Headed by a Snake

"Is everything in order, Lady Crucis?"

Tycondrius let out a deep sigh, plastering a fake smile on his face for the Archbishop.

Natalya Crucis nodded, tapping the bottom of her white staff against the ground, "Yes. The Measuring Device marks your 'daughter' as having a Divine Class capable of casting First-Circle spells. The Church will train her."

Tycon nodded solemnly, observing the Archbishop's Measuring Device. It was straight and somewhat compact, carved with sharp, perfectly inscribed runes. At its tip was a brilliant blue mana-stone, cut for sharp edges.

Spellcaster equipment in the Holy Country was quite different from those in the Kingdom. A Kingdom staff might be gnarled wood with a rough-cut crystal set into it-- the wood grown over to hold it in place. A Holy Country staff was much the opposite, worked with human hands to harness the powers of the elements and whatnot.

"Would you like me to measure you, as well, Prince?" Natalya offered, her voice lilting playfully.

Tycon eyed the woman incredulously, "Have you done so already, without my permission?"

"Yes, I have," She replied.

The woman had no shame... but it was the answer Tycon expected.

"Then yes, I would like to know my results."

"Your mana measures at Gold-Rank," The Archbishop winked. "Congratulations~"

It was the most insincere compliment Tycon had ever heard. He surmised Natalya was... very, very strong as a Gold-Ranker.

"Also, your class is not divine in nature-- if you weren't aware," She added.

"I was aware, thank you."

Natalya revealed a full smile.

The Archbishop's teeth were white and properly aligned... Tycon had deemed her as an attractive woman (probably)... If he was a proper human male, he should have been enamored-- smitten, perhaps.

Instead... he felt... that there was an almost palpable malice in the Archbishop's expression.

Tycon frowned. He was in a temple belonging to her Church... in the middle of Caeruleum. He'd run into a host of issues if he fought his way out... Depending on how strong Natalya was, he might not even make it out of the courtyard.

...But If she wanted to kill him, why would she have taken this long?

Tycon did his best to force a smile, "Was there... something else, Lady Crucis?"

"Since you've given me one of your precious Sol Invictus members, I shall grant you one of my own."

Archbishop Natalya Crucis of the Church of the Eternal Flame continued to smile radiantly, pleased with her own machinations.

Tycon pursed his lips, "A guardian, to keep me out of trouble?"

"A babysitter," Natalya assured. "He will ensure your safety-- and I hope you will ensure his."

Natalya raised her staff, spinning it dramatically as she channeled mana into it. A song of praise began to reverberate through the temple-- in the Holy Country's Old Language, foreign yet familiar enough to feel haunting and ethereal. She smashed the end of her staff against the white tiled floor, a brilliant circle of light enveloping the two of them...

And when Tycon's vision returned, he saw that a third person had joined them in their circle... a tall, armored man, kneeling in reverence.

"This..." Natalya gestured with an open palm, "is Centurion Skyreaper. He will be your symbol of the Church's authority in your quest-- when appropriate, of course."

The gentleman stood up, a tall human, taller than Natalya, and over a head taller than Tycon. He had a pristine, cut-to-regulation mustache, and handsome, youthful features. His Centurion armor was clean and polished, too-- his sculpted abdominals particularly shiny.

That would do wonderfully. If the gentleman was agreeable and his work ethic matched the care for his person and belongings, he would be an effective asset for Tycon's activities in the Holy Country.

There was, however, two issues-- possibly related.

The first was that teleportation-class magics were outlawed by the Gatekeepers, a Realm-spanning organization whose main job was to prevent incursion by other planes. The Church of the Eternal Flame was not exempt to their few laws.

Tycon spoke aloud, "That was not teleportation magic."

"It was not," Natalya confirmed.

The second was that Skyreaper was breathing rather hard... a thin trail of sweat dripped down from his regulation haircut.

Tycon scrunched his brow and took a cursory glance at his surroundings, "Did you make him... run out of hiding? Was he in the seating area?"

"I made him run out from one of the side columns," The Archbishop confessed.

Tycon frowned. Columns were popular in Tyrion architecture, and the temple had several of them. The Archbishop could have agents everywhere...

The tall man took a deep breath and put on a friendly smile, "My name is Zenon Skyreaper. Would you mind starting this partnership as friends?"

⟬ Zenon Skyreaper, Iron-Rank Human Librarian. ⟭

Friends?

Tycon felt his eye twitch as he stared at Zenon offering an outstretched hand. He glanced back to Natalya, her calculating smile not having left her face. It felt like... there was some sort of trick, but he couldn't fathom what it was.

Centurion Skyreaper's smile was... well, it looked genuine. It carried a... youthful optimism that was... very uncharacteristic of Tyrion officials.

Setting aside his doubts, Tycon shook Zenon's hand with a firm grip, "Tycondrius of Sol Invictus. Friends, then."

...

Tycondrius found everything about Centurion Skyreaper... peculiar.

Veteran Tyrion soldiers tended to be jaded, unfriendly, xenophobic individuals.

This one was... disturbingly agreeable.

Tycon followed Zenon throughout the twists and turns of the large temple, listening to him speak excitedly about the most... mundane topics. Most addressed any concerns he had with hospitality received in Caeruleum.

It had been the friendliest reception Tycon had experienced since transmigrating.

There were far too many 'firsts' and 'most this or that' in this stupid temple. Tycon wanted to leave. Immediately.

The gentleman even insisted upon being called 'Zenon' in private conversation. Tycon, similarly, insisted on being called 'Tycon' as opposed to 'Tycondrius.'

...Everyone else did so, anyroad.

As Tycon racked his brain over what treachery Natalya could possibly have been planning, a brash, masculine voice called out.

"'Ey, Zenon! Get over here!"