturally, the dozen of them obliged and trudged away, chatting all the while. He was glad he saw and heard no disappointment in them, and he was glad he could move on with his day, undisturbed.

In his peripheral vision, however, he saw one woman running towards them from the opposite side of the street. She'd just slipped past its corner, and held her strawberry dress as she hurried in short energetic steps, her polished black shoes clinking. Staring with a displeased squint, Ulrich didn't know what to make of it. If it were another one of those... "free pussy" as Mephistopheles called them... he exhaled strongly. He was never in the mood.

As soon as they hopped off the horses, the lady planted herself before them. She'd been barely breathing, round cheeks awfully red, full lips rosy and open to reveal a front tooth gap. Her flat blond hair had gotten into her face dotted with blemishes. She moved those strands away, tucked some beneath her white breton hat, and huffed, "Welcome to Colsdof, heroes!" Though well drenched in the local accent, her crisp voice whizzed with an Aurunian one. An alarming fact he chose to play off coolly. He thanked her and nodded, not a single look given. If she had anything important to say, she would, otherwise he'd show disinterest. He was ready to walk past her and into the tavern when she continued talking, "Sir, pardon me for keeping you busy, but your..." He halted in his tracks and stared at her.

That was when Elmedin stepped in front of her, offered her a hand to shake, and a smile to scowl at as he greeted merely, "Hey Marta." A solid wink of his later, and she grabbed his hand, pulling him towards her. Dust circled around their feet, hers stomping, his dragging.

"Exactly! You! What are you doing with an arbiter?" she asked too loudly, already hauling him away from Ulrich, all while glaring daggers at the "arbiter". The Southerner, though pleased in the face, winced multiple times. He explained himself sloppily, "Oh, he's a friend. Don't worry, don't! Ouch!" Marta slapped him lightly.

"Are you lying to make me feel better? How did he bind you? It's an invisible collar, it is." Then she raised her voice. "You poor innocent soul! Always being blamed for the crimes of others! O Strings!" She started grabbing the air between him and Ulrich, and Ulrich was... staring all the while, simply taking in the scenery. It was then that he interjected, "No, my lady, have no worries. He is indeed a friend."

Abruptly calm, she looked at Elmedin. She looked back at Ulrich. Then back at Elmedin. "How do you keep doing this? What's your secret?" she buzzed at him.

Ulrich swiftly took the opportunity, "Doing what, if I may ask?"

"Befriending everyone!" she shouted, then took a deep breath and nodded to herself, those blond locks shaking along. "The last time we met, the local police chief hugged him. Hugged him. By the bloody Strings, how?"

Elmedin put a hand on his heart and added to her story, "Because we simply like each other! I promise the chief is not a corruptible fellow! Besides, we can go meet him... Jakob! You'd like him! I know you would!" He spread his arms at Ulrich whose mind staggered at that. Jakob? Oh, right, he almost forgot.

No need. He shook his head, lips curled in a small smile. All of this had been quite revealing.

With the calming of the situation, Marta cautiously introduced herself to Ulrich, and so did he. It turned out that the last time Elmedin had been passing through the city, he had met Marta's younger brother and helped him fend off an imp; he also carried the poor child home for he couldn't walk with his wounded leg. Marta had emphasized her gratitude a thousand times already, and Elmedin shrugged it all off, humble.

This was all lovely to hear and certainly spoke of his companion's character. However, they had more important business to attend to, so he cleared his throat and explained they'd have to head to the tavern and quickly resume their journey. In doing so, he stayed tediously tranquil. Marta attempted to copy the stance while she spoke, back hunched in a newfound bow, "Then... if it is no bother to you, sirs, may I offer you my humble abode to you? The taverns can get wild, and I wouldn't want you to remember our city so."

The Southerner nodded. "Marta is a cultured lady! I wouldn't exaggerate by saying I love her."

She hid her face in her hands, squealed and then punched Elmedin's shoulder. He in turn seized an inflated fighting stance. The two of them were like children. Ulrich's heart turned aberrant for a single throb. Whatever she was to him, it didn't matter. Truly, Ulrich would rather take a break in the furnished warmth of a home than in a crowded, likely smelly tavern; her clothes were distinctly clean and lightly wrinkled, not the insurance of her household being spotless as well, but a good thing nevertheless. So he nodded.

Elmedin went to take and lead his horse, Marta in his tracks. Ulrich took his black steed by the reins, ceasing merely to look at its noble head, focus there, and grasp the raven hairs flowing in perfect waves. He traced their pattern with his palm. Profound eyes fluttered with their long lashes. He whispered gentle words of praise. Such a gorgeous creature, elegant, tender in sculpted muscles, and yet so powerful.

"You did a great job, yes, you did, baby," Ulrich had to squeal at it, loud enough only for its perked ears. He patted its nuzzle, because, truly, it was well-behaved, thus debunking someone's claim.

"Told you, free pussy. Why don't you take it?" Mephistopheles was heard saying. Halting mid-pat, Ulrich's fists clenched.

"I bear no interest in strangers," he hissed, still looking at the steed, but letting go of it.

"None? Even if they're blasphemously, deplorably, most insanely beautiful?"

"No." Ulrich glanced at Mephistopheles to see his maw open wide to resemble a smile, tongue out. "But how would you understand? You're a demon."

"I could."

"Oh, absolutely." He fought the urge to kick the canine and redirected his leg back on track. He even apologized to the steed, this was utterly horrendous! And a promise was made, to pet it more later.

Yellowish dust gathered as they walked towards Marta's home. Most of the time, Ulrich had been left out of the two's conversation or willingly didn't show much initiative. Only once, however, did she inquire him directly, slowly, "It's a bit of a far fetch, but, erm, do you know Michael Scepto? Shorter lad, built like a bull –"

That was an Aurunian surname. Until visiting Aurun itself, he hadn't truly met almost anyone from there. "Apologies, but I'm fairly certain I haven't. Why are you asking...?" And in her solemn eyes of blue, he'd already seen the reason.

"The Prime Agglomeration hired him! He enrolled... in the war... my brother that is, Michael, he went to the Southeast, we never heard of him again." Ulrich pleaded of her to elaborate further. "Yeah, yeah, to kill those... those demon worshippers... it was years ago, I've heard they're coming home these months, but he isn't. The paper can lie, but I've seen other families take in their soldiers." She christened herself. "By the Strings, by the Lord, how could someone do such a thing? I understand pocketing people, maybe even murdering. I mean, I don't," she corrected herself, making sure to harness a glower there and scan Ulrich's faint amusement, "but for an entire nation to use demons? Sell their souls like that, knowing it will bring us doom? Unbelievable! And I can't bring myself to believe that they've put an end to my brother. He would've wanted to die fighting them, for us, but... it's..."

In the wandering of her words, Elmedin held her hand. Ulrich somberly walked along not daring to interfere. But compassion he did have, judgements as well. He knew the operation was no war, but an attempt to inspect and subdue possible demonic activities in Hahr. There was a clan there whose entire existence, from everyday chores to military, relied on demons. Most of them were rumored to have demonic blood flowing their veins, which is why they were referred to as a clan, he'd deduced.

While sending troops there might've seemed like warmongering – and while it certainly was – it was reasonable, for those people actively worked against mankind as a whole. Every soul of theirs was handed over to demons, not Hell, but demons who by devouring them, erased them, and so upset the interdimensional balance of souls. Despite all of that, the Agglomeration had no ill intentions towards Hahr. They simply sought a compromise. A bloodless negotiation. Ulrich prayed it remained so as the people of Hahr had no chance of winning that sort of conflict.

"I'm sure everything is going to be fine, maybe his squad is late, that happens, I've heard..." He heard those self-consolations of hers, then Elmedin's continuations, so reflective of Ulrich's inner workings. That there was hope, and logic sustained it.

Walking on, the streets were no longer as angular and linear; they'd started winding like mountain streams, narrowing in their earthy flow. They cast a lesser of a shade, for they decreased in size as well as frequency, courtesy of the wide blooming gardens. Apples and pears attended all of them, their produce ripe in color, ready to harvest. In his past trips, Ulrich would usually extend his hand and pluck fruit from low branches whenever he passed through settlements like these. It was an endearing tradition, and it felt like freedom. Leaning over fences like worn rail ones of this place, the breeze ruffling his hair, it carrying the smells of cattle and fowl – that was freedom. He'd participated in it with murder. Could he bear freedom's responsibility, then? Why was the burden not heavier?

Halting in front of a low gate, Ulrich was surprised to see they'd already reached the destination. An attractive two-story house it was, built of reddish bricks, grey plaster smudged disorderly over them; small wooden windows peeked through them every few meters, stains of some liquid dripping beneath. All around it, in uneven strokes, grew apples, and behind, he discerned another bricked fence, much taller than him.

But the one thing that baffled him most was a clear line of dirt surrounding the garden. Mere ground, little to no plants on it, and by the dark looks of it, wet as well. He had seen those only in the smallest of villages, thrust deep in the wilderness. "Holy water?" he tackled the thought. Marta shrugged while unlocking the gate, blond strands bouncing. "Imps are a hassle." This was no big deal to her, but he was struck with massive disbelief. Imps...? In this big of a town? Simply, how?

They crossed the distance that was the beaten path. Marta had taken their horses to lead them to the stables behind, and urged them not to wait for her. "My dad's inside, tell him I brought you here. And the dog, the dog can go in as well, don't worry," she explained before closing the tall gate of the tall brick wall of that fence.

Ulrich glanced over to a content Elmedin whose brow perked upon hearing Ulrich's quiet words, "She's too kind. It's nearly worrying."

Elmedin nudged him in the shoulder, eliciting a snivel. "Don't be. She's smarter than the both of us together." Peculiar, but he opted to trust him on that. Walking back to the front door, they both stopped before it, Mephistopheles warm between Ulrich's calves.

Near the ground, its dark wood was in ruin comprised of beige scratches, some of the damaged wood hanging like ribbons. What sort of animal could've done that, if not an imp? How unusually aggressive of them. Ulrich knocked. Immediately, a gruff yell asked who was there, and he told. Silence ensued afterwards.

Then, a rattle of chains, a key twisting in the lock, and a slow creak, all were a prelude in revealing Marta's father. Inside of the house, he was a whole tower, distinguished only as a loom. His skin was scorched dark, sunburns plastered over sunburns, yet hair defied the wastelands of his complexion in black meadows: on his muscular arms, on his large, calloused hand that held the door, on his squarish face full of wrinkles, and above his heavy lips where a massive moustache twirled.

On top of it all, inserted in the gloom of his face was a pair of minuscule ocher eyes, so much distrust in their lustrous scrutinizing. Beetling brows shuddered at every peep, as did Ulrich, intimidated beyond measure, a freeze overpowering, a fear overwhelming. This man – this father – reminded him of his own. Fixed in spot by surging memories and feelings attached, Ulrich began a stare-off with this wholly unknown man who allowed, "Come in." He couldn't have possibly guessed, who Ulrich saw in him! And he couldn't guess, even sense it took Ulrich so much to lift a single step.

Stepping aside and opening the mauled door fully, he revealed a humble abode in its quintessence. Warmth in the air, floating about with specks of dust congealing dim sunshine. It, illuminating the wooden furniture all around, lacquered but worn at some surfaces and all edges. Shoes lay next to the door, a pair of gigantic, muddied gumboots in the dark corner, and from it, lined up was an array of shoes of all sizes, some even for children. Their condition, flawless. The floor they stood on, a maroon parquet that creaked softly beneath Ulrich's boots. And above his head, some light trudging and laughing was heard, probably belonging to Marta's younger siblings on that floor.

Before him widened the dining room, comprised of a long table and six chairs. Some wildflowers were tucked in the white-blue vase on top. A passage sprung from this room's right side, and its left side was a staircase, beneath it a wall sprayed with tiny paintings of sceneries as rural as this one.

And how could he not, despite his shallow breathing, miss the smell of a lovely soup?

This was, all of it, a perfectly formed home, withholding so many secrets in his shallow insides. The walls didn't have to reverberate of violence, nor of abuse. Those were mute for all the wrong reasons.

There he was inside them, guessing what shouldn't have been. It was wrong, and he was weak for it, but strengthening with every reminder. When he looked in the father's eyes, he imagined those that disapproved of him. He loathed that reflexive, innate part of himself, staining reality with the past's abhorrent dye. While Elmedin and the man spoke, Ulrich stood, saturated in the realization. He heard the father instruct, "Make yourselves at home." Never. He'd make it better.

"Thank you most graciously," Ulrich replied, voice so firm, gaze outright bold when he held contact with the father's. He reciprocated it, brows unfurling for a whole moment, and extended his hand.

"Cyrus Scepto."

"Jakob Albrechtson," Ulrich dealt yet another lie, though not without its truth. Albrecht was indeed his father. He shook the hand offered, and it was gentle in its grip. He did not flinch, nor wince, nor look away. Though his heart, it was beating so unwisely, a war drum adding to the internal battle of his. But that shouldn't have to coincide with a lack of manners, thus he questioned (no matter Elmedin who was sitting at the table, still in his boots) if he should remove his shoes.

"No need. There's slippers in the cupboard if you want your feet to breathe."

"No need," Ulrich parroted, and joined Elmedin whose hands were clasped together, resting on the table, thumbs fidgeting against each other. His gloves, already taken off. The Southerner was peering curiously at his companion, causing Ulrich to cock his brow while taking a seat in front of him. The silent exchange ended with Elmedin's grin. Not particularly being able to follow up to that, he redirected his focus. On the table a newspaper lay discarded. Several titles stood out: New trading deal between the Oleander Isles and Province of Aurun; Breakthrough in negotiations with Onogean Confederacy; The Great Travelling Stench of South Sarkovia. Not surprising. Chains of factories were built there, they must've been the source.

A course of silence prevailed for a few instances, when footsteps were heard from behind. "Dad!" Marta came running inside.

"What happened?" Father's voice, was it softer now! Ulrich's whole chest convulsed, fists clenching.

She stopped herself in a jump, almost losing her balance. "Nothing," she said and giggled. "Can we please, please get them something to eat? They've been on a long trip, from... where?" She looked at the two.

"Aurun," Ulrich said, hesitantly.

She put her hands on her hips. "See? Poor people haven't eaten anything proper in days!" Cyrus immediately stormed down the hallway. Marta let out a breathy laugh. "We're from Aurun, by the way, mister Jakob," she buzzed while removing her polished heels.

"I know." She gaped at him, bewildered. "Scepto is an Aurunian surname," he explained, and she nodded in understanding, eyes blown open. He took it that her cleverness was not the speediest. Amusing.

"Dad! I'll handle everything!" once done realizing, she yelled and rushed after him.

Focus back on Elmedin, it could be seen that he was performing a dance of sorts, head moving from side to side. He kindly asked the former arbiter before him, "You good? You look a bit pale."

"Mhm. And you?"

"Great. I love the Sceptos."

"And they seem to love you." Elmedin's expression softened upon hearing that. "Does Marta?" Ulrich asked all sly, but then Elmedin's movements halted, and he hid his mouth in the blue scarf.

"We'll leave that for later," the Southerner murmured from behind the shawl, eyes expressively devoid of emotion. Ulrich disclosed his curiosity with a side stare. "Alright."

Cyrus rushed into the dining room, looking a bit lost, as lost as a man like him could look. He found his interest in Mephistopheles, who hadn't exactly done anything but sit near the front door.

"Your dog," Cyrus grunted, staring at it.

Ulrich swallowed. "What about him?"

The father ducked to pet Mephistopheles, and the canine waved his tail. "His name." And so, Ulrich's mind bleached itself blank. "It's... uh..."

"Mephistopheles. Bit of a mouthful, right?" Elmedin chimed in. Ulrich tried to display his gratitude with a brisk glance. He winked back.

"He's very polite," Cyrus commented, still petting him. Then his yell broke out, "Isaiah! Leah!"

More trudging above their heads, moving towards the stairs. At their top, two kids revealed themselves, each not older than ten. The girl wore a plain shirt of lemon's color, whereas the boy had a grey one with red floral decorations. Both were of darker complexion, just like their father. "Come meet the guests. They brought a puppy. Like Millie," Cyrus beckoned. And Ulrich panicked like mad, and yelled, telling Mephistopheles to be nice with the kids. The father looked at him as if he were indeed mad, and so he explained himself, saying sloppy excuses and apologies, that Mephistopheles was indeed decent but he was fearful of the dog possibly hurting the kids, unintentionally.

Little Leah and Isaiah came down, stood at the final step of the stairs to stare at the dog, and did nothing else. Leah waved at Mephistopheles whose tail once again started wagging. She giggled. Ulrich's maniacal stare was proven unnecessary. Luckily.

But when Isaiah noticed Elmedin, his grin brightened the room. He stomped his little feet on the stairstep, squealing and pointing at Elmedin, "He came back! He came back!"

Cyrus told him he could come down. Immediately, Isaiah ran towards Elmedin (who had only managed to stand up) and jumped into an embrace, his head just beneath Elmedin's chest. Elmedin hugged him back, even lifted him into the air, voice bubbling with joy, grin the same as the one given to him. Undeniably, Ulrich was watching love.

Leah approached, but did not embrace. Elmedin ruffled her gorgeous locks, asking her, "And how have you been, princess?" She blushed, hiding herself behind her hands. Isaiah spoke for the both of them when interrogating Elmedin, who was more than eager to reply and even act in line with his answers, gesticulations vivid like his stories. Isaiah either gasped or asked for more. Ulrich found himself in a similar mood, chin on hand, observing with speechless interest.

"And in Sypheria, I battled the fierce owner of the land, who had shackled his people! Illness and starvation and drought all came together to torture his village, and he did not care! I came up to him, pleaded him to make a change – oh, how I wept with the maidens and the children, but he did not listen! He lifted his ugly nose and turned around! I followed with threats, what did he do? Ignore me! Sent the guards after the voice of reason that I was! I fought them, I won, those were nothing. But when I reached the lord, he closed the door right on my nose! Could you imagine such manners, sir?! Could you imagine!"

Isaiah's eyes seemed to sparkle. "What did you do?"

"I tore open the door, I hollered with all of my aching lung, "Listen to your people, o vicious lord! This is your last chance!" and he didn't surrender, and instead, that snake pulled out his gun at me. But I was faster! I ran, I grabbed it, but it shot!"

Isaiah gasped.

Elmedin's tone drastically lowered. "To the floor, sir." Then it rose again. "Nobody was harmed. Until I punched his ugly snout and ended his reign! The people chose a better man to lead them, and all was well! It really was that simple!" He recounted several of such thrilling tales, until Cyrus introduced the two to Ulrich, and that was the end of it – the father suddenly insisted that they go back upstairs and let the travelers rest. They did so, leaving a tinge of wistfulness in Elmedin's expression.

Soon, the dishes started emerging. First, the vase was removed and set on the cupboard as to give room for the oncoming food. Ornate silverware and plates were set in place, to announce the arrival of gorgeous meals. Though he wasn't too hungry, he couldn't say no to the whimsical dishes slowly being displayed before him. Much of it reminded him of the countryside food he had occasionally eaten as per his mom's insisting. The ones before him, endearingly similar:

A basket of black bread, grains all over its crust; a soup in a large pot with so many vegetables inside, its aroma of the usual dill; so many cooked vegetables on their own, broccoli, cauliflower; baked potatoes with a generous amount of butter melting all over them, and butter itself in a separate bowl of course; freshly harvested and salted tomatoes; and lastly, the sole meat of the table, something his mom wasn't a fan of, sausage, glistening in all of its fat. "Sausage time is the worst," Elmedin remarked upon setting his eyes on it, and Ulrich, a speaker of Nodanic, understood it and wheezed.

From this feast's outcome it would be right to deduce that when joined together Ulrich and Elmedin could down anything in a matter of minutes. Yet, during it, one small digression was made.

One of the siblings asked if she could feed the dog; Ulrich turned around, and she, alongside Isaiah, was on the staircase. Cyrus told her not to bother the guests, but Ulrich assured him it was fine and went on to explain a devious idea he'd just gotten. "No," was what he said, and he could barely contain his amusement. Upon Elmedin's confused hum, he explained further that, "I have insufficient knowledge on what's toxic for dogs, so I'd prefer we remain implementing the..." He swayed the knife a little. "Usual diet." The kids nodded, gawking fascinated. Cyrus ushered them to go upstairs again.

Now, Ulrich wouldn't miss the opportunity to catch Mephistopheles' reaction, be it in human or dog form. The demon did peer at him, the white of his eye showing, and with that, he lay down onto the floor. Such a polite pup indeed.

And after the meal and its puny leftovers were cleaned (despite their mutual insistence, Ulrich and Elmedin were not allowed to help), they were left to sit in the chairs, bellies full and so very satisfied.

It was in careful minutes that another subject was brought up, by Cyrus. His words slow, he began, "If it wouldn't be a problem, sirs... we have an issue. Every once in a while, an arbiter visits us and claims he's fixed it, but to no avail, I'm afraid... you see, our town is infested with imps. They've been shredding our animals. It's only a matter of time when they target the little ones."

Maybe it was the good mood, maybe it was the hapless guilt from before, but he was ready to do something about it. "Imps? I might help, if you'd allow me so kindly." Cyrus' brow shot upwards. Then he rose, looking behind Ulrich. He followed his gaze, turning around to see an open door. Then he heard the explanation from the father, "Your dog left. What if it stumbles upon an imp? Sir..."

What in the name of hell was Mephistopheles up to? Ulrich did his best to amass peace in a couple of steady inhales, then rose and walked towards the now open door to exit through it, ready to yell obscenities after the dog. Outside, he barely made a step or two when he bumped into what felt like a wall.

But he examined up, and it was a person, and the person encased him in a shadow, he was that tall – and the person was the demon in his human form, ears normal as well, and he greeted with a smile falsely sweet, "Oh my! Hello there!"

"Hello... Elior." Ulrich murmured back with contrasting energy, rubbing his nose.

"My name is pronounced as doctor Faust." He ran a hand through his horned bangs, honing them. "Doctor Elior Faust, of course."

"...what –"

"Jakob!" Squeezing Ulrich's arm as if he were a friend (and it pained him horribly, made his entire body turn stiff), he babbled in a shrill pitch, "I can't believe I've caught up with you. Luckily, I've seen your dog in the garden... you've been taking care of it? I sure hope you did." Ulrich's eyes narrowed. "Eh? Good. Good. Now, what were you up to? Anything interesting going on in this lovely community? Found some demons to slay?"

Ulrich tried whispering, so he rose to his toes to reach Mephistopheles' ear which was, arguably, the most embarrassing thing he'd done in a while, because he couldn't reach it. All he managed to do was whisper, "Wha –" then Mephistopheles backed away, so in attempting to reach him, somehow, Ulrich lost his balance and almost fell. The demon held him by his shoulders to prevent the worst. In resentment of the supportive touch, he wriggled free and with heat in face, he stared at the demon's peaceful face and quietly raged, "What are you doing?!"

"I want to help with the demon issue," he whispered back, covering the side of his mouth with a gloved hand.

"What, kill your own kind? As if."

"But indeed. The issue here are imps, and I couldn't care less about those pests. Besides, to me and not to you, they're easy to attract and kill." His smile did not decrease. "You wouldn't want to embarrass yourself and fail in such a simple task."

It took Ulrich a moment to think about it, accept it, and grumble about it. "Make sure nobody dies, don't harm anyone and... follow my instructions. If you disobey me, we're changing course to the Prime Agglomeration's headquarters and you must know what that implies for the both of us," he cautioned. Mephistopheles cackled.

"I'm in a good mood so I'll let you in on a finesse." Oh no, he was in a good mood. "By phrasing your orders in an if manner, you give me leeway to do anything. Because, if I disobey you, we change course... therefore, I can disobey you. I won't, but I can."

Incredible and so very logical, to the point it ashamed Ulrich. Nevertheless, the advice did not make up for his distrust. "You have moods?" he asked specifically to insult him. Mephistopheles blew through his nose, amusement tugging at the corners of his thin lips.

"Great moods indeed. If you don't mind me guessing, perhaps after murdering the two?" He pinched Ulrich's cheek and walked inside, his side brushing against his. The stinging drifted into Ulrich's consciousness as he stood there, merely taking in what had just happened. He put a hand over his cheek, fingers lingering over the irritated part. Even more agitated than before, he followed after.

He introduced "doctor Elior Faust" to everyone (calling him an acquaintance of his), and explained the dog would be fine as it was extremely clever and trained. It could deal with demons and alike, he added with a reassuring smile that was so bloody difficult to pull off. Especially after seeing Mephistopheles press a smooch on Marta's hand, and she, that clueless girl, she chuckled. This was barf-worthy.

Credit where it was due, Mephistopheles refused to eat the leftovers. Be it an exhibit of culture or to whip the running gag, he added, "I have a specific diet I follow. Straying from it might upset my stomach." Ulrich and Elmedin exchanged glances, one frustrated, one entertained.

"It's... quite the coincidence you've found your acquaintances here, doctor," father engaged.

"Oh, I've been following them for a while now, but I can't really rush. My leg's a lost cause. It's hereditary. Nothing you can do about it. As for yelling, ah, I dislike hearing the trumpet of my voice. Damned leg, leaving me with no alternatives." He smacked his cane (where from?!) against his right foot, the polished leather shoe, so clean one would think he had just stolen it from the store.

Father nodded, eyes rigid in their attention. "I will go fetch the holy water." Focus still on Mephistopheles, he walked into the kitchen. His warning was blatantly loud. "Keep an eye on the doctor," he warned.

"They seem fine to me," Marta was heard dismissing. Ulrich was bitterly amused at that.

The demon threw himself on the chair, swinging his legs onto the table, and instead of his old metallic heels, normal leather shoes were in place. He struck a conversation with Elmedin, which he tentatively reciprocated. As soon as father was in the same room with them, carrying huge glass bottles of holy water, Mephistopheles inquired, "Has the same arbiter been visiting you?"

Cyrus narrowed his eyes at him, almost as if they closed altogether. The muscles of his arms flexed. "...yes"

"Imps can recognize that person's smell and flee. They're not without wit."

Father set the bottles onto the table, gaze wedged on the demon. "How do you know that, doctor?"

"Why, Jakob over here has taught me." Mephistopheles motioned at the former arbiter. Father hummed.

"Holy water, as per your request, sir." He said and flicked a finger at one of the bottles, clinking a ring so. Ulrich moved his chair closer, dazzled – the sheer amount of it inside the bottles was... unusual.

"The church is so generous in giving out such amounts of it..."

"Not the church. The Agglomeration has recently been sending the recipe in the paper." He took the newspaper and opened the perfect page for Ulrich to see a tiny recipe in the corner of it. "It's in every issue."

Odd, and instilled an ill feeling in Ulrich's gut. This, this wasn't simply making the lives of the people better, he supported that, but – it was a church's secret, and to think they meddled with the sacral to turn it profane! Too bold. Too unlike what he was used to, years ago. He traced the finger over the square section dedicated to the recipe. Somehow he had missed the major novelty. Then again, he was on the road for a month until arriving to Aurun.

Ah, another title in the newspaper. Fashion Show In Aurun's Argent Hall. But that bloody city, how could it possibly have reigned, uncontrolled...? How much were they letting happen aside from it? Or just like in Aurun, directly condoning it. It was a harbor of five rivers, they must've had decent profit from the illegal.

"And this is because the imps have been... ravaging?" he questioned, thoughtful.

"For a while now, and never this viciously!" his voice boomed and his fist crashed against the table, causing a shudder in Ulrich's somewhat absent being. After the initial reaction, he calmed and dared, "And has Aurun had any issues with demons as well?"

He jeered, "Wouldn't be surprised if some bastards in there were breeding imps and sending them our way." Peeking over to his kids on the stairs, he continued, "I can't believe anyone in their right mind would live there, let alone raise children there. As soon as we collected enough coin, we left. I'd rather have imps on the loose than those sick minds in Aurun."

Ulrich challenged further, "The Agglomeration leaves it be. It's almost convenient."

"Maybe. But I am grateful for everything it has done."

But was he? Ulrich spoke, "I didn't become an arbiter because of my loyalty to it, neither have they gained any." He tilted his head. "So there is no need for discretion."

Silence. No motion on the father's grave face, not until he asked unexpected but related of a question, "This has nothing to do with your loyalties, but I have a question out of concern. Do you know what they intend by pushing their officials everywhere? Aurun, Sinyigrad, Gerenoluk, further south. People are... wary." His hands were clasped together, making for a brute ball of hair and fingers.

Ulrich backed away ever so slightly, leaning against the back of his chair. "My guess is as good as yours, and the guess would be in no positive light." Political or economic or whatever sort of corruption. That much, he was certain of, and that much, he witnessed while growing up. But siding with demons and daring to mistreat the one blessed with Raphael, that was absolutely outrageous. Was there a shift in the reigning parties during the years of his absence...? There must've been, and they were deviously cunning in their distribution.

Ulrich's stomach twisted once he even assumed the consequences. He was reminded of Sarkovia curse of corruption, centuries old, as it had the land and people perpetually derelict. He'd never learned about it from History lessons. Only his mother would speak of it, and emphasized: she knew of about a twenty fifth of the terrors there.

Small acts of small people like him hadn't mattered; one smile couldn't amount for a whole life saved. What worth was a world that stood still on its feet, if all of it was ridden with disease and evil, slouched under its own sinful weight?

More silence, then more of a surprise. "Listen. I know how useless you arbiters are. I used to drink with one of you. One of the dumbest lads I've had the pleasure to meet. But charming, I'll give him that." Cyrus leaned in, just enough for Ulrich not to feel uncomfortable. "But you have a weirdness to you. A wary sort of wit. Perhaps you'll be the odd one out."

Ulrich nodded. "I'll do my best to correct that image of us," he spoke lies. Before, he would look forward to it, beam at this hope. Now, indifference left him dumbfounded.

Cyrus nodded as well. "I trust Marta's intuition. She got it from her mom, and it's bloody terrifying. But..." He leaned in further, and an awful sort of breath reached Ulrich. "Even if you mess up, nobody's going to give a damn, isn't that right?"

"Unfortunately, it is," he confirmed, trying his best not to show any disgust.

He couldn't generate more imps out of nowhere, and by all means, he could kill at least one. He looked at the two men before him. "Elior, Elmedin, will you accompany me and help me with the imps?"

"I'd rather not," the Southerner stated with a wave of his hand, and Ulrich respected that. After all, he needed mostly Mephistopheles in this endeavor.

"Doctor Faust reporting for duty!" He sprung to his feet, them tapping eagerly against the floor.

To set the plan in motion, he needed a steaming hot piece of meat, the holy water, a larger knife, and some rope. All of which were available, but Cyrus was not glad to see the meat get wasted. However, he conceded and did give them a chicken leg once it heated. Ulrich had to carry it on an already warming plate.

Him and Mephistopheles walked out into the garden, Ulrich holding everything but the holy water; the demon was the one to carry two bottles. They would certainly suffice.

Cyrus told them that, behind the chicken coop, way behind that wall, they would be most likely to catch the imps, for the area was essentially opening itself into a forest. The two passed the coop, saw only three small hens there, and opened the gate to find themselves at the beginning of a trail leading straight into a forest. Perfect for what he'd needed.

While walking towards it, Ulrich leaned in to whisper, "Are we being watched?" Because, glancing backwards, he could clearly see the house's second floor.

"Obviously. Daddy Scepto can't help but intrude, oh how he loathes all of us," Mephistopheles spoke in elegant muted tones. Well, that was the worst he could hear in this moment. He hadn't made imp traps in ages, and though he'd killed them, he had no idea how it would go this time.

"What if the imps don't come?"

"Us demons usually have a keen sense of smell. But worry not. Imps will probably sense my presence and come on their own accord. Unless –"

"Probably? So it's a chance we're working with?"

"We? We? You've grouped us under the same pronoun?"

Ulrich would've facepalmed had his hands not been busy. Instead, he sighed, head thrown to his side. "...do your thing and get them here." They reached a tree, and he dropped his inventory there.

"Without you setting your trap? My, my, they'll think you're an imp whisperer."

He glowered at the demon. "Be quiet, alright?! Please." Surprisingly, Mephistopheles did shut up. With that lovely fact on his mind, he could begin. Setting the knife next to the plate, he poured a ring of holy water around the steaming chicken, the circle around two meters in diameter and beneath a branch. Then he stepped inside it.

"Ah. So this is what arbiters do. How unsurprisingly primitive." Mephistopheles chuckled.

"Arbiter minors," Ulrich corrected quietly, taking the rope to form a noose, "because we're trained for it, we travel from town to town and get hired to do these things, kill demons, witches, offer blessings and secure the settlement which people here did on their own it seems... other arbiters, they have more privileged positions and duties."

"Like committing genocide?"

Pausing in the middle of making a knot, Ulrich sluggishly turned his head around. "Like committing genocide," he mouthed. He knew the Agglomeration sent arbiters to restrain and negotiate with territories which had relations with demons, but genocide wouldn't be in their interest. His father would've known, and his father never could've approved of that, he hoped. His mom wouldn't have fallen in love with such a man. That was, miserably, his only insurance.

Did Mephistopheles know more, then?

The demon whistled, attracting his attention, and he pointed ahead. Ulrich followed the finger's direction, and upon doing so, he didn't dare speak up, move, even breathe. Had he done so, he would risk this entire operation. Just a couple of meters away, the size of a well-fed cat, stood an imp, and stared right back.