HFfC: CH 18: The Golden Commander

A new day had come, and with it, a new story that seized the entire duchy. It was on the front page of every newspaper, the talk of every street corner and tavern. The missing children had been found.

The official reports were sparse on details, stating only that the perpetrator was in the custody of the Watchers and that the bodies of the victims had been respectfully returned to their families. But that wasn't the part of the story that captured the public's imagination. It was the hero: a private detective named Erwin Smith.

His photograph, the one taken by the freelance photographer, was everywhere. It was a powerful, evocative image: the handsome, determined man with sharp blonde hair, his long coat billowing behind him as he ran through the night, a dying child held securely in his arms. The papers had a field day with it.

THE GOLDEN COMMANDER: Private Detective Solves Case That Baffled Watchers!

HERO IN A LONG COAT: Who is Erwin Smith?

WATCHERS UNDER FIRE: Public Demands Answers as Outsider Cracks Case in Days

…

Inside Café LeBlanc, Soma hummed a cheerful tune as he placed a plate of fluffy, golden-brown pancakes in front of a demon regular. The demon looked up from his newspaper, the headline about the "Golden Commander" emblazoned across the front.

"Thanks, Soma," The demon regular, Kael said. "You know, it's great now that you have one fixed menu item I can rely on."

"Yeah, yeah," Soma replied with a grin. "But you should still try our daily specials, though. Keep things exciting."

The demon laughed. "Ah, you just want me to spend more of my hard-earned money."

"Guilty as charged," Soma laughed back.

"Hey, boss," a human customer named Marcus said, leaning over the bar toward Zero. "That 'Golden Commander'... isn't he the same fella who stopped that Viper attack in here the other week?"

Kael looked up from his newspaper, a thoughtful expression on his horned face. "Ah, so that's where the nickname came from, eh? 'Golden Commander.' A bit dramatic, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Marcus continued, his voice full of excitement. "I heard a rumor that his first act in the whole kingdom was right here in this café."

Zero, ever the diplomat, let out a practiced, easy laugh. "There's no way," he said, his voice smooth and dismissive. "It's just a coincidence that a man with good taste decided to visit my café on his first day in Evercrest. After all, our food is top-notch, right?"

A collective, good-natured groan went through the café at Zero's cheesy answer.

Then, Henry, the key maker from next door, chimed in from his usual corner table. "I still don't trust him," he grumbled into his coffee. "I heard he's from the Concord. I bet you he's a spy, here to meddle in the kingdom's affairs."

Marcus immediately bristled. "A spy? Henry, the man saved a little girl's life! He found those other poor kids! What kind of spy does that?"

"The clever kind!" Henry shot back, pointing his spoon for emphasis. "What better way to earn the public's trust? A big, dramatic rescue? It's the perfect cover to get close to the city's elite. Mark my words!"

Kael, the demon, chuckled into his cup. "He does have that 'too perfect' look about him, doesn't he? Like he walked right out of a Royal stage play. All stoic and handsome."

"Hey, hey!" Soma interjected from the kitchen doorway, brandishing a spatula. "The man paid for his meal and complimented the chef. In my book, that makes him a saint, not a spy."

"But the Concord's non-interventionist policies are well-documented," the university student added from her corner, not looking up from her textbook. "However, a covert operative acting unofficially isn't entirely out of the realm of political possibility."

"See!" Henry said, feeling vindicated. "They think they're better than us! Sending their agents in here to... to... spy on us!"

The debate was heating up, a familiar, comfortable back-and-forth that had become a staple of the café's morning routine. It wasn't angry; it was a sport.

Finally, the dwarf regular, who had been silently listening to the whole exchange, slammed his heavy ceramic mug on the table for emphasis. The thud cut through the chatter.

"Spy, hero, ghost from the bloody abyss, I don't care what he is!" he roared, his voice a low gravel. "He did the job! When was the last time any of us could say that about the Watchers?"

A wave of silence washed over the café, followed by murmurs of universal agreement. The friendly debate instantly dissolved as they all found their common ground.

Henry grunted. "Well... he's right about that."

Marcus nodded. "Damn right."

Zero smiled under his veil, picking up the coffee pot. "Refills, anyone?" he asked, the perfect host in his perfect second home.

…

With his rising fame, Erwin had become the most sought-after private detective in the city. But with that fame came a crippling new problem: he couldn't do his real job. Every attempt at surveillance, every effort to gather intelligence, was thwarted by a well-meaning citizen recognizing him and shouting, "It's the Golden Commander!"

He slumped onto the couch in his small office, the weight of his unwanted celebrity pressing down on him. He closed his eyes and retreated to the Animus Hub, immediately tapping the transparent silhouette of Zero.

A moment later, Zero's form solidified. Back in the café, he had just stopped in the middle of serving drinks. "Wait for a bit," he'd told the customers, "I need to go to the bathroom."

"Don't forget to wash your hands after!" a regular had joked.

"Ha ha," Zero had replied flatly before disappearing into the back.

Now, in the hub, he looked at Erwin. "Hey, what's up, Golden Commander?"

"Don't even start," Erwin groaned. "I take back everything I said. I can't handle this fame. I can't go anywhere without being spotted. My intelligence work is at a complete standstill."

"Why not just use the Conan form?" Zero asked.

"I have," Erwin said, frustrated. "But there are not a lot of places a lone child can go without drawing a different kind of unwanted attention. It's limiting." He paused. "I heard you pulled a pack several nights ago."

"Yeah, but..." Zero trailed off, a thought suddenly sparking in his mind. A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. "Ah... just come to the café. Through the second-floor window. Now."

"What?" Erwin asked, confused.

"Just do what I say," Zero said, and with that, his form dissolved, leaving the hub.

Erwin sighed, opened his eyes, and stood up. He walked to his own window, transformed into his smaller Conan form, and began his journey back to the café.

…

A short while later, Erwin, as Conan, was clinging precariously to the windowsill of the café's second floor. "Holy shit," he muttered, "almost lost my balance there." He hauled himself over the edge and crawled into the familiar living quarters.

Zero was already there, walking upstairs with a fresh cup of espresso. "Ah, welcome, Erwin," he said calmly, handing him the cup. He then walked into his bedroom and returned a second later holding a cheap-looking, dull grey card.

"Okay," Erwin said, taking the espresso. "Is it a good card?"

Zero pricked his finger, letting a single drop of blood fall into the cup. "Nope," he said cheerfully. "Matter of fact, it's a shit card."

Erwin watched the drop of blood dissolve. "Then why are you giving it to me?"

Zero flipped the card around, showing it to him. "Because," he said, "it's a perfect fit for you. Tadaa..."

Erwin tilted his head. "A [Background Character]?" But as he read the description, a slow, brilliant smile spread across his face. "Holy shit," he whispered. "It's a perfect fit for me."

"Hehe, right?" Zero said. "Now, drink up."

As Erwin drank the blood-laced espresso, Zero pressed the [Background Character] card to his forehead. For a second, nothing happened. Then, Erwin's form seemed to... blur. He didn't change shape or size, but the sharp, distinct lines of his body softened. He became a peripheral figure, someone your eyes would just slide over without registering.

"Whoa," Zero said, his own eyes struggling to focus. "This is so trippy. If I'm not concentrating directly on you, it's as if you're not even here."

"Let's test it, shall we?" Erwin's voice said, seemingly coming from a vague point in space.

Zero went down to the bustling café floor. A moment later, Erwin followed. He walked right through the middle of the room, past the tables, past Soma who was taking an order, and right out the front door. The bell chimed, but not a single head turned. No one, not even Soma, seemed to notice his presence.

Zero walked back to his position behind the bar, a wide, satisfied smile hidden beneath his veil. After all, he thought to himself, my pull was a good one. Hehehe.

And Erwin, now the most unnoticeable man in the city, walked back into the streets to continue his work, more efficient than ever.

…

Meanwhile, in the Crown District, the heart of the capital city, a grand ceremony was underway. Within the Royal Castle, under the golden and white lion crest of House Averidane, the very air hummed with power and political intrigue.

The ceremony took place in the Hall of Justicars, a cavernous chamber that bore the weight of the kingdom's history. The ceiling soared hundreds of feet into the air, a breathtaking mural depicting the epic, intertwined stories of the eight Great Houses. Massive marble columns, each carved with the crest of a noble house, supported the vaulted roof and divided the vast hall.

At the far end, upon a throne of ironwood and gold, sat the monarch, King Theron Averidane V, a man whose weary eyes had seen decades of political maneuvering. A set of stairs cascaded down from his throne to a wide platform reserved for the three Archdukes.

There sat Archduke Alastair Brenford of the Scorched Plains, his deep red and black banner a stark contrast to his cool, calculating demeanor. By his side was his elegant wife, Isolde. 

Beside them was Archduke Toussaint Valerius of the Sunstone Coast, his light blue and white colors reflecting the vibrant, naval power he commanded. 

And finally, there was the grim Archduke Otto Hightower of the Ironheart Mountains, his black and grey banner as unyielding as the stone of his domain.

Another set of stairs led to a lower platform for the four Dukes. Duke Orion Evercrest of the Granite Cape stood proudly, his navy blue banner a symbol of his coastal strength. 

Beside him was the shrewd Duchess Nicolette de Leon of the Verdant Realm, her deep yellow banner representing the kingdom's breadbasket. 

Then there was the old, respected Duke Samuel Talbott of the Heartland, and finally, the ambitious Duke Benedict Bannon of the Five Lakes, their deep green banners a testament to the rich lands they governed.

Below them all, on another step, a contingent of high-ranking Watcher officials stood at rigid attention. And in the very center of the hall, kneeling on a velvet cushion, was a single man.

King Theron rose, his voice, amplified by the hall's magic, ringing with royal authority.

"Let it be known!" he declared. "By the grace and decree of His Royal Majesty, King Theron Averidane V, the man kneeling before us, Lord-Commander Thorne Black, is hereby appointed to the office of Chief of the Royal Watchers of the Kingdom of Averidane!"

The King's voice echoed, each word a stone cast into the silent pool of the assembled nobility. "For too long has the shield of our kingdom been allowed to tarnish. Corruption and complacency have weakened the very foundations of our justice. With this appointment, we forge a new shield, one tempered in loyalty and hardened by duty."

He looked down at the kneeling man. "Lord-Commander Thorne Black, do you swear to uphold the laws of this kingdom, to protect its citizens from all threats, both within and without, and to serve the Crown with unwavering loyalty?"

Thorne Black, a man with a severe face and the cold eyes of a career soldier, looked up. "I so swear, Your Majesty."

"Then rise," the King commanded, "as Chief Thorne Black, shield of the people and sword of the Crown."

As the newly appointed Chief rose to his feet, a wave of polite, obligatory applause filled the hall. But a keen observer could see the true currents of power in the expressions of the assembled nobles. Chief Black himself wore a look of grim, triumphant satisfaction. Standing near the royal family, the handsome First Prince beamed with a genuine, predatory smile; his man was now in place. A handful of the houses, including Duke Orion Evercrest, applauded with real enthusiasm. This was a victory for their faction.

But others, like Archduke Alastair Brenford, simply clapped, their faces a perfect, unreadable mask, a polite façade that hid the cold, furious calculations already taking place behind their eyes. The game had changed, a powerful new piece was on the board, and the delicate balance of power in the Kingdom of Averidane had just been irrevocably shifted.

…

A week passed. Detective Wolfe was halfway through his morning trek to the precinct when a familiar, energetic voice called out from behind him.

"Good morning, sir! A new day, a new journey!"

He turned to see Monet jogging to catch up, her face bright and full of an energy that Wolfe, pre-coffee, found vaguely offensive. "What do you eat every morning to have that much energy?" he grumbled.

"Well, I don't eat that much, actually," Monet said, falling into step beside him. "I need to be sure I'm ready for a foot chase, and if I'm too full, I'd probably throw up, and that could contaminate a crime scene. Speaking of which, did you see the new internal booklet? It's all about that 'fingerprints' technique. Can you believe a private detective had that kind of insight?"

"Okay, okay, boot," Wolfe cut her off, holding up a hand. "Give me a rain check on the chatter and let me have my morning coffee in peace, will you?"

"Yes, sir," Monet said cheerfully.

As they got closer to the precinct, Wolfe noticed something odd. There were too many officers milling about outside. He saw Valdi leaning against a wall. "Valdi," Wolfe called out. "Weren't you on night patrol? Why are you all still here?"

Valdi shrugged, a clueless expression on his face. "I don't know, Sarge. Just following orders. Everyone was told to stay."

Wolfe shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Goddamn it, when are you ever useful?"

"Hey!" Valdi shot back defensively. "I'm useful! I made two arrests last night!"

Ignoring him, Wolfe pushed his way into the precinct. The entire day shift and night shift were crowded into the main bullpen, a confused, murmuring mass of blue uniforms. He saw Lomare standing near the briefing room and pushed through the crowd. "Sergeant, what the hell is happening?"

Lomare's face was grim, his eyes heavy with a lack of sleep. "It's about Kilpo," he said, his voice low. "You missed it. About an hour ago, a squad of Watchers—not like us, their uniforms were jet black—burst into Kilpo's office and dragged him out in cuffs. We were all confused, but they flashed legitimate papers, an arrest warrant signed by the new Chief himself in the capital. Then we got a general order. All personnel were to remain at the station until further notice."

Wolfe looked around at the confused faces of his fellow officers. None of them had a clue what was going on.

Then, a commotion erupted at the main entrance.

Two lines of the same black-uniformed officers marched in, their faces hard and emotionless. They moved with a chilling, synchronized precision, physically parting the sea of blue-uniformed Watchers, creating a wide, clear path from the door to the main staircase. In the sudden, tense silence, a single, authoritative footstep could be heard.

A woman walked down the cleared path. She was an elf, tall and graceful, with platinum blonde hair tied back in a severe, practical bun. Her green eyes were sharp and analytical, missing nothing. She was, by any standard, breathtakingly beautiful, but there was an aura of cold, sharp-edged authority about her that dispelled any thought of approachability.

She walked to the base of the stairs, then ascended a few steps, turning to use it as a makeshift platform to address the entire precinct. Her voice was not loud, but it cut through the room with the clarity of a ringing bell.

"Good morning," she said, her accent crisp and from the capital. "I am your new watch commander. Captain Céline Dubois."

A tense, heavy silence followed Captain Dubois's introduction. Then, Sergeant Lomare, perhaps out of a sense of duty or just to break the suffocating quiet, began to clap. It was followed by another. And another. A slow, begrudging round of applause rippled through the assembled officers, a scattered, half-hearted patter of hands. Their expressions were neutral at best, and disdainful at worst.

Céline didn't react. She simply waited on the stairs, her gaze cold and unflinching, until the last forced clap died down, leaving an even more awkward silence in its wake.

Then, she smiled. It was not a warm or reassuring smile. It was sharp, predatory, and utterly devoid of warmth.

"Let's drop the act," she said, her voice cutting through the pretense. "I know exactly what kind of precinct this is." She took a single, deliberate step down. "I know how corrupt the Kingdom's Watchers are... and I know how corrupt you are."

As the words landed, the black-uniformed officers moved. With a terrifying, synchronized efficiency, they stepped into the crowd of blue, detaining specific, pre-identified officers. The whole precinct erupted into a state of confused shouting as officers who had been untouchable just minutes before were suddenly being put in cuffs.

"Meet your new brothers and sisters in black," Céline announced over the commotion. "They are the Internal Affairs Division. From now on, you will all be held to a new standard. Your head, hands, and feet are the law in this city, and for the law to be healthy, a routine check-up is required."

She let her gaze sweep over the remaining, stunned officers. "With me as your watch commander, we will not 'play' Watchers anymore. We will serve and protect the citizens. Equally. Human, elf, dwarf, halfling, tiefling, beastkin, demon... it doesn't matter."

A few officers swallowed hard.

"There will be no more bribes."

More uncomfortable shifting.

"No more power plays. No more games." She gestured with a sharp, dismissive wave toward the group of now-detained officers.

She then addressed the arrested men directly. "For those of you being taken in, don't worry." She gave them that same, chilling smile. "You'll have your trial. We have a new tool from the capital: a magic lie detector."

The arrested officers visibly paled.

"If you pass," she said, her smile widening slightly, "you're free to go." Her expression then darkened, the smile vanishing as if it had never been. "If not… then even if the Demon God himself were to be reincarnated, he won't be able to save you."

A heavy, absolute silence followed. One by one, the corrupt officers were marched out of the precinct, their protests and threats dying on their lips as they were loaded into armored transport vehicles.

"Dismissed," Céline said to the remaining, shocked officers.

As the crowd began to disperse in a daze, Wolfe looked around and spotted Valdi, still leaning against the same wall, looking completely unfazed.

"It's shocking you're still here," Wolfe said dryly.

Valdi shrugged. "I have been divorced three times," he said with the weary wisdom of a long-suffering man. "I know not to take what isn't mine."

Wolfe was taken aback. "You've been divorced three times?"

"This decade, yeah," Valdi confirmed.

Their conversation was cut short by a voice that sliced through the entire bullpen. "Sergeant Wolfe! Officer Monet! To my office. Now."

It was Captain Dubois.

Valdi nudged Wolfe with his elbow, a teasing grin on his face. "Oooooh, Sarge. First day, and you've already caught the eye of the new watch commander."

Monet and Wolfe walked into the Watch Commander's office. It was the same room where Captain Kilpo had held court, but it felt entirely different now. Captain Dubois wasn't sitting behind the large, imposing desk. She was standing by the large window overlooking the precinct yard, her hands clasped behind her back, a general surveying her new territory.

Wolfe, ever the professional, spoke first. "Ma'am, just to be clear, I'm not a sergeant. I'm still on demotion, so my official rank is Training Officer."

Céline turned from the window, her green eyes fixing on him with an unnerving intensity. She cut straight to the chase. "I've read your file, Wolfe. Why didn't you push an appeal on your sergeant's exam? You know as well as I do that you passed the written portion with the highest score in a decade. You were failed on the oral exam by an examiner who had a vested interest in seeing you fail. Why? You don't trust the review board in the capital?"

Wolfe met her gaze. "It's not like that, ma'am."

"Be honest with me, Officer," she said, her voice dropping, leaving no room for evasion.

Wolfe paused, the silence stretching for a beat too long. "Yes, ma'am," he finally admitted. "I don't."

A flicker of something—approval, perhaps—passed through Céline's eyes. "Good. Not eating from a rotten sack is a logical thing to do." Her gaze then shifted to Monet. "Is this your rookie?"

"Yes, ma'am," Wolfe said.

"Congratulations, Sergeant Wolfe," Céline stated simply. "Effective immediately, your demotion is rescinded. For now, you will help me stabilize the units. The detectives, the patrol officers—they need a trustworthy head to lead them."

"But ma'am—" Wolfe started, taken aback by the sudden promotion.

"We need a trustworthy head to lead the units, Sergeant," she cut him off, her tone making it clear it was not a request. "Can you do it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, accepting the new reality. "Then... what about Monet? She needs a T.O."

"She's riding with me," Céline declared.

The statement shocked both Wolfe and Monet into silence. The new Watch Commander was taking a rookie as her personal aide?

"Go," Céline said to Wolfe. "Help the other divisions get their bearings, Sergeant."

Wolfe looked at Monet, giving her a single, reassuring nod, then turned and left the office. As he walked out, Céline stepped past Monet and into the hallway. "Follow me, boot."

As they started to walk, two IA officers in black uniforms entered the captain's office, carrying empty evidence boxes. Monet glanced back and forth between the captain's retreating back and the office she had just left.

Céline didn't look back. "They're there to search for any of Kilpo's hidden files and to clean the office," she said, her voice a low, disgusted murmur. "I can't have an office that reeks of booze and sex."

Monet's spine went rigid. This was going to be a very, very long day of work.

…

Monet drove the Watcher patrol car with the cautious precision of someone transporting a live bomb. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white, her spine a ramrod against the seat. Beside her, Captain Céline Dubois stared out the passenger window, her expression as serene and unreadable as a frozen lake.

"Why are we driving through the safest, most boring neighborhoods in this city, boot?" Céline asked, her voice cutting through the tense silence.

Monet stammered, her mind racing for a plausible excuse. "I... I... It's a... a standard patrol route, ma'am. For establishing a visible presence."

"Don't tell me Wolfe never taught you where the actual hotspots are," Céline said, her gaze still fixed on the pristine, respectable houses they were passing.

Monet's throat went dry. Of course he had. But the warnings from the other rookies that morning were echoing in her head. 'Be careful,' they'd said. 'Her career is golden, yours is... not. If she gets so much as a scratch, it's your ass in a sling.' She was terrified.

"Is it because you're riding with me?" Céline asked, finally turning to look at her. "Do you think I've gotten to this point without knowing how to defend myself?"

The direct question, laced with a hint of annoyed pride, broke through Monet's fear. She was an officer of the Watchers. She had a direct order. She took a deep, steadying breath. "No, ma'am," she said, her voice now firm. "My apologies. I will take you to the first hotspot now."

She made a sharp turn at the next intersection, heading toward the city's notorious underbelly.

They arrived in the red-light district, and Céline's eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. The streets were well-lit, the cobblestones were clean, and the usual sense of grime and desperation was conspicuously absent. It was still a place of vice, but it was an orderly place of vice.

"Quite a clean district for such a place," Céline observed.

"Yes, ma'am," Monet replied, glad to be on the firmer ground of reporting facts. "My C.I. in the area mentioned a major power shift in the criminal world. They said the old gangs were... dismantled. The new owners have taken over, and now it's like this."

Céline's sharp eyes scanned the street, finally settling on a new, impressive building that dominated the skyline. It was a tall, elegant structure built in a striking Eastern style, with upturned eaves and glowing paper lanterns. "What's that building called?"

"That's new, ma'am," Monet said. "They're calling it the Hao Pavilion. My C.I. says it's an entertainment house. The higher the floor, the pricier and more exclusive the services get."

"Interesting," Céline muttered. "Do you have a C.I. inside that building?"

"I don't, ma'am," Monet admitted. "But... I think Sergeant Wolfe might."

"Alright," Céline said, her mind having already processed the information and moved on. "Take me to the next hotspot, boot."

…

Another two weeks passed. Erwin's reputation had solidified. He was no longer just a rumor; he was the go-to man for low nobles and wealthy merchants who had problems that required both discretion and results. As he walked back to his boarding house after a long day of consultations, he saw a familiar, official-looking Watcher car parked directly in front.

As he approached, the passenger door opened. An elf with sharp, intelligent eyes stepped out, followed by a weary-looking Sergeant Lomare.

"Lomare," Erwin said with a nod. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to introduce you to our new Watch Commander," Lomare said, gesturing to the elf.

Captain Céline Dubois walked toward Erwin, her presence commanding even on the simple cobblestone street. "Can we talk, Private Detective Erwin?" she asked, her voice a calm, direct question.

Erwin paused for a beat, his mind racing through a dozen possibilities. "Sure," he said finally. "Follow me."

He led them up the stairs to his office, which also served as his living quarters. "Do you want tea or coffee?" he asked as he went to the small kitchen nook in the back.

"Tea, please," Lomare said immediately.

"No need," Céline stated at the exact same time.

Lomare paused, a note of genuine sadness in his voice as he corrected himself. "No need."

Erwin suppressed a smile. "Alright, straight to business then. What do you need, Captain?"

Céline didn't waste a second, straight to the point. "Come with us. Be a Watcher."

Lomare looked shocked at how plain and direct she was, his jaw practically hitting the floor.

Erwin scoffed, a dry, humorless sound. "Why would I do that?"

"So you can get justice for the perpetrators of the missing child case," she replied, her gaze unwavering.

Lomare's eyes widened. He looked at Erwin. She had struck the one nerve he knew was still raw.

Erwin went silent, his casual posture stiffening. "You have a strange kind of humor, Captain."

"I'm not joking," she said.

"Alright," Erwin countered, his voice now cold. "Let's say you're not joking. How are you so sure other criminals won't simply be released again, just like the last ones?"

"That's why we need more people like you on the inside," she said simply.

Erwin sighed, a long, frustrated sound. He paused, weighing his options. "Even if I joined, it would take too long for me to climb to—"

Céline cut him off. "I have a fast-track slot. A direct commission to the rank of Detective. It comes from the new Chief himself."

Erwin stared at her. "You're really desperate, huh?"

Céline didn't answer, but she held his gaze, her green eyes unflinching. Erwin found himself looking at her—at the determination in those eyes, the faint hint of red on her lips, the way the light caught her platinum hair. He was the first one to break eye contact, looking away toward the window.

"Let me think about it," he said, his voice quiet.

Céline stood, her mission for the day accomplished. "You had better hurry, Golden Commander," she said, using his public moniker as a final, parting shot. "My slots are not that numerous."

With that, she and a still-stunned Lomare left, leaving Erwin alone in the silence of his office, with an offer that was impossible to refuse.