417 Oathbreaker Part One

The worst she could do (within reason) was to refuse. 

The Archbishop was a... somewhat reasonable person. 

Athena insisted that Tycon take a guard... which made little sense, as he was easily the *strongest* person in their party. 

The young lady volunteered Parthenope... which was ridiculous. Besides Sorina (who was a noncombatant) and Zenon (who was comatose,) that girl was the *weakest* member in their party. 

Tycon took Tanamar. 

Besides him not wishing to deal with the overly excitable archer, Tycon preferred the quiet company of the young gentleman... Anyroad, he had a few things he wished to speak to him about. 

"Is Zenon going to be okay?" Tanamar asked. 

"I'll give him 50:50 odds," Tycon pursed his lips as they walked. "It depends on him, really."

"Won't you get into trouble for... you know, getting your Centurion killed?"

"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "If he does die, he did so serving his nation. Last I checked, that's an honor... Besides, what can I do about it now?"

Tanamar frowned... "You could leave Tyrion. Aren't you from Alizeau? The Fairytale Kingdom?"

Tycon shook his head, "I have my reasons for staying... as I'm sure you have yours for staying by Miss Athena's side."

Tanamar's eyes narrowed sharply... and he turned away shortly after... "Right..."

Tycon raised an eyebrow, having identified a sign of vulnerability. He decided to poke at it... for curiosity's sake, "Are your reasons from this life or the one before?"

The silver-haired footman sighed, "She deserves happiness... in this life and the next..."

Poetic. 

"Hmph, there's no shame in that." Tycon mused... "Though there was an issue I wanted to discuss, concerning--"

Tanamar interrupted him by holding up a hand. 

Tycon immediately turned, keeping his back to Tanamar's. The young man knew very well not to interrupt him... Whatever was around was a far greater cause of concern. 

He focused on his surroundings... searching for something hidden... something dangerous. 

The two of them were surrounded by civilians in the outer hallways of the coliseum... The loser's division was still holding matches. Hundreds of merchants and thousands of spectators still milled about, away from the relative safety of the immediate seating area. 

An assassination attempt in this area would have a catastrophic amount of casualties. 

"⌈Aspect of the Celestial Hound,⌋" Tanamar quietly activated a skill. 

Briefly glancing back to the silver-haired footman, Tycon observed the minuscule twitching of Tanamar's nose, reminiscent to an Irvhir. 

"Show yourself!" Tanamar demanded. He reached out, willing his holy lance into existence, and snatched it out of the air. 

Tycon saw the slightest hint of movement at his side... and he immediately rolled out of the way, reaching for his short sword as he tumbled on the ground. 

Tanamar had already swung his lance, clanging against metal and showering sparks, "You... what are YOU doing here?!?"

The humanoid-shaped transparent blur coalesced into a heavy suit of armor, radiant silver and as large as a titanblood. It held a suspiciously Dwarven halberd, barely able to keep Tanamar's holy lance at bay. Steam seemed to escape from the armor's joints as the halberdier strained to hold their ground. 

⟬ Harkus, Bronze-Rank Dwarven Holy Blacksmith. ��� 

On second look, the armor's shape was somewhat dwarf-like, thick in the arms and nearly as wide as it was tall. Its proportions were 20 to 30% larger than Harkus actually was, but his new form made sense if Tycon assumed he affected by a size-enhancing transmutation spell. 

Tycon elected not to draw his sword, standing and crossing his arms instead, "Tanamar, stand down."

Harkus was obviously not trying to fight. His posture was entirely on the defensive... and with his meager strength, the dwarf would lose very quickly, if Tanamar decided to strike again. 

And besides that, the exchange had drawn a fearful crowd of people, gathering in a circle around them. 

Tanamar grit his teeth, "Not a Flame-taken chance! Tycon, do you know who this guy is?"

"Ah... Not quite." Tycon placed his hand on his chin... "We did share a few drinks the other evening, though."

The suit of armor's helmet turned towards Tycon, "And YOU still owe me forty silver, boy!" 

Tycon shook his head and sighed, "I'll give you twenty-five if you stop bringing it up." 

"Stand down, Athanasius Mors..." A female's echoing voice resounded. 

A second set of full armor materialized aside Harkus, the bloody color of crimson. Tall and lithe, its curves implied both deadliness and a sleek, feminine allure. 

It seemed Natalya had dispelled her invisibility effect, so she could intervene. Concerning that they were still in the Holy Country of Tyrion, it was a rather flippant use of magic. Though magic in the public eye seemed to be nigh synonymous to witchcraft, Archbishop Crucis was using its effects merely to remain undetected in a crowd. 

Wizards were a strange lot. 

"And who in the SEVEN HELLS are you??" Tanamar shouted. 

...Oh... Hm...

One by one, the passersby began to kneel, each of them recognizing the crimson-armored woman from her earlier speech to the masses. The kneeling crowd was quite intimidating... and Tycon could almost feel the fear and uncertainty emanating from footman Tanamar. 

Because Tycon was acting as a Tyrion Decanus, he chose to salute. It seemed appropriate... and was preferable to kneeling, "Good afternoon, Archbishop Crucis."

"Good afternoon, Decanus Tycon," Natalya nodded, her full helmet hiding her expression but not the ice in her voice. "I would see you and Athanasius in private. Immediately."

...

The Archbishop had two main complaints. 

The first was that Centurion Zenon very nearly lost, which would have embarrassed her in front of ten thousand Tyrions and countless more who would have heard of it. 

The second was that she did not like dealing with Magistrate Antonidus. She didn't trust him-- but it was clear she didn't trust anyone, Tycon especially. 

She made no mention of Tanamar's rudeness. Either she had forgotten about it or didn't think it important. Whatever the reason, the young footman was clearly regretful. 

As for the reason Natalya was complaining to Tycon... he had no idea.