Secret Society: Raising Calamity Class Disciples

Morning.

A kilometre away from the hill-turned-lotus, upon which levitated the sliced pieces of the gallery, stood two men in gentlemanly attires.

Both the taller man, and the shorter one were garbed in black suits and had black hats on their head.

"Should we… should we report this to the higher ups?" The taller man asked, his brown eyes fixed on the deformed hill.

"Are you crazy?!" The shorter man rebuked, his eyes almost going bloodshot. "Your whole body was sliced into pieces. You should know better. Was a piece of your brain misplaced or something?"

"No, but-"

"There's no buts!" The shorter man retorted. "You didn't see with your own eyes, but I did. It's not something a human can do." He pointed at the earthen lotus a kilometre away. "Do you think it's something a normal Kinetic can do?"

"What do you mean?" The taller man frowned. "Were they Paranormals?"

"Or worse…" The shorter man sighed, taking his finger back. "Calamity Class…"

Silence ensued.

"Still, we have an artefact that can-"

The shorter man smacked the back of his comrade's head. "Fool! Walpurgis doesn't have a single Calamity Class! Hell! I doubt there are any other living calamity classes other than the ones we saw. Are you thinking we are the only ones with an Ancient Artefact in our hands?"

His taller comrade vehemently shook his head. "Then, what shall we do?"

"What else?" The shorter man snorted. "We take this to our graves. And the next time we spot those monsters, we run away without a second's consideration. After all, Walpurgis is not our religion or anything. Everyone's in there for the benefits."

"So, we failed this time's missions?" The taller man sighed.

"But protected our lives." The shorter man took in a deep breath. "Thank the heavens those two were merciful. That snap of his fingers still ring in my ears."

"What about Lord Silverman? He was our employer this time. I don't think we are getting away scot-free."

"Hmph! What can a mere Electal Lord do? That too, the Electal Lord of a town we can destroy in a couple of days."

"But his-"

"His connections?" The shorter man smirked. "Don't worry. I have taken care of it."

******

Somewhere around the Northern part of Derbury, sunlight glinted on the shiny surfaces of several carriages.

"Enough, right?" Wilbur asked, the smile on his face as bright as ever.

There was another man before him—a bit obese, dressed in brown. He frowned and counted all the gold coins in the pouch again.

"Tell me honestly," he looked at Wilbur, "who have you robbed?"

Wilbur clicked his tongue, but did not lose the smile on his face. "Who in this town can carry this much gold coins? I told you, I had a wonderful and generous customer."

"Fine. Fine." The man snorted. "If you don't want to tell me. Just say so. Besides," he gave Wilbur a strange look. "How many gold coins are left with you? Don't tell me your 'generous customer' gave only this much." He gave Wilbur a smile.

Wilbur, the smile expert, grasped the nature of the broker's smile in an instant; it was that of evil.

Wilbur closed in on the man, looked left and right, before saying in a low voice, "Have I told you that my 'generous customer' is from Aramon, and is affiliated with the Detectivete?"

Wilbur brought out a golden insignia from his coat—one with a winged shield.

The fat man took a couple of steps back, his eyes filled with horror. "The Crest of Protection?! How can a mere coachman like you have one?"

The smile on Wilbur's face widened as he pocketed back the crest. "Don't tell anyone," he whispered, looking left and right.

The broker paid his utmost attention. What could be the reason a mere coachman got a promise of protection from the Detectivete, something that even high level politicians did not have the privilege to get?

"My customer—he is very 'generous'," Wilbur answered.

The broker almost fell to the ground. After saying his farewell, he took off with the carriage and his beloved steeds—Cask and Beck.

He took out the crest and looked at it. A sigh escaped his mouth. That day, when that high level officer from the Detectivete, the one with the grey eyes and brown coat, came to interrogate, the detective informed him of the dirty history of the broker.

Sensing that he, along with his two little kids were in danger, he had no choice but to spill the beans, especially after the detective offered him the Crest of Protection.

After releasing yet another sigh, he brought the smile back to his face.

Off they go to find the next passenger!

Neigh!

******

"Mother, have they reached Aramon yet?" Sarah asked with a sullen face.

Miss Maisel was at the dining table, feeding Sarah. "They should have hours ago."

"Will she come to visit us?"

"Of course! She said that I just have to send her a letter saying that I cooked lambs, and she will be here in a jiffy!" Miss Maisel declared.

Sarah's eyes twinkled. "Are you cooking lamb today?"

The matron clicked her tongue. "Give your sister some free time with your brother in law, will you?"

******

At the middle of Derbury, stood the Silverman Mansion, residence of the Electal Lord of Derbury.

Inside, the bloated and almost bald Electal Lord was walking to and fro, shouting out curses every now and then. His wife stood worried in the room.

"Everything's done for!" Lord Silverman stopped in his tracks. "We need to escape Avarynth!"

His wife touched his shoulder. "Dear, you need to calm down."

"Calm?" The man snorted. "If I get caught, even the Prime Minister can't do anything. The Thirteenth will be the judge of this matter."

"What if you bribe-"

The man began to laugh hysterically. "Bribe? The Thirteenth? It'll be like pouring a couple of buckets into the ocean. That Society's coffers is bottomless and is filled to the brim."

The allying bell rang.

"Who is it at this hour?!" The man frowned. "Are the guards grazing the field?"

Heavy footsteps came from outside his room, along with his butler's voice. "Sir! You can't just barge in! This mansion belongs to Lord Silver-"

The wooden door smashed open.

Outside, stood a young man—garbed in brown. His black hair swayed from the force of his attack, while his grey eyes were looking dead in Lord Silverman's eyes.

There was a smile on the young man's face.

"Greetings, 'Mister' Silverman!"