God Ash: Remnants of the fallen. Chapter 1392: Cusp (1)

Commander Strut's office was exactly as severe as the man himself.

Stone walls. A desk that looked like it had survived multiple wars. Shelves lined with books and reports and docunts that probably contained more secrets than Nero would ever want to know. A single window that let in cold light but no warmth.

The Commander sat behind his desk, reading sothing. He didn't look up when Nero entered.

Nero stood and waited.

The silence stretched. Outside, Nero could hear the distant sounds of the garrison. Voices calling orders. The ring of tal on tal from the training yard. The normal business of a military installation continuing regardless of whether he was about to be assigned sothing terrible.

Finally, Strut set down whatever he'd been reading and looked up.

"Sit."

Nero sat.

The Commander studied him for a mont, his expression giving away nothing. His grey eyes were the sa color as his hair, and they had the quality of soone who'd seen enough violence to be neither impressed nor disturbed by it anymore.

"You passed," Strut said.

"Yes, sir."

"Not elegantly, from what I understand. But you survived and completed the objective, which is more than so candidates manage." He paused. "I've read the examiner's report. And Arthur Koh's testimony. And the physician's dical assessnt."

Nero waited.

"You encountered sothing significant in those ruins. Sothing that wasn't supposed to be there. A pocket dinsion, apparently, with entities inside it that shouldn't exist."

"Yes, sir."

"And you killed one of these entities with a dagger while your companions were unconscious."

"That's what happened, sir."

Strut's expression didn't change, but sothing shifted in his eyes. Not quite skepticism. More like professional evaluation of a claim that strained credibility but couldn't be easily dismissed.

"The lake you erged from was completely black when the examiners went back to investigate. The entire chamber stank of corruption so thick they couldn't enter without masks. But they found no corpse. No physical evidence of what you claim to have killed."

Nero said nothing. There was nothing useful he could say.

"Which ans," Strut continued, "either you're lying about what happened down there, or whatever you killed dissolved completely after death, or sothing else disposed of the body." He leaned forward slightly. "I'm inclined to believe the second option, but I admit I'm curious about what could do that."

"I don't know, sir. I was just trying to survive."

"Mm." Strut picked up a piece of paper from his desk. "You're now officially a Templar candidate. That ans training, assignnts, and eventually ordination if you prove competent. It also ans you belong to the Church now, in ways that matter more than your debt to ."

"I understand, sir."

"I wonder if you do." Strut set the paper down again. "The Church is... complicated. More complicated than most people realize. There are factions within it. Different priorities. People who believe different things about what the Church should be and how it should respond to the corruption."

Nero waited for him to elaborate.

"You have unusual qualities," Strut said. "The Heretic Eyes. Your ability to survive things that kill normal n. Your apparent talent for finding trouble that shouldn't exist. These qualities will attract attention from people you'd be better off avoiding."

"What kind of people?"

"The kind who think they can use you. The kind who see tools instead of people." Strut's expression hardened slightly. "You're still under my command, which ans I have so ability to protect you from that. But only if you're smart about it."

"How do I be smart about it, sir?"

"Don't volunteer information about what you can do. Don't show off. Don't make yourself more interesting than you need to be." He paused. "And don't trust people just because they wear the Church's colors. So of the most dangerous n I've known were ordained Templars."

Nero absorbed this. "Is there anyone I should trust, sir?"

Strut almost smiled. Almost. "Lyon. Arthur Koh, probably, though he's ambitious in ways you should be aware of. , when our interests align." He leaned back in his chair. "Beyond that, use your judgnt and assu everyone wants sothing from you."

"Encouraging, sir."

"I'm not here to encourage you. I'm here to keep you alive long enough to be useful." Strut picked up another paper. "You'll begin formal training next week. Combat, doctrine, Church law. I'm assigning you to a cohort with other new candidates. Try not to stand out too much."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

Nero stood and turned toward the door.

"Nero."

He stopped and looked back.

Strut's expression had shifted into sothing that might have been respect or might have been warning.

"You killed sothing significant in those ruins. Sothing that probably should have been left alone. There will be consequences to that, even if we don't know what they are yet. Be prepared."

"I will, sir."

Strut watched him for another mont, then nodded once, a gesture of dismissal that carried more weight than words. Nero recognized it for what it was—not just permission to leave, but acknowledgnt that the conversation had covered everything that needed to be said. The Commander had given him what guidance he could offer, and now it was up to Nero to navigate the complications ahead with whatever intelligence he possessed.

Nero left the office and walked back through the garrison, Strut's words following him like a weight he couldn't quite shake. The corridors felt different now, the sa stone and torchlight taking on new significance. He was no longer just a debtor working off an obligation. He was a Templar candidate, which ant he'd entered a world considerably more dangerous than simple military service.

The weight of it settled on him as he walked. Not oppressive, exactly, but present. A reminder that his life had shifted again, moved into territory where the rules were different and the stakes higher than he'd anticipated. He'd survived the trials. Now ca whatever followed survival, and Strut's warning suggested that might prove considerably more difficult than simply staying alive in the Thornwood.