They turned down another corridor. This one opened into a wide gallery lined with paintings and tapestries. Nero slowed, his eyes drifting over the images.
The images depicted battles. Battles between Abominations torn apart by crimson-armored warriors and the opposite as well. Images of the world burning in a pyre made of skulls in the distance while Templars stood in formation before the flas.
"This is the Hall of Rembrance," Lyon said. "A record of the Blood Lotus’s history. We are the third oldest garrison in the Order, established over twenty thousand years ago when Liedenstorm was nothing more than a fortified outpost made to house Adam’s Light."
Nero stopped before one of the paintings. It depicted a massive creature, sothing that appeared to be an abominable cross between so eight-legged monstrosity, with an eyeless face of a woman with long threads of silver hair stitched into its scalp,all attached to a large and long fleshy neck, its body covered in eyes and mouths. Templars sward around it, their blades piercing its flesh while it thrashed and scread.
"The Thousand-Eyed Devourer," Lyon said, stepping up beside him. "It erged from Malady’s Garden six thousand years ago and consud three villages before the Blood Lotus brought it down. Forty-seven Templars died in that battle. Another thirty-two were so badly injured, they could no longer serve."
They moved deeper into the gallery. The hanging painting depicted thousands of years of history paved in bloodshed, steel, and bureaucracy.
Lyon stopped before a large tapestry hanging on the far wall. It depicted ten symbols arranged in a circle, each one distinct.
"The Ten Garrisons of the Crimson Crucible," Lyon said. He pointed to the first symbol—a red flower with sharp, blade-like petals. "This is the Blood Lotus of Liedenstorm."
His finger moved to the next symbol—a crown wreathed in flas.
"That is the Crimson Throne of Bridgehorn, the capital. The largest and most prestigious garrison. The Blood Father resides there, along with three of the seven Generals. If you survive your conditioning and prove yourself exceptional, you may be transferred there eventually."
Nero studied the symbol. The flas the crown was wreathed in seed to shimr in the lamp light, as though it were actually burning.
Lyon continued, pointing to each symbol in turn.
"BloodIron, Caensar. Known for producing the Order’s finest duelists. Their combat doctrine emphasizes individual skill over those boring formation tactics."
A symbol of crossed swords, both dripping blood.
"Darkblood Veil., Vale. Specialists in stealth and infiltration. They handle assignnts that require subtlety rather than overwhelming force."
A crimson cloak wrapped around a dagger.
"Sons of Blood, Cape Norde. The northernmost garrison, positioned at the edge of the Niel Mountains. They face constant assaults from the creatures that dwell in the frozen wastes. They possess the highest casualty rate of any garrison."
A bleeding heart punctured by a sword of thorns.
"Scarlet Pyre, Kanka. They collaborate closely with the Wilting Seraph. Many of their Templars worship the Watcher of the Blazing Sun in addition to serving the Empire."
A single fla rising from a pool of blood.
"The Grey Watch, Ortswich. The smallest garrison. They focus on hunting rogue Templars and eliminating internal threats to the Order. Most of the Inquisition are cultivated within this garrison. They possess a branch within every Order as a sort of... balance."
A single grey mask.
"Blood Scourge, Beorstone. Their main description is to defend the farmlands that surround Beorstone, which is where majority of the food within the empire is grown. Those fields are usually under the attack of ruinous Abominations and wild demonic remnants from the Demon wars."
A Crimson Helm.
"Bloodstone Wardens, Orm. They stand guard at the Sunrise Mountains together with the garrisons of the Wilting Seraph since Orm is the closest city to the capital. Their fates are rather terrible, but they are forged in the literal fires of hell, so they are quite hardy and stubborn."
A single Crimson Crystal.
"Gold Vein, Vosche. Port city on the Verdant Seas. They deal with threats erging from the waters and maintain naval defenses."
A Crimson Halberd.
Lyon stepped back and gestured to the tapestry as a whole.
"These are the ten garrisons of the Crucible, representing ten cultures of warriors that fight stubbornly for the persistence of mankind." He looked at Nero. "You’re in the Blood Lotus now, but that doesn’t an you’ll stay here forever. Templars are transferred based on need and capability. Where you end up, you might remain there for a few months, maybe a few years, perhaps even a few decades..."
Nero stared at the symbols. Ten garrisons spread across the Empire, each one fighting its own battles against the darkness.
"How many Templars are there?" he asked.
Lyon considered the question. "Active? Perhaps eighty thousand across all garrisons. But that number fluctuates constantly. We lose hundreds every year to death and corruption. The recruitnt barely keeps pace with attrition."
Eighty thousand.
It seed like a large number. But spread across an entire Empire, defending multiple cities against an endless tide of Abominations...
It wasn’t enough.
Not nearly enough.
"The Blood Lotus specifically," Lyon continued, "maintains roughly six thousand Templars. Two thousand are usually stationed here at the Red House. The rest are deployed in rotating assignnts; campaign s through Malady’s Garden, escort duties for rchant caravans, and suppression of Abomination outbreaks in surrounding villages."
He paused, his expression darkening slightly.
"I would say ten years ago, the Crucible was much stronger than this. If not for that... incident."
Nero’s jaw tightened.
"Co," Lyon said, turning away from the tapestry. "There’s more to see."
They left the gallery and descended a flight of stairs. The air grew warr and damper. Nero heard the sound of running water sowhere below.
They erged into a chamber that took Nero’s breath away.
It was enormous, easily three tis the size of the cathedral. The ceiling arched high overhead, supported by massive stone pillars carved with intricate runes that glowed with soft azure light. In the center of the chamber, a pool of water stretched forty feet across, its surface perfectly still and mirror-smooth.
But it wasn’t the size or the architecture that stunned him.
It was a garden.
Plants grew everywhere. Not the twisted, corrupted vegetation of Malady’s Garden, but tad flora; flowers, shrubs and even small trees with green leaves and vibrant blossoms. They filled the space between the pillars, arranged in careful rows and patterns. The scent of earth and growing things filled the air, giving it a fresh and crisp note.
"The Verdant Hall," Lyon said quietly. "One of the oldest parts of the Red House. Built as a tribute by the Verdant Ash Sea Order when this place was first established."
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