Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius of Sol Invictus neatly folded his hood and cloak, placing it into his pack. His Decani swords too, he put away. Too many weapons would weigh him down... and would look ridiculous, besides.

He unwrapped his halberd blade, taking a rag to polish the metal to a 'divine' gleam.

Tycon wore his sculpted Decanus breastplate made of Tyrion steel-- no helmet, though. Besides carrying his halberd, he wore an enchanted dagger on the small of his back. He also wore one other enchanted item, a pair of thick-leather, steel-toed boots that felt lighter than their materials would suggest.

The dagger and boots were spoils from a deceased Assassin back in the Kingdom. He'd eschewed them during his stint with the Rhodoks in order to better fit in. With the current situation, he and Zenon would appear as unique special forces agents of the Church.

They might even be mistaken as Avengers to the uninformed.

There were two ways Tycon figured to approach House Vanzano. The first was to offer himself as a 'hero', as it were-- selfless and oozing with patience and benevolence. With his 'heroic' help, the noble House Vanzano would return to its former glories, utilizing the power of friendship, trust, and hard work.

That would take far too long.

The second way was to act as he always did: as a tyrant. He would not have his authority questioned. He would not have his strength questioned. He would return House Vanzano to its former glory, regardless of their wishes.

Tycon wound up his crossbow mechanism, locking the safety mechanism. He specifically separated the poisoned bolts from the not-so-poisonous ones, keeping the latter as his default.

He glanced over to his tall companion, "Centurion, are you nearly finished with your preparations?"

"I was born prepared to fight against wickedness and heresy that hides in the hearts of men," Zenon's voice resounded, echoing from inside a full-helmet.

Zenon Skyreaper stood 6 and a half fulms tall, covered in Centurion armor, metal greaves, and metal gauntlets. For this operation, he also chose to wear a reinforced full-helmet that hid his face. He looked nothing like the rank-and-file Rhodoks, whose armor was essentially the same as that of the Tyrion military. The militant arm of the Church of the Eternal Flame was the true force behind the Holy Country's might.

Tycon mentally noted that if Optio Sixtus of the Rhodoks was wearing the Church's Centurion armor, he would have been easily able to contain the Manticore's attacks. Further, the Champion would not have fallen in a mere two strikes while fighting against Isidor.

Most intimidating about Zenon's armor were the tri-blade claws attached to his forearms. They emitted a low hum and occasionally sparked with bluish lightning mana.

Zenon was... a Librarian. Why did he have lightning claws? Tycon thought that Librarians... took care of... a library... with books.

...Perhaps he was a protector of said libraries?

Who in the seven hells and eleven heavens would want to siege a library so badly... that the Church armed their Librarians with lightning claws?

A shiver ran down Tycon's spine. Were the Librarians tasked with recovering overdue books? Did he have any overdue books?

...Bah. What useless thoughts. Zenon had a fearsome appearance. Tycon would just be thankful for it.

"The wicked shall kneel before the righteous," Zenon's metallic voice echoed within his helm.

Tycon smirked and added one of the Church's adages he was familiar with, "By fire and steel, their souls shall be redeemed."

...

From afar, the Vanzano estate was no different from the others in Silva's wealthy residential district. Upon approaching, Tycondrius and Zenon were greeted by the sights of withered trees, untrimmed bushes, and vines biting into the house's worked-stone. The courtyard was filled with ugly grass, overgrown and discolored, and had a small pond covered with a thin layer of filth.

Tycon did not look forward to seeing interior of the Vanzano manor, proper.

He expected some sort of guard or door-man by the gates. Instead, the duo found an unsavory dozen humans, the lot of them armed. They did not appear to have an affiliation with the noble house.

Trespassers, then? Or perhaps the debt collectors that Tanamar mentioned?

"Centurion, it seems we dressed properly for the occasion," Tycon mused.

"Their blood upon my boots will be my offering of prayer to the Flame," Zenon responded.

Tycon's mouth twitched. It felt like Zenon putting on his helmet... changed his personality. Or maybe Tycon had grown comfortable with Zenon's 'personal-demeanor' and this was the gentleman's 'work-demeanor'?

Very professional. He approved.

Zenon stared down through his emotionless helmet, "Shall we make *inquiries* to those adventurers about the reasons for their visit?"

"Unnecessary," Tycon shook his head. "I'm certain they will be forthcoming, even without."

He strode towards the armed group, halberd in hand. A sharply dressed brunette eyed him with uncertainty. She wore a short sword on her side at the center of their formation. An unfriendly gaze observed him from the back of their group, an Iron-Rank Ruffian who was the strongest amongst them.

Tycon was better armored and better geared than any of his opponents. Further, they had no idea that he was a Gold-Ranker. He could murder them all with his bare hands if he wished.

He wondered if his opponents would be... wise enough to watch their words.

"Who in the Flame are you?" One of the Bronze-Rankers spoke in an impolite voice.

Oh, good. Gooood. That one was not wise.

Tycon glanced up. He was holding a halberd. The halberd was glowing with magical white light, an ⌈Emberglow⌋ spell cast by Zenon. It wasn't functionally useful, as the sun was still out... but Tycon was obviously backed by someone who used Divine magic.

Divine magic belonged to the Church of Eternal Flame.

The Bronze-Ranker... was questioning a man of the Church. He wasn't wise, at all.

Zenon Skyreaper loomed over him from behind, a machine of war cultivated by the Church of the Eternal Flame. Symbols of flames were emblazoned onto his armor, sacred texts inscribed into the metal. His armor literally glowed with sanctified enchantments.

Regardless of whoever these people's backers were, the Church of the Eternal Flame stood above them. Though Tycon wore no such imagery, the fact that Zenon stood by him was enough to prove his association.

Tycon had the status to do as he pleased. It would be a waste not to take advantage of it.

He placed both hands on his halberd. He pulled the haft back with one hand and powered the blade downward with the other, dropping his weight.

He channeled mana into the strike, too.

Why shouldn't he?

The lightning-fast strike bit deep into the Bronze-Rank's shoulder, nearly severing it from his body. Tycon grinned, chuckling. The man's throaty scream was like a wonderful song, pleasant to his ears.

He reached forward with his offhand and grasped the man's neck, halting the noise-- almost as if they had agreed upon the act beforehand.

Tycon was so pleased, he decided to whisper a friendly suggestion.

"Repent."