Chapter 41: Puppeteer

  Conflict, hesitation, care. That's what I found in her eyes when the High Priestess weighed whether I could train with a hammer today.

  Two sledgehammers stood between us in the sterile armory—silent witnesses to the standoff. Leonidas waited on my left, arms crossed. Behind me, Silas shifted his weight. The moment stretched.

  We looked away at the same moment, and she spoke.

  "Fine, but when I say stop, we return to the original plan."

  Leonidas grinned, his face switching between me and the High Priestess before he finally slapped his thigh and snatched both hammers. Silver heads flashed under the ceiling lights as he led us toward the training dummies.

  Behind us, Severus broke away—his boots echoing as he took position outside the armory.

  Leonidas moved to my left, leaving me facing the dummy. Silas and High Priestess stood behind my back.

  *Next time I share a beer with them, I expect some interesting conversations.*

  My fever was fading, replaced by the familiar numbness that signaled withdrawal. Time for my next dose was running out, but the Crucible Overseer was already here.

  The first vial gleamed in the pale light when I raised it like a toast. Silver particles danced in the red liquid as if they were alive.

  "Cheers!"

  A shadow behind me chuckled—a low, growl-like sound I knew well. Silas. Leonidas was focused on inspecting the sledgehammers, one in each hand, trying to decide between them. Under Evadne's glare, he chose the smaller one "to be safe." He placed the heavier one with an echoing thud near the wall.

  Two vials went down my throat. Quickly. Without hesitation. The second one left a muddy aftertaste, but it faded quickly. Ants ate away my fever. Ate away my numbness. Started eating me from the inside out.

  "Warm up," Leonidas ordered, tossing me the wooden practice sword. A beige linen-like top stretched over his torso, emphasizing his musculature—not entirely lean, but definitely strong. Chainmail on top looked like it was about to give in. The High Priestess backed away, circling behind me—her gaze lingered on my back.

  I made arm circles—forward, back. Torso rotations that sent catalyst sparks through my spine. Wrist rolls that cracked like breaking ice. Practice swings with no target, just learning the arc. Sword behind me. Up, rotate the hips, drive down. Repeat. Easy and boring.

  Ten swings. My grip was already warm. Catalyst, as if shy, hesitantly gathered throughout my body within joints and tendons. The itching was less intense than it had been two weeks ago.

  *I'm adapting.*

  "Now the real work begins." Leonidas took the wooden sword away. He pressed the sledgehammer's handle into my grip. Heavy. My arms lowered—not from the weight, but from the pain it caused in my elbows.

  But not too heavy. Pain was just information the body sent to the brain.

  I positioned the cold metal behind me. Decisive grip. Arc made with my core muscles, shoulders, and arms, raised it above my head like Leonidas had instructed. My bent spine protested. But it was too late. When the hammer's balance shifted, there was no way back. One-way ticket to the target. No pondering. No hesitation. Just commitment.

  The hammer fell on the dummy.

  Slam.

  Impact resonated through the handle. Crawled up my arm. Shook my shoulders. Lingered in my ribcage. Left bait for the bugs along the way—they reacted instantly. Catalyst confidently pierced my bones.

  But this time, something else filled me alongside the pain.

  Satisfaction. My eyes sparkled.

  "Feel better, kitty?" Leonidas teased.

  The wide grin on my face was answer enough.

  My hurried return to starting position was the proof.

  Slam.

  Painful satisfaction.

  Slam.

  Beautiful catharsis.

  Slam.

  Not enough.

  Slam.

  Still not enough.

  Slam.

  The dummy became Romulus. The traitor. Pandora. Everyone who trapped me here.

  Slam.

  The dummy's head fell to the floor with a satisfying clank.

  Slam.

  I slammed away every lie, every half-truth, every omission.

  Slam.

  My hands trembled, breath heavy, catalyst drilling my bones, but it was still not enough.

  Slam.

  The hammer rose before I decided to swing.

  Slam.

  Rage fed the hammer.

  Slam.

  "Leonard," a woman's voice said.

  Slam.

  "Stop!" she shouted, and someone stopped my swing before I fully committed to it.

  But the dummy was still standing.

  A frustrated, heavy exhale. I released the hammer. Leonidas took it. "Easy now, there's always tomorrow."

  *Tomorrow. Another day here.*

  The view of my feet filled my vision. Quiet steps circled around me until they stopped somewhere in front, behind the dummy. Silas.

  *Was it worth it? The Crucible?*

  I rubbed my wrist with its warmly pulsing mark.

  *Doesn't matter. One way left out of this—forward. Why did she stop me?*

  "High Priestess, why did we stop?" Leonidas, like a mind-reader, articulated my own question. "It would be better if he continued with his other hand now."

  The High Priestess walked toward me. I heard her abrupt, sharp inhale just a step behind me—the one she made when her Cursed Eyes activated. Her golden eyes probably looked into my very essence—mine penetrated the floor.

  "Catalyst is guided very well, but the risk of injury is too great."

  Rustle of her robe—she likely hid her hands in the opposite sleeves. She did that when she hid behind her 'High Priestess' mask.

  "He..."

  *He what, Evadne?*

  Leonidas placed the hammer beside the other one, close to the wall behind him with a quiet tap. A moment passed before the High Priestess spoke.

  "He needs to be in good condition for the next ten weeks to complete the Crucible. We can't risk overtraining."

  *Ten weeks.*

  I raised my hands and studied them. The palms' skin was rough, callused like heels. Partially healed bruises mottled the backs, but they didn't hurt anymore. The tendons were thick and prominent—not from weight loss (I'd gained some kilos lately), but from the "therapy."

  *Ten weeks. Then who knows how many more before I return.*

  My head hung heavy, chest heaving with each loud breath.

  There's no point in dwelling on that. Like the hammer, I'm past the point of hesitation.

  "Let's continue," I said, raising my head and finding Leonidas's eyes. "I need more... training."

  Leonidas didn't reply right away. He glanced behind him, where the conditioning armor waited on the floor close to the hammers. They must have brought the armor while I was... training with the hammer. He mused, arms crossed, eyes darting to the High Priestess, one hand brushing his beard.

  "Uncle Leonidas hears ya. Wall kicks. This way."

  My hands fell to my sides like dead weight, but I followed Leonidas with grim satisfaction. The High Priestess's footsteps beside me, my shadow behind.

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  *Wall kicks. Not the same as venting on a dummy with a hammer, but good enough.*

  The gym had no windows, but stayed bright. I looked up, squinting. Recesses in the high ceiling, glowing orbs that lit everything evenly. Clean. Sterile. Safe.

  "Saint Leonard."

  Pythia's voice pulled me back down. Everybody stopped and turned toward her.

  Except me—I froze.

  "We need to talk."

  *I really don't want to talk with you right now, Pythia. You knew too. Of course you knew. You kept it to yourself. Highest Priestess, Pandora's second. Last on my trust list. But I can't just ignore you, can I?*

  The polite part of me won the internal battle, and I turned toward her. Slowly. With effort, I forced a smile.

  "Forgive this *humble* servant of Pandora," I resisted the urge to spit the words, "but I'm in the middle of training, Highest Priestess."

  Pythia approached slowly, like a levitating sculpture. Calm. Composed. Authoritative. Her heels clicked rhythmically on the floor. Her long robe hiding her feet waved gently from the movement of her legs.

  "This is urgent, Saint Leonard." She shifted her widened eyes to Leonidas. "But continue—we'll talk during the session."

  She stepped past me. Her long, coarse robe brushed against my arm with a soft rustle. My biceps tensed in response. We moved to the training pillar—a rectangular section of wall reinforced with fresh plaster. I positioned myself, settling into stance.

  Leonidas stepped directly behind me, close enough to catch me if I stumbled. Pythia and her guard claimed the left side, maybe three paces away. Silas mirrored them on my right—balanced, ready.

  The High Priestess's footsteps stopped somewhere between us. Outside my peripheral vision, but close enough that I heard her breathing settle into watchful silence.

  Between one groan and another, as I tried to destroy the wall, Pythia spoke.

  "You were right about the autopsy," she said carefully, as if trying to defuse a bomb.

  "Is this—"

  Bam.

  "—what you—"

  Bam.

  "—wanted to—"

  Bam.

  "—talk about?"

  Bam.

  "We found a seal."

  My leg stopped mid-kick. The other hurt worse than usual from the sudden shift in balance, so I planted both feet on the floor.

  "What do you mean?" I had to pause between breaths, but she had my full attention now. "The traitor?"

  The memory flashed—the tailor with his hollow, absent eyes. That unsettling, distracted stare.

  "Yes. He had a seal—a corrupted one."

  As she spoke, the mark on my wrist grew slightly warmer than usual. But the seal's chill snuffed the warmth out. The mark and seal on my wrist had become natural parts of me—I barely registered them anymore.

  *I... I felt something strange when my seal touched someone else's. Althea said she'd been guiding me toward the spirit world.*

  *But I... I asked her to loosen the seal when she taught me this world's language. That time, I tried to be careful, to make sure she always asked first. But... what if my seal is corrupted too? Should I ask Pythia? What will she do if she finds out? I have no idea what she may do.*

  "What does that mean?" Worry crept into my voice.

  "It's Medea's seal."

  "The defeated goddess?" My voice rose, the mark's pulse quickened. "What does that mean? You have to tell me everything—don't leave anything out, even if it seems obvious."

  She sighed in the suddenly quiet gym—I could hear Leonidas's calm breath and the High Priestess's sleeves rustle.

  "Yes, she's defeated, but her remaining fragments still wander the world in her creations." She stated it matter-of-factly. "In goblins."

  "Fragments?"

  "Leonard, you need to continue," Althea spoke flatly.

  Bam. I resumed wall kicks. My shin throbbed—probably red beneath my loose pants.

  "Althea, kindly explain—" Pythia started, but I cut her off.

  "Stop."

  The word cracked across the gym like a whip. Echoed.

  The Highest Priestess blinked, surprised by the sharp edge in my voice. Her guard's hand moved to the small of his back—where his blade waited. My own shadow twitched beside me.

  Leonidas, who'd been checking my form, shifted smoothly—placing himself between me and Pythia. Not threatening. Just... ready.

  "Highest Priestess."

  Bam.

  I tried to lower my tone. "If you want to address *my* Guide—"

  Bam.

  "—do so through *me*."

  Bam.

  Pythia's face showed concern—and something else. Fear, maybe.

  "And Althea—whenever you speak—"

  Bam.

  "—do so in my mother tongue—"

  Bam.

  "—unless I say otherwise."

  "Yes, my Leo-nard," she replied affectionately.

  Bam.

  *Now you choose, Pythia.*

  The Highest Priestess stood perfectly still, robes unmoving despite the draft from who knew where. Behind me, I heard someone shift—leather creaking. Evadne's breathing had gone shallow. Everyone waited.

  I kept kicking. Each impact sent tremors through my leg, up into my hip. Down to my foot. The catalyst responded eagerly, carving its path through my bones. The wall began to crater.

  Bam.

  Bam.

  Bam.

  *Am I Saint Leonard, or your puppet, Pythia?*

  *Are you my ally, or puppeteer?*

  Pythia's silver eyes studied me—not the wall I was destroying, but my face. Looking for something. Whatever she found there made her shoulders drop, just slightly. The guard behind her relaxed his stance.

  When she spoke, her voice had changed. Careful. Respectful.

  "Saint Leonard, Medea connects all goblins into one hive-like mind."

  I glanced at her between kicks. Speaking politely was challenging given the activity that consumed me, but I tried anyway.

  *So you're my frenemy, Pythia. Helpful, just goals misaligned.*

  I nodded politely.

  "Yes, Highest Priestess. Please continue."

  Dust fell from the spot I kept hitting, turning into a satisfying mist with each impact.

  "That would explain the traitor. Medea was highly possessive. Infectious, Saint Leonard."

  "Like a virus?" I stopped, though Althea insisted I continue with the mark's heat and the seal's cold.

  "Yes. She could kill her puppet by stopping its heart—exactly what happened during the investigation."

  Bam.

  "Other leg," Leonidas ordered.

  My balance shifted. I swapped my legs.

  Bam.

  "Thank you for telling me all this, Highest Priestess." My focus returned to the wall. "But I don't know what I can do to help you." Bam. "I'm somewhat occupied for the following weeks."

  Bam.

  "Althea sensed the intruder. Could you *kindly* ask her how she did that?"

  "She doesn't know." My reply came in an instant.

  Bam.

  Althea remained silent. *Good girl.*

  *Pythia heard that silence. Would she challenge me?*